NOT FINISHED. EXCUSE ANY MISTAKES!

BYI/QnA/CW

Before You Interact:

Some of Conn's commissioned artwork may include blood or otherwise seem disgusting, in a sense. It is apart of his lore. There is a CW/TW and that artwork will be listed in a separate area.

QnA:

1) Can I draw artwork for you?
Please, go ahead! I love seeing any and all artwork! <3
There is a chance I will block you if you use AI (a very HIGH chance).
 
2) Can I send you head-cannons of your characters?
Absolutely! I would love to know how you view my characters! Just keep it tame if you're talking about intimate or vulgar subjects.
 
3) Can I DM you with questions? -- WD
Please! I would love that. Whether it be towards this character or just about the Wolvden game, I would love to answer!!

Reoccurring Content:

ART PIECES

BY: Fruitygaggle1980 #497790

BY: eluano #70619

By: Charmie #89610Conn didn't remember dying.One moment, there was blood, the kind that chokes and drowns and stains your skin. Then, there was silence. No light, no hellfire, no afterlife- just the cold knowledge that he was still here, somehow. Walking through the world like a rumor, a crack in reality.People didn't see him unless he wanted them to. And even then, it was fleeting- a flicker in a mirror, a chill down someone's spine. But worse than invisibility was emptiness. A hunger not for food or drink, but for connection. For someone to see him and want him.Over time, Conn found he could possess bodies. Slip into them like a shadow into a crack. Most burned out quickly- human bodies couldn't hold him long. Then he found a boy who shared his face and his name—a shapeshifter. Twisted and broken in ways Conn immediately understood. Conn took his body without hesitation. Finally, a home.In the shapeshifter's skin, Conn began hunting. Seeking. Not for survival- but for something more primal. Something like love, twisted into violence.And that's when he met him.The intended next victim. Just another empty-eyed soul for Conn to break open and discard.But Malcolm didn't scream. Didn't fight. He looked Conn in the eyes and accepted it.And Conn shattered.Instead of killing him, Conn took him home. A house outside time. No windows to the real world, no phones, no escape. But everything else was perfect. A bed softer than clouds. A TV playing endless films. Meals cooked to order. It was a luxurious prison. And Conn wasn't always there- not physically. He flickered, glitched, spoke through vents and mirrors, until Malcolm began to doubt his own sanity.Somewhere deep inside, Conn knew what this was. Knew why he couldn't let go. Why he ached when Malcolm smiled, why he burned with rage when he mentioned old lovers. But Conn was raised on a strict, vicious sense of denial- where wanting another man was wrong, dirty, a thing to be buried and denied until it festered.He couldn't be...gay. No. Impossible.So, Conn rewrote reality.He started calling Malcolm by a different name in his head. A feminine one. Amira. He bought dresses, soft silk and lace, and forced Amira to wear them. Told her she looked beautiful. Told her it made things easier- for both of them. Because if Amira looked like a woman, Conn could keep lying to himself.Amira protested at first. Fought. Refused. But Conn was relentless. Manipulative. He'd disappear for days, plunging the house into freezing cold darkness until Amira broke, until she whispered she'd wear whatever Conn wanted- just please come back.And when Amira wore the dresses, sat by the fire with his- her bare legs tucked underneath him, Conn would feel something almost like peace. Something almost like love.He kissed her the first time when Amira was wearing a white nightgown, trembling, but silent.And Conn convinced himself that he was normal. That this was right.Years passed in that fractured dream. Amira stopped resisting- not because she loved Conn, but because she had nowhere else to go. Survival taught her to smile, to laugh when Conn told a joke, to lean into the hand stroking her hair.It was enough.It was everything.Conn, blind to reality, believed it was real love.But something inside him whispered: love doesn't last. Love fades. And Conn couldn't risk losing her.So, one night, he chose permanence.The house was silent. The fake sunset painted the walls gold. Amira slept curled in Conn's lap, dressed in pale silk, soft and vulnerable.Conn kissed his- her forehead."I want to remember you like this."Amira stirred. "What?" she mumbled, confusion heavy in her voice.Conn didn't answer.He drew the black knife- beautiful, curved like a predator's smile- and drove it deep into Amira's side. She jerked awake, gasping, clawing at Conn's arms. But Conn was gentle, sobbing as he worked, whispering apologies against her skin."You're perfect now. I have to keep you. I have to keep you before you change."Amira fought. God, she fought. But she was bleeding out fast, strength slipping from her in cold waves. Her fingers grasped weakly at Conn's shirt, eyes wide with terror and heartbreak."I love you," Conn wept, pressing their foreheads together as Amira took her last ragged breath. "You loved me too. You wore the dresses. You smiled for me. You stayed."He rocked Amira's body for hours, humming songs from a life that no longer existed.Behind a red door in the house was a special room. Temperature-controlled. Glass cases. Conn dressed Amira in white, adorned her hair with pale ribbons, placed her inside a glass coffin.Perfect. Eternal.Conn visited every day. Spoke to her. Read books aloud. Celebrated their anniversaries with flowers and music and one-sided conversations.In his mind, they were together. Married, even. A perfect husband and a perfect wife.And if sometimes, late at night, Conn caught a glimpse of reality- that he had loved a man, that he had killed the only person who ever truly saw him- he buried it under layers of silk, fantasy, and denial.Because in death, just like in life, Conn would rather live a lie than face the truth.
 

By: Maxwell--Me
He wasn’t gay. It was wrong, something that should be avoided in life and death. People would judge, spirits too. What was the difference apart from death?The difference was, dead people didn’t care who you loved, they just wanted to go home. Conn wanted to go home just like the rest of them. Thing was, he had his soulless eyes set on a certain person.He had been looking for a body for forever. He had found one a few weeks ago, but the soul that possessed the body always seemed… untrustworthy. Despite that, it didn’t stop him, he needed the body. Needed something to control so he could finally have the love he found.The one Conn loved was a man. Conn hated that, but the man was stuck in his mind and he was obsessed. And his name was Malcom, but Conn needed HER to be called Amira. She was his.