Old art of my Dark Elf Empress from my weird book series no ones goin read (cause im keepin it to myself). Despite her appearance sheâs actually super chill.

#dc#dc comics#batman#dick grayson#tim drake#dc fanart#bruce wayne#batfamily#batfam


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Old art of my Dark Elf Empress from my weird book series no ones goin read (cause im keepin it to myself). Despite her appearance sheâs actually super chill.

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Prayer Circle i get to finish my wordcount tonight, lads
Unused bits - Heâs back
With shaky hands, AmorĂ© began reciting the ritual chant. Red sat on his knees perfectly still. His eyes were closed and he almost looked at peace aside from how tightly he balled his fists. It was time to draw the sigil. AmorĂ© grabbed his small dagger from his pocket and pricked two of his fingers. Upon Redâs forehead, AmorĂ© began to draw a mess of curling lines that formed the face of a bat. âN-now. Itâs time for your first drop of blood in over fifty years,â AmorĂ© said and put his hand near Redâs mouth. The younger shook his head. âI canât go through with it anymore!â He cried. Hid brother exhaled with relief. âThank the gods! You have a family Junior, I canât take that from you!â
âY-youâre not mad? Youâre okay that we cam this far and I backed out?â Red asked. AmorĂ© nodded. âI wouldnât force you to do anything like this even if I were mad, Junior! Letâs wipe this off before we attract beasts.â Red sighed and licked a drop of blood that trickled down his face and onto his lips. He felt a sudden warmth, and AmorĂ© noticed his brotherâs eyes had gone from violet to a deep shade of red.
AmorĂ© stared at Red and Red stared back, both equally confused at what the other was gawking at. âW-why are you staring at me like that?â Red asked as AmorĂ© helped him back to his feet. AmorĂ© kept wordlessly staring, slowly pointing to the drop of blood that fell into Redâs mouth. âW-we didnât. We didnât stop the ritual, Junior.â Red licked the streak of blood from his lips again, then froze. His eyes grew wide as he looked down at his hands to see his nails growing long then back at AmorĂ©. âOh,â was the last thing he whispered before the pain set in. The color came back to his hair, as it became its bright red again. He started laughing. âItâs working!â He chirped. His mistwalker tattoos returned to his arms and the white marks of the Moon returned to his face. âAmorĂ© Iâmââhe held his chest and fell against a tree. His arms and legs contorted inward and back out with a sickening crack.. His skin stretched as his muscle mass began to return. He buckled over into the ground and screamed out in agony, scratching at his mouth as his fangs broke through his gums, blood dripping down his face.
Amore watched in âŠmild discomfort, as the man violently transformed. âAre you done yet?â He called out. Redâs voice deepened and became growls in his throat as his vocal chords began to warp. âI-Is this an inconvenience for you?â he strained out. Amore rolls his eyes. âI didnât want to go through this! So yes, Iâm inconvenienced. How can we speed this up?â
âGet me blood. I need blood before I turn into the thing!â he shouted. Amore raised an eyebrow. âWhat, youâre going to get worse?! Are you telling me this isnât the thing?â Red growled at him, and Amore backed up. âIâll grab you a squirrel or something,â Amore said hurriedly. âJ-just donât get any more⊠ugly.â He turned away and fell to the ground as Red tackled him. âWhy canât I drink from you, youâre right here!â
âIf you fucking bite me Iâll kill you!â Amore snapped and kicked the man off. Red hit the ground and rolled back onto his hands and feet. He stood up and smiled. âYouâll give me a bite or Iâll tell Mom what you did to me. How you turned her baby boy back into a monster. Imagine Papaâs disgust!â
âWhat the hell is wrong with you?!â AmorĂ© screamed. Red tackled him again. âGive me a sip, goddamn you!â He wrestled Amore to the ground and pulled his arm to his mouth. AmorĂ© pulled it back and headbutted him in the chin. âItâs my blood, Junior!â
âWhy the hell are you so strong?â Red growled. AmorĂ© ripped into his arm and shoved it in Redâs mouth. The man bit down and lapped at the blood until Amore felt dizzy. He knocked the other off and held his wound.
Red wiped his mouth, the craze leaving his eyes. âI⊠Iâm better now,â he huffed. He slapped Amoreâs back. âWasnât so bad, was it?â
=======
Red stared at the door to his home and looked back at AmorĂ© expectantly. AmorĂ© looked up from his wound and stuck out his tongue. âCan I heal up from the this bite first?â He whined. Red shook his head. âItâs not that⊠H-how do I do it?â He asked. AmorĂ© tilted his head at him, squinting. âDo what? Use a door?â
âGo inside!â He snapped. âDonât know if you were paying attention but when I left an hour ago, I was BARELY 5 FT TALL!â AmorĂ© rolled his eyes. âBy the gods,Youâre so dramatic! Just duck when you go in. Flounder or whatever his name is probably isnât even awake.â
âFlorence,â Red spat back. He took a deep breath and opened the door, pulling it right off the hinge. He silently screamed and looked at his brother who was desperately trying to keep from laughing. Red slammed the door into AmorĂ© who fell over onto the dirt path, still struggling to contain his cackle. Red looked around, perhaps Florence was sleep. He crept into the house, careful to avoid anything that would make sound. He walked past the dining table and knocked over the salt. He froze, hearing Florence stir in his sleep. When the man didnât appear from the doorway, he sighed and continued to the corner of the kitchen. He lifted the floorboard and found his it. It was a large black trunk with the Inferi insignia carved into it and painted red. He saw his old locked chest and felt something within him catch fire.
He reached down and grabbed it, a smile growing wider and wider on his face. He pricked his finger on his canine and let blood drip inti the sig, causing the chains to fall off. Slowly, he took the chest and rested it on the dining table. He flipped the latch and opened it up to see his scarf and assassinâs uniform still neatly tucked folded. He ran his fingers over the scarf, his fingers stinging from its magic.
âRedâŠ?â He heard a voice call from behind him. He whipped his head around to see Florence clutching his ax in one hand and holding a lantern in the other. Red felt every ounce of excitement he once had be ripped from his body as he saw the fear in his husbandâs bright blue eyes. They were glowing, even if he did clean up his appearance, nothing could get past his Hunterâs Instincts. âR⊠Red, what happened to you?â He whispered and hung the lantern on the coat rack.
He slowly approached the elf, who backed away with every step he took until Red found himself backed into a wall. Florence wouldnât say the emotion he felt upon seeing the man was fear, but he would prefer to say that then what he was truly feeling. The man that bore his husbandâs face was about two feet taller with a mop of long, shaggy red hair. His fearful eyes were bright red, like the day they met. Florence tried to hide his delight as he gently touched the manâs face, stretching his mouth to see his fangs. He moved his hand down to Redâs chest, unable to hide his smile, then grabbed his arms. Redâs face became bright purple, and he gently pushed him away. âFlo, itâs awfully late donât you think? Go back to bed,â he said sternly. The man broke from his stupor. âI⊠hold on, wait a minute!â He wiped the drool from his mouth and put the ax to Redâs neck. âWhat do you think youâre doing?!â
âMy love, youâll wake the baby!â Red hissed. Florence only pressed the ax harder. âWhat. Are. You. Doing?â He demanded. Red looked directly into Flroenceâs eyes and began humming softly. Florence tried to break eye contact, but it couldnât even move his body. The louder Red hummed, the darker black winding tattoos appeared on his arms and hands. He swayed slowly back and forth, and Florence did the same, dropping the ax to the floor. In the same tune of the ghostly tune he hummed âFlorence, are your eyes not heavy in your head? Do you wish for peace?â The manâs head nodded unnaturally, as if another force was in control of his neck. Red kissed his forehead. âThen off you go my love, no equestions now. Off to bed. Time to sleep.â Like a marionette upon tangled strings he made a crooked gait back to their bedroom. Red exhaled and looked outside to see AmorĂ© still red in the face from laughter. âYou got your little trinkets?â He asked. Red grabbed the chest off the and headed back towards the door. âThat. Was something,â he said as he walked from the living room and head first into the doorframe. AmorĂ© caught the chest before it could fall onto his brotherâs foot and cause any more damage. Red rubbed his nose and punched a hole into the doorframe. âCalm down, big boy. Save that anger for the targets.â
Unused Bits - she is dead
It was as if nothing else was in the room. No sound, no light. Just the image of Paxelia, his twin, his other half, bleeding out on the floor before his feet. Her warm, violet eyes stared not at him but the ceiling as her blue skin ran cold. Amore could not hear his mother screams of anguish, nor the madmanâs speech as he cleaned his blade of sin. All there was, in that sunlit terracotta room was him, and the last memory of his sister. He knelt down, and gently placed his hand on her cheek. She was still warm. He gently closed her eyes and ripped her sleeve to wrap her neck. âYou canât lose anymore blood,â he whispered to himself. âYouâre getting cold, I have to get you warm.â
He picked her up in his arms and walked towards Salem, who was trying desperately to stop screaming. âMomma, sheâs getting cold. Help me warm her,â he said. Salem covered her mouth and shook her head. Amore tilted his head. âWe have to keep her warm, help me! Heal her neck before she loses more blood!â His voice was still playful, as if gently asking her to stop tickling him. His eyes were welling up with tears. âMomma câmon! We donât have time for this.â
âFog-weavers cannot bring back the dead,â Zipa spat. AmorĂ© turned to the man. âDead?â He repeated. âDeadâŠâ that is when the vibrating green jewels in his ears cracked, and blood trickled down his neck. âDead.â Every time he said the word, the room became brighter. âDead. Dead. Dead!â He shouted maniacally and suddenly, he was not in the terracotta room. Nor, the garden of Inferi. He was somewhere else. It was a building made of white marble, ill lit and wet from rain. The smell of petrichor filled his lungs as he explored the strange place. It appeared to be a ransacked temple, as broken statues and torn paintings littered the floor. He could not discern whose temple it was, as many of the tapestries were ruined. He took a deep breath and blew onto his fingertip, causing a small flame to appear. In the center of the temple was a grand painting of a lionlike man. His was snarling, his green eyes glaring daggers into AmorĂ© skull. His wild red hair was down his back, with tusklike fangs and foam at his mouth. âThis doesnât look like KetzâŠâ he whispered to himself. âBecause it is not me,â something whispered from behind him. He turned to see his father â or what appeared to be his father. âYouâre hurt, my son. Please, let me handle it. Youâve gone too far. â Amore tilted his head. âWhat do you mean?â
âYouâre scaring your mother, Amore. Please calm downââ
âMomma isnât here, sheâs trying to heal Pax!â
âPax is dead!â He shouted. Amore blinked, and looked down to see tall yellow grass, splattered with blood. His hands, tipped with black claws were all but smothered. He looked down to see Zipa, heavily breathing and staring up at him. âFinish the job,â he coughed.
Unused chapter one - Songbirds, The Fox and the Crow
Corva
âYouâve gotta be fuckinâ with me,â Corva cursed under his breath. His blade was still wet with blood, along with his torn white blouse. Circling him was a hulking gray beast of leathery wings and fangs itching to sink into his now bleeding thigh once again. Corva remained still, knowing any sudden move would trigger another attack from the beast, which he couldnât afford right now. Not until he could think clearly. Though his leg was wounded, the creature was only working with one eye and tattered wings. It bared its fangs and with a stomp, shook the ground in an attempt to further intimidate Corva. The man only growled back.
âJust a few wolves gettinâ too close to my cattle,â that damned farmer told him. It should have been a red flag to Corva that a dwarven woman was too afraid to fight off a few wolves, especially if it meant protecting her means of living. He should have pestered harder when she refused to let him see the wounds left on the cows or tell him how many wolves she thought it was. He shouldâve spat in her face when she only offered him four pieces of gold. He had no idea what the hell that thing was but four gold was not cutting it. The agitated roar of the beast broke Corva from his thoughts. He focused back on the beast only to see its teeth locking onto his arm. He dropped the blade and spun around, catching it in his other hand. He pushed the rusted bastard sword upwards, into the beastâs jugular. It spat blood onto Corva as it backed away, flapping its wings desperately. Corva fell onto his back as he ripped a piece of his shirt to wrap his bleeding arm. With his mouth and his good arm he made a tight tourniquet and tried to scramble back to his feet.
Much to his surprise, the beast made it off the ground. He didnât lower his guard entirely, knowing it wouldnât make it far, and that it wasnât done with him. Corva pushed his black and ginger locs from his face, and reached into his boot for another blade. He started walking towards the woods when the scream rang out from behind him. The beast jumped down onto Corva from the trees. He rolled away in the nick of time, and the beast fell onto its back with a crunch. It struggled back to its feet, flapping its wings in hopes of rolling off its back. It was as good as dead, Corva thought. And he saw no reason to let the thing continue living in agony. He wobbled back to his feet and began walking towards it. âYou fought well, my friend. Dayoâs warm embrace awaits you next,â he whispered to it gently. The beastâs red eyes were wide with fear as it fought for its life. If he had known better he would believe the beast was about to cry. Corva had gotten about a foot away from it, when it made one last leap at Corva, who drew his blade to its chest and sliced it open as it passed over him.
It let out a blood-curdling scream as its guts fell from its body. The warmth of the creatureâs bowels falling onto Corva was almost welcomed during the brisk autumn night, but the smell made him wish he never accepted the job. He gagged, limping away from the stench as fast as he could. After taking a few breaths of fresh air, he made his way back to the monster.
His sword was still lodged in its throat, much to his delight. He removed the sword, beginning to hack away at the beastâs neck until its head was all but hanging by a thread. He pulled upon its large ears until the head was fully detached and placed it into a bag. Once the head was removed, the body began to convulse again. It shrunk and reformed into the body of an elven woman. Her skin was pale and freckled. Upon her left breast was a faintly glowing symbol he didnât quite recognize. Shrugging, he ripped off the remainder of his blouse and placed it upon the womanâs body. He wrapped her up best he could and carefully picked her up. Perhaps the farmer has an answer for this as well.
================================
The farmer was up before the sun, cooking her little heart out. She wasnât much in the way of money but she was nothing to mess with when it came to making the meanest breakfast in all the countryside. Beans, eggs, ham, thick slices of bacon, all being cooked at once and slathered onto a giant plate for her, her son, and the rat catcher -- if they made it through the night. She finished off their plates with large stacks of potato pancakes and wiped her brow of sweat. She called for her son, and received no response. She called again, and again, her heart beginning to race. She waddled outside as fast as she could, panic creeping into her voice as she called. âHarold! Harold!â She cried. Still nothing. She ran down the path towards the cattle, and saw Corva limping up the path with a body in his hands. The farmer went limp, falling to her knees. Tears began running down her now red face as the man approached. âNo, no not my boy!â she sobbed. âI told him to stay in the house, I told him to fight it!â
âDo⊠M-my apologies maâam but did you know her?â Corva asked and gently placed the body of the woman in front of her. The farmerâs ear twitched at the word âherâ. âP-Pardon?â She wiped her eyes and looked at the body in front of her. It was a tall elven woman. She began wiping her eyes. âIs⊠Is this the werewolf you killed?â she asked. Corva raised an eyebrow. âSo you knew I wasnât just fighting a wolf?â he asked with a kinked eyebrow. The farmer bit her lip, not making eye contact. âW-well⊠I knew you werenât facing anything dangerous.... O-or I thought,â she said before gagging. Corva smelled of death, and looked like it too. Blood and grass were matted in his locs, his dark, umber skin was still glistening with the red blood of the beast he just slain. The farmer nearly vomited as she stumbled away from him. âW-were you rolling in it?â
âHave you ever seen a skin brand or tattoo like this before?â Corva asked and pointed to the womanâs breast. The farmer held her nose and looked at it. It was perfectly symmetrical, a mess of curling lines that resembled a snarling vampire bat. Despite the body being decapitated and split open, the mark was still glowing red. The longer she stared, the brighter the mark became. The farmer shook her head and backed away. âHavenât seen this symbol in years,â she said. âIt looks like a mark of the Bloodwives, but it couldnât be. Thereâs no way youâd survive fighting a werebat,â she said. Corva opened the sack he had on his back and pulled out the oversized bat head, mouth still agape and fur matted with blood. âWhatâs this then?â he asked. The farmer gasped. âPut that ghastly thing away!â she shrieked. Corva nodded and put it back in the sack. He offered her his hand to help her up. With a slight nod, she thanked him. âSay, Rat-catcher. You didnât happen to see a boy out there, have you? Not too much younger than yourself? Black hair and br⊠gold eyes?â
âOnly people for miles were me and her, maâam,â he sighed and went to wrap the corpse back up. The farmer bit her lip again. âA-ah, arlight. A-and nothing else fought with you last night?â Corva hoisted the woman back in his arms again and shot the farmer a dirty look. âYou hired me for a hit, didnât you?â
âNo! No, itâs nothing like that!â the farmer blurted. âI-I told you no lethal force unless it got violent! âCause the wolf. T-the wolf I wanted you to deter. H-heâs important to me, heâs my little HarryâŠâ She started tearing up again when she heard something rustling in the bushes nearby. Corva drew his dagger and stood in front of the farmer. A young man of long, black hair walked from the woods, his shirt and pants were busted at the seams. They were dirty and looked like they were dragged through the mud. His eyes were light brown and his mouth was covered in a dark, dry substance that he knew for a fact was blood -- and thankfully not human blood. The farmer screamed and tackled the boy. âMy son!â she sobbed. The man slowly wrapped his arms around his mother, then glared at Corva and began growling. She nearly got that boy killed, Corva thought to himself as he watched the gangly manâs hair puff up like an angry cat. The Farmer slapped Harold upside the head. âThis man saved you from becoming bat food, you show him respect!â she scolded. Harold rubbed the back of his head and stopped growling, but stood behind his mother still. âThanks,â he muttered. Corva sighed. âNo need to thank me, your mother paid a hefty amount of coin for your safetyâ he announced. âBut you could go on ân give me a hand with that body--â Corvaâs voice trailed off as he realized the womanâs body was gone. He looked at the farmer, who looked back at him. âItâs not like she could have ran off! Sheâs a bloody corpse!â
âThen, explain where the hell she went!â Corva snapped. Corva limped over to where the body was and looked for any sign of the body being dragged away by an animal. There was nothing but human footprints. Dainty, human footprints. Corvaâs eyes went wide. Sheâs alive. How is she alive, she has no head? Things canât be alive without a head, thatâs impossible. Corva turned back around to the farmer and her son. âC-can you tell me anything else you know about these-- what did you call them? Blood bitches?â Corva asked and started limping back towards them. The farmer shook her head. âNever mind that. Weâll burn that bridge when we get there, love. You need tââ bathe and get those wounds checked out.â Corva did not want to hear that. He wanted to finish off that abomination but now that heâs being told to relax he canât think of anything else but to do that. âI⊠I suppose it can wait now that you mention it,â he said, damning himself for not turning her down. The Farmer smiled. âHarry, help Corva to the house now, will you?â she asked. The man nodded and walked over to Corva who offered him his hand. Harry hoisted Corva into the air and over his shoulder, causing the older man to let out a high pitched âyip!â of shock. âI-I canât walk, really--â
âQuiet,â Harold barked and readjusted the man on his shoulder. With his free hand he held onto his mother and became her crutch as they made it up the hill to the house. Corva groaned and watched the trail grow farther and farther away as the boy carried him away. He felt Harold nudge the farmer, who in turn slapped his hand. âYou gotta learn, Harry!â she scolded. Harold sighed and cleared his throat. âCor. Corva. Corva i-is your name, right?â he asked. The farmer clapped. âGood job!â Corva rolled his eyes. âYouâre a new werewolf ainât ya?â Corva asked. Harold slowly nodded. Corva snickered. âIt gets easier after two years worth of moons. Donât rush it. We can talk when youâre back to yourself.â Harold looked to his mother who only threw her hands up in response. Harold rested his head on Corvaâs back. The man took it as a strange gesture of gratitude, and patted Haroldâs back in acceptance. âAnd yes, my name is Corva.â
âThatâs a pretty name, love,â The Farmer said. Corva smiled. âMother named me, at least Iâve been told,â Corvaâs voice trailed off as he started to have flickers of his memory return. He shook his head and looked over at Harold. âWe Almost home yet, big guy?â he asked. Harold nodded. He brought Corva to the walkway of the old farmhouse and gently placed him back on the ground. Though he would never say it aloud, he actually appreciated Harold carrying him up the hill. His wounds were all but healed and it was a nice break from walking in his threadbare leather boots. Corva wobbled a bit before getting used to the pain in his legs again. The farmer took off her apron and wiped her face of sweat, then wiped Haroldâs mouth of blood. âItâs not much, but itâs home. Breakfast is cold now, but I can whip up some warm coffee!â she chirped. Corva didnât care if the food was covered in snow, his stomach was growling louder than the sound of breaking glass from coming inside. Then he stopped, grabbing the farmerâs arm. âAnyone else live with you?â he asked. The woman shook her head, then a loud crash alerted her to his concern. She backed away, and Corva grabbed his dagger from his boot again. âYou two, stay out here,â he said and slowly crept into the old farmhouse.
It was an old, beautiful house of oak wood. Inside were countless baskets of wool blankets and unfinished knitted projects. On the walls were small hanging shrines to Frigga and pictures of the Farmer, her son, and a grizzly man he only assumed passed recently, as another picture of him was surrounded by flowers and blown out candles. He crept in deeper, avoiding glass shards as he made his way to the dining room. Food was splattered on the floor and all over the table. Corva had to bite his tongue and keep himself from crying as he saw the bacon was covered in porcelain. He heard another crash from the kitchen and made his way towards it.
âHe took it from me, he took it!â he heard something sob. He peeked in to see the woman from earlier. The tattoo on her breast was all but gone, and her head was nothing but a bleeding skull. She shoved raw meat into her eye socket, her jaw moving sporadically as if she were chewing. The more meat she shoved into her head, the more veins, and flesh began to form around the skull. Corva nearly vomited from the sight, but whatever he had in his stomach was the only thing giving him energy, and he couldnât afford to lose that just yet. The woman ran out of raw meat to shove into her head and started sniffing around again. The muscles on her face contorted into what Corva assumed would be a scowl. She turned to him, her empty sockets locked onto him and she began to shriek. âYou stole my blessing from me! You took it from me!â she screamed again and charged. Corva, a well-seasoned monster hunter, was prepared for many encounters. None of them ever included a naked woman tackling him to the ground and gnawing at his flesh. He screamed, and grabbed her jaw. She continued to pull at his hair and struggle, Her black tongue darting at him rapidly. Corva closed his eyes, pulled her jaws apart until he heard a crack, and felt the wet slap of her tongue falling onto his face. When he opened his eyes he screamed again, and pushed the woman off of him. Was she actually dead this time? He thought to himself. Harold rushed into the house, axe in hand. âCorva!â he shouted. Corva was still on the ground, screaming in disgust at the body that seemed to prepare itself to get up again. Harold ran at it and began chopping, blood splattering across the kitchen. The sound of bones breaking against the steel of the axe made Corva ill. Though it was a monster, it still looked like a person. She was a person. He couldnât watch anymore. âHarry, Harry thatâs enough!â he shouted. The boy finally dropped the axe and looked down at the mess of bones and flesh on the ground. He looked at Corva, who was shaking in the corner, still staring at the womanâs chopped up body. âW-w-we should burn it,â Corva said. Harold licked the blood from his face and nodded in agreement. Corva grimaced. âDonât. Donât do that, boy,â he said and wiped the blood from Haroldâs face. He smiled at him, and Corva forced himself to do the same. âLetâs get her to her proper rest, shall we?â Harold nodded vigorously and grabbed as many pieces of the woman as he could.
Corva and Harold walked outside, each holding parts of the woman in their arms. The Farmer fainted at the sight. âMama!â Harold screamed and dropped the body parts to the ground. He picked his mother off the ground and ran her inside. âIâll handle this, go take care of her!â Corva called back. Harold nodded and cared for his mother. Corva gathered the rest of the woman, trying to treat the pieces as kindly as he could at this point. He whispered a prayer of Death as he walked her down a path across from the farm.
He found a dark area just outside the forest where greenery refused to grow. Gingerly, he placed the woman down and reached into his hip pack for a vile of black dust. He sprinkled it around her in a circular shape . He placed his hands together and exhaled deeply, a violet mist escaping his mouth. âFrom the earth you were born and to the earth you shall return. May Ekundayo welcome you with open arms and decide the fate that befalls your heart,â he prayed. At the mention of the Death godâs name, a black flame came over the corpse and ate away the body. The smell of burning flesh was quickly replaced by the comforting earthy smell of chrysanthemums. He opened his eyes, and the fire dissipated, and the corpse was no more. He wiped the blood from his face and wretched again at his entire encounter. âBack to the house, I suppose,â he said quietly.

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In reference to last post; Salem is Kriegâs wife but Krieg is her girl.
That is all.
Last reblog: this is why i like writing in private cause sometimes i feel myself making characterâs expressions or reading their lines aloud the way iâd think theyâd say it and when writing certain characters its so fuckin silly.
Y 2 support Flight of da sonbird
Colorful cast of queer protagonists, antagonists and non-eurocentric approach to fantasy
Religious trauma and spiritual awakening
Found Family trope
Romance
Golden retriever boy
I make fun of fantasy stuff
Im rly funny

