snowshowerwriting

[snowshowerwriting]

I started my lovely Thursday morning in tears, Cat.

pt. 1, pt. 2

“…did you know that death as a result of surgical intervention is the third leading cause of death worldwide?”

“Please,” the hero said. They took the villain’s hand. “Please, don’t say that.”

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” the villain said. “It’s pretty common. I’m not exempt from that.”

They stared at each other.

The villain was covered in bandages. Bruises everywhere. They looked tired, they looked sick.

Although the hero knew them waking up was enough of a miracle, they couldn’t bear the thought of parting with the villain this quickly again. They were here. They were in front of them. They had survived a surgery most had doubted to be successful.

“You’ll be fine,” the hero said. “You’ll be okay.”

“I don’t think my body can handle this anymore. I’m in so much pain and I…I feel so weak. There are so many wounds, I cannot walk, I can’t eat…I…I’m sorry, but I don’t think I will make it.” The villain’s eyes looked sunken in, sad, devastated.

And once again, once again, the hero had to swallow their tears.

“No,” they whispered. “Please. You said you’d stay with me.”

“I’m sorry,” the villain said.

When the hero had heard the news, they had jumped out of bed - despite their own broken leg - to stumble into the room where the villain was recovering, just to catch a glimpse of them. To see them, to touch them. To know they were here and not under the concrete. Several nurses had to drag the hero back to their own room.

And now, the villain was saying this. They were saying all these horrible things. The hero clenched their fists, their bottom lip was trembling.

“If I had—”

“None of that, please.” The villain took in a weak raspy breath. Their eyes found the hero’s and their gaze softened, softened like the world did when spring came. “Oh, dear. You are so wonderful.”

The hero forced themselves to maintain eye contact, but the tears blurred their vision.

“I want you to find some peace, okay?” The villain took the hero’s hand, but there was no strength in their grip. Not even the tiniest bit. “Whatever it is, I would like you to find peace in what you do.”

“I-”

“I’ll admit, my heart is a very delicate thing. I knew I would fall for you from the very beginning, I didn’t really have a say in it — after all, you are so easy to love. I kept it to myself because I knew I had no right to impose and I didn’t think i was worthy of your attention, at least of all your affection.” The villain smiled, as if they were going to share a gentle secret with the hero. “I was ready for vulnerability, but I wouldn’t dare to expect the same from you, I couldn’t bring myself to burden you with the heaviness of my feelings.”

“Please…” The hero closed their eyes, but opened them quickly again to look at their dear villain. Their dear saviour.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t leave much of a choice to you back then,” the villain said. “But I would choose this path again. Every single time, even if it meant I had died right there, even if it meant I could have never said this to you. No matter the outcome, you being alright is everything that matters to me.”

“I am not okay, though,” the hero whispered. Their voice was breaking. “I am really not okay. Don’t you know I like you, too? Don’t you know I…”

“I’m sorry,” the villain said again. “I suppose I am taking the easy way out. I didn’t mean to put all this sorrow onto you.”

They paused and all that echoed in the room were those shattering sobs the hero made.

How on earth were they supposed to move on? Just like that? This was going to haunt them for the rest of their life. They’d never be the same, they would never be able to love again.

They had made a grave mistake by watching the villain from the sidelines, letting life happen to them, not daring to say a word, not being honest about their feelings.

They could have been together. For an entire year, they could have made so many memories, they could have done so much.

“Please, don’t be afraid to love again,” the villain said. Now, their grip had a little bit more strength in it. “Please, don’t be afraid of love. Promise me to love every single breath you take. Promise me to fall in love with rainy days. To love the sound of birds. The way you cook your favourite meal. Please, do not hesitate to love…to love another person. To fall in love with someone, please don’t be afraid of that. Do not abandon what I cherish about you so much. Don’t abandon the love you hold.”

The hero couldn’t do this. They couldn’t take this pain any longer. This was a nightmare they needed to wake up from. This wasn’t true, this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

“Promise me. You have to promise me, will you?”

The hero blinked the tears out of their eyes.

“I do,” the hero said. They stood up and leaned over the bed. They touched the villain’s cheeks with the utmost care. “But only if you promise me to fight. Please, don’t leave me again.”

“I will,” the villain said.

“Alright,” the hero whispered. They leaned over the villain’s broken form even further and kissed them as gently as they could. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The hero stayed with them, even as the villain’s condition worsened. Even as their organs started to fail and as they passed away a week later.

The hero stayed with them and they kept their promise, although they were convinced they could never love another person like that ever again.

[snowshowerwriting]

may is mental health awareness month, so, you know, when you are going through a rough time, often the stuff people try to say to you does not really help.

"It will get better."

"You matter."

"You are loved."

Because, no. Sometimes it doesn't feel like it gets better. Sometimes you don't feel like you matter. Sometimes you don't feel loved. And who the hell do those people think they are, those who know nothing about the situation you are in, those who do not even come close to comprehending what you feel? Those who make empty promises, like "it will get better"?

Despite their good intentions, sometimes the comfort you crave doesn't reach you.

Which means you need to find comfort on you own: you need to find comfort in the way your friend does her make up, you need to find comfort in the way the sun hits your window, you need to find comfort in the softness of a blanket, you need to find comfort in the taste of lemonade on your tongue, you need to find comfort in wind shaking trees, you need to find comfort on the pages of the book you are reading, you need to find comfort between the frames of the movie you are watching, you need to find comfort in a stranger's kindness, you need to find comfort in the mirrored version staring back at you at 1 in the morning.

It is easy to lose your way, but most importantly, you need to find your way again with little steps. You need to move forward at your own pace, in your own time.

If you choose to move forward you will inevitably find your way again. It will be a different, foreign path, but it will be your path. Yours alone.

but that's just how I see it

[snowshowerwriting]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[snowshowerwriting]

The Bitter Aftertaste Of Life (,,>﹏<,,)

 

The first time I tried ice cream was also the day I discovered my dislike for chocolate. It was a Friday afternoon, and my father had just returned from work. Fridays were always something to look forward to because they always came with surprises- delicious treats my father brought home for the family to share. Sometimes, it was something extravagant, like the red velvet cakes from the plaza downtown. Rich, moist layers laced with thick, decadent cream cheese. On other days, it would be simpler, like a jackfruit that my mother would split open with a knife, roasting the seeds over the coal stove before we divided the sweet, fragrant pieces amongst ourselves.          On this particular evening, I found myself outside, sprawled in my grandfather’s hammock, pretending to be fascinated by the palm trees that rustled quietly above me in soft whispers. I leapt up the moment I heard the sound of jingling keys and the long creak of the old wooden gate, followed by its abrupt slam, announcing someone's arrival. It was him! This was followed by the squeaks of his black, dusty boots, which shuffled noisily onto the verandah. I dashed towards the house, trailing closely behind my father's long legs that stretched with ease into the kitchen. My mother, who often scolded my father for ruining her freshly wiped floor, stayed silent. Or rather, her curiosity was outweighed by the part of her brain that reminded her to look down and notice the dirt tracks her eyes were always so quick to point out. She too, followed behind my father, her eyes fixed on the mystery container he clutched near his waist. My father, whose stoic nature rarely broke, had a soft curve etched on the corner of his lips. Even though I was young, I could always sense his quiet pride, secretly enjoying the attention he received through his role as the bringer of delight, even if he wouldn't admit it. Amongst the suspense, my father peeled back the lid of the container to reveal a smooth chocolate-brown surface. You could see wisps of cold steam rising from it if you squinted your eyes just right. “Chocolate ice cream”, he called it, while reaching for a spoon from the pantry.         My 5-year-old palate was accustomed to receiving sweet treats every now and then, which were carefully rationed to me by my mother to ensure I didn't “spoil my teeth”. This though, was something new, and I was bubbling over with excitement. I placed the cold metal spoon of ice cream in my mouth, swirling my tongue in curiosity to explore the flavour. I expected it to be the kind of sweet that tingles the inside of your cheeks like when you're eating a tamarind sweetie. The kind of sweet that was so nice that you let it linger on your tongue till the taste faded out on its own. But I was met with something else. At first, it was sweet, just as I had envisioned. However, the initial sweetness quickly dissolved into a harsh and bitter taste that stung my cheeks and shocked my senses. This complexity frightened my poor taste buds, who advised me to refrain from taking another bite. My parents, however, found amusement in the face I made, which I imagined was a mixture of disgust and betrayal.      That moment stayed with me, not just because I discovered something new about myself but because it taught me a lesson. It was my first encounter with the idea that sweetness can be deceiving. Life, much like that spoon of chocolate ice cream, doesn't always give you what you expect. And when it does, the sweet moments will pass by so quickly that you'll miss it if you blink. No time to truly savour it the way you'd want to. The bitterness that follows, however, lingers longer than you'd like it to, leaving a taste in your mouth so strong that no amount of scrubbing can remove it. It makes you wonder if the pursuit of just a spoonful of sweetness is even worth it in the first place.

[snowshowerwriting]

You guys...

So, the time has (unfortunately) come and I have decided to create a Ko-fi account. So, uh yeah. That obviously doesn't mean that I will be neglecting this blog!

But you have the option to request writing from me - that includes snippets of your OCs or self-inserts, whatever you like! I would also post some more personal writing, that's not just hero x villain, but you can also request hero x villain / other pairings from me that I will definitely write. (Sorry to the 632 asks in my inbox, I will still write your stuff on here, I promise. It will just take a lot of time.)

I'd also offer writing fanfiction for you, but unfortunately, I could get into legal trouble for that so ehhh, sorry, I cannot offer that.

Please don't feel obligated to tip or spend money on my writing! I just wanted to try this out as first step towards making some money with what I love.

I hope all of you have a wonderful weekend!

[snowshowerwriting]

Whumpril Day 1 - Hugs ||

CW: Intoxicated minor, alluded to anxiety attack

The divider belongs to @cafekitsune. The image is also linked to their account! Thank you so much for the lovely dividers :)

The cold air kept nipping at every exposed skin, but Flynn refused to go back for his jacket. By now, the party had been in full swing, and all his friends were fully down for doing dumb shit. Honestly, he was too, at first, before the jitters began to kick in. All too suddenly, his legs felt heavy, and his chest felt tight. The moment he left, Flynn was sure they didn’t even notice his disappearance. Fucking pricks. 

As soon as the backdoor was in view, Flynn clambered up the stairs and leaned against the crooked door. He swore the keys were somewhere in his pockets, but everytime he thought he found them, it was his lighter or phone or something else instead. Where the hell did it go? Panic began to swell in his chest, and he began to fumble around more, searching all of his pockets again. It had to be there. There were two copies and the other one was wherever his father decided to hide the key. Can his hands stop fucking shaking? Holy shit, the keys may have been in his jacket. And the jacket was a thirty minute walk away. 

“Fuck!” Whatever energy he had remaining was drained away, and Flynn found himself sinking into the grass. Going to the party was a bad idea, hell, the whole day had been a bad idea (not that he did much but played hooky anyways). His glasses rested atop his head when he buried his face into his hands. Don’t cry, don’t cry. He could fucking feel the lump of fear at the back of his throat. What was he going to do? Why was this setting him off anyways? They had an extra key, he could always retrieve his jacket tomorrow. But then, it wasn’t just that, was it? This meant that he couldn’t even be responsible for this, so how can he manage making sure he didn’t lose everything either?

“Flynn? What the hell!”

The sound of his father’s voice snapped him out of the spiral, if only momentarily. What the fuck was he going to tell him now? The panic in his chest grew. “Dad.” His voice hitched, and Flynn cringed at the voice crack. He stumbled to stand up, but the quickness in his movement nearly had him land in the grass. A large and steady hand grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him back to his feet. The sudden movements had him reeling from dizziness, but the hand between his shoulders prevented him from falling backwards again.

“You’ve been out since lunch, where the hell have you been?” Flynn didn’t even get to answer, trying to catch his breath. No matter how much air he inhaled, his lungs demanded for more. “Hey, look at me.” He didn’t even have a chance to move his body, before his father had forcefully faced him. “Christ, you’re wasted.” Shame burned in the bottom of his stomach, or maybe it was all the alcohol. Flynn turned his head away from his father, but the older man just wrapped his arms around him instead. 

Between the frigid November air, his father’s warmth felt overwhelming and enveloping all at once. He was not just a shitty student or a nameless face that people talked with occasionally, and his dad didn’t feel like a shell that Flynn would eventually grow into. The house didn’t feel like an empty coffin for that moment. “Let’s get you inside. It’s fuckin’ cold.” Flynn nodded, head down as his father guided him into the house. 

[snowshowerwriting]

Wheat Field with Cornflowers (1890) by Vincent van Gogh

[snowshowerwriting]

These are absolutely stunning and I'm excited to use them for my whumpril posts :)

DAINTY CHAINS | pattern 03.

──────── ⵌ NEUTRALS ...

──────── ⵌ RAINBOW ...

hehe ! return of the dainty chains 👏. I quite like this one (although it took a while to figure out the pattern so it didn’t look weird) :e

patterns : 001 / 002 / 003 / 004

feel free to use; please like, reblog, and credit〜

support me through ko-fi | more dividers →

[snowshowerwriting]

Whumpril 2025 approaches!

Rules:

Anyone can participate.

Any media form is allowed (art, fic, gifs, music, whatever).

AI-generated content is NOT permitted.

You can participate however much or as little as you want, no pressure to complete every single day.

You can post your work anywhere on the internet, Tumblr, Ao3, etc.

Tag potential triggers and NSFW accordingly.

If you want to be counted as an official participant and have the chance to be featured on the blog, post your content during the month of April. You can still use the prompt list after April ends.

I can’t guarantee that every single work will be featured but I’ll try to reblog as many as I can.

To increase your chances of being featured here, tag your post with the event name and the prompt of the day that you used (For example: #whumpril2025, #whumprilday1, #hug) 

You can also @ the blog, @whumpril.

Full write-up of the prompts can be found under the cut!

Whumpril 2025 Prompts:

Hug

Lies

Sore

Threat

Neglect

Distrust

Restless

Burnout

Stranded

Bandages

Grounding

Dislocation

Head Injury

Lost/Found

Belittlement

Waterlogged

Interrogation

Mood Swings

Fetal Position

“You’re next.”

Stage(s) of Grief

Dehumanization

“Don’t you dare.”

Sensory Overload

Too Weak to Stand

The Kind One Snaps

Tossing and Turning

Inexperienced Caretaker

“Get your hands off them!”

“You’re/I’m not going anywhere.”

Alternative Prompts:

If there’s a prompt above you don’t feel inspired or comfortable doing, you can switch it out with one of these alternatives!

X-Rays

Hazing

Clammy

Trampled

Cowardice

Unsanitary

Congestion

Silent Tears

Falsely Accused

Slammed into Wall

Missed Medication

Heimlich Maneuver

 “Why won’t you believe me?”

[snowshowerwriting]

I need some angst that leads to cuddling!

The henchman was right.

The villain looked horrible.

Admittedly, the hero feared they’d be thrown out of the lair. It was a little sheepish of the henchman to call them out of all people, but the hero understood the necessity quickly. Although the villain didn’t seem to be injured, it was pretty clear that something was wrong.

They’re barely eating anything. They’re not sleeping. The hero supposed it was their duty as a protector of the people to help whenever they’d been asked to help. And, hell, something in the henchman’s voice had really punched them in the throat this time.

Of course, they had noticed the villain’s decreasing activities. But they had never thought it was this bad.

“Hey,” the hero tried softly. The villain was still sitting there on the couch, staring at nothing. They didn’t acknowledge the hero in the slightest.

The hero looked around. The lair was relatively clean, but they supposed the villain wasn’t the one behind maintaining it.

Usually, their nemesis was rather playful and chaotic. Flirting, taunting, smirking - it was almost part of their strategy and now that there was nothing, the hero wasn’t quite sure if their nemesis was even sitting in front of them.

“I am starting to miss you,” the hero said. Still nothing.

Eventually, the hero decided to let themselves drop next to the villain and they leaned back, resting against the designer furniture.

“What are you doing?” the villain asked. Their voice was raspy.

“I think you need someone next to you right now,” the hero said.

“Because someone else told you so?” They still didn’t look at the hero, but the hero stared at them.

“You know I make my own decisions,” the hero said. They looked down at their own hands. Why were they feeling anxious? The villain was by no means a threat right now.

They closed their eyes, concentrating on the villain instead of their own conflicting feelings.

This was definitely serious. People didn’t stop eating for no reason.

“I’m fine,” the villain said, as if they had read the hero’s mind.

“I beg to differ.”

“I-” The villain turned towards them and the hero truly saw how terribly lifeless their eyes looked.

“If your guys start calling me, it’s pretty bad,” the hero said. “And I want to be honest…it looks pretty bad. If talking is not an option, that’s fine. But I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

They stared at each other. And the hero couldn’t help but stare at those red eyes, those dark circles under them. Where was that annoying smirk? Those stupid comments?

Why was the hero’s heart sinking so rapidly?

A month ago, everything had been fine. Then, the hero had left for a mission and when they’d come back, they hadn’t seen the villain anymore. Up until now.

The villain reached for the hero and gently pushed a loose stray out of their sight.

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

“I…” the hero stared at the ground, suddenly embarrassed. They supposed they had felt lonely without fighting the villain. They had thought they’d come back eventually. But the villain looked like they needed weeks to recover, maybe even months. Their voice was quiet. “…you know I care. You know that.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t really get a say in that, I suppose,” the hero said. Sometimes they wished they didn’t care. It would make their job certainly easier.

Both of them were quiet now and the hero folded their hands in their lap.

Why was it, that the hero had instantly reached for their jacket when the henchman had called? Why was it that they had sprinted to the door?

Was it truly because of the henchman’s broken voice? Or was it because of what they had said. They’re barely eating anything. They’re not sleeping.

Why did the hero care that much?

The hero was so worried they felt like throwing up. They took in a deep breath, ready to say something, but the villain was quicker.

“My mother died two weeks ago,” they said.

Oh.

The hero swallowed.

“The funeral was a few days ago and, I…yeah, I don’t think I’m taking it that well.” They looked at the hero again. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry,” the hero whispered. “I know what that feels like.”

“Does it ever get better?” the villain asked. “Or is it just this continuous cycle of pain and sorrow?”

The hero bit the inside of their cheek, thinking briefly.

“…you know, grief isn’t really an emotion. There’s a lot in there. Anger. Frustration. Guilt. Anxiety. That’s like 50% of it, I’d say,” the hero said.

“And the other half?” the villain asked.

“Unfortunately, the other half is love. So, technically, you never really stop grieving when someone you love dies.” They paused, digging fingernails into their own skin. “With time grief will start to look different, though. It’ll get easier because those 50% of all the other emotions will be slowly replaced by the love part.”

The hero looked at their nemesis.

“Being loved is the closest thing we have to immortality. As long as someone loves you, you’re never really gone. So, I think you should let all those emotions happen to you. You should talk about her, remember her. But I don’t think you should be alone, I don’t think you should allow yourself to decay.”

The villain’s eyes were still on them. The hero couldn’t read their mood, but they felt like their words had some weight.

And then, suddenly-

“Can we hug?”

“Absolutely.” The hero hadn’t hesitated.

And they didn’t let go for a very long time.

[snowshowerwriting]

[snowshowerwriting]

Whumpril 2025 approaches!

Rules:

Anyone can participate.

Any media form is allowed (art, fic, gifs, music, whatever).

AI-generated content is NOT permitted.

You can participate however much or as little as you want, no pressure to complete every single day.

You can post your work anywhere on the internet, Tumblr, Ao3, etc.

Tag potential triggers and NSFW accordingly.

If you want to be counted as an official participant and have the chance to be featured on the blog, post your content during the month of April. You can still use the prompt list after April ends.

I can’t guarantee that every single work will be featured but I’ll try to reblog as many as I can.

To increase your chances of being featured here, tag your post with the event name and the prompt of the day that you used (For example: #whumpril2025, #whumprilday1, #hug) 

You can also @ the blog, @whumpril.

Full write-up of the prompts can be found under the cut!

Whumpril 2025 Prompts:

Hug

Lies

Sore

Threat

Neglect

Distrust

Restless

Burnout

Stranded

Bandages

Grounding

Dislocation

Head Injury

Lost/Found

Belittlement

Waterlogged

Interrogation

Mood Swings

Fetal Position

“You’re next.”

Stage(s) of Grief

Dehumanization

“Don’t you dare.”

Sensory Overload

Too Weak to Stand

The Kind One Snaps

Tossing and Turning

Inexperienced Caretaker

“Get your hands off them!”

“You’re/I’m not going anywhere.”

Alternative Prompts:

If there’s a prompt above you don’t feel inspired or comfortable doing, you can switch it out with one of these alternatives!

X-Rays

Hazing

Clammy

Trampled

Cowardice

Unsanitary

Congestion

Silent Tears

Falsely Accused

Slammed into Wall

Missed Medication

Heimlich Maneuver

 “Why won’t you believe me?”

[snowshowerwriting]

Not Realizing They Were Injured

This was for Whumptober day 6, but I never finished it on time lol. Whoopsies.

--

The first thing that struck Hero odd was the closed window. It was usually open for the hero's convenience or to hear the city's sound when they sat by the window. The second thing strange was that the night lights in the bedroom were off. Hero had tried to get the villain to turn off the lights for months, but the fairy lights always drowned the room in soft red, purple, and green hues.

Hero hadn't expected the darkness when they came in. For a second, they thought perhaps that there was a power outage earlier that day, while they were in the other city. Maybe Villain hadn't gotten home from whatever errand they were running, so the lights had been turned off. Then, a clatter sounded from the living room.

The air turned still as Hero stiffened. Was that the Villain? With light footsteps, Hero made their way further into the dark apartment, peering into the hallway first. The living room lights were off, and a silence settled as the hero tip-toed closer to the living room. They held still, fingertips static with the power they kept just out of reach. A second had passed, and then another. With no other sounds, the hero sighed and turned around, making their back to the bedroom door.

Just as they rested their hand on the doorknob, a whimper sounded from the living room. There was only a flash of a second as Hero bolted to the living room, slamming the lights on with electricity at their fingertips.

"Fuck!"

Villain was curled up on the couch, covering their face from the bright light. The crimson staining their clothes caught Hero's attention first, and then the red on the towels beneath Villain.

"The lights!"

"Holy shit, sorry-" hero's eyes stayed on Villain. Now, only the faintest streetlight outlined their figure on the couch. It was easy to miss at first glance.

"Dude, what the fuck? What are you doing here?" Instead of the familiar confidence and warmth, Villain's voice was quiet. Breathy and on the edge of giving out between all the mumbling.

Nothing about this evening was normal. There was an itch in Hero's fingers, wanting to reach back to the room's light switch. Instead, Hero went to the light stand, muscle memory guiding them. It emitted a soft yellow glow. Despite the gentle light, Villain curled in within themself, hissing as if they were burnt.

"What the fuck happened to you? You're drenched in blood!" The closer they got, the more injuries they could make out. "You're drenched in blood!"

" 'S not my blood," they replied, looking at Hero now. Their eyes were glazed over, not entirely there even as they looked straight at the hero.

"Are you fucking with me? Did you look in the mirror before you decided to lay down?!" Hero pulled down the collar of Villain's suit. There was a gash running down their collarbone to just above their chest. "How long were you laying like this?!"

Villain gave a lazy shrug. "Dunno," their words were barely understandable now. Their eyes closed as they leaned back on the armrest. "Was sleepin'. Woke now." Hero's nose scrunched up as they looked over the rest of the surface injuries. "Who did this to you?" They asked. Villain's shoulders barely rose the smallest hint of a shrug. With a huff, Hero got up. They didn't know how the hell this happened, but they weren't going to let Villain lie around and avoid answering them.

[snowshowerwriting]

Hello and welcome to Writeblr’s Art Trade!

Writeblr’s Art Trade is a community art trade where you send in your OC/s and receive another's OC/s in return to make an artwork of.

You’ll then draw and post the artwork here on Tumblr, tagging both the original creator as well as us. you could also tag the art with #writeblr-art-trade

Each person are allowed to send in up to 3 OCs. For each OC you send, you’ll get another in return for the trade.

To join please send us a DM with the following things before February 1st.

● A message telling us the number of OC/s you want to submit. ● A link to a Tumblr post with reference images / zip files of the OC/s you want to submit. (if you have more than one, please link them separately) ● Additionally you can add in a list of TW/Squicks if needed.

Please do not ask for more than what you can give. But if you do want to draw more than the OCs you have submitted please tell us and we might give you one more should someone drop out. 

If you do drop out or are unable to complete the art trade, you will not be able to rejoin for one year should we make this a returning event.

Rules:

● Cannot contain hate speech, racism, religion etc. ● No sexually explicit art. (Spicy is allowed, but no smut) ● No depiction of graphic violence/whump. ● The person may have added their own list of TW/Squicks please be respectful and follow them. ● No Ai generated images.

Everyone will receive the OC/s on February 1th. You can begin uploading your art trade on the 15th. All artworks have to be posted on Tumblr by the 22nd. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask.

Hope you all have fun making art! @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 & @just-a-space-rabbit

[snowshowerwriting]

I'm watching Daredevil in the friends right now, and I have SOOOO many ideas...

[snowshowerwriting]

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

[snowshowerwriting]