1nhal3r

[1nhal3r]

hey ho, commissions ahoy!

since i recently lost my job i decided that i would reopen my commissions (they never really closed i just stopped pushing them as hard-) and make them more… official!

i am still offering pay what you want commissions which can be found on my ko-fi (linked below) but these are for those who have a specific vision and don’t mind paying more for it!

as of 06/23 i have:

5 bust slots open

3 half body slots open

2 full body slots open

pwyw is limitless!

if this interests you please feel free to reach out to me here, on ko-fi, or on bluesky! but if you don’t have the funds reblogs are greatly appreciated! if you want to support me without buying art, i’ve also linked my paypal to this post :> eventually i’ll open up writing comms too so look out for those lol

[1nhal3r]

"Don't look at me like that," Dolores said, pulling her wrist out of Yve's grasp, her eyes flicking away. "God." "Look at you like what?" Yve asked, letting her eyes roam over Dolores' face like they have many times before. Dolores let out a dry snort, and Yve could tell it wasn't a noise filled with amusement. "Like you like me." Yve responded with a short laugh. "I do like you." Dolores hardened immediately---her posture stiffens as she crosses her arms, her jaw clenching, and her eyes weren't as soft as they were a moment before. "I don't want you to."

[1nhal3r]

how to dialogue.

[1nhal3r]

i’m gonna lock in and write something trust trust trust trust

[1nhal3r]

after 👀 all 💯 this time 🕔 i’m 👈 still 👠 into 🤓 you i should 🤝 be 🐝 over all 💯 the BUTTERFLIES but 🤔 im INTO 👉👌 you 💁 and baby 😛😏😲👐🏼🙌🏻 even 🌃 on 🔛 our 💩👑 WORST NIGHTS 😈🌚🌟🌑 im into 🚟👏 you 👉👈 they’ll 👬 all 💯 be 🐝 wondering how we GOT ✊😩 THIS FAR 🌌 but i don’t 🚫 even have to WONDER 😮 at all 💯 cuz ✨ after 👀 all 💯 this time 🍂🌰🍅 i’m STILL 🤞🙌 into YOU

[1nhal3r]

— unknown (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[1nhal3r]

Write Camp Day 17

thanks @agirlandherquill

Prompt: "I do not want your victory. I want your survival."

The sky was blood.

Not in the poetic way the bards would later say, but truly—clotted, heavy, smoldering. It pulsed like a wound that would not close. The battleground lay somewhere beyond the twisted trees, and the air tasted of iron and ash.

Princess Elenore stood on the edge of the redwood grove, her crimson cloak pooling around her like a spilled offering. Her lover, Lord Marek, kneeled before her. Not to pledge, not to beg, but to have the sigils painted onto his skin. Her hands moved slowly, tracing the ink in curling tongues across his breast, his shoulders, his temples.

He did not flinch, even when the symbols began to burn.

"You should not go," she said.

"The omen—"

"Yes, the omen,” she said coldly, “The river runs backward, the moon is red, and three hawks fought to the death above the rookery. We know the signs. But omens are cruel things. They don’t ask if you’re ready.”

He caught her wrist. His skin was already fevered. "And if I die?"

"You won’t."

"You can’t promise that."

She leaned close, her breath warm against his ear, and for a moment he felt as though the earth had stopped turning. “I do not want your victory. I want your survival.”

His fingers tightened. “There’s no survival without victory.”

"That’s the kind of thing you tell yourself so you can walk into fire smiling." Her voice cracked. "But you are not ash yet, Marek. And I am not done loving you."

A crow screamed in the woods behind them. A sound too large for any bird.

Marek rose. The paint glowed faintly, then dimmed.

He looked older now, as if the weight of the prophecy had pulled something from his face and left hollows in its place. But he still bowed to her, still brushed his lips to her ringed fingers like a knight from a gentler story.

Then he walked into the trees, toward the stench and thunder of war.

Elenore stood very still. Her hand curled over her heart.

Behind her, the other Red Daughters waited in silence, faces hidden beneath hoods stitched from flayed battle standards. One stepped forward.

“Shall we call the fire to guide him?”

Elenore’s voice was a whisper.

“No,” she said. “Let him find the dark on his own.”

[1nhal3r]

hyperfixation please stay with me long enough to complete the project. hyperfixation do not fade. hyperfixation finish what you started for the love of god

[1nhal3r]

WIP INTRO : TEOEH : PART ONE : 1921

In the early hours of a blue September morning, stokers pull the body of a venerated priest from a coal-polluted port in the Fox River. Still dressed in his white vestments, Father Anthony Menas’ body shows no signs of fight, with the exception of a clean, surgical cut below his Adam's apple.

When a priest is found drowned in the Upper Fox River Valley, war journalist and heir to the Thomas-Milliebank Coal fortune, Samuel Moses Thomas travels north to Rapides de Nicolet, responding to the call of a grieving and terrified parish. The assumed murder of Father Anthony Menas has rendered many in the community adrift and struck down with a mysterious, paralyzing illness that has left both local doctors and the Premonstratensian Abbey searching for answers in unorthodox ways. Tangled up in the troubles of his host family and the emergence of a young mystic who hears the voice of her guardian angel, Samuel soon finds himself drug into the depths of a bitter plot deeper than the waters of the Bay.

General:

Status: Draft Zero/Plotting Stage (2nd time).

Genre(s): historical fiction, murder mystery, gothic horror. 

Setting: the mill-town of Rapides de Nicolet, the coal yards of Green Bay, and the foothills of Richmond, Virginia; 1921.

[from left to right: Dr. Lawrence Hall, Christian, Ferdinand, and Henrietta Généreux-Klarmann, Samuel M. Thomas, Gerrald Müller, and Maria Mattenberg and the Eternal Friend]

Main Cast:

Samuel M. Thomas - The Journalist

tag: oc: the journalist

The Généreux-Klarmanns - Ferdinand, Henrietta, and Christian

Dr. Lawrence Hall - the Physician 

Gerrald Müller - the Detective

Maria Mattenberg - the Postulant and the Eternal Friend

[1nhal3r]

"Can I kiss you?" Vincent whispers, and Shawn's eyes glance down to his lips and then back up to Vincent's eyes. He gnaws on his bottom lip, not quite meeting Vincent's gaze when he shrugs. Vincent grins, his body thrumming with electricity, feeling like a live wire. "Thank you," he says quietly, leaning down to gently press his lips on Shawn's. Already, Vincent thinks hazily, it's over for him.

[1nhal3r]

might just need to create my own prompts/scenarios cuz i’m scrolling through the writing prompts tag so unmotivated

[1nhal3r]

WIP INTRODUCTION

It took forever 😭, but I made this lil powerpoint for you guys about my story, now called Elegy for the Enchanted!! If you want to know more, just send me an ask : ) I'd love to ramble about it. It's a M/M dark academia, dragon shifter/fae romance.

[1nhal3r]

WIP INTRO: BLESSED ARE THE HAUNTED

. . . In which a knight betrays her kingdom and fate itself to steal a princess away from death. The ink-black stars are but a backdrop to their tragedy.

Genre ::

— Romance-fantasy with gothic elements.

Age ::

— Adult.

Tropes & Themes ::

— Fate vs free will. Violent devotion. Learning to be human. Complex family dynamics. Becoming the one thing you swore to destroy. Destroying the one thing you swore to become.

🎶 . . i would die a thousand times / just to see you in another life

[1nhal3r]

i’m gonna just start writing side content for my wips bc committing to writing the actual wip is just too much

[1nhal3r]

It's Worldbuilding Wednesday!

In light of it being Wednesday, reblog this (or put in the comments, or even my askbox hehe) with one or more emojis to get a question!

🦅

👵

🍀

— this does not have an expiry date :D

[1nhal3r]

things I'm fond of:

vampires as a metaphor for surviving a trauma but becoming "different" because of it: control and vulnerability

werewolves as a metaphor for having something inside you that everyone else hates and fears: repression and release

ghosts as a metaphor for the pain, suffering, and anger of past generations: revenge and healing

[1nhal3r]

why is writing character personality descriptions so hard