#remember when this was an art blog? me neither

[19emma75]

my fav frerard fics

Ok so here’s my grank fic rec list!! I’ve put links to each fic on ao3 for easy access + most if not all have nsfw/explicit elements so be warned!! I’ve written afew tags next to each one so u get an idea but no spoilers ok here we gooo

⭐️ = fav of all time/must read

- The Best Part of My Day by pixie_revolver - office co-workers au

- ⭐️pinkish by antspaul - kid fic, fake relationship to lovers

- Black Market Blood by autoschediastic - short vamp!gee/human!frank

- ⭐️The Mess We've Made by ViciousVenin - pencey era frank, strangers to lovers, angst with happy ending

- Life as a Process by ViciousVenin - fav vamp!gee fic, college roommates au

- Happy Together by MorningGloryxxx - focus on mental health/lgbt themes/addiction, eventual happy ending

- A Splitting Of The Mind by Shoved2agree - yall already know, cw for heavy mental health focus

- Unwanted Thoughts by ViciousVenin - touring, pining, friends to lovers

- Skin of the Canvas by sinsense - art school/nude model au

- ⭐️Unholyverse trilogy by Bexless - holy grail of fics, priest!gee, demons, stigmata (you've probably already read this ik)

- ⭐️The Anatomy of a Fall by novembersmith - supernatural, high school au

- ''that was easy'' by metaleaterz - 'the staples fic', they just work at staples and its cute ok

- another superstition by metaleaterz - friends to lovers houseflipping au

- ⭐️Crossed Out by Haze - time travel and blood magic!! so incredible it should be made into a tv show umbrella academy style

- ⭐️In a Column of Lights by xobarriers - entomologist!gee/director!frank, SO wholesome and sweet and lovely

- Did You Miss Me? Cause I Missed You by LiberXI - wholesome/funny/smutty friends to lovers college au

- ⭐️Nothing Above Nothing Below by LiberXI - pencey era strangers to lovers with a supernatural twist, LOVE the writing style sm

- You Will Leave a Mark by brooklinegirl - short but intense pencey era strangers to lovers

- rough ‘round the edges by starryfrens - sick fic with gee as frank’s caregiver, heavy and heartwarming

- Living on a prayer by beforethesungoesdown, Kitoko_kun - priest x priest with expected amounts of catholic guilt and pining

- Before The Second Show by CharredLips - sweet + fluffy bullets era mutual pining

- ⭐️Wishing You Were a Ghost by pixie_revolver - “right person wrong time”, angst with happy ending, heartbreaking but amazing

- ⭐️Kinktober 2023 by insusurro - all parts set in the same universe, surprisingly heartwarming for the subject matter, great characterisation

- ⭐️Moth to Flame (or Whatever) by onceuponamoon - insanely perfect florist au

- Companion by onceuponamoon - workplace au (carer/office worker)

- Buy Handmade + Bread and Butter by jjtaylor - adorable artist/baker au

- ⭐️Paris!Verse trilogy by vesna - artist gerard/record label owner frank, INSANELY good characterisation, so beautiful and emotional

- Time Travel ‘verse by ladyfoxxx - funpoison/frankghoul/rrr time travel shenanigans, amazing and kind of heartbreaking

- Christmas Miracle by insusurro - wholesome and festive teacher au

- Choosing My Confessions series by pixie_revolver - kinky/wholesome priest au

- a constant record of disillusion by drapnel - non au realistic pre-bullets to post-summer sonic ‘04, heavy so read tags

- All Through The Night by LiberXI - bullets era meet cute

- ⭐️The Horror That I’m In by pixie_revolver - paramour estate, paranormal activity, frank goes through the horrors, angst with happy ending

updating periodically so keep an eye out <3

[thewizardofschnoz]

He's rotting in hell as we speak.

[inkyami]

.

[tategaminu]

Oh, to have a freak that will fight a bear wolf zombie thing to protect you

[wetpuppets]

hey remember when this was an art blog. me neither

[bamsara]

Y'all still remember when this was mostly a FNAF blog? Yeah, me neither.

this is my personal art and talking blog, not a fandom specific one. it's going to be whatever I want it to be to my personal interest

[miley1442111]

consequences (final part)- a.donaldson

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a/n: HI EVERYONE! Thank you all so much for reading this story (sorry it was so long!) and supporting me, it means so fucking much to me, you don't even know! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT AND LIKED THE ENDING TOO :)

summary: a glimpse into your life, 4 years on.

pairing: art donaldson x reader,

warnings: talk of eating disorder, talk of pregnancy, reader is a mom, art is a dad. :)

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4 years later....

You lay in bed, an arm around your waist as the sunlight poured in from the window beside your bed. A pattering of feet and the opening of the door signalled the start of the day. Lily, and her little brother Hunter ran and jumped on top of you and Art, waking you both up from your hazy morning sleep. You rubbed your eyes to wake up, only to be met with the face of Hunter, giving you a hug. 

“Happy Mother's day!” he smiled, all two teeth an adorable sight. 

“Happy Mother’s day!” Lily squealed, squishing between you and Art to give you a hug. She would be spending the day with Tashi today, but she still counted you as her ‘mama’, not her ‘mom’ like Tashi was. 

And it didn’t bother you at all. You loved your two kids, technically neither of them were yours. Hunter had been adopted when he was 2 months old. You remembered the conversation with Art when you told him that you couldn’t get pregnant.

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“Art, I can’t have kids,” you swallowed nervously as your newly-wed husband leaned against the counter in the bathroom as you huddled over the toilet, just finished vomiting. Art had said ‘you must be pregnant’ and started stressing, so you had to just rip the plaster off and do it. 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Art, I had an eating disorder for a decade, that doesn’t exactly do great things for your body.” 

“I know but-”

“But what? I can’t get pregnant anymore, end of story.”

You had expected him to be mad, to get angry. But he didn’t, of course he didn't, because he’s Art fucking Donaldson, and he loves you. 

“That’s ok baby, we can always adopt,” he nodded. “I wouldn’t have ever said it if I knew. I need you to talk to me about these things, ok?” his arms wrapped around you as you nodded, tears falling down your face. 

Art accepted you fully and loved you wholly. He was everything you’d ever wanted, and you cursed yourself for ever letting him get away, then you remembered that he cheated and that what you did was justified. 

But you loved him back all the same. 

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“Happy Mother’s day, baby,” he smirked, wrapping a hand around one of yours, and pulling it to his lips to press a kiss to. “You’re amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” you smiled. 

“Ok kids, pancakes for mom?” Art offered and they practically jumped for joy. He got up without another question and led the kids into the kitchen to start making your favourite, the first of many Mother’s day treats. 

Yeah, your life was great, and you loved Art Donaldson. Y/n Donaldson always had a nice ring to it anyways.

You two got married two years ago, Art and you quit tennis and now you're just regular boring celebrities. You got to galas and fundraisers, your very active in the foundation, and you get to stay at home with you kids and with Art. Art helped you heal from your ed and you helped him heal his trauma from his marriage with Tashi.

Pretty perfect life if you ask me.

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art donaldson masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

people who asked to be tagged :)

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@emily-b

@yourmommycallsmemommy

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[pretzel-box]

In case I haven't told you: I love you.

Streamer AU Chapter 10 [Finale]

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Established Relationship

Words: 9,4k

Authors Note: This is the official last chapter for this series and my blog. Thank you all for your support.

You sat on a chair at the kitchen counter, tinkering with your new keyboard. All the keycaps were pulled off as you swapped the old, plain ones for a custom set of resin-poured, sparkling caps. You’d spent a small fortune on these, enough to make even Sebastian raise an eyebrow as he walked by to grab a cup of coffee.

"You know, one of those caps could pay for my whole breakfast," he remarked, leaning over your shoulder and picking up one of the keys—the ESC key. It was a deep lapis lazuli blue mixed with a golden hue, with tiny koi fish suspended inside. The tiny keycap was a masterpiece all on its own, and even Sebastian’s gaze lingered a moment longer as he examined it.

You laughed, rolling your eyes as Sebastian inspected the tiny piece of art between his fingers. "I don’t hear you complaining when I splurge on things for you." You teased, nudging his arm playfully.

He smirked, setting the keycap down carefully, but not before his fingers brushed yours, lingering just a moment too long. "True, but I at least pretend to be reasonable about it." He countered, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin.

You arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh, is that so? I seem to remember a certain someone nearly buying an entire set of limited-edition streaming lights last month."

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Only because I knew it would make my streamer setup look amazing." His eyes sparkled as he held your gaze, the playful teasing fading just slightly, replaced with something softer, warmer.

"Well." You replied, trying to keep your composure despite the flutter in your chest, "Maybe I got these just to impress my favorite…roommate."

Sebastian laughed, a rich sound that made the moment feel more intimate. "Guess that means we both have good taste, then." he murmured, his fingers still lightly brushing against yours, as if neither of you wanted to pull away first.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you glanced over to the corner of the room, where Sebastian’s laundry basket sat conspicuously overflowing. "Good taste, sure." You replied, smirking. "Though maybe your taste in doing laundry could use some improvement."

Sebastian groaned, leaning back against the counter with an exaggerated sigh. "I knew there was a catch to all this charm."

"You’re lucky I didn’t toss it all in the tub and call it ‘artistic installation.’" You teased, poking him playfully. "But hey, since you’re such a reasonable spender, maybe you can be reasonable about getting those clothes folded sometime this century?"

He raised an eyebrow, smirking as he folded his arms. "Maybe if someone would promise to make dinner while I do it?"

You feigned a thoughtful look, tapping your chin as you eyed him. "Fine. But only if it’s one of those nights where you’re my sous-chef." You said. "You know, like last time, when you almost sliced your finger but made the best pasta I’ve ever tasted."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Deal. Just don’t get too used to me in the kitchen—I don’t want you thinking this roommate thing comes with free cooking classes."

You snickered, leaning a little closer. "Oh, please, you love being my sous-chef. Plus, I think I caught you enjoying it last time."

He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. "Maybe I did." He said, his voice low, his gaze flicking between you and the pile of ingredients waiting on the counter. "Guess I don’t mind spending a little extra time with my favorite chef."

"Alright, hun." You replied, giving him a playful nudge toward the fridge. "Let’s get to work before we both end up ordering takeout."

You pulled out a recipe card, tapping it on the counter thoughtfully as Sebastian finished stacking his laundry basket against the wall. “Tonight,” you announced, “we’re making risotto.”

Sebastian’s face lit up with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Risotto, huh? I thought that was, like, advanced level.”

You gave him a mock serious nod. “It is, but don’t worry—under my expert guidance, I’m sure you’ll rise to the challenge.” You winked, grabbing an apron and tossing one his way. He caught it midair and slipped it over his head, looking surprisingly domestic in the soft light of the kitchen.

The two of you moved around the kitchen, gathering ingredients. Sebastian was on vegetable duty, meticulously chopping onions and garlic, his brows furrowed as he concentrated. You snuck a peek at his handiwork, grinning.

“Not bad.” You said approvingly, bumping his shoulder with yours. “I think you’re getting the hang of this.”

“Only because I have an exceptional teacher.” He replied smoothly, flashing you a grin. “Though,” he added with a chuckle, “I’m pretty sure you gave me onions just to make me cry.”

You laughed, watching him chop with surprising finesse. “I have a weakness for pretty boys with tears in their lashes. Onions aside, I think you’re ready to take on the mushrooms.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking at the bowl of fresh mushrooms with a dramatic sigh. “You’re sure this isn’t just you delegating all the tough parts?”

“Maybe.” You said with a smirk. “But also, mushrooms need love, and you seem like the right person for the job.”

While he chopped mushrooms, you turned your attention to heating up a pot of vegetable broth on the stove. The savory aroma of garlic and onion began to fill the kitchen, and you stirred the mixture in a pan, glancing over at Sebastian as he focused intently on his task.

After a while, he leaned over to inspect your progress, watching as you stirred the rice, coating it in the golden mix of garlic, onion, and butter. “Looks like you’re the expert risotto-stirrer.” He teased, resting his chin on your shoulder for a brief moment. “When do I get to try?”

You nudged him with your elbow, laughing. “Soon, sous-chef. I have to make sure it’s just right.”

He watched, fascinated, as you added a ladle of hot broth to the pan, explaining as you went. “See? You don’t add it all at once. You let each addition of broth absorb before adding more. It’s all about patience.”

“Patience?” he repeated, giving you an amused look. “Not exactly my strongest trait.”

You raised an eyebrow, shooting him a grin. “Well, consider this your culinary crash course in patience.”

For the next twenty minutes, you took turns stirring and adding broth, chatting in between as you shared old memories, random stories, and silly jokes. There was something intimate about the process, each of you moving with careful rhythm, enjoying each other’s company in the warm, quiet space of the kitchen.

"Remember that time we played that cooking game on stream with just one arm each? And you fried a rat?" Sebastian laughed, recalling the iconic moment. It was one of your very first streams together.

You gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me! You told me to be culinarily creative for our dear customers."

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, his laughter warm and unrestrained. "Oh, I remember. How could I forget? You had the chat in absolute stitches when you served that poor pixelated rat like it was a five-star dish."

You placed a hand over your chest, feigning offense. "Excuse me! I was merely following instructions. You explicitly told me to be ‘culinarily creative for our loving customers.’ I just… took it to heart."

Sebastian wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. "And you succeeded, alright. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so passionate about frying something that was absolutely, one hundred percent not food." He mimed holding a frying pan, doing his best impression of you earnestly plating up the rat. “Gourmet rat, fresh from the chef’s hands.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his impression, remembering how you’d tried so hard to keep a straight face on stream, while the chat had been exploding with laughter. "Hey, I’d like to point out that I even garnished it with a sprinkle of virtual parsley."

"Yeah, and I had to pretend it was edible." Sebastian replied, still grinning. "The things I do for the art of streaming."

With a grin, you shrugged. “Guess it just shows what a great team we make, right? You keep up appearances, and I…” You paused, smirking, “I make the riskiest, most questionable food decisions.”

He looked down at you, his smile softening as he held your gaze. "Yeah." He murmured, "I guess it really does. We’re one heck of a team."

There was a gentle silence, one filled with warmth, as you both let the memories linger, the familiarity and playfulness wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. After a moment, you nudged his arm. "So, cooking game or real life—think you’re ready for another ‘creative’ culinary adventure with me?"

He chuckled, leaning a little closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Only if you promise me no rats this time."

At one point, he reached over and brushed a stray bit of flour off your cheek, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You’ve got a little something there.” He murmured, his eyes meeting yours with a soft expression that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thanks.” you replied, your voice a little softer than intended.

With the risotto nearly ready, you handed him a wooden spoon. “Alright, sous-chef. Moment of truth—taste test.”

Sebastian took the spoon from you, giving you an exaggerated nod before taking a careful bite. His eyes lit up as he tasted the creamy, savory dish. “Wow,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “I actually helped make this? Totally doesn't taste like pixel rat.”

“See?” you replied, laughing. “You’ve got more culinary skills than you think.”

He laughed, taking another spoonful. “Okay, I’ll admit, this is pretty fun. You might turn me into a chef yet.”

Together, you plated the risotto, sprinkling a bit of parmesan and fresh parsley on top. You each carried a plate to the small dining table, which you’d quickly decorated with a candle and a couple of mismatched napkins to make it feel a bit more special.

Sitting across from him, you clinked your fork against his with a grin. “To our first official cooking date.” You said, feeling a mix of pride and warmth.

“To the world’s most patient teacher.” He added, giving you a smile that made your cheeks warm.

You ate slowly, savoring not just the food, but the easy conversation and gentle glances shared between bites. Occasionally, he’d sneak his fork onto your plate, taking an extra bite with a laugh as you swatted at his hand.

After finishing, you both lingered at the table, caught in the comfortable glow of shared laughter and the lingering warmth of the meal. Finally, as you stood to clear the plates, Sebastian reached over, gently grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“You know.” he said softly, his gaze holding yours, “I think I’m starting to like cooking. Especially if it means nights like this.”

His hand stayed warm against your skin, and for a moment, you forgot about the dishes, the kitchen, everything around you.

“Well.” you replied with a smile, “Then I guess we’ll have to make it a tradition.”

He nodded, his smile softening as he released your hand, but not before giving it a light, lingering squeeze that promised many more evenings like this one.

The laughter still lingered in the air as you finished washing up from dinner, the lingering warmth from the meal creating a quiet, comfortable bubble around the two of you. Sebastian was drying the last of the dishes, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he talked about what to stream next week, teasing the idea of recreating your infamous “gourmet rat” moment in real life.

But then, a sharp knock echoed from the front door, slicing through the ease of the evening. You both paused, glancing at each other, puzzled by the unexpected sound. Who would be stopping by at this hour?

“I’ll get it.” He murmured, his voice low, as he dried his hands on a dish towel. You watched as he walked toward the door, pulling it open with a curious, cautious expression. But when he looked up, his whole face shifted. There, standing in the dim light of the hallway, were two police officers. Their stern faces were blank, unreadable, and behind them, a few more officers were stationed just outside. The sight of them sent an uneasy chill through you, and your stomach twisted.

“Sebastian Solace?” The officer closest to him asked, voice flat and all business. Sebastian blinked, bewildered.

“Yes? Is something wrong?” He asked, looking back at you as if trying to gauge if you knew anything about this. But before you could even register the question, the officer took a step forward, holding out a pair of handcuffs. It was like a perfect scene from your favourite drama, as if the characters jumped out of the television to fool you.

“Mr. Solace, you’re under arrest on suspicion of multiple homicides.” The officer said, his words like thunder in the silent apartment. “Please turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words took a moment to sink in, and when they did, it felt like the air had been ripped from the room. You stood frozen, mouth open, as Sebastian’s face went from confusion to utter shock.

“What?” He stammered, voice thick with disbelief. “There must be some mistake—I haven’t done anything. I don’t even—” But the officer was already reaching for his wrists, pulling them behind his back as he clicked the cuffs into place with a heavy metallic clink that reverberated in the space. The sound was sharp, final.

"Wait!" You exclaimed, stepping forward as panic washed over you. “This is insane! You can’t just—he hasn’t done anything! Sebastian couldn’t—”

The second officer turned toward you, his gaze steely. “Ma’am, I understand this is a shock, but please step back. We have probable cause, and Mr. Solace will be given the chance to explain himself at the station.”

Sebastian’s head turned, eyes wide as they locked onto yours. "I… I don’t know what’s going on," He said, his voice wavering as he struggled to keep calm. "I didn’t… I didn’t do anything." His eyes, usually filled with easy confidence and warmth, were filled with a mixture of confusion and fear, a look you had never seen on his face before.

“I know you didn’t.” You managed, voice choked. “This has to be a mistake. Tell them!”

But the officers were unmoved, beginning to guide him out the door, leaving you standing in the hallway, rooted in disbelief. You reached for his hand one last time, and he turned to you, gripping your fingers tightly, as if that small touch was an anchor. “It’s okay.” He said quietly, though the panic in his voice was clear. “I’ll sort this out. Don’t… don’t worry about me.”

But how could you not? How could you let them take him, when you knew deep down, in every part of you, that Sebastian was incapable of such a thing?

As they led him out, each step growing heavier, you were left alone in the silence, the stillness deafening. Sebastian’s plate was still on the table, his jacket draped over the back of the chair. It was as if he had only stepped out for a moment, and yet, he was gone. You could still feel the lingering warmth of his hand in yours, the echo of his words ringing in your mind.

You stumbled back against the counter, struggling to breathe as the weight of what just happened settled on you. Someone had framed him. Someone had set up this impossible, unfathomable trap, and Sebastian had walked right into it. And now, the life you’d built together—the quiet mornings, the shared streams, the countless inside jokes—all of it hung in the balance.

“Sebastian…” You whispered, gripping the edge of the counter as if you could steady yourself through sheer will. Your mind raced, images of him, terrified and alone, the weight of this false accusation pressing down on him. You had to do something. You couldn’t just stand by while the man you loved was being treated like a monster.

But as you looked around the quiet, empty apartment, you felt the sinking realization that things would never be the same. The warmth and laughter of the evening had been replaced by a cold, harsh reality, one that you couldn’t ignore. And as you stood there, a single, urgent thought echoed in your mind, louder and louder with each passing second. This couldn't be how it ends.

Hours passed in a blur, each moment more surreal than the last. You sat at the kitchen table, hands clutching a mug of tea you hadn’t even touched. The entire apartment was in disarray: Police officers moved from room to room, rifling through closets, drawers, and even the cabinets in search of… what? Evidence of Sebastian’s so-called crimes?

The entire scene felt like a waking nightmare. You watched in despair as they moved into Sebastian’s room, handling his belongings like they were pieces of some sinister puzzle, prying through his private life without hesitation. The familiar warmth and comfort of the apartment was stripped away, replaced by the cold efficiency of strangers treating your life as a crime scene.

“Ma’am?” A voice jolted you from your thoughts. One of the officers, Detective Hall, took the seat across from you, fixing you with a hard, calculating stare. He placed a notepad on the table and flipped it open, pen poised, ready to capture your every word. This wasn't just a small round of questions. It felt like the pen was a gun that he was holding against your forhead, wanting you to say that he wanted to hear and not the truth you believed in.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steel yourself. “I already told you.” You said, voice barely above a whisper, it was slightly shaking from the pressure. Your whole personality crumbled under the sheer panic. “Sebastian didn’t do this. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Detective Hall tilted his head, his lips curling into a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you want to believe that, but I have to be honest. The evidence suggests otherwise.”

You swallowed, fighting to keep your voice steady. “He’s kind, thoughtful… there’s no way he’d ever—”

“Let’s go over this again.” The detective interrupted, his tone patient yet cold. “You’ve been living with Mr. Solace for some time, yes?”

“Yes.” You answered, nodding slowly. “Some time...”

“And during that time, have you ever noticed anything… unusual about him? Unexplained absences, strange behavior, anything that might seem insignificant but could have been a red flag?”

The question felt like a trap, and you shook your head quickly, heart pounding. “No. Nothing like that. He’s just—he’s always been a good person. A little messy with his stuff sometimes, but that’s it. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Any wrong word could mean Sebastians end. Saying less means providing more support for your boyfriend.

Detective Hall leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Are you sure you’re not trying to protect him? It’s natural to want to defend someone close to you, but sometimes… people can hide dark sides we don’t see.”

“No, you don’t understand—Sebastian’s innocent.” You insisted, feeling the words burn on your tongue. “He wouldn’t—”

“But he did.” Hall’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air with brutal efficiency. He fired the imaginary gun at you with the following statement. “We’ve found DNA evidence at multiple crime scenes that match Mr. Solace’s. His fingerprints, his hair… even traces of his blood.”

The room spun for a moment as his words hit you like a physical blow. You gripped the edge of the table, forcing yourself to process the revelation. DNA evidence? It made no sense. How could that be possible?

“That… that can’t be right.” You stammered, shaking your head in disbelief. “There has to be a mistake. Maybe it’s someone who looks like him, or maybe the samples were contaminated—”

Detective Hall raised a brow, as if amused by your attempts to explain it away. “It’s no mistake. We’ve triple-checked. Mr. Solace’s DNA was found at every single crime scene. This isn’t a matter of chance or coincidence.”

You felt the weight of those words settle heavily, like stones in your chest. This was the kind of evidence that would seal a conviction, the kind of irrefutable proof that would convince a jury. But you knew Sebastian. You knew his heart, his kindness, his gentleness.

“He’s… he’s been with me.” You whispered, half a lie, desperation slipping into your voice. “We’re always together. If he was gone, I would have noticed. He’s not… he’s not capable of this.” There where times, where he was alone. You knew you couldn't cover Sebastian in that part.

„Well, last week, monday evening around 7...Where was he? With you?“ „Well he wasn't with m-“ „Then he wasn't always with you. Listen, we just wanna solve this case. This isn't a witch hunt to spill innocent blood.“ Hall’s gaze softened for a brief moment, as if he pitied you, but his tone was unwavering. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think, ma’am. It’s possible that there are sides to people we love that we never see. You wouldn’t be the first to be blindsided.”

Anger and frustration flared within you, mixed with helplessness as you struggled to find the right words. “No… you’re wrong. You have to be. He’s innocent. I don’t know how his DNA got there, but I know him, and he’s not a murderer.”

Detective Hall sighed, closing his notebook as he got up, leaving you trembling at the table. “I understand this is difficult to accept.” He said, his voice almost condescending. “But it’s better if you start facing the facts. If you think of anything—anything at all—that could help us, I suggest you reach out.”

You watched as he walked away, his words echoing in your mind like a curse. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, suffocating in their familiarity. Your hands trembled as you clutched the edge of the table, the mug of tea long forgotten and cold.

Detective Hall’s words echoed in your mind like a haunting refrain. DNA evidence. Fingerprints. Hair. You had fought so hard against the growing sense of dread, clinging to the belief that there had to be some explanation, some way to rationalize it all. But as time passed, the weight of those words settled on your chest, heavy and inescapable.

The more you thought about it, the more the pieces started to come together in a way that made your stomach churn. Sebastian’s late nights spent in the studio, the times he seemed distracted or distant, the odd comments he’d made that you’d brushed off as quirky or eccentric. What if there had been more going on?

You felt your breath quickening, the panic rising in your throat like a tide. The laughter and warmth of earlier days felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the horror that now loomed over you. How could you have been so naive? How could you have trusted him so completely?

Suddenly, it felt as if the walls themselves were pressing in on you, closing around your heart until you could hardly breathe. “No, no, no.” You whispered to yourself, shaking your head furiously. “He can’t be guilty. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t…”

But as you said it, doubt crept into your heart like a dark shadow. The evidence was overwhelming, and deep down, you knew it. There was a part of you that wanted to scream, to deny the truth, but the realization that the person you loved might be capable of something so horrific shattered your defenses.

You stood abruptly, pushing away from the table as your chair clattered to the ground. Your heart raced, and you stumbled into the living room, pacing back and forth as tears began to stream down your cheeks. “Sebastian… how could you?” The question hung in the air, heavy and full of anguish.

You could see his face in your mind—the smile that lit up his eyes, the kindness in his voice, the way he made you feel safe. But now, the image began to twist, tainted by the knowledge that he might be hiding something monstrous. You pressed your hands against your temples, fighting against the overwhelming sense of betrayal that surged within you.

What if the good times had all been a facade? What if he had been playing you all along?

Your legs gave out, and you sank to the floor, sobs breaking free as your entire world collapsed around you. The warmth of the apartment, once a sanctuary, felt like a prison. You buried your face in your hands, the weight of despair crushing you. “I believed in you.” You cried, voice muffled against your palms. “How could you do this to me?”

The sobs wracked your body, and you could feel your heart fracturing with every breath. The pain was all-consuming, a tempest of emotions swirling within you—anger, betrayal, sorrow. You felt utterly alone, abandoned in a nightmare you couldn’t escape.

It felt as if the walls themselves echoed your despair, a cruel reminder that you were trapped in this reality. The tears flowed freely, and you gasped for air, each breath feeling like a betrayal to the love you once held so fiercely. “Sebastian.” You choked out, the name a whisper tinged with heartbreak. “Please tell me this isn’t true…”

But deep down, a seed of doubt took root, a dark whisper that you couldn’t silence. And as you sat there, broken on the floor, you realized with chilling clarity that you might have to confront a truth you were terrified to face. Sebastian’s guilt. The possibility that the man you had loved so completely could be the monster hiding in plain sight.

The thought sent another wave of anguish crashing over you, and you curled into yourself, the weight of despair dragging you down into the depths of an all-consuming darkness.

The days turned into weeks, and the world outside faded into a distant blur. You had once filled your life with laughter and joy, sharing your passions and adventures with Sebastian on stream. But now, the only sound that echoed in the emptiness of your apartment was the relentless ticking of the clock, a constant reminder of the time that had passed since he was taken from you.

Sebastian’s execution had felt surreal, a nightmarish sequence that played out in slow motion. You had sat in the courtroom, heart pounding, as the gavel struck down on his fate, each word from the judge slicing through you like glass. “Guilty.” The word had reverberated in your mind, drowning out everything else. The cheers from those who had come to watch felt like daggers in your back, as you struggled to comprehend how the world could move on when yours had shattered.

In the days following, you had retreated into yourself, cocooning in the memories of what once was. The apartment felt hollow, the air heavy with the absence of his laughter and warmth. You’d tried to continue with your life, but every attempt felt futile. The vibrant colors of your past had drained away, leaving only shades of gray.

You found yourself staring at the walls, the pictures of you and Sebastian hanging like ghosts of a happier time. You avoided the streaming setup, the computer untouched and gathering dust. You couldn’t bear the thought of performing for an audience that had reveled in the spectacle of his downfall. The playful banter, the inside jokes—everything that had once felt like second nature was now suffocating.

It was in this state of isolation that you began to notice the ringing phone, the unknown number flashing on the screen each time. It became an annoyance, a constant reminder of the outside world that you had closed off. You ignored it at first, but as the calls persisted, you felt an overwhelming urge to pick up and shout into the void, to let whoever was on the other end know that you didn’t care. You were done.

“Just let it go.” You whispered to yourself, gripping the phone tightly in your hand, willing it to stop. But it only rang louder, taunting you, as if demanding a response. It felt like a ghost of your past, lingering reminders of what you had lost. You buried your face in your hands, tears streaming down your cheeks as you mourned for Sebastian—the man who had filled your life with love, laughter, and joy.

Days turned into weeks, and you often found yourself walking the familiar paths that you had taken together, hoping to feel a connection to him, to find something that could ease the ache in your heart. You walked to the small coffee shop where you’d spent countless mornings, the barista greeting you with a sad smile as if he could see the heaviness in your soul.

“Are you okay?” He asked gently, his voice low as he handed you your usual drink.

You forced a smile that felt hollow. “Yeah, just… missing a friend.” You replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, understanding etched in his features. “Take your time. We’re here for you if you need anything. I'm sure your friend will return soon.”

You returned to the apartment, the silence greeting you like an old friend. It was a comfort and a torment all at once, the echoes of Sebastian’s laughter haunting you at every turn. You stumbled through the rooms, feeling his presence everywhere, yet completely gone. The kitchen was a battlefield of untouched dishes, and the living room still bore witness to the chaos of that fateful night.

And yet, you felt compelled to keep ignoring the outside world. You and Sebastian had built a sanctuary here, and now it felt like a tomb—a space to remember and mourn, but also to be consumed by grief. You couldn’t bear the thought of facing Painter, or anyone else who might remind you of what you’d lost. Their calls went unanswered, your heart too heavy to even think of engaging with anyone.

But one night, as you sat curled up on the couch, a sudden urge struck you. You picked up the phone, thumb hovering over the contact list. It was almost automatic, a reflex driven by a desire to feel connected to someone, even if it was only a shadow of what you had with Sebastian. You clicked on Painter’s name, your heart racing as you prepared to dial. But just as your finger touched the screen, the phone rang again, the same unknown number flashing before you.

You hesitated, a surge of anger rising within you. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” you cried out into the stillness, your voice trembling with a whirlwind of emotion. You had no strength left to deal with this mystery, this constant reminder of a life that felt irretrievably lost.

With a trembling hand, you answered the call. “Hello?” The word felt foreign on your tongue, like a brittle leaf falling from a tree in autumn.

A pause followed, stretching into an eternity, and then a voice emerged from the silence, dripping with smugness and taunting glee. “A wonderful evening, isn’t it?”

Recognition hit you like a slap, anger and disbelief coiling in your stomach. “Who is this?” You demanded, your heart racing as you tried to mask the tremor in your voice.

“It’s me… Allison.” She said, and you could almost hear the smirk in her tone. “I’ve been trying to reach you. You see, I want to meet you. In person.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The mere mention of her name felt like a punch to your gut. “What do you want?” You spat, the words sharp and laced with hurt, a raw wound that refused to heal.

“Oh, come now.” She chided, her voice honeyed yet poisonous. “You must know by now that I have the information you crave. The kind of juicy details that could change everything. And let’s be honest, you could use a little excitement in your life after all that’s happened.”

You could almost picture her, leaning back in some luxurious chair, a smug smile on her lips, relishing every moment of your turmoil. “What makes you think I’d want to hear anything from you?” You countered, trying to maintain the semblance of strength. But beneath your bravado, you were shaken, your heart aching at the memories that flooded back, memories of trust and betrayal.

“I know you’re hurting.” Allison pressed, her tone shifting, turning almost persuasive. “But the truth is, I hold the keys to unlocking the real story. You think you know what happened? Think again. Sebastian’s innocence? It’s a farce, darling.” She laughed lightly, and it sent a chill down your spine. “You need to hear what I have to say.”

A cold dread settled in your chest, mingling with your fury. How could she speak of Sebastian like that? Your mind raced with confusion and anger, torn between the desire to protect his memory and the nagging curiosity of what she might reveal. “What do you mean?” You demanded, your voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m not going to just give it away.” She cooed, her tone patronizing, like she was speaking to a child. “But I promise you, once you hear me out, everything will make sense. This isn’t just about Sebastian. It’s about the bigger picture. The real culprits behind the chaos that’s torn your life apart. And believe me, darling, it’s going to be quite a revelation.”

A sick feeling settled in your stomach as you wrestled with your emotions. You were weary of being trapped in this darkness, of the isolation that suffocated you. But could you trust her? Deep down, you felt that small flicker of hope—the chance that perhaps, just perhaps, she might hold some truth that could change everything.

“Fine.” You said finally, your voice steadying as you took a deep breath. “But this better be good. I don’t have time for games, Allison.”

“Good! Meet me at the park, by the fountain. You know the one. Tomorrow at noon. Come alone.” She instructed, her tone brisk and commanding, as if she knew you’d comply without question.

The line went dead, and you stared at the phone in disbelief, a storm of emotions swirling within you. You felt the shadows of your grief deepen, intertwining with the threads of a truth you had yet to confront. What was she playing at? Was this a trap? But the thought of Sebastian’s name hanging in the air like a ghost pulled at you, urging you to seek answers, no matter how painful they might be.

You spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, the weight of uncertainty heavy on your chest. As the sun rose the next morning, you felt a mix of dread and determination settle in your bones. You had to know the truth, even if it meant facing the very person who had turned your world upside down. You were willing to confront your fears if it meant uncovering the secrets buried in the shadows of your past.

As you prepared to leave, a part of you wondered what you would discover in that conversation. Would it bring you closer to the truth, or would it only lead to more heartbreak? Only time would tell, but one thing was certain: You were no longer willing to let fear dictate your life. Today, you would seek the truth, whatever the cost.

The morning air was crisp as you made your way to the park, your heart pounding in your chest with each step. The sun peeked through the branches of the trees, casting dappled shadows on the path ahead. As you approached the fountain, a wave of nausea washed over you. You had no idea what to expect from your encounter with Allison, but the tension was palpable, thickening the air around you.

You spotted her seated on a bench, casually flicking through her phone, the picture of nonchalance. She looked up as you approached, a smile playing on her lips that sent a chill down your spine. “You came.” She said, her voice light as if you were simply meeting for coffee.

“I’m not here to play games, Allison.” You said, forcing your voice to steady despite the tremor in your hands. “What do you want?”

She motioned for you to sit, and despite every instinct telling you to run, you complied, tension coiling in your stomach. “I wanted to talk about Sebastian.” She said, her tone shifting to something more serious. “You need to understand the truth of what happened.”

“The truth?” you echoed, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. “What do you know about the truth?”

Allison leaned closer, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something darker. “Oh, darling, I know everything. I know what you’ve been through, the heartbreak, the isolation. I know you still believe in Sebastian’s innocence.” She paused, savoring your reaction. “But here’s the thing: He’s not innocent. Not in the way you think.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “What are you talking about?” You shook your head, trying to deny the implications of her words. “Sebastian would never—”

“Would never what?” She interrupted, her voice rising with feigned innocence. “Kill? You see, it’s easy to point fingers, especially when the truth is so beautifully complicated.” She leaned back, a smirk spreading across her face. “And I should know, because I orchestrated it all.”

A cold dread settled over you, a sickening realization dawning. “You’re lying,” you said weakly, but even as you spoke, the pieces began to click into place. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “I took my time, did my research. I switched out evidence, planted things to frame him perfectly. You see, the cops would never suspect the innocent ex-girlfriend, would they?” Her eyes sparkled with malice. “And I had just the plan to make sure it all fell into place.”

“Why? Why would you do this?” The words came out as a choked whisper, your heart racing as the reality of her confession settled in. “What did Sebastian ever do to you?”

Allison laughed, a cruel, mirthless sound. “Oh, sweetie, it was never about Sebastian. It was about you. I wanted to see you broken, to watch your world crumble. You had everything I wanted—his affection, his attention, his life. I just thought it would be so much fun to take it all away.” She paused, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “And I must say, it’s been quite the show.”

“Stop it!” You shouted, your voice rising in desperation. “You can’t keep getting away with this. I’ll go to the police. I’ll tell them everything!”

“Oh, but you won’t.” She purred, leaning closer, her voice low and threatening. “Because I’ve already taken care of that. The evidence against Sebastian is airtight. His DNA was at the scenes, his clothes were planted. I even collected hair samples—he won’t be able to escape this.”

You felt your world tilt, your heart racing as the realization hit you. She was right: She had manipulated everything, and there was nothing you could do to stop her. “You’re insane.” You whispered, your body shaking with disbelief. “You can’t just play with people’s lives like this!”

“Why not?” Allison shrugged, her expression unfazed. “Life is a game, and I simply play to win. And right now, you’re just a pawn in my little chess match.”

A shuddering breath escaped you as the weight of her words crushed down on you. “You’re a monster.” You said, fighting back tears.

“Perhaps.” She said, her smile widening. “But I’m the one in control here. And you’re left with nothing but the truth—a truth that will haunt you for the rest of your life. Think of the fun you’ll have trying to navigate this new reality.”

You felt your heart break all over again, shattering into a million irretrievable pieces. “You can’t get away with this.” You said, but your voice lacked the conviction it once held.

“Oh, but I already have.” She replied, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “And if you’re smart, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Otherwise, who knows what might happen next?”

The weight of her threat hung heavy in the air, and you realized the truth of her power over you. The world felt like it was closing in, your vision blurring as the enormity of it all washed over you. With a sickening feeling of despair, you understood that you were utterly alone in this twisted game.

As you rose from the bench, every part of you screamed to run, to escape the grip of her twisted reality. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t. Not yet. The fight was far from over, but now, it was a fight for survival, and you had to gather every ounce of strength to confront the darkness that threatened to consume you. The battle was just beginning, and you would not let her win.

You stepped back, shaking your head as if that could somehow dispel the reality of the situation. “You’re delusional, Allison.” You said, but the conviction in your voice was wavering. “This can’t be real. You didn’t plan all of this from the beginning.”

Allison laughed again, a sound that echoed through the park like a chilling wind. “Oh, but it is real, darling. Every moment we spent together, every laugh we shared on those calls, it was all a performance. I played the role of the girlfriend to perfection, didn’t I?” She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a manic energy. “I had you all wrapped around my little finger, believing I on his side while I was orchestrating your downfall.”

Your heart raced as you felt the blood drain from your face. “No… No, you can’t mean that.” You stammered, disbelief mingling with a sickening realization. “You were there when Sebastian was arrested in court. You acted like you cared!”

“Cared?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I was reveling in your pain! Watching you grieve over someone you believed was innocent while I knew the truth all along was the highlight of my little game.” She paused, her expression shifting to something darker. “And the best part? I’ll always be three steps ahead of you.”

The breath caught in your throat, a chill running down your spine. “You’re a monster.” You whispered, your voice trembling. “How can you do this?”

“Because it’s fun.” She simply repeated, shrugging her shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “And let’s be real: I’m the only one who understands the beauty in chaos. This world is just a stage, and I’m the star of my own show.”

Every word dripped with malice, a taunting melody that twisted your insides. “You’re not a star, Allison. You’re just a pathetic coward hiding behind a mask of cruelty.”

She tilted her head, a smirk still playing on her lips. “But it’s the mask that gives me power, don’t you see? I can walk into any room and make people believe whatever I want them to believe. I’ve turned everyone against Sebastian. The evidence I planted, the stories I twisted—it’s all there. You can’t change the narrative once it’s set in stone.”

A fresh wave of anger surged through you, igniting a spark of defiance. “I won’t let you do this. I’ll find a way to expose you!”

“Oh, sweet naïve darling.” She mocked, her laughter sharp and cruel. “You think anyone will believe you? You’re just the broken girlfriend of a murderer. Who would trust your word against the solid evidence I’ve crafted? You’ll be seen as the girl who couldn’t let go, who couldn’t accept that her boyfriend was a monster.”

You felt your heart shatter all over again, each piece piercing you deeper. The weight of her manipulation suffocated you, leaving you gasping for air. “Why, Allison? Why all this?” You begged, desperation creeping into your voice. “What did you gain from ruining our lives?”

She leaned back, crossing her arms with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “I told you. It’s all a game, and I just wanted to see how far I could push you. I wanted to watch you crumble, to see you lose everything you held dear. It was beautiful, really. Watching you struggle to come to terms with Sebastian’s guilt while I quietly reveled in your despair.”

As her words sank in, a wave of grief crashed over you, threatening to drown you in its depths. “You’re sick.” You murmured, tears brimming in your eyes. “You’re not a person...“

“Call me what you want.” She said, her tone breezy, as if your words didn’t affect her. “The truth is, I’m the only one left standing. You’re the one who has lost everything, and I’m just getting started.”

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. She was right. You had been so focused on saving Sebastian that you hadn’t seen the bigger picture—the twisted web she had spun around you both. You felt like a marionette, dancing to her strings, and the weight of your helplessness crashed down on you.

“And trust me, darling, I plan to keep it that way. The game has just begun, and you’re the perfect player. Let’s see how long you last.”

With that, she stood up, brushing off her clothes with a dismissive gesture. “I’ll be watching, of course. You won’t be able to escape me, not when I’m always just a step away, waiting for you to make your next move.”

As she turned to walk away, her laughter echoed behind her, a haunting reminder of the chaos she had unleashed in your life. You felt the tears finally spill over, hot and angry, as the weight of betrayal and loss crashed down around you.

The heavy silence of the dimly lit store enveloped Allison as she stepped through the door, the creak of the hinges echoing through the darkness. The air felt thick, laden with anticipation, and she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her. The usual comforting scents of paint and wood shavings were replaced by an unsettling stillness that set her on edge.

“Painter?” She called, her voice slicing through the gloom, only to be met with silence. She squinted, trying to make out any shapes in the shadows, but the darkness felt alive, shifting around her as if it were aware of her presence.

A moment later, a soft click broke the stillness as a solitary bulb flickered to life, casting a weak glow across the room. Painter sat behind the counter, his features partially obscured in shadow, but the intensity of his gaze was unmistakable. He leaned forward, his hands clasped around a canvas and some expensive painting tools as he sketched, and the tension in the air thickened.

“Well?” He asked, his voice low and steady. He didn't bothered to even glance at her. “How did it go?”

Allison stepped closer, her heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. “It went exactly as I planned.” She replied, a smirk creeping onto her lips. “She’s fragile, Painter. Perfectly broken, just like we wanted. The meeting was… enlightening.”

Painter’s expression remained unreadable, but the way he tilted his head indicated he was hanging on her every word. “Enlightening how?” He pressed, his voice sharp.

“She is ready for the next step.” Allison continued, the thrill of her deception washing over her like a warm wave. “I spun the tale beautifully—she’s drowning in despair. I made sure to emphasize how she was the one left behind, how she had been played all along.”

“Good.” Painter replied, nodding slowly. “You have her right where we need her. But what about your end of the bargain? You have what you promised me?”

Allison laughed, a sound laced with a hint of darkness. “Of course. Everything is in place. I took care of the evidence. The hair samples, the clothes. No one will ever suspect a thing. It’s all beautifully orchestrated, just like a well-crafted film.”

Painter’s eyes gleamed with interest, and he leaned back, a satisfied smile slowly spreading across his face. “You’ve truly outdone yourself, Allison. I knew I could count on you to bring chaos to life.”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s just another day in our little game, isn’t it? But let’s be clear: I’m not here to play forever. I want my reward.”

“You’ll get it.” Painter assured her, his tone serious now. “But remember, the game isn’t over yet. There’s still more to be done.“

“I’m already steps ahead,” Allison replied, her confidence bubbling over. “She has no idea who’s really pulling the strings. With Sebastian out of the picture, and with me in her life pretending to the enemy, I can manipulate her emotions. It’s a beautiful arrangement.”

“Just ensure she doesn’t catch on too quickly.” Painter cautioned, a warning lacing his words. “Her grief could turn into something more dangerous if she realizes she’s being played.”

Allison waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. I know how to handle her. Besides, she’s already broken. It won’t take much to keep her under my control.”

“Good.” Painter said, satisfaction evident in his voice. “Let’s keep her that way. I have plans for her, and we need her to stay in line.”

As the weight of their conversation settled around them, a shared understanding ignited in the darkness. They were both architects of chaos, and together they would build a world that thrived on manipulation and deceit.

Allison stepped back, a grin spreading across her face. “This is just the beginning, Painter. I can’t wait to see how this unfolds.”

Painter leaned back in his chair, a gleam of malice in his eyes. “Neither can I. But remember, the shadows are watching, and we must stay one step ahead. Let’s make sure that the show goes on.”

With that, the two conspirators shared a knowing glance, the darkness of the store wrapping around them like a cloak, sealing their plans in the hushed stillness of the night. The game was far from over, and they were ready to play.

In the dim, cluttered backroom of the art studio, the air was thick with an oppressive silence, broken only by the soft scratching of Painter’s pencil against the canvas. Each stroke was deliberate, each line imbued with a manic energy that crackled like electricity in the air. As he meticulously worked on capturing your likeness, the glee within him grew, bubbling to the surface like a sinister tide.

The whole sequence of events had been a carefully choreographed dance, an intricate play penned solely by him. From Allison’s arrival at the café to the shocking announcement of Sebastian’s (faked) death, every detail had been crafted with precision, each moment calculated to elicit the maximum emotional response from you. It was all part of his grand design—a masterpiece of manipulation that he reveled in as if it were the finest work of art.

Painter leaned back, admiring his handiwork, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and something darker. Yes, he was in love with you, utterly and completely, to the point where he would twist the very fabric of reality itself to ensure you would see him as your savior. For him, love had morphed into an obsession, one that transcended the boundaries of morality and reason. He had watched from the shadows as you and Sebastian grew closer, the connection between you blooming like a flower in spring, and it had driven him to the edge of madness.

The red strings of fate, which folklore claimed intertwined the lives of soulmates, had become a web of control and manipulation in his mind. He had to act before it was too late, before you were irrevocably lost to Sebastian. That was when he had reached out to Allison, a face from your past, and transformed her into the perfect pawn in his game.

“Skilled, wicked, and naive.” He murmured to himself, a cruel smile spreading across his lips as he remembered the lengths he had gone to secure her loyalty. He had paid her handsomely to infiltrate your life, to steal Sebastian from you, to take your identity, your streaming account, your very essence. It was all too easy to convince her that she was invincible under his protection, too blind to see the truth—that she was nothing more than a tool, a disposable piece in his elaborate scheme.

Painter’s thoughts raced, the joy of his manipulation coursing through him. The climax of his plan had been the final confrontation with Allison, the dramatic reveal that would shatter the illusion she had created. It had all been a performance, rehearsed to perfection. He had relished the moment, watching as her bravado crumbled and the reality of her situation settled in like a heavy fog. She had believed she was in control, but he had orchestrated every twist and turn, and now the stage was set for her downfall.

Yet, despite all his efforts, there was one unexpected variable—your unwavering loyalty to Sebastian. Painter had believed that once he exposed Allison, you would run to him, your savior, the one who had seen the truth beneath the layers of deceit. But you had returned to Sebastian instead, drawn back to the very man he had orchestrated the demise of. In that moment, rage ignited within him, a blazing inferno that threatened to consume everything he had built.

There was no other choice; Sebastian had to go. The thought danced through his mind like a dark melody, sweet and intoxicating. Painter was rich, clever, and dangerously unhinged. He had the resources to make anything happen, to erase any obstacle that stood in his way. It was an easy task to hire the right people, to ensure that the nine murders he orchestrated would lead the trail of blame directly to Allison.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he recalled how he had twisted her mind, making her believe she was untouchable. She would take the blame for everything, painted as the guilty party in a crime that was all his doing. It was a beautiful, tragic irony that thrilled him; the naïve little pawn would never see it coming. The moment she was caught, the world would believe her to be the real villain, and he would be the silent spectator, the mastermind hiding in plain sight.

But Sebastian? He would not be lost to the world. No, he had arranged for his dear friend to become a living test subject for Urbanshade, a dark experiment that would keep him alive, twisting in the shadows. Painter’s smile widened as he imagined the day you would finally see through the fog of lies and betrayal, when you would recognize him as the one who truly cared for you, the only one who had ever understood you.

“Soon.” He whispered, a predatory glint in his eyes, “You will see me, and then all will be right in this world I’ve created.” The canvas before him captured not just your face but the very essence of his twisted love, a love that would stop at nothing to ensure you were his and his alone.

As he continued to sketch, the darkness of his intentions wrapped around him like a cloak, and he couldn’t help but feel that, in this sinister game of puppets, he was the true artist. Each line, each shadow, was a testament to his genius—a dark narrative that would soon unfold, revealing the depths of his obsession and the horrifying lengths to which he would go to have you in his grasp.

Painter had played everyone. Sebastian, Allison, and especially YOU.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Chapter 17

Story Masterlist 

Arranged marriage AU

Interact with this linked post to be added to the tag list.

NOTE: The first rough draft was very… different. Dion would have been irredeemable if I went with that (I wrote it forgetting that I didn’t want him to be that way in this story, only to read it to edit it, read the document title, realized my mistake, made a new document because I spent days on it and do want to eventually post it, used the beginning of the og rough draft to start this one, spent even more days to make this). Maybe one day I’ll post it, but it is very non-con heavy. If I ever do, then just think of it as a parallel universe thing for/of this story. But the Dion in this main story is different (He’s still horrible but consent is sexy to him). (Please remember that the content on this blog can and will be heavy and should not be seen as excusable or normal). In other words, I do write about and interact with non-con fics but I do NOT condone rape in real life. Just thought that I would put this reminder here since I may post other fics containing it soon.

Also Zac shows up and he’s a little shit who thinks he walks the walk.

Warnings: slight themes of obsessiveness and possessiveness, slight yandere themes, toxic marriage/relationship, implied physical abuse (towards a toy), mention of the reader becoming a toy, slight blood, themes of imprisonment, implied hypothetical murder, attempted sexual assault (pretty sure), violence used for self-defense, implied past stalking, implied depression, anxiety, near panic attack, mention of vomit, accidental self-injury (you sprained your ankle), one (1) mention of incest, implied perverted thoughts (Fontaine), fear of implied non-con by Fontaine, horrible attempts of connecting everything together as you will soon see. Please tell me if I missed any.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICS, ART, ETC.) DNI.

= = =

His declaration shakes you to the bones. 

Your mind blanks as your eyes become wide. Sounds are drowned out by the ringing in your ears, a bomb going off. He’s in front of you but you don’t see him - mentally, you were elsewhere.

You return to earth when Dion squeezes your hand. Reluctantly, he releases it, but stays on his knee, his deep scarlet eyes holding something unreadable. Neither of you move, the staring contest is long. You’re the one who breaks it, looking off to the side as his red hues engrave themselves into your mind. 

It’s an image that will haunt your dreams, blood spilling onto the ground as he locks you up in a physical cage, corpses scattered around it. Holding the key as he asks you to sing.

You swallow. Your foot rapidly taps on the floor as your mind races with replies you can’t even say. He wasn’t like this in the manhwa. You heard he only got more violent in the novel until a certain point. 

That he was still crazy obsessed with Roxana.

And yet, it is that very man who got on one knee, calling himself your dog. And for what? An ounce of affection? 

A nervous laugh makes its way out as you attempt to play it off. He’s just tired, he’s lonely, he’s only playing with you until you completely break. This is entertainment for him, but it doesn’t change the fact he still has the keys to your handcuffs. He doesn’t plan on unlocking them.

“O-oh, um, oh my - I-I think… I think th-that yo-you need so-some sleep,” quickly gathering yourself, you stand and walk away once Dion gives you enough room. Of course, he doesn’t do so immediately, his eyes instead becoming glazed over with something dangerous. 

He looks at you like you’re his prey, strategies of capturing you happening in real time. The color of his eyes resembles warm blood, and you become uneasy once you realize you could have made him snap just now. There is no visible anger, which should have been a good thing - however, the way he eyes you makes you feel like you’re already between his teeth.

You can feel them piercing your skin already. You rub the side of your neck at the phantom pain.

Taking the opportunity presented, you quickly walk past him. You stop at the door, sweating buckets, twitching fingers almost wrapping around the handle. The reason for your hesitance is simple - his voice. Anxiety picks at you when he calls your name. 

You should leave now. 

Your lips tremble as you reply. The air around you feels heavy. The room is stifling.

Your husband pauses before he continues. “Whether or not you believe me right now, remember I have no plans of letting you go. But feel free to use me as you wish.” 

What is this guy saying!? He’s mental, why can’t he just -

“... have a good nap. You need one.” 

He doesn’t give chase when the doors shut behind you. You don’t let yourself lean against it despite the desperate pleas of your unsteady body. The fact he’s in there is enough to move you, scampering away like some bug. 

Your heels clack on the tile, footsteps echoing too loudly. The decor is too fancy, too expensive despite it only being hallways. The sound of footsteps is right around the corner and you hold your breath, not knowing who it could be.

Unfortunately, it happened to be one of your in-laws. 

“Oh! And here I thought you already broke,” a cute redhead girl snickers, her green eyes gleaming with mirth. Despite her stature, shorter than you and petite build, Charlotte's pale skin seems flushed.  

A quick glance at her overall appearance shows leaves in her fluffy hair and specks of blood on the hem of her light green dress that ends a bit below her knees. She didn’t show up much in the manhwa and you don’t know what became of her in the novel - you have to tread carefully. 

You give her a small smile. “Oh, Lady Charlotte. I haven’t seen you since the wedding. I hope you have been doing well.” You don’t stutter but your voice wavers. Her head tilts before she smirks.

It resembles Lant’s. 

“You’re funny - shouldn’t you be worrying about yourself? It’s only a matter of time until either Dion or Father decides to dispose of you.” Her pearly whites put you on edge when you notice how sharp her canines are. She keeps going as she crosses her arms with a cocky smile.

“But, whenever that happens, maybe I’ll take you in as a toy - as long as you behave, I’ll take good care of you. I’m one of the less violent ones when it comes to obedient toys.” 

You give her a flat look that goes over her head. 

Yeah right kid…

Unease eats you from the inside out regardless of your inner thoughts. Why is everyone so aggressive? So coy or sadistic? They’re hunters on the prowl, excitement added to their lives as new prey arrives.

If Dion doesn’t sink his teeth into you, they will. 

“O-oh…” How am I supposed to respond to that!? Even with your confusion and fear, you still manage a reply. “I’m sure that you’re keen on keeping them… operational.” 

The girl raises a brow. “You don’t seem surprised… Wait, do you even know what ‘toys’ are?” She questions as her feet spread a bit further, frustration painting her facial features. Now, why is she getting mad…?

No, rather why is she surprised? You’ve been here long enough to know what they are, unless, of course, she was too dense to consider that possibility. It seems that despite her personality, a child is still a child.

“O-oh, mother-in-law explained the basics to me,” a half lie is told through your teeth. While it’s true Maria had given you the barebone definition - against your will -, you already knew what they were from your previous life. From the manhwa. 

She grinds her teeth and stomps her foot. “That’s not fair! I was supposed to be the one who introduced them to you! Not that old hag!” 

Oh, she wanted to scare me.

“Oh…” While she’s fuming, you toy with your fingers, unsure how to proceed further. For one, trying to walk past her might anger her more. But staying here quiet might elicit the same response. You were stuck. 

She mumbles angrily to herself, voice too low for you to make anything out. You stand there awkwardly, waiting for her temper tantrum to end. She whips her head to look at you again, making you recoil back from the sudden movement. Her glare is sharp and she takes a step towards you only to stop herself.

“Ugh!”

“...” You watch as she turns her back and stomps away without another word. She does look back once, her green eyes full of fury that burns. Seems that you narrowly avoided a missile. 

She turns around the corner back from which she came. You remain in place until her footsteps get further and further away. Once no noise is heard, you can finally breathe again. Fixing your posture, you continue on your walk with no destination in mind.

- - -

He had heard news of a guest, but didn’t bring it up with the busy man, instead offering something else. Still, it was odd that the head of the (Last Name) family would keep a guest waiting.

“Father, why don’t we go for a walk?” Zac buzzes around your father like a busy bee, glancing down at the paperwork the older male was filling out. He barely makes out a certain name before the head of the family covers it with his arm, looking at the boy who resembles his wife.

 “The weather is nice and perfect for bug catching.” 

Your father shakes his head. “Not now, Zachary, I still have a few things left to sign.” Your younger brother frowns at the dark circles underneath the man’s eyes. Too deep and dark. The greying man halts his actions before softening his voice.

“Come back in two hours - we’ll take a walk.” He leaves no room for discussion. Taking it as a small victory, Zac bids him farewell, looking over his shoulder at the once joyous man with bright eyes. He has been reduced to nothing more than an overworked dog. 

It’s a pitiful sight. 

And yet, your brother still resents your father for giving you away to a brutal family, the head of which is worse than the devil himself. While he understands why he couldn’t say ‘no’, the fact he caved so easily makes him bitter.

The young boy just couldn’t wrap his head around it. One of  the reasons for your arranged marriage was a bit obvious after meeting Dion, but the full details are still unknown. And even then, the Agriche denied he was the one who suggested marrying into the family. But only a fool wouldn’t have noticed his stare and how conveniently he had a clear view of you at every gathering, every ball.

They called him paranoid. 

‘Hah! And in the end I was… right…’ he kicks the thought out the window.  

Try as he might, Your father kept quiet about the full details, distracting Zac with promises of outings and trips to the forest once he’s done. 

New lessons that are above his age-range so the boy would study more, harder, leaving no room for him to sate his curiosity, answers needed yet not given. However, your father didn't take into account just how cunning his son was when it came to avoiding the teachers and rushing through the lessons. 

He lingers in the hallway after the office door shuts. Across from your father’s office are three small portraits - your sister Elena when she was in her teens, his that was commissioned last year, and yours, taken a month before you turned eighteen.

A small reminder of the person you were before your marriage, bright eyed with a sweet and genuine smile.

‘Oh. So that's why he commissioned it.’

Zac stares at it for a bit longer before he walks away, head high high, a destination in mind. He needs to apologize for his father’s rudeness, after all.

It’s not a long walk, a rather short one to get to the area where they hold guests. A left turn and he’s there, the doors shut as two guards stand outside. He frowns at the challenge that stands between him and his goal.

He needs to talk to that person. He already knows who he is, as he was sent by a certain Agriche every now and then, the man awkward given the situation. He’s not sure why when the doctor isn’t directly involved with the house affairs of Black Agriche and (Last Name). Still, he’s a guest and should be treated as such.

 However, it doesn’t change the fact that one who sent him was the very man who watched you from afar. He should have told you and not them. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in that hellhole. 

Still, he’s slightly, barely better than the first candidate suggested by Lant. He kicks himself for thinking about his repulsive brother-in-law in any sort of decent light.

Small amounts of anxiety sparks throughout his body. They’re armed, stiff. Considering who it was, it would only make sense to keep him guarded. Or to keep him trapped, rather.

He scoffs, knowing that their visitor wasn’t adapted in combat. Nor was he a trouble maker, always quick to leave once everything was said and done.

He wonders what he came here for.

Still, it’s not like he can stop here. He strolls up to the two men with a boyish grin, calming his beating heart. With a whistle, he greets him as they bow, staying in place. Their swords are in their sheaths, ready to be drawn.

He knows they won’t hurt him, but the nervousness is still there.

“Wow. Now this is interesting - who’s the big shot?” Hands in his pockets, Zac’s eyes gleam with mischief, pretending he doesn’t know who’s on the other side. The guards don’t leave their post.

“Just a visitor, Young Master,” one answers with a glance to the other. They look nervous.

“I can see that,” Zac shrugs, amusement building as the man only makes it look more suspicious. Do they not know how to be subtle?

No. Rather, does he not know how to mind his own business? He imagines you right here, scolding him for involving himself in matters that he’s too young to understand, before you sigh and say how you worry about him.

 “But why are there two of you stationed here? Usually it’s one max, unless it’s something dire… not to mention father is still locked away in his office. Are they here for my mother?”

“It’s… complicated. He was promised an audience with the Master at some point, that’s all we know.”

“Then why say it’s complicated?” The man behind that door - he’s the only guest to ever have two guards stand outside the room. Do they think he’s an idiot? No, rather, why are they hiding his identity when the Heir of the (Last Name) family has already met him? 

Or maybe his father had decided to leave him out of it. For his own good or whatever else, he doesn’t know.

The other guard takes his shot. “Don’t mind him, Young Master - always wanting to make things mysterious.” An awkward chuckle that’s returned by the other two. Your brother stays.

However, the severnats and guards of this house have always been weak to him - no, to all of the children of (Last Name).

“Speaking of father… he’s been down in the dumps. He’s been cooped up in that stuffy room all day - how inappropriate would it be to rush him?” He tilts his head, (h/c) bangs falling over his eyes. “He needs a break and that guy,” he points at the heavy doors, “shouldn’t be kept waiting - two birds with one stone.”

He’s spewing out whatever. He just wants to see the man, although, it would also be a lie to say he didn’t want his father to take a break. But he uses the visitor against them as well.

After all,  that doctor must be so fatigued, traveling so far. “It’s rude to keep him waiting. That’s assuming he’s been here for a while, if not, then I apologize for my impudence.” 

The little shit bows as the guards share a look. An uneasy yet guilt ridden furrow of their brows shows he was correct in the visitor waiting for a tad too long. A pause before one responds, only to be interrupted by the youth. 

“Of course, it isn’t exactly my place to speak, but…,” his (e/c) eyes shine as he bitterly smiles, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m just worried about them. The guest since he’s been waiting, and my father is still mourning after he gave my sister away… I just want to show her that our father is still taking care of himself and his duties.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s yapping. He’s saying anything that comes to mind now, trial and error proving what’s working and what’s not.

“To be honest, it feels more like she passed away rather than getting married. I don’t want him to become depressed, and I certainly don’t want our guest to think he’s lousy because of his current actions." When he looks up, the guards look more guilty. 

It’s funny, seeing how none of this was their fault. He does feel some guilt, but not enough to shut up.

If you were here you would have dragged him away. 

“But, if father is too busy, then I wouldn’t mind giving our guest some company - if anything, maybe it’ll show just how much effort I am putting in as the Heir. A guest should never wait for so long.” 

The guards share one last look. “Well… just for a bit. We already checked his person and didn’t find anything suspicious or dangerous. And even then, we confiscated all of his belongings.” Now he feels worse, but also entertained - was it really a good idea to let a twelve-year-old in alone with an important guest?

The answer is no, but they let him in anyway. Then again, why wouldn’t they? He’s Zachary (Last Name), the same boy they watch grow up, who might be impish but is on his best behavior when the time comes for it and -

“Thank you for allowing me to keep him company.” 

There’s a chance one might leave and report this to your father. There’s also a chance they’ll keep quiet and warn him that his time is up when the appointment time is near.

The door closes behind him and he sees a certain redhead sitting on the lounge chair. He looks stiff, relaxing not in his dictionary. The sound of the creaking doors makes the guest jittery.

Once the guest turns his head, Zac greets him. 

“Hello, doctor.”

- - -

“Ack…” shivers crawl down your spine as you hold back a sneeze. The sharp sensation leaves as quickly as it came. 

How odd. 

The distraction is forgotten as you open a door that leads into an outdoor hallway. You stop in your tracks as you look ahead. A heavy metal door greets you at the other end, but on the wall on the right side are many. Full sets of armor serve as decoration.

Your heart flutters. This is the location where Dion confronted Roxana for the first time.

Roxana with her wet hair that only made her golden locks look more like gentle waves. Roxana, where her green skirt prettily went with her semi-sheer white shirt, the blue and gold necklace that, despite being simple, brings the outfit together. Roxana with her bandaged arm that would be drenched in blood as Dion roughly grabbed it and -

Oh. right. Dion.

The memory of the manhwa along with the undesired events that took place earlier increase your dislike of him. But… Why was he so different here than he was there? Maybe… It's because the main story hasn’t started yet. 

Or maybe you’re too tired to think of other possible explanations.

“... I wonder if that door leads into Cassis’ room…” you mumble to yourself, debating if you should just turn around. Truthfully speaking, you were zoned out the entire time, so you don't even know how you got here. Or how to get back. 

But do you want to go back? What if Dion’s still in the bedroom - then what? It’s his, so you can’t kick him out. And even if it was yours, you wouldn’t have the guts to do it then, either. 

“...” with a sharp breath, you start to walk forwards, slowly like an injured animal, wary of what’s up ahead. With each step comes bubbling anxiety, unaware of where it is that you’re going. Your mind won’t shut up.

Should I keep going?

What if it’s a room meant for toys?

Or worse, I run into someone willing to hurt me?

Maybe I should turn back. 

I’m scared. 

It feels like hours but it only took minutes, at most, to reach the doors. You grab it by the circular knob and prepare to open it. But your arm freezes.

Your entire body does. The sun is out but you feel cold. Your breathing picks up once you hear one of the doors to the side open, heavy footsteps accompanying the creak. Pure terror and fear starts to rot you from the inside out as you hear a familiar and disgusting voice - you only heard it once, during your wedding. But you never forgot it.

It’s impossible to.

You bite your lip, wishing that this man was already dead. But he’s not, dread crawling down your spine as seconds pass. It’s cold, the feeling that the fiend gives you.

Repressing a violent tremble, your ears bleed as that voice greets you, gruff and low, once annoyed but becomes amused at the sight of you. You may hate and fear your husband, but this man is worse. 

“Oh? If it isn’t Dion’s little wife - (Name), right?” Fontaine Agriche snickers out and you shut your eyes while mentally preparing yourself. Your hands shake and legs buck under your weight. Even so, you let go of the door knob to face and greet your in-law with a curtsy, eyes shaking with fear.

Of all the people to run into… Why him?

Your right thumb starts to sting, your bad habit never going away. You ignore it.

Alarm bells always go off with your husband. But sirens are screaming as you stand before Fontaine, trying your best not to let out the scream that’s bubbling in your throat. Your body feels heavy and resists you as you force your head up. Against your wishes, you take in his appearance by habit.

He’s not ugly but dull looking - however, when he eyes you like a piece of meat, you decide that he’s ugly after all. Even Dion doesn’t do that, and it’s an extremely low bar. Doesn’t change the fact that both men are perverted, but, ironically enough, you feel safer with Dion.

You almost scoff at yourself - Dion? Making you feel safe? Maybe pigs are flying in your old world.

This man has images of forced intimacy flashing in your mind. Screams that would be ignored if heard. Forget being locked in a cage - your gut tells you that a worst faith awaits you if you were to ever become too involved with Fontaine. You swallow down bile.

Sweat pools at the nape of your neck. A primal, raw fear and caution kicks at you, more vibrant, stronger than the one you feel with Dion. With him, it feels like imprisonment, but with Fontaine it feels like rape.

 You stop yourself from licking your dry lips, from acting too submissively. Your heart hammers against your ribcage painfully, a thud at the back of your head.

You bite your tongue hard enough to almost taste blood. You don’t want to talk to him, but what choice do you have? 

Don’t stutter, please, please please.

“Oh, I’m gla-glad that you remember my name, Young Master Fontaine.” You stutter once as your voice wavers and you’re cursing yourself mentally. Showing weakness in front of this man was a mistake - especially when he licks his lips, his eyes focused on your chest. 

You resist the urge to recoil in disgust. To be so… apparent with his sexual urges… does he have no shame? 

“How could I? After all, you’re a pretty little thing - it wouldn’t make sense for me to not remember your name.” Your eyes travel to the collar of his expensive shirt - specks of blood that stain it. The same goes for his sleeve and even on his cheek, right where his scar is. 

You look at the door where he came from. You put two and two together - he must be leaving a toy’s room. Your stomach twists painfully at the realization. 

The thought of you becoming his has your blood rushing. You look behind him - how far was the door on the other side?

It feels like something is tugging at your feet, making your movements sluggish. You push through the pressure that threatens to drown you. 

“I’m… flattered, but I’m not sure how my husband would react to that,” you gulp when his smile twitches into a scowl at the mention of his accursed brother. However, he quickly breaks into a grin with a quick glance around the area. He sees that you’re alone.

That fact makes panic rise deep inside your chest. Your gut is telling you to run.

“Come now, it’s not like I'm crossing any boundaries. I’m sure Dion would understand where I’m coming from.” He takes a step towards you, gauging how close he should get. You need to end this encounter, your gut screams.

Your legs twitch and you hold yourself back from walking past him. You also hold back from kicking him in the groin, the one area that would have him double over in pain. The thought is tempting when you can barely listen to rationality.

“That’s… interesting. How about we go ask him real quick? I just left our room not too long ago.” Your smile looks warm to the grey-eyed man, but the corners of your lips threaten to slip. It’s painful to keep the facade. 

Your brother-in-law takes another step towards you. His grin widens once he sees the hint of fear in your eyes. His confidence nearly makes you gag.

“You just left? And he didn’t accompany you?” He smells like blood, fresh and raw. A primal look of lust is in his eyes, and when his gaze sticks to the base of your neck, you feel like throwing up. He hums in thought.

Is he really… lusting after me, his sister-in-law!? Wait, considering he wanted Roxana in the manhwa, it’s… still disgusting.

Your voice catches in your throat, so he talks for you. “If it were me,” he starts as he backs you against the doors, “I wouldn’t have left you alone in this maze of a mansion.” One of his hands presses against the metal near your waist. Ever so slowly, it moves from the door and to your waist, teasing the fabric of your dress before he fully grabs you. You glance at it before looking back at his face, stomach churning and faith dwindling further. 

You need to get out of here. 

“O-oh… Lady Roxana!? I didn’t expect to see you here!” 

Fooled by your warm smile and excited voice, Fontaine looks behind him, only to see no-one. While he’s distracted by your lie, you quickly stomped on his foot using the heel of your shoe. Your reflexes have chosen both flight and fight. 

He howls in pain, bringing his foot up enough to hold it.

“Y-you bitch -”

“Sorry, I have to go!” 

Taking this opportunity, you run past him, faster than you ever have. It was like you weren’t even wearing heels, barely able to open the door as his hands grasp at your skirt, the man recovering from the surprise attack. You gasp when gets a hold, and since he was so focused on getting you, he was too cocky and pissed to notice your elbow flying to his throat.

“G-gah!” He gasps for air and in pain, saliva dribbling down his chin. You don’t look back as the door shuts behind you. 

CLACK, CLACK, CLACK

Your lungs scream for air, a sharp pain in your feet as your legs beg for rest. You don’t listen to them, running down the hallway like a mad woman. It’s a ghost town and that makes you fear for your safety even more - no eyes to watch him. No-one to report him to Dion, if they bother to.

But a small part of your mind suggests that maybe this could be a good thing. For one, you don’t know how Lant would react if he were to find out that you injured his first born once it gets reported to him. Not only that, but if it’s a low ranked servant or guard, no-one would fight against him, and even if they did stand up to him, he could and would easily kill them. 

He’s strong enough to do so.

He has the authority to get away with it.  

Then, another thought hits you - what if none of the siblings know about Dion’s obsession over you? That he would willingly punish them if they get too close - or, at least you assume so. Regardless, most would stay far away from you if they ever learn he favors you.

After all, who would try their luck with the most brutal Agriche? The favorite son, the most skilled in hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting - it would be a death wish. Only a fool would try to take what’s his.

Your lungs start to burn. Air is harder to take in, and you have to force your legs to keep going. You have to. Getting caught by your even more perverted brother-in-law is not an option.

You’re starting to regret leaving the bedroom.

“Hah, hah, oh fuck, it hurts,” you pant, your speed decreasing. You push through the smothering pain until you reach a dead end - two doors on each wall. You try the left, rattling the doorknob, only to find that it’s locked. You try the other and it opens, but in your panic, you open it too quickly, falling into the room, twisting your left ankle in the process.

“Where the hell is she!?” He’s not near you but he screams so loud it echoes off the walls.

At Fontaine’s yelling, you crawl into the room, wincing as it shuts close louder than it should.

You can’t hear him anymore. Your lungs work overtime to take in air, on fire despite resting. Drool hangs from your mouth directly as you hang your head. On your knees, you start to dry heave, slamming a hand over your mouth to prevent you from throwing up and to muffle any noise. 

Your left ankle starts to sting almost unbearably. It feels like needles are being stabbed into it, sharp and pointed. Slowly, your gaze travels to it as you move your dress away from the area. You can’t stop yourself from scoffing at your horrible luck, the swelling already forming. 

“Hah. I just sprained it…” ironic that you ran for your safety only to hurt yourself in the process. The pain distracts you from the events that just transpired, running away from Fontatine. Your fingers curl as fists form on the floor.

The tile is nice and cold. But it doesn’t help much with the forming tears and swollen ankle. You want to cry, a tight pressure in both your eyes and temples. A scream is on the verge of being released but you hold it back by biting your lip.

You taste blood and feel something warm leaking from your lip. The metallic flavor overrides the sour and bitter vomit that was stored in your gums and mouth. 

The tears fall easily. Too hot. Too wet. A sob rips itself out of your throat, chest trembling with the action. 

You freeze when you hear a woman’s voice. 

“Oh? What happened here?” A chair scrapes across the floor, soft steps that stop right next to you. Brown heeled boots enter your vision as your head is too heavy to lift. 

The skirt of her dress is a light green, ending right above her feet. She gets on her knees, her dress giving her a thin padding on the floor. One last shaky breath before you manage to lift your head, meeting soft red eyes - softer than Roxana’s, not as bright as your husband’s. Brown hair that ends at her upper back, straight and her bangs on either side that exposes most of her face.

Her eyes have a brown tint, curiosity in them rather than worry.

Grizelda Agriche.

= = =

So, how’s Zac guys? Everything will make sense. Eventually (I am crying). My pacing is horrible.

Tag list: @umi-adxhira @queenofspades403 @pix-stuff @manitscold @tiny-mimi @cjafjatkstke @louissatturi @disappointment-san @s-ajia @darkumbreon92 @rentaldarling @puggyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee @labryel

[valjeancrazylover2]

Javert's Inspirations

So, neither option won that poll, so I'm making this post first. This is probably going to be me ranting more about Javerts I like than actually talking about my own Javert.

The characterisations of other characters have been taken from either one primary source, musical actor, or my own personal take. For example, Cosette is mainly inspired by the 1982 film, but has some influence from musical actresses such as Beatrice Penny-Touré.

Exeptions to this is the versions of the characters post-barricade, as from there is where my story mainly diverges, as most Javert & Valjean Live AUs do. Most of that is my own interpretation, since they are no longer in "normal" circumstances.

As such, Javert has been very fun to work on, because there have been many different characterisations that I find VERY entertaining. They all seem to lean into one aspect of his character more than the others, which makes him... strangely versatile, for such a rigid character?

So... what does this mean for my favourite baldie?

-

Let's start with the guy who started it all, and my blog icon: Todd Alan Johnson. There will be several musical Javerts listed here, but nobody was doing it like TAJavert. I blame him in part for getting me into Les Mis, as I had been a fan of TAJ for a while, when I stumbled across him in 2021 in Little Shop of Horrors as Orin Scrivello (my favourite character - can you tell I like villains). After being introduced to Les Mis through the work experience I was doing in Feb 2024, i revisited TAJ, finding out he had in fact played Javert - first in the third national US tour, and a few other times in smaller productions.

Thats when I found the pictures from Surflight's 2013 production.

And thus Chauvert was cemented in the brain. simply couldnt have it any other way. he just HAD to be bald. Because of this, and at the time I began designing him I didn't know anybody else who played Javert (this would later be changed when I saw stewart clarke live, but nothing really changed after that except for the javert bug eye truth to be solidified)

I really wish there was more footage of this production past these photos, because I NEED more of his bald head as Javert. And look at those sideburns! They're all-natural! Plus, i thought his face was a good fit in general for Javert. It's less obvious with his sideburns, but he's got that big jaw, talks with his bottom teeth showing, intense eyebrows, big buggy eyes when he wants them to be.

Pic from him as Sweeney Todd. My Javert's face is just a heavily cariacaturised version of his.

Additionally, I'm sure you're all familiar with jadenvargen/melancholyarchivist's art. I was a fan before, so finding out there was les mis art too was huge. My Javert was always a bit on the larger side, but that one drawing with Javert and Valjean labelled something like "tremendously large man" and "bigger even huger man" or whatever, cant find the piece right now. anyway that definitely confirmed for me that they were BOTH gonna be built and fat, rather than the lanky javert that I see most people draw.

So, that was the foundation.

From here I'm not really sure in what order inspirations came, but next was probably Anthony Perkins in LM1978, because you just dont get more diva that that. We all know how much of a drama queen Javert is, and in fact Perkins was so good at this that the first thing I did after watching this film was go downstairs and ask my mother if Perkins was gay (to which she replied "Oh, absolutely flaming")

My inspiration for Javert usually comes from small, inconsequential little actions or demeanour that catch my eye... Perkins had plenty, as well as a ring on his finger, which I always forget to draw, but my Javert is supposed to have.

Here's a select few bits I like of his, that have directly influenced my Javert. There's probably more, but I can't remember off the top of my head.

1) the walk. 2) the way he hold's the cane??

3) this whole scene, but specifically the there is no monsieur in this room! there is only a scoundrel! line. 4) the way he reacts to finding out valjean is still alive. VERY similar to how it goes down in my canon, just in a different setting/scenario.

outside of 1978, there havent really been any non-musical adaptation Javerts that have particularly stood out to me. I havent watched 1998 but he doesnt look like he'd be like my Javert, and 1982 despite being my favourite adaptation ... did not have the most memorable Javert.

Even in the radio dramas, which i love to death, don't really have much influence over my Javert, since I already have a very clear idea in my head of his speech, and most inspiration comes from visuals. the CBS radio drama probably comes the closest to the way he speaks, though. (his voiceclaims are either roger allam, todd alan johnson, or some random french guy with a really deep voice who came up on my instagram feed once. yes, I'm serious, my javert sounds like that.)

My javert is not exactly expressive, or outwardly "sassy", per se? I think he's more subtly camp, perhaps with the way he stands sometimes. Don't worry, he's still the absolute drama queen he is in the brick, with "would you like my hat?" and all, but he delivers it in a much more flat way. that's why I don't exactly look at the way perkins delivers "monsieur, monsieur le inspector now!" for my javert. yes, he'd say that, but with a little less visible sass, if that makes sense.

Pre-seine, he's expressive in his own way. whenever he loses control a little he's prone to getting visibly angry; distressed (see: losing valjean when chasing him through paris); when you can see him setting his jaw with a visible vein in his head, short-tempered and curt; or that sort of sinister glee with his "bark" of a laugh or patronising sneer. But other than that... you've gotta hear it in his voice. Sorry to all the cuntvert fans out there, my Javert tries to keep it professional when he can, but he's still trying to out-diva everyone at any given opportunity!

So we return to musical Javerts, then.

I've seen a few, so it's hard to gauge who's had an actual effect and who hasn't. There are a few I do know for a fact I have taken little bits from:

Terrence Mann is familiar to everyone I'm sure. sass-central, which contradicts the above paragraph, but he does it in a wonderfully weird and kind of menacing way which i LOVE. My javert leans more into that menacing side of things. He's always JUST in the shadows, just so that you might not notice him, but if you were wary of authority, you'd see him lurking. his stature, you might think would make him a bit lumbering, but he's shockingly agile and snakelike. Think of a tiger. (oh yeah, shere khan from the jungle book is another inspiration i guess, but I won't include him here - we know.) Terrence Mann is delightfully snide and insane and I love it.

Gifs of small bits of his performance I like.

And his soliloquy? oof.. believably absolutely losing his mind.

The Javert who has probably influenced mine the most is Hartwig Rudolz, from the german Duisburg production in the 90s. He's commanding, he's dignified and haughty, he's even got the sinister chipperness about him from time to time (he's chummy with Madeleine in the cart scene, even laughing and smiling with him. While not really my Javert, it's worth a mention. Also does a condescending chuckle when Thenardier asks to be let go before Stars.)

More gifs of bits I like!

Bonus gif, cus that wig is loooong!

Three more would be Nic Greenshields, Jordan Simon Pollard and Michael Ball. They are all great Javerts (which might be a hot take, I'm not sure if ballvert is popular but I've been a fan of his for 5 years so maybe i'm biased.) I can't say TOO much on Nic and Michael acting-wise, because Michael Ball has only been in the arena tours, and the footage ive seen of Nic Greenshields is not the GREATEST quality - but they all have an air of haughty dignity about them, which obviously i try to give my Javert.

Jordan I've had the pleasure of seeing in person, twice, as well as meeting the guy. He's been the understudy for a while. He takes quite an expressive approach to Javert, using mainly his eyebrows, which i definitely think makes up most of my Javert's expressiveness. He really knows how to use his face to act - seriously, I can barely believe it's the same guy ! He usually has quite a furrowed brow, with his chin jutting out a little, standing with his chest puffed out. He's 6'3, and quite broad-chested (seeing as he works out) so you can imagine what kind of a presence that creates.

Both Nic and Jordan, being in the same production (Jordan was Nic's u/s in the UK tour, is now Stewart Clarke's on the West End) had this moment, but after Thenardier asks to be let go, on "it was me what told you so!", they turn and step forward so that Javert is basically chest-to-face with Thenardier (and the guy playing him at the time was like, a foot shorter than the both of them). I liked that a lot. Absolutely something my Javert is doing. He's got the height and the tits for it, there's no way he isn't, cmon

Also, both Nic and Michael also have the benefit of being broader than most Javerts, Nic especially, as he stands at a whopping 6'6, so he's a SERIOUS presence onstage. My javert is around that margin at 6'6-6'7, so that checks.

I know a lot of people say Ballvert is "too cute" or whatever, and i'd totally agree as a michael ball fan, but if you ignore the fact it's Michael Ball, i think he seems a bit more "unsuspectingly cruel" than outwardly intimidating. While this doesn't exactly reflect my Javert, he DOES have some good bits. From my notes when I saw him in the arena tour:

the wway he takes off his gloves in the confrontation was not only kinda sexy (sorry) but a bit foreboding. he has a nice amount of sass, which of course is always appreciated. his general attitude in Stars, too, like he's truly earnest, and someone mentioned how he sings it like a love song - yuuup. His soliloquy is also amazing, the way he portrays Javert as being just so scared of what's happening, but lapsing into anger... ouuh.

I have not fully planned out my Javert's suicide (attempt) yet, how he would be responding, but I've been leaning into the more fearful approach. I mean, his entire worldview has been shattered like that, the entire structure of which he built his life on has just crumbled in front of him, i'd be frightened too.

Anyway, random detail - if you were interested in the origin of Javert's scar, like, from a meta perspective:

Adam Robert Lewis, of course, with his cool nose scar.

My javert had a scar anyway, just a small cut on the lip, probably from a nasty hit to the face which never quite healed right and scarred, but something about ARL's scar really worked... so the scar extended a few inches up the face. It's changed places since then, originally going from the lip to the nose, then from the lip to below the eye, but now it's branched off to both. I still don't have a specific origin for the scar in canon, so you can make one up yourself.

Linking to that scar, and also linking back to Michael Ball - i mistook a shadow on his eye for a burst blood vessel, and thought it would be an interesting look for my Javert. I'm a sucker for temporary details (Javert's moustache post-msurm, for one), so I've given him a bad eye for early M-sur-M. Very recent development.

HONORABLE JAVERT MENTIONS, THAT INSPIRED ME SLIGHTLY OR CEMENTED A SPECIFIC IDEA:

Stewart Clarke. He was the first I physically SAW, and also the one I've seen the most, since he's the current West End Javert. Very good javert, unsettling with those eyeballs, very spitty, which I totally forgot to mention is also an integral part to my Javert. So, thanks Stew! His soliloquy is also just out-of-this-world, seriously. Seek out a recent audio of his if you haven't heard him. He's nuts.

Jeremy Secomb. Sir Eyeballs Supreme. If you want a Javert with an unsettling stare, he's your guy. And he's currently the Bishop in the arena tour! What a way to convince Valjean to be a good guy, just staring him down with your evil fucking peepers. When partnered with Peter Lockyer, they form THE valvert duo, they kissed on video in costume, so many cute photos of them together, and they LOOK the parts. Jeremy looking like those toys you sqeeze and their eyes pop out vs Peter's soft face and kind smile like a golden retriever or something. Seriously perfect.

Nick Rehberger. Current US Javert. Great at really minor acting choices, sassy man apocalypse. Very dignified. VERY handsome. Bit gay. Amazing voice. What more could you want?

Roger Allam. Now, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here. I've already mentioned he's one of the 3 people I cycle through for my Javert's voiceclaim, and there's like NO (publically available) footage of him. I am planning on viewing the footage they do have, but that's some time in the future. The OLCR is my personal listening choice when I'm listening to the musical soundtrack, so Allam is kind of burned into my brain. I know it probably sounds crazy but the way his voice sounds really influenced the way I have Javert physically speak, with his heavy jaw. Anything about his specific physicality is completely imagined - but hopefully not for long.

Chris Murray. Another german Javert I really like, from a 2007 nonrep production. If you like unhinged Javerts with eyeballs for days, he's your man. He's also just greatly unsettling. He almost made the cut with gifs, but unfortunately Terrence Mann won out. He was just a little TOO chipper about things. But i do love how his amiability is very obviously a ruse, with the way he holds a stiff smile in The Robbery on "But where's the gentleman gone / And why on Earth did he run?" (or, the German lyrics, whatever. It's that part of the song.)

Preston Truman Boyd. One part only. He's the reason I gave Javert a moustache and weird little chin beard thing post-msurm. I just thought that was important enough to get a mention, other than that I haven't really seen much of him enough to say.

ANYWAY, that's about it !!

There's probably more i've missed, but it's 5.30am right now, and I'm flagging. Plus, the post is long enough as is.

If you've read this far, I gotta know - who's your favourite Javert, or at least top 5? Have they influenced the way you view Javert in any way?

If you're like me and like taking tidbits from different sources, what are yours? Im curious to know !!! PLEASE tell me!!!!!!

Much love to my favourite bald freak <3

[nart-is-a-monster]

The following post contains people hating on a character on a skirt and a brief mention of sa and unaliving, please if any of those is something that triggers you skip the post and take care of yourself.

lets begin with the boundaries that i have

I do not feel comfortable with minors going to this or my nsfw acc simply because, is not a safe place for you to go (not even social media too but that's a different talk)

I do not like people going into any of my acc's to send my draws or content to minors bc... bitch do i even have to explain how fucked up that part is?

And last but not least; if you're going to talk shit about me at least talk shit with bases and evidence, how do you not have the first and most important rule about gossip? like??????

booooo tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes

I will not name anyone that was involved because first of all,they are minors and even tho they are old enough to know that what they're doing is wrong, naming them could do more harm than good and I think they are able to change if they just accept that their actions have consequences.... I'll be also using neutral pronouns for the ppl involved.

if you know the ppl that are in the screenshots please don't share their social media or acc's to avoid them getting harassed, also please don't harass the people mentioned here.

with that being said!

this situation has been happening for i think the last month when someone informed me about someone talking shit about my art on a private discord server.

I think that the concept of blocking blogs that have stuff that you're triggered or you don't vibe with is very simple to understand.

the persons that have been talking about how i don't draw normal stuff and how dare i to draw varian in a dress and being cute ohh no god forbid....

I don't know if you can't realize maybe I'm drawing Varian (A CHARACTER THAT DOESNT EVEN EXISTS) as trans masc and trans fem, and that anyone can have their hc and any hc are valid!

IF YOU DON'T LIKE WHAT I DO OR DRAW JUST DON'T FOLLOW ME ¡is that simple!

the situation with the person who is the owner of the server where they talk shit about me has not moderate well the place and allowed ppl to hate talk about a creator who they don't even know, neither talk to, nor they should interact with.

I tried to confront the person by sending them a text message on tumblr, said text message has been ignored and the person simply uploaded a new post back then, so....

also im going to tag this with vat7k bc the problem happened inside the fandom.

screenshots and more details under the cut

how to respect other people's boundaries

aparently y'all need a tutorial

"A certain kind of guided, detailed writing can not only help us process what we’ve been through and assist us as we envision a path forward; it can lower our blood pressure, strengthen our immune systems, and increase our general well-being. Expressive writing can result in a reduction in stress, anxiety, and depression; improve our sleep and performance; and bring us greater focus and clarity."

this is from an article of harvard that explains how writting helps to heal trauma.

remember to inform yourself before talking or using terms you don't know the meaning

trauma bonding definition

what is destructive criticism

I can accept criticism when it comes from a place of pointing out a part of my artwork that can be upgraded or a different technique i could use, or even the pose or the technical aspect of a painting/drawing, what is literally just insulting an artwork because you don't like it and have no grounds for it and is just hate... that's what i don't accept.

criticism and arguments come from a ground of respect from the both sides, not from only straight up hate and disrespect.

that's all i have to say abt it all...

please remember to be safe online and even more if youre a minor

how to be safe online

[rootsofdread]

another fic! this was commissioned by @yourfriendlyneighborhoodmeme, a long-time follower of my blog <3 if you'd like to commission me, i take [writing comms] and [art comms!]

pairing: yui kimura x reader x thalita lyra word count: 1,375 warnings: mild description of canon-typical violence, usage of they/them for reader summary: One night, after a trial, a discussion with your girls turns a bit serious.

You and Thalita walk towards the campfire, out of the dark, foggy forest and into the warm light. You beam when you notice Yui already sitting there, atop a log, waiting for both of you, pensively poking a stick into the little fire. Thalita calls for her attention, and she smiles and waves when she notices that it’s the two of you.

“Ah, come here, guys! I missed you two so much.” Yui ushers both of you over, and as soon as you two can, you both sit on the dirt near her and the warm fire. “You look like you took a beating. What happened out there tonight?” there was, of course, an undertone of concern; but mostly, Yui seemed proud of you. She always was.

“Nah—” you wave your hand, smiling sheepishly. “Nothing. Nothing that doesn’t happen all the time, anyways. Same old, same old.”

“They are so lying. You should’ve seen them out there!” Thalita playfully shoves your shoulder, grinning. “That killer had us both down, but unfortunately, went for them first. I was terrified, but they told me not to worry…” she nods her head towards you. “I didn’t see that they’d picked up a shard of glass. And neither did the killer. And when they picked them up, they stabbed it into their shoulder and got me back up and we took off!” she grabs your shoulders and rocks you around.

Yui stretches her arm out to tousle your head, the way a proud parent would. “Hell yes! See, I told you knowing that would come in handy.” she crinkles her nose, smiling all big. “I learned it from one of the other girls. I should teach you something else with the lockers.”

“Yui, you’ve always got good tips, but the lockers?” Thalita chuckles.

“No, seriously, it’s—”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think even this one could pull off a stunt like that with one of those.” Thalita nudges your arm with her elbow.

“Ah, Thali, let’s hear her out,” you bump Thalita’s shoulder with yours.

“Yeah! C’mon, I’ve got all the good tips, remember?” Yui stretches her foot over to Thalita and shakes it around.

“Wait a second! Wait a second—” Thalita snorts, swatting Yui’s sneaker away. “Be quiet for a second!” she waves her hand around a little, and looks around.

You and Yui both exchange a bewildered look before looking back at her, silently wondering what made her do that. She’s quiet, and turns her head back to face you two, eyes flickering between you, like a deer caught in headlights; almost like she’s expecting you two to catch onto whatever she heard or saw without an explanation from her.

You blink at her, and wait for the answer to come to you. You’re not sure it will, but she’s not saying anything. But that’s when you notice it — a subtle wave through her curly hair, and a coolness over your face. A breeze. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt a breeze. You had long thought anything purely natural didn’t exist here, and surely this wind was fabricated, too, but— it was nice. For once, for one shining moment, everything felt real again.

“A breeze…” Yui observes, seeming just as surprised as you are. “Wowww. Really makes me miss being on my bike,” she smiles. “With the wind in my hair, blazing down the streets. The city lights were so beautiful at night.”

“The windy beaches in Brazil,” Thalita adds, folding her arms atop the log and resting her cheek on them. “Ah, I’d give anything to run through the sand with a kite behind me again. The wind in my hair, and Renato laughing so much he topples over…”

You smile warmly. You don’t have anything to add, but hearing your girlfriends reminisce about the good old times really lifts your spirits.

“Maybe one day we can get back there.” Yui suggests, looking at you, then at Thalita. “I mean…there just…has to be some way out of this place, right? We could find it and get everyone out of here. We could all go home.”

Thalita completely lights up. “That would be nice. I want everyone to be able to go home.” her smile is so sweet.

Your heart drops almost as quickly as it had risen. Your stomach twists, both the topic making you feel awful, and the fact that you feel awful about it. It makes them so happy, the idea that everyone could get out of here, that they could be the ones to break the seal, or even that it could be done at all…but it makes you feel sick. You pull your knees up to your chest and scratch the back of your neck, silently hoping they change the subject quickly.

Yui notices the change in your body language. She tilts her head to look at you, and reaches out to grasp your shoulder. “Hey…you okay?” her eyebrows furrow. “You miss your family back home?” she gives you a small, sympathetic smile.

You put your hand over hers. “I actually…don’t have anyone back home.” you admit, raking your eyes over the black dirt. “So I don’t think there’d be a reason for me to leave this place, really. I just—” suddenly, it all spills out, you just can’t stop yourself; “I was all alone before I came here, and I finally found my people and my purpose here, and— and it would be like losing everything I’ve ever had, if I…if I left.”

The girls both look at each other, eyes widening. Neither of them seem entirely sure how to react to your confession— their expressions tell you that what you said was likely the very last thing they expected to come out of your mouth. But it was all the truth. And they knew that, of course.

Every organ in your body descends to the bottom. You totally killed the mood. Maybe you should’ve pretended you had family and friends and a job you loved and hobbies that made you happy back where you came from, so that they would still be happy. You shouldn’t have—

Without a word, Thalita springs forward and pulls you into a bear hug, leaning her head into the crook of your neck. As if on cue, Yui shuffles off the log and wraps her arms around your middle, pressing her cheek against the back of your neck. You knew they both loved you deeply, but these actions still caught you by surprise, somehow. In an instant, you felt overwhelmed by their shared love for you; like suddenly, everything was okay.

“I had no idea,” Yui says softly, nudging her temple against your spine.

“You should’ve said something sooner!” Thalita only half-scolds, notably non-threatening and all concern. “I would’ve invited Renato to hang out with us so much more often. He’s just as much your brother as he is mine.” she says, “he always wishes the three of us could go fly kites together on the beach. Every time he wonders if we’ll ever get to do that again, he asks, can I please take you with us?”

“My girls back home would love you. They’d all want to take you out for a ride the second they met you.” Yui sounds so happy remembering her girls. “But they’d have to wait their turn. Your first ride would have to be with me.”

You smile. Everything feels warm now.

“But, if we ever did get out of here, you know that we’d find you, right?” Yui moves her head to sit on your shoulder, opposite Thalita. “No matter where you were, or where we were, we’d find you.”

“And we’d bring everyone else with us! You’re important to everyone here. Especially us.” Thalita leans in to kiss your cheek. “You wouldn’t have to be alone long. And after that, never again! We’d make sure of it.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, they’re just making you so happy. “Thanks, girls. I love you.”

They both lean in to kiss your cheeks, muttering their own “I love you”s back and holding you tightly. You know exactly how loved you are now, here, in the fire-warmed corner of this dark and awful place.

[oblivionsdream]

I downloaded tumblr today just to see more of your jester and knight and I have a couple questions I’ve been dying to ask

1. Are you planning on making a webcomic about these two some time?

I’ve become so obsessed with your jingly menace and knight that I’m dying to know and hoping that the answer will be yes. If you were to make a webcomic, i would be beyond ecstatic and i 100% would be one of its biggest fans.

2. What gave you the idea to make these two ocs?

Your jester and knight ocs are gorgeous and I love your art style.

I love any and all jester and knight content so I’m hoping you’ll post more but no rush ❤️🫶🏻

AWWWW I hope you enjoy your time here! That honestly means so much to me 😭😭😭

1. I hope to one day make a comic. No promises on that but I have been developing the characters and story plotting when I’ve had time so I hope so ❤️

2. So Jester originated purely because I like jesters and fixated on the idea of a silly guy who constantly hides his sadness behind smiles. Nothing was really supposed to come of him. Augustine was inspired by some post about knights (I no longer fully remember what it was) and I had the idea of a random serious knight that Jester would flirt with and tease. Neither was really supposed to amount to anything but then I just kept coming up with random scenarios with them and slowly built up full backstories for them and here we are 😂

Thank you so much!! It means so much that people like my silly guys! If you want to see everything I’ve shared about them so far I have a side blog @foolsknight that is a compilation of all my posts about them and I definitely have plans to post more 🥰

[rottingmelancholycake]

Introduction!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🖤🍰~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[[[ Heya! I'm Mars, (They/them prns please) and I got struck with the Dandy's world brainrot, so here I am with a blog for my favorite toon Cosmo!! Except he's twisted and sad of course. ]]]

HEY UM I'M A MINOR. Don't be weird around me.

This is also my first time making a blog/using tumblr in general! Please be patient towards me :]

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DNI: Pedophiles, Zoophiles, homophobes 18+ suggestive etc. Don't be a NSFW blog either. basically, don't be a weirdo. ASKS:

ASKS ARE USALLY ALWAYS OPEN.

I'll post something when they close or when their back open!

You can ask these!:

SPECIFIC LORE RELATED QUESTIONS. If they get too lore things, i'll throw a devious /ooc and cackle /lh

You can ask to interract with Cosmo, like give him hugs, sweets, heavy objects he may not like all of it though.

Feel free to curse Cosmo with anything, i'll set a curse limit for 20 asks maximum. (For example, you can curse Cosmo to make him only speak backwards lol. Go wild! M!a s are really cool too...

When Cosmo does a action, his text would start out with [🖤🍰]

Ask me, Mars!! My text will be in this green colour :] (NO NSFW ASKS WITH ME NEITHER OR WEIRD STUFF AND ESPIALLY DONT SHIP ME WITH NOX EW. )

Please don't ask these:

ANY NSFW OR SUGGESTIVE THINGS. Big no.

Please no romantic things. You can ask Cosmo to give you a hug (Maybe) but no more then that.

THIS IS TEMPORARY!! But please no roleplays with Cosmo yet. The only account i'll be roleplaying with for now is @melancholichugs. I'll be sure to notice ya'll if things would change though!

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I DO NOT SUPPORT ANY OF THE PAST CO-DEV OF DANDY'S WORLD (aka Rox's) ACTIONS.

This blog won't have much ship stuff going on really, but it does have implied fruitcake (Sprout x Cosmo!!) You won't be seeing like much sprout AT ALL though so. Feel free to ask Cosmo about Sprout (or any other toons really)

ABSOUTELY DO NOT SHIP MY COSMO AND @melancholichugs's GOOB TOGETHER. They see eachother as CLOSE FRIENDS. (Platonic, even!!)

A FEW WARNINGS. This blog will include:

Lots of gore

Character death (?)

Cannabalisim

Se!f H34M

I will of course give warnings to these! Please proceed with caution...

OF COURSE I would love to thank my lovely friend and QPP Nox (Aka @melancholichugs owner for deciding to make a duo blog with me... I will do lots of art for their blog and in exchange theyre gonna do lots of writing for mine! Were a power duo fr.... 💚

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HASHTAGS:

#🖤🍰- The Ex-Baker snarls. (Cosmo responds to basic asks!) ||

#🩹🍰 - Cosmo explores. (Normal posts) ||

# ❤🍩- Confused Gargling. (Cosmo interracts with other blogs!) ||

# 💙🍰- Joy with the hugger. (Cosmo interracts/mentions @melancholichugs's Goob!) ||

#💔🍓🍰- Pained sobbing. (Cosmo interracts/mentions Sprout.) ||

# ‼🍪 - Confused screeching. (Cosmo interracts with normal toons.) ||

#💔🤎🎂 - TEAR MY HEART OUT. LET IT BLEED. (Cosmo remembers past events. This is also the lore tag!) ||

#🤎🍰 - Rotting Cake. (Cosmo..GETS CURSED??) ||

#💔‼ - Despair and screaming. (This is the tag for the trigger warnings above.) ||

#💚🐉 - The planetary gremlin yaps (Mars speaks!) ||

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EXTRA STUFF

(TW FOR ICHOR)

But yeah heres Cosmo's design!!! silly..

FEEL FREE TO DRAW HIM!! I love fanart..

Welp..Thats basically all! Hope ya'll enjoy fellas :]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🖤🍰~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[bigfatbreak1]

I had a dream the other day that my friend and I started shipping with Shaw from Open Season. I relayed this to my friend and she asked me 'how did you know the guy's name?' since neither of us have seen Open Season for literal decades. And I had to tell her it was because I follow your blog. Your influence! Keep on keepin' on, by the way, I respect the hustle.

Thank you for your kind words! Oh my gyawd.

I love talking about dreams. So, you had this dream and then when you woke up and told your friend about it, and she was surprised that you remembered his name? And the reason why you even know his name is of my non-stop Shawposting antics??? I didn’t know I could do that.

To circle back to the dream in question; you said you were “shipping with Shaw,” so I’m assuming this means self-shipping. Do you draw? If so; I’d absolutely love to see art of your s/i.

[problematic-fodlan]

Yea I’m going more into character development

I know I’m missing the point of a problematic take, but I’m sure there will be plenty of those to go around as long as this blog doesn’t also get deactivated from the takes literally being too problematic. I love the way Fodlan does characterization. There are so many ways to subtly add nuance to someone in this game. Giving characters strengths weaknesses and budding talents has such a subtle impact but it’s so. Good. Ashe who was illiterate until the age of nine and hates math has a weakness in reason, Bernie has a budding talent in riding because it gives her more distance from the enemy, Hubert has a weakness in flying because he’s afraid of heights. You get so much information from this stuff alone about the way a character approaches battle. Then on top of that most of these guys have recruitment stats you need to meet. Growth rates and personal skills aren’t new but they’re also there. I remember in my first playthrough I saw Ashe’s lock pick skill and was just instantly intrigued. Characters can only learn a certain set of spells and combat arts (and if you look there are definitely patterns when it comes to who can learn what category of spells). Plus there are crests, which don’t seem like a character thing on their own, but they’re all based on major arcana which reflect a lot of that character’s personality and/or values.

That’s before you even get to the monastery stuff. I know people find the monastery redundant and I don’t exactly disagree, but you get so much extra information about these characters. What types of food they like, what they like to do on their spare time. You see where they like to spend their time (most people you find at the stables normally have a riding or flying strength), the people they like to hang around, get to see their reactions to current story events or just hear their general thoughts. You see the way they decorate their rooms (Ferdinand’s room being uncharacteristically cluttered or Mercedes having an extra chair for guests). Some of them have quests that unlock certain mechanics (Mercedes unlocks the help box in the church, Caspar unlocks tournaments, etc). You have lost items that not only show their interests but also certain things they might find sentimental (Felix’s black iron spur he kept from Glenn, Marianne’s repentant letter). You have tea parties and expeditions where characters have dozens of lines of dialogue about their aspirations and interests. They have preferred topics of conversation, different reactions to you staring into their soul. Some would rather look at a bug than a flower. Everyone has a favorite tea. People have gifts that they both like and dislike, which have varying levels of intrigue (Dorothea and Sylvain, who are notably “flirty” characters for example hate floral arrangements. Seteth dislikes the book of crest designs and interestingly neither him or Flayn love the goddess statuette). People love different types of flowers. People have different problems they put in the advice box. People have special dialogue sharing meals or performing tasks with certain characters.

In tutoring, characters have different responses to praise. They have different preferences in confronting failure with some preferring criticism while others prefer comfort. They have certain classes they might ask to switch into. They have specific questions they ask you and receive different levels of motivation for different answers. In part two they have seminars with their own teaching styles and topics. In battle, they have special dialogue with different characters (“Don’t worry, Marianne. These things happen in war” still ruins me).

This doesn’t even go into the game’s actual storyline either. This doesn’t include paralogues or Ashe having to murder his dad and all that. Every character has such a fascinating personal story to them that makes them feel valuable and memorable in their own way. You could take any character in this game and write a pretty hefty essay about their experiences, background, personality, and perspective. Even characters like Raphael that can feel very one note have so much going on. I’m not here to shit on engage but most of them did not reach anywhere near the level of intrigue as even the least developed three houses characters.

Anyways I could easily make this ten times longer by delving into character dynamics and paralogues and all that, but I think you get the point. Long story short, people can say whatever they want about three houses’s writing and all the problems that might entail, but damn is it thorough in character development. I definitely didn’t even cover everything in this

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