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would yall like an impulsive thingy made about my three ocs. no? too bad im making one anyway tehe

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anyone here remember Virgil and Valentine? should i bring them back? (Plot twist, theres also a new character in the mix of them: Everheart.)

I have 100,000 words written about them right now which is a lot more than i thought i had. before i started writing this post i thought i was still in the 10,000 words part like- GIRL. I NEVER WROTE SOMETHING THAT WAS OVER 45,000 HOW ARE WE HERE. WE'RE ONLY IN ACT 2 AND THERES 3 OTHER ACTS THAT WE GOTTA GET THROUGH HUH.

oki anyways i did use a specific method to get that many words but oof. i did. not. expect that augh i didn't even think it'd be 10,000 words but AUASDLGHASDFLJS oki anyway <3 AND IT DIDN'T EVEN TAKE THAT LONG ONLY LIKE A COUPLE OF WEEKS AND ???? GURL.

anyways this post derailed fast but AAAAA so very excited. gonna publish this book when im done tehe. anyways i'll prolly prost an animatic or something about the three of them or whatnot and that'll be fun :>>>

update: nvm im half asleep and dumb i was looking at character number not word count :( its only 20,000 ish not 100,000 augh <3 only in my dreams.

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random short story about a mysterious flapper in the 1920s

Some would describe it as relaxing. It was how She described it, at least. The methodical process of curling Her hair, painting Her nails, dealing with those annoying lashes of hers. Takes forever, God knows, but at the same time She enjoys it. She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down Her favorite blue dress, and Her movements stilled. A little red speck caught Her attention, making Her frown. Lipstick, wine, or otherwise, whichever it was would be impossible to get out.  

She was disappointed to have to change out of Her dress- it was a wedding anniversary present after all- for a red one. Her only saving grace was that at least with this dress, any stains would be easily hidden and less noticeable if they were to occur. She smoothed down Her dress one more time, before making Her way downstairs. At the door was Her Friend Without a Name- that was the only way This would all work after all. Her Friend Without a Name would answer the door, demands a password, and if the person answered right, he’d let them in. If they didn’t... well, they would be rather unlucky. She gave Her friend a nod and a smile, as She made Her way down to the basement.  

It was quiet, to an extent. Small, whispering chit chat here and there, a quiet hum of the radio playing jazz through the room. It was silent, almost inaudible- there was a rule after all. If you couldn’t hear the radio, you were being too loud. Keeping a place like this up wasn’t cheap, having a basement itself wasn’t cheap, but since She and Her Husband could afford it, She insisted on it. Just in case of another war- Basements were good like that, after all. Though, even as that threat subsided, the basement proved rather useful.  

“Good af-ta'noon, Miss,” The Woman with the distinctive accent asked, though She could never quite place it. The woman in front of Her wasn’t a flapper- no, she couldn’t be. she didn’t have the stature of one, a body fuller than the typical stick thin flapper.  

“Afternoon? Why, its nearly night,” She slid a glass over to The Woman Without a Name. 

“Folks here call me Pony,” The Woman- Pony- happily took the glass.  

“Pony?” She hummed, “a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”  

“Well, what about you, Hun?” Pony retorted with a playful lit, “what do they call you?”  

“Well, I can’t very well give you, my name. That defeats the whole point of this being a secret.”  

Pony frowned at that. “Hun ain’t you the owner of this joint?”  

“My husband,” She corrected, holding up Her ring finger. Pony let out a quiet gasp, as she grasped Her hand.  

“Oh wow,” Pony murmured, inspecting the ring, “ain’t that something?” she seemed awestruck by the quality of it, before pausing. “Now... that husband of yours ain’t part of one of one of those...?”  

“No,” She hummed, “he makes and sells all the alcohol here. Big business nowadays, don’t you know?” She let out a quiet sigh. “He’s making more, but he should be back before midnight...” 

“Big business for the sellers but isn’t it just the hardest on folk like me, I’m runnin out of quarters here!” Pony got shushed by The Bartender, and she slumped down a bit. “Now, now, no need ta be so hostile,” she handed the man three dollars, “sheesh, and that's just for one drink. Imagine a whole bottle of the stuff.” 

The Bartender slid over a shot of whiskey, though he hadn’t left yet. He stayed close by, before leaning in. “Say, what's with the fellow in the corner? Been nursing that drink all night,” he motioned to a man, who looked almost underdressed to be here, just a normal person on the streets. Now, that in itself wasn’t too odd, there were plenty of folk like that. He seemed like a working man, however...  

“Pony, watch my drink,” She murmured. She made Her way over to the man and sat down right next to him. His clothes smelled of alcohol, though his breath held no such trace of it. Even this up close, it was more likely someone had spilled alcohol on him- or he spilled it on himself. Whatever the reason was, that didn’t deter her. “What's a fine man like you doing in a place like this?” She asked, pulling out a cigarette, along with Her cigarette holder. God forbit She gets any ash on Her dress or stains Her gloves. It'll just get pricy. ‘Maybe that credit thing could do me some good,’ She thought to herself.  

“Just havin’ a drink,” the man smiled back, taking a sip of his alcohol for what must’ve been the first time. His hair was slicked back, but it was rushed. There was no gel or brush involved, as if it had been done in a bathroom with nothing but water.  

“Is that so?” She frowned, “well, my little friend over there says you haven’t finished a single drink all night-” She motioned to his clothes, “-not from here, anyway.” She took a puff of Her cigarette, “where you from, Hun?”  

“Just ah, just down that street with the...” the man trailed off, as if waiting for Her to finish his sentence.  

“The one with the couple? Miss Montagu?” She offered, and the man snapped his fingers. 

“Yes! Miss and Mister Montagu,” he spoke with a nod of his head. There wasn’t any Montagu's that lived down the block, and while there were couples who had their own speakeasies, those were more... public, we’ll say. A badly kept secret. Meanwhile, this was nothing short of a private event. 

The Bartender came back with two extra drinks, one a startling pink, and the other clear. She slid the clear one over to the man. “A Gin Ricky. Pretty nifty, hm? Figured you weren’t enjoying your own drink so a had him come up with something special.” The cop- as She was certain that's what he was- paused. “Detectives like you are a dime a dozen... unqualified, understaffed, you aint no Lizzy.” She tapped the rim of the man's glass with Her cigarette, getting some of the ash in it. “Go on. Take a sip. Though if you really don’t want to, I have a lovely overcoat that would suit you perfectly,” She hummed.  

The man picked up the drink, before chugging half of it at once, knowing he’d been caught. “Good,” She hummed, “enjoy yourself, remember to speak easy here, don’t wanna be causing no fuss.”  

“Ever figure out what he wanted?” The Bartender asked Her as he leaned against his shovel.  

“I think he was on-ta something. No use risking it,” She stomped Her cigarette to the ground. “His little police friends will likely find him in... three days' time, yeah?” She asked, waving Her hand around. “By then he’ll be a pile of bloated sludge.”  

The cold chill air of the night struck Her bones, and She shivered. “Cement shoes might-a been better...” The Bartender murmured, but She shook Her head. 

“No, I don't think so... it’ll be in the news as soon as they find ‘im. Let them ponder a bit, hm?”  

“They can still use test; they’ll know it was arsenic.”  

“It wasn’t,” She hummed, “it's the government’s alcohol, a poisonous thing didn’t you know? Tried to use it to deter people from drinking but...” She glanced back at the dirt, “that's never stopped anyone. They're more likely to try to cover it up than anything. They'll be too busy doing that then trying to find who buried him.”  

She sighed. “it's a shame though... that type-of alcohol gets you down fast, hm?” She flicked Her cigarette at the ground and stomped it out. “let's get a move on, don’t want the patrol officers asking what we’re doing here.” 

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i genuinely think ocd is incredibly underdiagnosed bc i will see people posting what are obvious rituals, compulsions, intrusive thoughts, spiralling, hyper morality, etc and its like Have You Considered This Might Be An Issue

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I'm really tired of the trend of using one's desire (or lack of) to put their mouth anywhere as a measure of sexual orientation.

Some people don't do oral or open mouth kissing, and it doesn't mean they're incapable of attraction. It has no correlation with attraction at all. You can love someone and want to have sex with them without it including any oral activities on either side.

Y'all are fucking obsessed with trying to performatively out-queer each other, and it only hurts the whole community in the end.

Bonus unsurprising aphobia

Do better.

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I am made of voices

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I think we as people are just a collection of voices, and I think that's beautiful

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Augh going on a cleaning binge today will be unreachable

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He got a smartphone

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Quick study of some ORV girls! Might do more later

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i think the thing that appeals to me so much in a yoo joonghyuk being married to seolwha but in some sort of affair with kim dokja scenario is like. kim dokja has this perception of himself as an inherently Bad Thing to happen to a person right. like he is a burden to bear and he brings only bad things to the people who bear it. which is largely untrue of course including in this scenario. but also if their affair gets found out it will kind of nuke yoo joonghyuk's marriage. like kim dokjas love is not life ruining for most people but it is a littllleeee for a married yoo joonghyuk. so this feeds into kim dokjas neuroses and self torments sooo well. here is everything he wants in front of him on a silver platter and he is fucking desperate to sink his teeth in but!! also here is proof of the damage it will cause in the form of lee seolwha smiling and inviting him over for dinner.

so either we get kim dokja and yoo joonghyuk in an awful emotional affair where kim dokja is refusing take that final step but still so so in love with a married man in a way that hurts so bad OR we get a physical affair that kim dokja is terrified of and self flaggelating for and using as proof to himself that he doesn't deserve any love at all because look at what he does with it. and either way you have a yoo joonghyuk who doesn't really understand this and reaches for kim dokja not knowing how much it hurts him because he just loves him. and thats how kim dokja convinces himself that he truly is ruining yoo joonghyuks life and runs away to like. germany or something over it!

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Creepy demon dog (like a chuwawa can't spell anyway) in a clown costume no eyes, light fur not dark, but like long legs/body like thin dog you know. Saw this in a vision remind me to draw this in the morning

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Guys... Guys pls help pls pls pl-

Is it still a coming of age story if your character is in their thirties? Genuine question. Also I finished writing a book!!! Now I just need to edit it, flesh it out, and publish it!!! Yippee!!!

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Is it still a coming of age story if your character is in their thirties? Genuine question. Also I finished writing a book!!! Now I just need to edit it, flesh it out, and publish it!!! Yippee!!!