#I need to make art of them soon and flesh out their stories

[pandaheart666]

Late night lethal company posting hours

Thinking about the scenario with Masked having a gun and if it were to accidentally fatally shoot Green.

Jester would be dead quiet before winding up, Masked is just non verbally “oh shit-“ and Nutcracker is trying futilely to calm Jester. Jester pops and makes masked its chew toy… as Green respawns

All of them just stare for a few moments before Jester spits out Masked and tackles Green, nuzzling the hell out of him. Green gets the wind knocked out of him and is just very confused and concerned as he pets Jester

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 1.2k | tags: rockstar!eddie, drummer!steve, secret relationship, part of @thefreakandthehair and @firefly-party and mine project pickup note | @steddielovemonth prompt love is staying in bed for five extra minutes because you can't tear yourself away from them just yet by @starryeyedjanai | art by Kei | story in the same verse by Lex | AO3)

Steve came to slowly, like swimming through molasses, his mind caught somewhere between dreaming and being awake. In his dream, he had been lying in the sun, his head cushioned in Eddie's lap, Eddie's fingers running through his hair, humming a soft melody Steve had never heard before.

Slowly, the melody changes to the sound of soft snoring, and the soft thing under his head isn't Eddie's lap, it's his chest, gently rising and falling with each snore. Steve presses his smile into the warm skin beneath him at the thought of Eddie's face when he tells him he snores.

Some things are worth waiting for, though, and he knows the perfect moment to reveal this particular piece of information will come.

He has no idea what time it is. Judging by the morning light filtering into the room, it's just after sunrise, the sun's rays piercing through the blinds and casting a warm, golden glow that gradually fills Steve's hotel room.

Moving as carefully as he can, he cranes his neck to check the aged alarm clock on the bedside table. It tells him that he was right, it's 7:58 a.m., and the sun has risen just minutes before him. The light filtering in is soft and diffused, making the colors seem muted yet rich, with shades of pale orange, pink, and yellow dancing across the surfaces. Long shadows stretch out elegantly, accentuating the contours of furniture and objects in the room.

It's Steve's favorite time of day. There's a sense of quiet serenity in this early morning moment as the world slowly awakens. It offers a brief respite before the hustle and bustle of the day begins.

These days, early mornings hold an even more special place in his heart because it's the only time of day he can just look at Eddie.

Sometimes Steve thinks Eddie is like a hummingbird, always moving until all his energy is used up and he falls into a deep slumber that almost looks like he's dead to the world. It allows Steve to soak him up undisturbed and unabashed. His fingers carefully exploring the hills and valleys of hard muscle and soft flesh, he can drink in the swirling ink on Eddie's pale skin.

It's such a stark contrast from the rest of the day.

Eddie often seems driven. By the perceived expectations of others, by his own fears of falling short. By his own demons, which Steve has only glimpsed. But as the darkness of the night gives way to a new day, Eddie looks at ease.

It's probably too soon to think, but Steve hopes it's because he's now sharing Eddie's bed. That Eddie feels safe with him, safe enough to let go of all the things that plague his beautiful but sometimes overwhelmingly loud mind.

That's why it pains Steve to be the one to wake Eddie from his peaceful slumber and bring him back to reality. But they have a sound check at 9:15 because the venue has had some problems lately and they need to make sure everything goes off without a hitch tonight. This whole tour means too much to them, to Eddie, for it not to be perfect.

Pressing a gentle kiss just above where Steve can feel the steady beating of Eddie's heart, he softly calls Eddie's name. Not surprisingly, nothing happens, so another kiss follows the first, this time on Eddie's collarbone.

"Eddie, c'mon," he tries again, this time closer to Eddie's ear, eliciting a soft murmur. "We have to get up, the soundcheck -"

"Mm, they can check the sound without us," his - Eddie's - voice comes in a slightly drawn out tone. "Don't wanna get up."

Eddie, obviously not fully awake yet, wraps his arms around Steve and buries his face in Steve's hair.

"I know, ba-" Steve stumbles over the pet names that want to come out more and more now that they're so much closer than when he first started touring with Corroded Coffin. "I know. But we can grab a big coffee with enough sugar in it to put an elephant into a sugar coma, and when the check is done, we can come back to the hotel and sneak into your room and I can make it worth your while."

Steve's tone is low, almost a purr, as he says this. The others don't know about them yet, although Steve thinks that at least Robin and Chrissy have their suspicions. And Jeff has been watching them more closely as well. He's sure that they'll tell them soon, but first they want to enjoy getting to know each other this way, without their friends getting involved.

"Five more minutes and I will make it worth your while. Whaddya say, big boy?"

Before Steve can answer, most likely telling Eddie no, we're going to be late and how are you going to explain that to the others, Eddie rolls them both over until Steve lands on his back with a soft umph. Above him, Eddie is smiling down at him, suddenly much more awake than seconds before.

"Hi," he says, nudging Steve's nose with his own.

Steve doesn't even try to fight the dopey smile, even as he rolls his eyes at Eddie trying to get what he wants by playing dirty. It's so Eddie, just like the wolfish grin on his face.

"I'll make this the best five minutes of your life, Harrington. Scout's honor."

Steve snorts. "Scout's honor? I doubt you ever talked to a scout in your life."

"Oh yeah. In fact, I'm sleeping with one. And I'm about to kiss one before I rock his world."

"See, that's where you're wrong."

"Is that so?"

This makes Steve laugh out loud. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," Eddie replies, then hesitates as his choice of words seems to register with him.

Before the moment between them ends in awkwardness, Steve leans in to kiss Eddie on the nose. "How did you know I was a Boy Scout?"

Steve's distraction works, and the worry in Eddie's eyes is replaced by mischief. "Just a guess, but good to know."

"Ass."

"I have it on good authority that you like my ass," Eddie teases, and Steve has to agree. He really does. As much as he likes everything else about Eddie. How much is becoming a problem.

Instead of saying any of these things, Steve looks over at the alarm clock, which now reads 08:04. He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. "I think your five minutes are up, and I have to say, not the world-rocking I was expecting, Munson."

"Oh you..." Eddie growls before swooping in to capture Steve's lips in a deep kiss. It turns into another, and another, the dim light in the room growing brighter around them as they become lost in each other.

Eddie makes it to sound check just in time, while Steve is ten minutes late, carrying five cups of coffee. He hopes no one notices the bright grin Eddie flashes with the first sip of his overtly sweet coffee, or the wink he gives Steve.

A promise is a promise, and Steve intends to keep them all when it comes to Eddie.

[islerouxsims]

DIZZY ISY SAVE FILE VERSION 8

Hello Dizzy Isy fans! I'm absolutely thrilled to announce the release of Version 8!

The save file is now updated for the FOR RENT pack and Tomarang.

I hope you find a lot of joy in this new version of the save!

♥ What do you get? ♥

VERSION 1 OF DIZZY ISY (STILL AVAILABLE HERE)

VERSION 2 OF DIZZY ISY (STILL AVAILABLE HERE)

VERSION 3 OF DIZZY ISY (STILL AVAILABLE HERE)

VERSION 4 OF DIZZY ISY (STILL AVAILABLE HERE)

VERSION 5 OF DIZZY ISY (STILL AVAILABLE HERE)

VERSION 6 OF DIZZY ISY (STILL AVAILABLE HERE)

VERSION 7 OF DIZZY ISY (STILL AVAILABLE HERE)

…PLUS…

220 custom clubs and icons (+11 than v.7) with points/rivalries and custom activities.

Lots of details of custom books to find, interesting tombstones, photos with past histories and mysteries etc.

♥ When you enter the save♥

There are 4 empty lots.

There are 20 empty houses (13 starters, 6 under 100k, 1 under 120k). (I have now labelled the starters so it is clearer.)

There are 18 rentals in holiday destinations.

3 new rentals in Tomarang with fleshed out family landlords.

There are now 3 free apartments.

Secret lots in Mt. Komerebi renovated.

Selvadorada and Strangerville adventure/mystery unplayed.

Conservation efforts not completed in Sulani.

Evergreen Harbor has many community project opportunities.

Neighbourhood Stories disactivated.

Voting and Eco Footprints also disactivated.

___________________________________________________________

It is a busy save file with many lots filled to stop random spawning of townies but the empty lots will soon quickly fill up with townie families if you don’t use them. The townies are clearly marked in the unplayed tab with the #townies so you know who is meant to have a lot and who isn’t.

___________________________________________________________

♥ What do you need? ♥

❥  ALL THE PACKS apart from Journey to Batuu

❥  Kits used: Fashion Street kit, Incheon Arrivals kit, Desert Luxe and Carnival Streetwear kit

-You can still download this save file without all these packs or kits but some items might be replaced by substitutes, and we all know how those pan out.

❥ 186 MB of free space for this save file.

❥  Zerbu’s More Club Icons Mod (PLEASE DOWNLOAD FIRST!)

(If unavailable to you please download from here)

❥  Rex’s Custom Club Activities Mod (PLEASE ALSO DOWNLOAD BEFORE THE SAVE!)

♥ Recommendations ♥

❥ MC Command Center by Deaderpool.  

❥ No Random Townies by Zero.    

❥ No Random Hats Acessories and Makeup by Bienchens.    

(Anything by Bienshens is amazing and safe to use in my opinion)

♥ How to install? ♥

Make a backup of your Electronic Arts/The Sims 4/Saves folder

Download the file, unzip, and place files in Electronic Arts/The Sims4/Saves.

Open your game, enter the save. It is named “Dizzy Isy Save File By Isleroux and you should see the Koh Saphas as the last played household.

"The Koh Saphas are heirs to the Sungai Point estate but face a whirlwind of challenges. Kasarinlan manages their property portfolio, while chef Kahilom embarks on managing a restaurant plagued by terrible reviews after a tragic incident involving artist Indigo Ivyloop. With twin girls on the horizon, Indigo's ashes in their posession and the daunting task of salvaging Kahilom's culinary reputation. Will their ambition prove their downfall, or can they turn the tide and savour success?"

___________________________________________________________

DOWNLOAD (SFS) or 

DOWNLOAD (MediaFire)

(REMEMBER TO DOWNLOAD THE CUSTOM CLUB MODS FIRST!!)

**Lastly, if you find joy in the save file and wish to support me, perhaps you could consider buying me a coffee ☕ to help make future updates possible.

It's worth mentioning that despite the immense effort poured into Dizzy Isy over four years, I've chosen not to restrict access to my save files behind any paywall.

To those of you who have already extended your support, your kindness truly means the world to me. I want you to know that I see you, I appreciate you, and I'm grateful for your unwavering dedication, especially to those who have read this far down.**

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Happy simming!  ~isy~ ツ  

@maxismatchccworld

[stvharrngton]

a lesson in romantics; the extra-curricular

summary: a multi-part series where reader is the new art teacher at hawkins high and the history teacher, mr. harrington, takes a shine to the new girl. mutual pining ensues on their road to love 🥀

a/n: so here’s the alternative ending! but it’s not really an alternative ending more of just a… continuation of the last chapter with a little somethin somethin extra 🤤 this has no impact on the story so it can be read as a standalone also so i won’t be tagging the taglist as it might not be something everyone wants to read

characters: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, lots of pet names 🥺

SERIES MASTERLIST

THE DINER PARKING LOT, HAWKINS, MAY 1993

“…What do you say, Mr. H?”

“I think you’ve got yourself a deal, honey.” Steve swooned as he gripped your waist tightly, his warm brown orbs boring deeply into yours.

You caught him off guard when you fisted the pressed white collar of his shirt, pulling you back down to him for another searing kiss. Steve’s eyes went wide before he melted into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you almost flush with his chest.

This kiss was different than the first. It was messier, wetter, hotter. Steve licked at your bottom lip which you gladly accepted, your tongues swirling together as your fingers travelled up into his hair, nails raking over his tresses.

Despite the cool air, you both felt your bodies getting warmer, all the tension between you two, the will they won’t they, all the flirty exchanges finally unravelled into your kiss. When you finally pulled away from each other you still held one another close, Steve resting his forehead against your own.

“Here,” he said quietly, nodding towards the car. He opened the passenger door for you, only making his way to the drivers side once you were in safely. You were all over each other soon after, you were sure you’d have been in Steve’s lap if not for the restrictiveness of your dress.

Steve moved his lips to your neck, pressing featherlight kisses on the skin there. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of his lips on you, doing your utmost best to keep any whimpers or whines from spilling out. When the breath you had seemed to be holding trembled from your lips, Steve pulled away. Eyes scanning for any concerns.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice a decibel above a whisper. His hands were still on your waist, fingertips digging into the flesh that was covered by the red material of your dress. When you nodded he asked again, “Are you sure?”

The butterflies erupted in your stomach once again, Steve’s incessant need to know that you were okay, that this is what you wanted was inherently sexy. It only furthered your want for him more.

“I’m sure,” you squeaked out, licking your lips as you nodded, “your place or mine?” you asked him, encouragingly.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, trying to ignore how fast his heart was beating, “my place is closer.” Steve stammered out as he scrambled to get his keys in the ignition.

You could only smirk at how flustered Steve was becoming. You watched carefully as he drove you both to his home, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, doing his best to ignore the ache beneath his pants. Once you arrived he opened the passenger door for you like he always did, extending his hand to help you from the car.

He clicked the front door closed behind you, “Here, let me.” he said, gesturing for you to take a perch on the stairs.

Steve knelt down to unstrap your heels one at a time. You chewed on your bottom lip as you watched him set them aside before he came back to you, caressing your legs so softly, bringing his lips to your ankle before travelling up your calf. 

He pushed the hem of your dress the higher he went, his lips following in tandem. A pretty little whimper escaped your lips the closer he got, your fingers reaching out for his tie to bring his lips back to yours. 

“C’mere,” he whispered against your lips, moving his hands to your ass, urging you to jump. You wrapped your legs around his tailbone as he carried you upstairs, the hem of your dress hugged your hips as Steve took the opportunity to grab at the flesh of your ass.

You reached what you could only assume to be Steve’s bedroom as he sat you down on the edge of an old oak desk, his lips never leaving yours as he brushed all the pens and old lesson notes aside onto the floor. Steve didn’t care, anything thought that wasn’t you was long gone now.

His lips were on your neck again as you spoke between whines and whimpers, “Do you always bring girls home on the first date?” your lips curled into a smirk as you said it, Steve’s warm honey eyes snapping to yours.

“Only the ones who wear pretty red dresses like this.” He shot back, a smirk of his own tugging at his kiss bitten lips. It didn’t take long for Steve to move his hands to your back, his long fingers pulling on the zip of your dress. His hands caressed the skin of your back, swallowing the lump in his throat when he realised there wasn’t a clasp for him to snap open.

Steve pulled back slowly, his eyes asking that silent question once more. You nodded timidly, suddenly feeling shy as Steve slowly began to pull your dress down your arms and your body. Steve noticed the shift in your mood, the change in your body language. He picked up your hands one by one, placing a kiss on each of your knuckles, “Hey, it’s okay.” He whispered.

He peered up at you through his long lashes, his fingers coming to stroke at the soft skin of your cheek, his thumb brushing across it. “Let me take care of you, yeah? Wanna make my pretty girl feel good.”

Your heart swooned at the pet name, the ache between your legs growing with the hushed, gentle tone of his voice, the way he looked at you, really looked at every inch of you with so much adoration and desire, it really did a number on your brain. You lifted yourself enough so Steve could pull your dress down your legs.

Steve’s lips soon found yours again, moving from your neck to your collarbone. They travelled down your chest, lips leaving wet kisses in their wake. His lips encircled one of your nipples, licking and sucking as his hands caressed your breasts. You watched through hazy eyes as Steve knelt before you, his large hands curling underneath your thighs to spread and push them apart. 

He indulged in your scent, eyes glued to the thin black lace that covered your heat. Steve’s fingertips squeezed at your doughy flesh, teeth grazing your inner thigh before his lips came to your clothed pussy. He pressed a kiss over the material as you exhaled a shaky breath. Steve curled his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs and throwing them somewhere you would worry about later.

His eyes were glued to you, jaw slack and mouth hanging agape at the sight of you. Your cunt glistened in the dim light of Steve’s bedroom, your fingers curling around the edge of the desk in anticipation.

“Oh, man,” Steve sighed, his eyes darkening by the second. His tongue darted out to lick at his lips, “look at you, baby. I bet she tastes so sweet.”

You scooted closer to Steve as subtly as you could, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He did though and it made him chuckle, “Easy baby,” he cooed, pressing a single kiss to your throbbing clit, “I got you.”

He started off soft and slow, tongue lapping at your folds, his mouth kissing all over your pussy. Your head rolled back in pleasure, your eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming feeling of Steve’s mouth on you. He licked at you ever so softly, tongue swirling around your swollen clit as it throbbed against him. You let your fingers thread through his hair, you couldn’t help yourself but feel his soft tresses between your fingertips as you moaned out, “Fuck, Steve, you’re so good at this.”

He smirked against you with a chuckle, sending vibrations through your core. Your compliment only spurred him on. Steve got more intense with it, licking and sucking harder, his tongue delving inside your sopping hole. You cried out in euphoria, your skin hot and clammy. You felt the knot in your stomach twist and tighten as Steve lapped at your clit, sucking at the bud.

One of his hands left your thigh, his long finger circling your hole teasingly. You mewled above him as he did so, his mouth only leaving you for a second to speak, “You taste so good, honey,” he cooed, his finger knuckle deep in your pussy now, “even better than I imagined.”

Steve smirked up at you before he went back to lapping at your clit, and you were stunned. Your mouth was open but you couldn’t speak, only managing to stammer out, “You, fuck–, you imagined?”

“How could I not?” Steve teased, adding a second finger to your cunt now, curling and scissoring you apart. He felt you clench around him and he groaned, feeling you get wetter with every stroke of his fingers, he knew you were close. “I know you’re close, sweetheart, you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You whimpered with a nod, gnawing on your lip to prevent yourself from making too much noise. You felt everything go hot, your toes curling as you tugged on the strands of Steve’s hair, making him groan into your cunt. You whined out in pleasure as your orgasm washed over you, racking every inch of your body. 

Riding out your high as your chest heaved, your grip on Steve’s hair loosening as the lustful fog in your mind dithered away. Steve was still lapping at you, soft kitten licks to make sure he didn’t waste a drop of anything you had to offer him. Only when you winced at the sensitivity did he pull away from you. 

He kissed at your plush thighs, up to your stomach, over your chest before brushing his lips against yours. You hummed at the taste of yourself on his lips as he kissed you, his tongue licking into you all pretty. He smiled against you when he felt you grip onto his tie once more, mumbling, “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“I suppose I am,” he hushed against your lips. Steve pulled away from you momentarily, hands loosening his tie as your fingers worked on unbuttoning his shirt. Tie undone and shirt unbuttoned, Steve unbuckled his belt before shoving his slacks down his legs, stepping out of the material.

Your gaze was locked on the patch of thick hair that covered his pecs, your eyes bulging out of their sockets almost. A chuckle rumbled from his throat when he noticed, his finger hooking under your chin bringing your gaze back to his, “Eyes are up here, darling.”

He kissed you so softly, so sweetly as your cheeks heated up as your ogling didn’t go unnoticed. You ran your fingers over his chest, nails scratching lightly at the coarse hair there. Your hands wandered further down his chest, over his stomach before finally reaching the waistband of his boxers.

Your fingers ghost over the bulge beneath the tight black material, your heart hammering inside your chest as you felt the length of him. “Fuck,” Steve groaned into your mouth, a breath you gladly swallowed. 

When you finally dared to delve beneath Steve’s underwear, he was all about ready to lose it. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it had been a while since someone had touched him like this but fuck, was he honoured that it was you. Hands hurriedly shoving the black material down his legs ready to join the other garments that had been thrown aside.

You fully wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock now, Steve’s eyes fluttering closed as he buried his face in your shoulder. You stroked him slowly, a gentle flick of your wrist as Steve dug his fingers into the flesh of your hips. 

“Shit,” he whined, “that feels so good.” He pulled away from you now, his eyes falling to where your hand was connected to his body. Your gaze followed his, swallowing a lump in your throat you didn’t know you had when you saw the size of him. Your fingers stopped in their tracks when your eyes fell on his cock for the first time. Long in size and thick in girth, veins protruding and a tip that was a pretty pink.

Steve sensed your hesitancy, his eyes softening once they fell on the nerves that decorated your features. “Hey,” he whispered, thumb stroking over the apple of your cheek soothingly, “we don’t have to—“

“No! God no,” you answered, almost a little too fast, “it’s just… you’re so—,”

“I know.” Steve chuckled lightheartedly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “We’ll take it slow, I promise. Jus’ wanna make you feel good, honey.”

You nodded as Steven’s words went straight to your core, your thighs clenching as you watched him wrap a hand around his cock, giving it a few strokes before he reached for a foil packet hidden inside his drawer. He rolled the latex on before spitting in his own palm, lubing up his cock ready for you.

“Ready, baby?” he breathed, free hand cupping your cheek as the other guided his cock to your pussy, pressing the tip into your folds. 

You didn’t say anything, but you simply grabbed the ends of his tie that was still tucked beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled him into you, crashing your lips to his. Steve took this as his cue to slip his cock into your entrance, your walls sucking him in with force.

You both moaned into each other’s mouths at the feeling, at the stretch Steve’s cock created. It was a sweet sting, something a little addictive as Steve managed to slide his length almost half-way inside of you. He gave you a minute to adjust, your lips still sliding messily over each other’s.

“Please, Steve,” you whined, doing your best to rut your hips up off the desk. 

“Alright, baby,” he hushed you, petting at your hair as he continued to kiss you, “s’okay, I��ll give you what you want.” He began to move his hips, in and out, torturously slow. The wetness of your arousal covering his cock as he fucked you.

You cried out in pleasure at the feeling of Steve’s cock inside of you. You never thought this is where you’d end up when he drove you to that diner, when he bought you that milkshake, when he slow danced with you in the parking lot. But fuck, you were so grateful this is where the night led you.

“You’re doing so good, honey,” Steve cooed, his thrusts beginning to pick up the pace only slightly, “taking my cock so well.”

“You’re so big,” you mewled, throwing your head back as you squeezed your eyes shut, “fucking— holy shit.” Your eyes shot back open as Steve moved faster, deeper, the tip of his cock stroking against that spot that made you lose your mind.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Steve sympathised. He knew he was well endowed, similar comments uttered by past lovers when they got between the sheets but no one ever felt as right as you did, “but you’re taking this cock like a fuckin’ champ.”

His lips soon found your shoulder, pressing wet, messy kisses along the skin there before they followed up to your neck, teeth nipping, tongue darting out to soothe the skin. Your hands flew to his head, fingers tangling themselves in his hair.

Steve’s large hands squeezed at your tits, rolling your nipples between his finger and thumb before they moved over your soft skin, caressing at your waist and hips before settling on your thighs. “Can you lift your hips? Hold yourself up with your hands for me, angel.”

You did as he asked, shifting yourself to the edge of the desk, lifting yourself up as you curled your fingers around the wood. Steve gripped your ass, his fingers squeezing at the flesh as he began to pound into you, the wet slap of your pussy and the mixture of your moans and Steve’s grunts the only sounds that could be heard.

“Oh my God,” you whined, moans all high-pitched and hot, the change in pace had you feeling a type of way, had your insides twisting and your pussy fluttering around Steve’s cock. 

Steve’s eyes were fixated on your body. Locked on how your tits would bounce with every thrust of his cock, how the thin sheen of sweat shone on your body in the dull moonlight peaking through the curtains, how your perfectly styled hair was gradually slipping out of the bun the longer the night went on. Steve was in love, painfully soon, but you were the most beautiful being he had ever laid eyes on.

“You feel so good, fuck,” he whined, his brows pinching together in concentration as he tried to keep his orgasm at bay, “don’t know how much longer I can last, shit, pussy’s so perfect.”

The filthy words dripping from Steve’s mouth, the way his fat cock was bullying itself in and out of your pussy, the sound of his skin slapping against yours was enough to push you over the edge. Lip nestled between your teeth as you reached a hand of yours round to brush your fingers against your clit, once, twice before you were crying out once more.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you wailed like a woman possessed, “please, Steve. I want you to cum, I want your cum, please, oh please.”

Steve was lost for words, which didn’t happen very often he would admit, but hearing you cry out for his seed had him all but tensing up on the spot. He gripped you tighter, fucked you harder, faster until his cum was spilling inside you and he was crying out your name into the night. 

The feeling was overwhelming for you both. Like the back and forth, the will they won’t they had finally come to an end. There was no going back from this, no going back from this night you spent together. Steve was yours as you were his. 

You melted into each other’s body, sweaty skin against sweaty skin as you both came back down to earth. You were both breathing heavy as Steve’s forehead came to rest against yours, his nose knocking against yours, toothy grins spreading across both of your mouths.

Steve brushed his lips against yours once more that night, pecking at your pillowy lips once, twice more. He would never get tired of the way they felt against his own, soft and sweet and right. Neither of you needed to say anything, to utter a single word, you both felt it, clearly on the same page.

“I think we should get cleaned up,” Steve spoke quietly, brushing the hair from your face, “bath or shower, hon?”

“I could go for a shower,” you answered, wincing as Steve pulled himself from you, the emptiness settling in. He insisted you stay put whilst he got things started. He fished the softest towels from the linen closet as he got the shower running. 

Once you were clean and dry, wrapped in a towel as you sat on the edge of Steve’s bath, he leant in and pressed a single kiss to your nose. “I’ll get you some pyjamas. You’re staying the night, right? I mean— if you want to.”

And you did stay the night, of course you did. Steve’s soft sheets engulfed you as did the large bed you laid in. He spotted you a large, old t-shirt of his, the words now faded and a pair of shorts that were a little big on your hips. 

You spent the night wrapped in Steve’s strong arms, your hand splayed on his chest, drawing shapes into his skin with your legs entwined. You spoke about forever and it felt so natural, like it was meant to be. Like your story had been going for decades but in reality, it was only just beginning.

[inkskinned]

hey it's nanowrimo. i have tips bc i've done it about 34 times.

Don't edit. Ever. Stop it. If you just decide to start a new project half thru this one with all new characters, no problem. pick up and keep writing as if you'd already written the first half of that.

"but i spelled it wrong" whatever. "but the grammar" whatever. make it exist first. no time for sense. think like you're working on a typewriter. no backspace. only forward go.

Don't re-read further than a paragraph or two backwards. "did i mention the gun before?" listen - it doesn't matter. if you need there to be a gun there, the gun is there. put it back in once you finish the book.

"i forgot the specifics of X thing i already wrote" whatever. change it, make a note/comment to figure it out later, and just write what makes sense for the moment. "no raquel it's legit the characters name and origin" idc that character is now reborn as Claudius from Elsewhere. it's fine.

only you see your mistakes. nobody else knows. one of the ways writing and dance overlap - only you know the choreography. nobody else will know if you miss a step, so just keep dancing and pretend you meant to do it like that.

it's an illusion that you need to write linearly - from point A to point B to point C. Nah; that's just timeline propaganda. I've written a LOT of books out of order and just reordered them once i've finished. if you have a scene you'd LOVE to write but can't get there yet because of plot, just fuckin write the scene. I've always found its easier to establish "point F" "point J" and "Point A" and then wiggle my way between those scenes.

write what you WANT to write. 230 pages of smut? of well-researched discussion on bread? whatever. the point is to strengthen muscles however you can.

if you miss a day, a week, whatever. not the end of the world. we all have dry days. also time is a myth so u can do this challenge whenever u want.

as soon as you try to write for a specific audience, you kill your voice. you are writing for yourself. stop thinking about how people will take ur book. it don't matter. what matter is u, enjoying writing. i luv u.

play to your strengths. i have characters talk so much because i don't know how to write a plot if it kills me but i'm really good at dialogue so.

i love a flight of fancy. write a poem in there. shift tactics and write in code. keep it fun for yourself.

see what happens if you shift something major about ur main characters - gender, wealth, superpowers. or if you change point-of-view. or if you kill everyone in a big explosion. do NOT edit anything before this or after it. often these little weird one-off exercises teach me what interests me about what i'm working on. it is never what i thought. plus it is a fun way to add like 1k words.

stretch.

it's for fun and for practice. stop doing that project if it's giving you anxiety. once my nano was literally 50k words of half-started stories. just things i tried and tried and tried and wasn't able to flesh out. oops. but i am now 50k words of a better writer.

add dragons?

read books/listen to books on tape/etc. people often make the mistake of "buckling down" to just write. you need inspiration. you need to like. fill up on words. you need to remember how it feels to lose yourself in a story.

i don't have the time or space to really talk about this in this post but a lot of creative people turn to drugs/alcohol because it can help you be more creative. this is harmful, and walking a blade that only cuts deep. if you notice you and your loved ones are turning more to substances, please know i love you and i hope you are able to get help soon. i feel like this almost never gets mentioned because it's kind of a hazy underbelly to art. you are always more important than the work.

on that note. drink your fukin. water.

don't talk about a story until you've finished it. once you tell the story, it exists already, and isn't about discovery. i usually have a very canned "haha we'll see" response.

grapes :) tasty snack.

i love you be free.

[pascalsbby]

CARNAL : PROLOGUE

Read Part 1

Carnal Masterlist / Masterlist

Summary: 2.9K/ f!reader, dark!joel, stalker!joel.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap (unspecified but reader is late into college), female masturbation, joel masturbating, dominate & aggressive joel, cam girl, pet names, praise kink, he briefly talks you through it, tells you what to do. talk of: trauma (not graphic or specified as SA), pain kink, fingering, sucking fingers, red flag girl stalker!joel is coming, the usual pure filth

“You thought you had it all figured out before him. Animals. Tender, primal flesh. That’s what we are at the end of the day, right? Fucking, testing one another and then eating each other alive, heart first. Maybe the heart is the sweetest part of the body- or maybe it’s just the easiest to get to.”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

It started as a way to claim something back for yourself. Pieces that you’d given away over the years, ones that had been ripped from your hands, your body. This way, you had a say.

Strip, open your lips for a stranger to coo praise towards your teeming core… and then pay you. You cried a couple of times afterwards, languidly sitting in the filth of your own desire. Through the guilt of it all, it was hard to explain why it pleasured you so deeply.

No man had ever, in real life, truly pleasured you. Taking cock this way and that just for you to squeeze your walls together and moan, tired of the wrestle and hoping it would end soon. “I came.”

This, behind a camera, didn’t feel like real life, though. Most of the time you didn’t see their faces, just the curvature of desperate dick and tiring arms. That made it easier, of course, until the money became second thought to how pleasing their whispered obscenities were, dripping from their mouth down to their sobbing cocks.

You read somewhere that some kinks are a result of trauma, which makes sense. Having an angry father and a mother who didn’t leave her bed until after you left for college, was just the first lock on a heavily bolted door. You raised yourself, your brother, your mother, your father. Labeled an ‘old soul’ or whatever the fuck the grownups always told you as they patted your back and sent you along.

Scratching your way through childhood, you decided it would be easier to be invisible in high school. You painted, and finally you were noticed. You told yourself college would be different. But the only interest shown was that of your body, or that of your art.

Maybe if he praised the way my tits looked after he marked himself into them, I’d feel better about myself. Maybe if he slipped his spit-soaked fingers into the right place, I’d be cured.

The cure never came, no matter how many different sets of fingers you had inside of you. No matter how many tubes of oil you emptied onto primed canvas. Everyone always wants to know the story of how the canvas came to be covered, but do they really want that truth?

Maybe the desire to bare yourself to these men stemmed from never being wanted or loved the way you loved others. So much so that it caved in your chest the first time you fell in love. You fundamentally could not understand why he wouldn’t try as hard as you, why he didn’t love like you did. “I just don’t know if I want to stay with you because of your body, or if it’s because I love you.” Watering yourself down was preferred, it hurt less, even though there’s shame in that, too. So love hadn’t really crossed your mind since. You wondered where that little girl was, who so deeply believed in it, despite the fact she never received it back. Desire, pleasure, pain with no connection? That was easy.

So uttering your want…need, to be hit, spit on, filled, devoured- as if it was an act of release- to any sexual partner, lover, or even therapist, never seemed right. Especially when you were aware that you would collapse into yourself afterward, falling over the thin line of possible pleasure and needing safety. Of wanting to, but not being able to let yourself go completely.

The stranger across the screen? They could tear you apart in every way you wanted, without you having to beg or be asked “why?” Without touching you. Afterwards, you could shut the computer screen.

This was your secret, the squalor. A juxtaposing new kind of fight.

You thought you had it all figured out before him. Animals. Tender, primal flesh. That’s what we are at the end of the day, right? Fucking, testing one another and then eating each other alive, heart first. Maybe the heart is the sweetest part of the body- or maybe it’s just the easiest to get to.

You learned quickly that he was in charge. Submitting to him felt like second nature. You’d long ago given up the belief that someday, someone would save you.

@texanblackbird

You look like you need to be put in your place sweetheart. Havin your sweet little holes out for all these men and what worthwhile could they possibly be givin you back?

You

Well Texan Paul McCartney, right now they’re giving me a lot more than you. $100 and I’ll enter a room with you for an hour.

@texanblackbird

Let me help you little bird, you sound fuckin pathetic. $300 and you’re mine for 30 minutes. Don’t open your mouth until I say & don’t you dare smart off to me again, got it? Then I won’t clip your wings, not just yet.

You felt your cheeks swell with heat, but more so you felt the pull in your core. His profile picture was missing his face of course, but you couldn’t deny that from the small circle, the body filling it looked intriguing. You got off of the bed, sat up your laptop and checked yourself in the mirror above your desk. You brushed out your too-perfect lipstick with your finger, making it look a little more worn. Making it seem like you were a little more experienced, that you put on a good show. That you were worth the money.

You let him in and waited.

He was breathtaking, sat in a simple office chair. His shoulders spread the entire width- he engulfed it. His collarbones adorned by freckles and warm-toned skin. Like the sky had kissed him over and over, singing praises into his skin. He had gotten a little sun recently, his chest blushing and soft looking with a few scars from time. His arms splayed across his lap, jeans still on but wantonly unbuttoned. He was thick, rugged- dirty even. He needed a shower from whatever laboriously hard work he had just completed. You could already see the length of him pushing against his jeans. His hips protruding slightly, curving at his thighs. Veins running down his hallowed v line.

He wasn’t big in the sense of grotesque protruding muscles, but large in a soft way. His biceps pushing against his skin, showing that he would easily overtake you, lay you down and pin you where he wanted. Strong. His shoulders could support you. His fingers thick… one was the equivalent of your two. He could caress the spongey insides of you with absolute ease. His palm greatly bigger than your entire face. You imagined it sprawling your mound, fingers tall enough to push down on your stomach at the same time his thumb was pushing down into your body. His build was that of an older man, someone whose body has seen years, been loved, discarded, kissed, and maybe even hated. His stomach lightly spilled over his half open jeans, hair curling above the seam and crawling up towards his belly button.

You didn’t dare say anything until he instructed. You sat pretty on the edge of your bed and took him in. Oh, you would do anything he asked of you. Then, he took out his cock and spoke a voice that sent fire down your spine.

Husked, vibrating, basey. You never had an affinity for a southern drawl until his lips parted.

He spent most of your sessions hungrily ordering you around your own body. He was abhorrent in ways you’d never dreamed before. You discovered parts of yourself you didn’t know needed touching, panting and babbling for him. Right when you’d hit a new spot he would huff a laugh at your desperation, breathing out, “Good girl. Goooood. Now do it again, harder. That’s it baby.”

“Turn around ‘n spread open those pretty lips for daddy. I wanna see what you look like drippin from the back. Bend over. Mhmm, oh so good,” he paused as you did what he asked, “God damn I know that pretty pussy would love to swallow this cock. Don’t ya think so Birdie?”

“Y… yes sir.” In reality, it would absolutely destroy you. But imagining the stretch of your hole as he slipped himself into you was enough to pull out another orgasm. Your entrance tightening and losing slack each time he sheathed himself into you.

“Let it out baby girl.” You did. You let it out for him, unabashedly.

If his deep voice wasn’t enough by itself, then even looking at his hands was sometimes enough to send you over the edge. The way he grabbed himself, spitting multiple times into his palm in order to cover the width, moving his middle finger in lazy circles around his angry head. Drawing spit into strings to wet his slit, pushing the precum down the veins of his length. Breathing heavily and moaning from his chest.

He told you that all of your holes needed to be filled simultaneously until you were whimpering, begging for reprise. You agreed through overstimulated tears.

By the fourth encounter, you’d given him your phone number, not thinking too deeply into it, considering by this time he was paying you enough to cover your phone bill three times over. And rent.

You lived alone in an apartment a few minutes outside of campus, far enough to drive but not far enough away to feel like you weren’t in the mix of everything. Everyone around you was around the same age, so no one thought twice about the moans you failed to stifle. Or the dad-aged man who often sat in the lobby, head down- unbeknownst to you, of course.

You still didn’t know each others name, but you were instructed to call him ‘daddy’ and ‘sir’. When he wasn’t calling you filthy pet names he called you ‘darlin’’ or ‘sweetheart’. You Googled his phone number but couldn’t find anything worth following. The ignorance to who he could be was good enough for you, blissful even. It fed into your daydreams between seeing him every Thursday.

You’d never had a true conversation with him, never dared ask why that day over any other. Upon his request you would send him multiple pictures a day, your fingers in your mouth. He wanted to see the wetness in your underwear, begging for you stick your fingers in and play with it so he could see what he’d done to you.

By the seventh encounter you knew you wanted to be completely devoured by him. You wanted to fill the space between his teeth.

“I want to bring you pain so that you know what real pleasure feels like. Bring you so close to the edge that I’m the only one who can bring you back. I want you to fall on your knees for me, I want you bruised and beggin,” he husked, “at my mercy, not the world’s.”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡

One Thursday, someone knocked at your door amidst your indecency. You had a few friends, mostly those with the same major and classes. It didn’t make sense for them to be showing up, considering you’d just spent a three hour class time with them.

Your movements stuttered.

“You gonna get that?”

“Are you gonna let me?”

“And let whoever it is see how wasted you look right now? Absolutely. Tell ‘em I said hi,” he smirked.

The knocking continued until you finally made it to the door. Whoever it was, could by no means enter your apartment, especially not your bedroom.

“Sarah!” Oh god.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? Have you been crying? Who hurt you, let me at ‘em!”

Always full of energy, this one. She was a few years younger than you, a photography major you had met when she approached you one day in the Student Union, asking if she could take your portraits because you, “had a certain aura about you.” Of course you agreed, how could you say no to someone who was so entirely happy? You exchanged numbers and had at least one new text from her daily, since. You hadn’t seen the photographs yet, she took them on an old film camera, but you kept meaning to ask if she’d developed them.

“I’m okay, promise. I just wasn’t expecting you. I would invite you in but I’m not feeling too great at the moment. I think I caught the cold that Shay had,” you pouted, hoping your were selling it well.

“Oh no worries, I texted you but you didn’t respond so I thought I’d walk the couple doors down! I just wanted to see if you wanted to grab dinner on campus, but we’ll reconvene another time.”

“I’m sorry,” you palmed your forehead, “it’s been a day. I promise I’ll answer next time. Dinner tomorrow night?”

“Sure! See you then. Text me if you need anything.”

“Always,” you said with a smile as she walked away and you closed the door.

You hadn’t been to her place just yet. She has a roommate she absolutely despises, you learned. You didn’t know she had an ill bone in her body, but she spends most of her time outside of her apartment, understandably so. It made you feel a sort of calm though, knowing she lived so close. You were going to miss her liveliness whenever you graduated and she returned to her hometown for the summer. You wished you’d met her earlier in college.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡

He had heard everything, you rushed too quickly out and didn’t close your bedroom door entirely. The apartment is small, he thought, if it was anything like Sarah’s. Sound travels. He wondered if Sarah was there to drop off the pictures she’d taken of you. Oh she was so excited about them, FaceTiming him months ago to show him. She insisted that she would wait to give them to you, as a graduation present. At the time, graduation was a semester away.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” You were. There was something in your eyes that fell to the pit of his stomach. Who had hurt you so badly that your eyes gave it away, pleading? You looked so small, sitting at a table with pencil in hand, drawing. You looked so familiar, he felt your stare in his core.

He would never admit that he had taken a screenshot of one specific image as Sarah continued on, “She was just sitting there, and I went up to her and asked her! And now we’re friends. I feel like we’ll be best friends soon. She’s a senior though, but she lives right down the hall. And oh! Her taste in music is so similar to yours too, you’d like her.” She smiled.

He looked at the picture shamefully. Between jobs, in the bathroom, in his work truck. He felt gross the first time he touched himself to you, but it felt so good, the way his cock would twitch at the thought of all the ways he could ruin you. Fix you.

A week later he couldn’t take it anymore. He found you quickly, you popped up in Sarah’s Instagram friends right under a few other people, smiling in your profile picture. Private, but your social media was all under the same name, so he took you for everything he could find. You were an artist, loved classic rock and always retweeted sad poetry.

The day he came across your secret Twitter felt like an answer to a prayer. He knew you had it in you. What a naughty girl. But why would you follow yourself? That wasn’t very smart of you. Did you even think about your own safety? Did you even care?

He made an account on the cam site you promoted on said post- and he was in. As far as he knew, Sarah had never mentioned him to you… never had a reason too.

You’d surprised her one weekend, showing up to have dinner with her. Not before sitting in the lobby for a few minutes, hoping to catch a glance of you. For you to pass by without a thought, the air bringing your scent to his nose. He even walked down the opposite side of Sarah’s hallway when he got to the fourth floor, trying to see if there was any indication which apartment was yours. Maybe he would knock on it, accidentally, apologize and say he was looking for his daughters apartment. He wanted more of you, anything he could get his hands on.

The money wasn’t an issue for him, he lived alone and didn’t need much. He gave it to you happily if it meant that you were his for an hour, through text, whatever. He gave you a fake number, one that led back to some app he texted you on. He’d had these obsessive tendencies before.

You returned to him, blushing while dropping the robe you had hastily grabbed. As you sat on the edge of your bed, spreading your thighs open for him, tracing wet lines towards your cunt, he knew that you were his, you would be. An hour later he was texting Sarah.

“What time is your friends capstone show next week?”

Extra: Joel in his truck

Part 3

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

A/N: Thank you for all the love in Part 1! I haven’t written in a while, but I’ve just graduated college and I have some downtime and a busy brain to satiate.

I just wanted to state that I’m pro-sex work & pro-therapy! This is me writing parts of myself and my own trauma into the main character…forgive me! ‘Art’ is embarrassing sometimes, huh?

I have an entire Pinterest board filled with ideas, pictures, quotes for this fic. I hope you guys are enjoying ☺️

Tag List: @paleidiot @sarap-77 @i-love-rafe

[renthony]

🏳️‍🌈

omg yes please

(Drop a 🏳️‍🌈 in my inbox and I’ll respond with a queer media recommendation!)

This recommendation is for something I keep thinking is more well-known than it is--the graphic novel series DeadEndia by Hamish Steele, which was adapted into the Netflix series Dead End: Paranormal Park!

The basic premise of both is that the main character, Barney, a gay Jewish teenage trans boy, gets a job at a theme park housing a magic elevator that can travel between the 13 planes of reality. There are angels, demons, magic, and a phenomenal cast of diverse characters that fill my heart with so much joy.

I got to the show first, not long after season one released. The show was cancelled after season two as part of Netflix's war against queer television, so after watching the show, I knew I needed to check out the source material.

There are differences between the two, but Hamish Steele was the showrunner, so the spirit is the same. I love them both and I think it's a goddamn tragedy that we were robbed of further seasons of the show. The third graphic novel released after the cancellation, and was dedicated to "everyone who has ever had their favorite TV show cancelled." I don't know what exactly the crew had planned for season 3--because Hamish Steele said on Twitter that they were already working on it iirc--but the third book concludes the story beautifully. If you got into the show and wanted to know what was coming next, do yourself a favor and read the comics.

Here's the plot summary for Book 1 - The Watcher's Test:

Barney Guttman’s life has been turned upside down. His family is struggling to fully embrace his trans identity, but thanks to his best friend Norma, he’s just landed a job at Phoenix Parks, a Dollywood-esque amusement park inspired by the long life and career of mysteriously youthful actress and singer Pauline Phoenix. Soon, Barney and his dog, Pugsley, secretly move into the haunted house attraction. Little does Barney know, the house contains a portal to the demonic planes of Hell. When Courtney, Barney’s devilish new roommate, invites a demon king to Earth through the portal, they offer Barney and Norma as flesh vessels for the king, but in a strange twist, Pugsley is possessed instead! It’s a race through the park to save Pugsley—and the world—from the demon king’s reign of terror that leaves Pugsley with strange and magical side effects. With all of this chaos going on, Barney is also discovering he has crush on park employee, Logan, so he must face his biggest fear of all… talking to someone he likes.

And here's the trailer for the first season of the Netflix show:

I absolutely adore this story in both its forms, and I think more people should check it out. It makes me happy, and I find it hugely inspiring. It makes me want to go work on my own art, which is pretty much the highest praise I can give a piece of fiction.

Ask For a Rec | Other Media Recommendations | Support Links

[creek-ink]

hello hi !! i love your art <33 do you think you could drop any nina hcs you have ?

hello and thank u!! here's some art from earlier today of my versions of nina and jane <3

as for nina's hcs,, well I honestly haven't thought too much on her place in my lil fan storyline I'm making.

so let's see what I can make up on the spot!! kisdbsjhdkdsk

Nina's "origins"

like most creepypastas, I don't like Nina's original story. (lol) so here's my just as shitty version.

nina, in my world, was still a jtk fangirl. she heard his story on the news and was captivated by his mugshot. (definitely the type to romanticize true crime) she began emulating his chelsea grin with makeup and posting abt her infatuation w him on her social media.

this fixation on Jeff opened a door to the slenderman, which it gladly stepped through. like any edgy teen being stalked by an eldredge horror would, she began to document her experience w the monster on her verious social media outlets.

to prevent further exposure of the proxies n what not, nina was due to die. in the midst of her kidnapping, she expressed her interest in working alongside the monsters that stalked her.

in a rather sitcom-y way, nina was now a part of the problem, if u will. working w her fav serial killers </3

her style

clothing:

apart from being engrossed in the emo/scene culture, her clothing style is heavily influenced by the early 2000s. she loves all things gaudy and over the top, often resulting in a hot topic explosion.

intrests:

most likely influenced by her style, her interests in angsty media should be noted. she's an avid reader of johnny the homicidal maniac, death note, and other media in the like. her fave bands include- sleeping w sirens, get scared, msi, and blood on the dance floor.

(while on trips into town, she makes it a point to stop by the local nerd shop to stalk up on (rob) her favs.)

crime: (lmao)

let's just say she's very reckless. she leaves behind crums of evidence everywhere she goes. at this point, she's stopped making an attempt to hide her tracks.

she gets a little too into the killing thing- often being playful and flirting w her victims. she sees it all as one big game and definitely believes she's invincible.

relationships

-jane is her person, the perfect amount of balance and authority that counteracts her crazy. jane sees nina as a person in need of guidance and maybe a bit of parenting. nina sees jane as a big sister of sorts and often comes to her for advice and to confide in.

-toby is her bestie. point, blank, period. those two get into a little too much trouble together. they became close via the long drives that resulted from their extensive missions. at first, nina had the hots 4 toby but soon grew out of them infavor of his friendship.

fun lil tid bit- they like to sit in eachothers company while they read. nina reads her manga/comics and toby his books.

-jeff,, well jeff, for obvious reasons, isn't too found of nina. he finds her annoying and tiring, which is rich coming from him. he does his best to avoid her, but when the unavoidable is unavoidable, she ignores him. they say never meet ur idols and boy, they weren't kidding. all that time fantasizing abt her prince rly didn't match up to the sleazy prick she now works w. let's just say they don't get along.

-as 4 the majority of the creeps, there seems to be a consensus that nina is annoying af, and shes to be avoided. (rip nina)

so this was kinda shit! but either way, I hope u enjoyed the read. I may revisit this someday and flesh it out. or just scrap it all together pff!! lemme know what u think and lemme know any of ur guy's-s hcs or suggestions! i love reading what u have to say. (even if what u have to say conflicts w what i have to say)

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, animal death, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Violence comes twofold. 2909 words.

Notes: Since canon Eddie doesn’t exist in the 1986 timeline, Chrissy’s death went down differently. This chapter explains what happened to Hawkins’ sweetest cheerleader. Stranger Things terminology you’ll need to know: The Void.

Credits to @jo-harrington, @toomanyacorns, and @somnambulic-thing for helping with this chapter, and a huge thank you to @munson-blurbs, who helped map out the action sequences of this chapter and the next.

1843

Penelope’s powdered spell was like anthrax to the vampires, and it was the turning point in the battle for the flatlands.  The coven lost not another member from that year forward, but the colony of vampires grew more feral and savage when faced with their new mortality. They burned and pillaged just as fast as you could give and take their breath.

Some of the coven focused their time on helping the humans rebuild structures and acquire new seeds to plant. Some of them worked tirelessly, tinkering away at the collective memory of the flatlands, ensuring vampires and witches remained folklore and scary stories to tell in the dark. Some, like you, felt emboldened by a bloodlust that could only be satiated by killing evil.

“Did we fail her?” your mother asked your aunt as they watched you arm yourself with pockets of Penelope’s powder and blessed blades.

Sally and Gillian had borne the weight of their decision differently. For sister, they were not much alike. Sally, your mother, was burdened with regret whereas Gillian grew harder with each difficult choice she made.

“This is holy work,” Gillian stated.

“Is it?” Sally was grief-stricken. You used to be gentle, feeding wildflowers to deer and making mischief by moonlight. Now you slept, ate, and killed.

“The Witches Who Came Before foretell of us leaving this place. The humans will remain on consecrated ground and we will retire to where no sisters have been dissected by beasts. We will not live on their graves. When we leave, she will heal,”

“Will she ever know?”

“No,” Gillian answered. It has been seven years of not knowing. “Not ever.”

…

1986

Between the burning yarrow spell that had not stuck and the magic bath that brought Eddie back, you felt practiced in the healing arts. There wouldn’t be time for any rituals though. You would have mere seconds to take the twisted, pulsating flesh Henry Creel grew into in the Upside Down and restore it. The spell would take the inner magic you possessed and would force you to deliver it by touch.

A potion, though, could help the cause. All the plants you’d used before became paste in your mortar and pestle. Echinacea and elecampane. Rue, sweetgrass, and yarrow. As you worked, you spoke freely, writing a spell into the air.

“Seven years of cheated death,

Felt deep pain but kept his breath.

These plants I crush and bend to will,

Impart my magic,

Let me heal to kill.”

You scooped the paste into a pouch and then stood at the kitchen bar on unsteady feet. There was more to be done. An easy spell to hide the night from anyone who went looking, witches or monsters alike. A candle and an old spell uttered, you could finally crawl into your bed and close your eyes.

…

Like your body was set to a nighttime alarm, your eyes snapped open as soon as the sun had set. You moved quickly through the trailer, expecting Eddie to be there. No vampire. No bat. Just a groggy head after only a few hours of sleep and a pouch on the kitchen bench reminding you of what the night would bring.

After pacing and trying to telepathically call Eddie home (home…?) you settled your nerves with tea and tried to stomach some food.

Hand. Spoon. Bowl. Mouth. Hand. Spoon. Bowl. It was mechanical until the taste turned bitter. You pulled the spoon from your mouth to find a pen. Before you, the bowl was pushed off the bench and instead, your notebook sat open.

“A witch cannot fight alone,” was scrawled out.

The Witches Who Came Before had never initiated contact before. They’d never taken your hand for automatic writing without you calling first. You watched helplessly as your arm moved on its own accord, the pen gliding along the paper.

“He knows,” came the next caution.

“I know,” you said. “I know you’ve warned the coven. I know what’s at stake,”

“It is coming into focus. The voice that called you to consecrated ground.”

You paused, reading the words a couple of times over. “You said I should have never come here,” you reminded them.

“It is coming into focus,” was repeated. “A witch cannot fight alone. So, a witch will not fight alone.”

Did they mean the humans? El and Will and their own coven of sorts?

“You were wrong?” you asked them. Could they be wrong? Was that possible? “What… What do you see now? What’s coming into focus?”

The words were ripping from the pen too quickly, letters stacked on top of one another. Your hand hurt, the grip too tight.

HISTORY WILL NOT REPEAT A witch will not fight alone A WITCH WILL NOT repeat history will not repeat history LORE WILL BE REWRITTEN A witch will not fight alone a witch will not fight alone HISTORY REWRITTEN lore lore lore rewritten a witch will not fight alone a witch will not fight alone he knows he knows he knows A witch will not fight alone We Are Superstition a witch a witch A WITCH will not fight alone He came calling He came for help Not alone. Not alone. Not alone. History will not repeat.

The pen flew from your hand and across the room, embedding itself into the cheap plaster wall of the trailer. You were breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. They were gone, leaving no comfort nor clear warning, just a hollow sort of fear and sense that maybe now the calling to Hawkins had indeed been sanctified.

You cleaned the mess off the kitchen floor, then considered leaving Eddie a note. Something in you said that if he wanted, he could find you. With one last look at the trailer you’d barely had a fortnight in, you locked the door and got in your car.

…

Vecna had ripped Hawkins apart using each of the four gates as a starting point. The gateways to the Upside Down represented a place of death, but not all of them were accessible. Max’s death (and subsequent resurrection at the hands of El) took place inside the Creel House, which was reduced to rubble, burying gate four too deep to get to. Patrick McKinney died over Lovers’ Lake, making gate three underwater. Both Nancy and Robin were violently against that option. Fred Benson’s road top ending left gate two hidden under thick layers of asphalt and concrete, the street having caved in entirely. That left the first gate, the one that had festered open under the corpse of Chrissy Cunningham.

Haunted and hunted, Chrissy had been chased into the woods near Hawkins High by visions of her monstrous mother. There, her body broke and the end of her life had ushered in Vecna’s dark hold over the town. The gateway left in the wake of the murder was the one you, Nancy, and Robin climbed through.

The Upside Down was eerie. It felt like a place that had absolutely no right existing. Doomed from inception. It smelt of ash and sulfur. The bodies of what looked like malformed bats were rotting everywhere. And it rained a kind of soot you’d seen slowly appearing in Hawkins.

Vines covered a lot of the landscape. They moved, like pulsating appendages. The motion of them, sliding and crawling over one another, reminded you of the squirming desperateness of garter snakes as they ball themselves together for days on end.

If your coven believed Hawkins was no place for a witch, what would they think of the hellscape you were marching through with only teenage girls for backup?

“What if he’s not in there?” Robin asked, her eyes glued to the ground as she carefully stepped over hivemind vines and other ghoulish obstacles.

Nancy stopped so abruptly that you bumped into the back of her. She turned around quickly, eyes wide. “What if he’s not in there?!” she repeated. “How… How did we not think-”

“He is,” you interrupted. “I can feel him.”

Their looks of relief lasted only a second before the fear returned and you all continued.

Treading a similar path in the real Hawkins, the rest of the humans were already coaxing Vecna out. Will’s skin prickled with goosebumps, the hairs on his arms standing on end. El could hear that voice in her head. “I can see…” he began. “I can see all. All your plans. All your hopes… Soon to be failures… I told you… It was just the beginning.”

The staircase in the Upside Down Creel House was covered in writhing tentacle vines. “These attacked… last time we were here,” Nancy whispered. She shared the same raw bruise as Robin. Steve would have shared it, had he survived.

Steve. He was all the girls could think about. How he’d led them up those stairs. How he’d stood and watched in awe as Nancy fired her sawed-off shotgun and Robin threw Molotov cocktails. How it was meant to be the three of them.

You stood in his place and sooner than they would have liked, you’d arrived in front of Vecna’s sleeping body.

“Shhhesh,” Robin hissed quietly. “Didn’t think he could get any uglier.”

The bullets and flames slowed him down but they hadn’t killed him. The scars became part of him, as all of his scars had. They shaped him. Built him. Powered him.

“Stay at the door,” you whispered to them. “If it looks bad, fire once then run.”

Nancy and Robin nodded in unison.

The room was quiet. Ironically, it felt cleaner than anywhere else in the Upside Down. It smelt of dust and human life. Had Henry carved out a small piece of normal there? Was there a soul beneath the horror?

You moved towards him. Each step was measured and you watched him for any twitch of movement. He felt sedate, but Vecna had mastered trickery long ago.

He was held high by the attached vines. “Per magica, oriri me,” you cast, levitating from the ground steadily until you were close enough that you could see the veins and tubing pulsate, you stopped. At the room’s threshold, Nancy and Robin held hands.

“Seven years of cheated death,” you whispered. “Felt deep pain but kept his breath.”

You covered your fingers in the potion and reached out swiping it across Vecna’s chest.

“These plants I crush and bend to will,

Impart my magic,

Let me heal to kill.”

The room held its breath, waiting for something.

Back on Earth, El and Will were laying side by side in the dirt near the rubble of Creel House. Jonathan knelt beside his brother, Joyce next to El. Their eyes were closed but they weren’t asleep. El had pulled them into The Void. It was quiet.

There, El and Will – siblings for all intents and purposes – stood facing Vecna. “A vessel,” Vecna almost crooned, reaching his clawed hand to Will’s soft face.

El stood between them. “Do not touch him,”

“This is done, Eleven. Look around. Hawkins is in ruins. Your friends have fled... those that still live,”

“It is not done until you are dead,” she spat back at him.

Vecna almost laughed. Almost.

You repeated the spell again and again, covering Vecna in the thick potion of flower and magic. His skin was changing, clearing.

“Ho-ly-shiiiiit,” Robin said.

Nancy’s eyes glazed over with tears.

It was working. It was fucking working.

Vecna reached out for Will a second time, but froze in place as he felt a burning sensation. The children in front of him both stumbled backward, staring at his body. He looked down and watched scar tissue heal in real time.

He roared; El and Will covered their ears, screaming at the sound.

“What! Is! This?!” The force of his anger knocked them off their feet and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

“Where’d he go?! El?!”

“He’s- He’s-” But she was too panicked to say it. Vecna had returned to his physical body in the Upside Down.

Will and El bolted upright, panting. Their families embraced them. It’s all they could do. It was all up to the bravest teenage girls they knew and a witch they hoped was stronger than Vecna.

His eyes snapped open and his hateful stare bore into your soul.

You don’t know how you did it and neither did they, but your voice was loud in Nancy and Robin’s heads. Run. It was too late. Vecna’s arm shot out and held them frozen in place. The slithery tentacles peeled off the wall and wrapped around the girls’ wrists and ankles. They struggled to no avail.

“Your fight’s with me now. Let the humans go,”

“What are you?” Vecna asked. The healing magic was spreading slowly, a thin line of porcelain skin and a brilliantly blue eye twinkled with curiosity.

“You want to talk? Let them go.”

Vecna looked over at Nancy and Robin. With a flick of the hand, one of the tentacles tightened, breaking Robin’s wrist. A sharp intake of air let him know it hurt you too. “All you… heroes… You and Eleven… So much power wasted on loving the humans…”

It wasn’t going to work. You knew it then. The healing was happening too slowly. He’d kill the girls before he was Henry enough for you to use witchfire to any effect. He’d never let them go.

The only bargaining chip you had was the one thing you could never offer – insight into the craft. Even if you could save Nancy and Robin now, handing that over would doom them and the entire world later.

You had answered the call to come to Hawkins.

You had done what you thought was just and kind.

You had loved the humans for all of your years.

You would die with them, fighting with them, for them.

The coven would intercept him. They could do together what you could never do alone. Not alone echoed in your mind. The Witches Who Came Before. Not alone.

As Vecna held his claw out, hellbent on snapping Nancy’s left ankle, a loud and revolting squelching sound ripped through the room, followed by a howl spilling from Vecna’s mouth. He thrashed, hitting you hard, sending you toppling to the floor. He crashed down next to you, quickly standing to face his new enemy.

You followed his gaze to where something – moving so fast it was like watching static – was shredding through the tentacles holding the girls up. Suddenly, they were free. Both their faces were red and covered in tears. Before taking in any new information, you yelled, “Go!”

Robin pulled Nancy up and they were gone. In their place stood a figure with blood and Vecna-goo dripping from their face and hands.

Eddie.

…

1836

It was unmistakably vampire carnage.

They had come in the night and stolen a child. They’d left her father, the village’s best apple farmer, weeping and wounded. He was bleeding out, the only way to save him would be to let him turn. That was a fate worse than death though.

“It begins now,” Gillian spoke to the coven. “Witchfire at will. Penelope, all your focus must be on finding a true death for them. We will create closer borders. Accompany the humans whenever they leave. We will hunt them… Make no mistake, sisters… This is war.”

Eddie met you by the stream that night. The grief was written all over your face and it shattered him to see. He held on tightly, arms squeezed around you, and kissed the top of your head.

“I can’t leave now,” you whimpered, crying softly into his coolness.

“I know, little witch, I know.”

“No. No! You do not understand. There’s no way both you and I survive this! There’s no… No… No us… anymore.” You hit at his chest and pushed him away, only to let him pull you back into his embrace.

Eddie was stoic, but if he was honest with himself – a little pissed off that he was able to feel heartbreak when his heart didn’t beat at all. He hurt more then than he ever had before. Dying hurt less.

“And I, for my part, cannot stop them. The chasm between them and I has grown. They are… becoming suspicious of me. If I-”

“I know. I know. I don’t… I don’t want you to…” But you did. You did want him to be able to stop the colony from reigning hell on the flatlands. You knew he couldn’t, not if you wanted him to live. “You have to leave. You must go somewhere far away from here.”

There was no more discussion for there were no more options. Eddie could not fight against the colony; it would be suicide. He couldn’t and wouldn’t join them either. Not if it brought harm to you, or your coven and human charges. So, he would run.

“I would die again and again, my love, if I meant I met you again and again,” Eddie whispered. “I have loved you more than I have loved life, than blood and the night.”

Eddie took your face in his hands, pushing his forehead against yours. In your last kiss, he split his lip and bit down on yours.

“Blood of my blood,” he said. “My little witch.”

Tears poured down your face. Between shaky breaths, you replied, “Blood of my blood. My lonely vampire.”

End Note: The Grimoire and timeline have been updated. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts and feelings! xo Rhi

Fic Taglist: @kaitebugg03 @paranoidmunson  @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel

[cinderfeather]

Short Story Writing Tips for Fanfic Authors

While Edgar Allen Poe has many pretentious things to say on the merits of the Short Story (‘a work of art should be able to achieve its effect in one sitting’), I want to talk about them from a fanfiction perspective.

As fic writers, we are doing this hobby for fun, and frequently find ourselves hopping between shiny new idea, to shiny new idea, to shiny new idea…

...which is totally fine. However: to reduce this, I want to impress this upon you:

Keep your fic short enough to write within the span of dopamine it generates.

So while it’s still easy to generate long plots, I usually like to keep my stories small and focused wherever possible, so I can feel proud about ✨finishing✨ it and then have more energy to work on the next idea. In addition, if I have an idea tha t I think is cool, but not something I can fathom spending an entire year writing a novel-length-fic about, I can still write the idea if I think carefully about how I can work it into a short story.

Often writers way things like: 'I have 30k words to write just to get to the fun bit 😭😭😭'

Just write the fun bit.

It might be one thing for me to say that, but learning a bit of craft about short stories can make this easier.

So: one of the hardest things in a story is the ending, and short stories (especially origific) can be very challenging to create a satisfying ending with so little to work with.

In short story craft, there is a lot of talk about things like Hemingway’s ‘Iceberg Theory’:

Hemingway said that only the tip of the iceberg showed in fiction—your reader will see only what is above the water—but the knowledge that you have about your character that never makes it into the story acts as the bulk of the iceberg. And that is what gives your story weight and gravitas. — Jenna Blum in The Author at Work, 2013 (Wikipedia Link)

Fanfic is great for this! You already have a ton of character and plot fleshed out, so you can already have your iceberg while putting very little effort in. Short stories are already much easier as fic because they already have the 'iceberg of canon' beneath them, so make the most of it!

The next trick is ✨Authors Notes✨!

You can just say the background info plainly to the reader, without having to worry about crafting it nicely for the reader.

However, if you feel that the background info might be served best by putting it into the story, then let me introduce you to the next trick: Telling!

Think about summary the you have in your AN, and expand it into slightly longer ‘pretty’ prose:

Months went by. Trees bloomed, and forsook their leaves. One day, Mina stepped outside again.

That covers a year of a character being stuck in their grief, without having to mire reader in being stuck like that too.

We’ve all had ‘Show, don’t tell’ beaten into us with a hammer. But if it’s not important or interesting for you or your story, then just Tell it, and move on to the next exciting thing! What you want to do is research ways to use prose to convey the passing of time, write summaries and transition sequences, and work out ways to cut down and remove ‘all that writing you have to do to get to the fun scene’.

So, let’s say you had an idea for an achingly beautiful Suparbat story that worked like a Shakespearean tragedy inspired by Othello. You start brainstorming and writing fragments of all these scenes where they meet, fall in love, then have all these gradual misunderstandings caused by Lex trying to meddle and break them apart.

They pile up super high, and then there is this devastating, heart-pounding finale where they fight, along with the tragic ending and denouement.

You take your notes and start trying to plan out what scenes you will need, and your face goes pale as you estimate the story will probably be about 80k words.

You can’t commit to that, and you sense another shiny idea might be lurking on the horizon soon (and besides, you have other fics to finish). You consider abandoning it, resigned to the beauty of the story haunting you forever.

Hold up.

The tragic fight scene. That’s the one that excites you the most. Start writing that.

Bam, bam bam.

Why are they fighting? The audience is now curious and hooked, sitting breathless on the edge of their seat.

Line of dialogue! Ultra specific accusation!

Now the reader is intellectually hooked. What event is this specific detail referring to?

Flashback to one of the scenes where they met and were tenderly in love, linked by the line of dialogue before.

Now the reader is emotionally hooked. What happened to make them hate each other so?

The fight scene continues! Dramatic moments of action interspersed with flashbacks of those snippets you wrote—

Now the reader has been enthralled by all this awesome action, and has a good grasp of emotional arc and events that brought them to this point, with the juxtaposition of the moments of love and hate creating a tremendous experience.

The fatal wound, juxtaposed by the fatal misunderstanding that set Batman on this path… Those painful words exchanged in the present, that have been stuck in your head for weeks: Why? I loved you! Lex (aka Iago) comes out, doing a slow clap, and revealing how he plotted and schemed to sow this discord between Batman and Superman, to make Batman kill Superman for him. The achingly haunting moment of looking into each others eyes and Superman forgiving and trying to absolve Batman of his guilt before he dies. Bruce swiftly disabling Lex’s failsafe (to stop him from taking revenge, but its useless because he’s Batman) and holding a batarang to Lex’s throat.

Now you’ve used 80% of your notes, and you have a decent first draft already!

So now, what will Batman do? Break his moral code about killing again (he already did with Superman) and kill Lex? Try to set Lex on a path of rehabilitation?

So then you get stuck. But Cinder, this doesn’t work for me! All I can think of is to end it the same way as Othello! Which I can’t bear to write.

Hold up.

Go back over your story and start tightening it up. The idea that Bruce is willing to kill someone is quite important. Go back and add flashbacks (or add context to the existing flashbacks) about Bruce developing, sticking to or explaining his no-kill rule.

Then you write an epilogue, where a reformed Lex starts making all kinds of structural changes in the world, alongside all the people who stepped up after being inspired by Superman’s life and determination to let everyone have a chance at forgiveness. After this, you realise that the last line Superman needs to say is to beg Bruce not to continue his murder-rampage and kill Lex.

Then you go back over your story again, fleshing out Lex’s character and some of the hints and lines of dialogue he drops to round out his arc as well. The story feels nice, but still a little off. The ending of Othello haunts you. Do you need to kill Batman after all?

You try writing the scene with the climax ending on: ‘Now, the only way: the Bat will die upon the light.’

Then, as you edit the last bit of the epilogue, you add at the end that Bruce is still alive, observing it all, having hung up his cape as Batman, (because how else could their love end after this but with ‘Batman’ dying with him?). With the transformation that happened for both Lex and Bruce when he honoured Clark’s last wish, this meant that world also grew into a place where Batman wasn’t needed anymore.

So there you have a beautiful short story about not just love and romance, but grief and betrayal and death and killing and absolution and forgiveness and a love that grows beyond a romantic entanglement into a love that changes the world— 🥰🥰🥰

And under 3000 words.

Now other people will be haunted by your story for the rest of their lives, instead of you.

You will have to edit harder if you try to write as concisely as this, but overall I think you’ll get more stories finished if you experiment with focusing on writing the exciting bits, then sprinkling just enough scene fragments to make it work.

I often write out an idea for a few thousand words, till I get stuck, then go back over it and start thinking about how I can reorder and tweak it to bring what I already have to a satisfying ending.

It requires fumbling and sitting and thinking and figuring it out as I’m revising (as you saw in the example) but if you keep focused on making things shorter you’ll be surprised at just how short you can make it.

And how many things you can finish!

[unusualcliches]

My season three thoughts: After numerous failed attempts of watching part two of Bridgerton yesterday, I finally finished the last episode at three in the morning so I decided to sleep on it. Now that I’ve processed it a little I feel like I must get this out of my chest. Like most fans, I have mixed feelings. Overwhelming feelings. Feelings that are like torture – Kidding!

No but really, it has been a long time since a piece of media has made me feel this much, both good and bad. Watching these last four episodes, my heart was in my throat, I was grinning like a maniac and tearing up more often than I care to admit. And isn't that the point of art? I can honestly say that overall the positives far outweigh the negatives, for me, at least. There's something to be said about the choice of releasing the season in two parts, about cramped, eight-episode-seasons and the lack of breathing room, about the ever growing number of characters, about expectations so high they might as well have been setting themselves up for failure (or rather, the fans up for disappointment) but I don't want to linger on any of that. I understand feeling let down and there are many, many reasons for it. But to me, in particular? Well, all of that is overshadowed by this huge wave of affection I feel for the people who put this show together.

Because this is Penelope Featherington's season, and I have loved this character for at least fifteen years. I've been carrying her around in my pocket, hidden from view, because I was ashamed to admit a "silly, little romance novel that teen me read in secret on my computer when my parents weren't looking" could ever have impacted me so much. (Yes, internalized misogyny, I see you, leave me alone.) But it did impact me, so much so that when I needed to, I took Penelope's name as my alias in the hope it would make me brave enough to come out of my shell on the internet, if not in real life. And no, the irony is not lost on me, there is a reason I was so drawn to her character, just as I know so many other people are. She is incredibly relatable.

This last month I've been talking and talking about all the ways this show's popularity is validating and how freeing it feels to be able to discuss this character that is so close to my heart with so many people, and to see the outpour of love she's been getting. Because she's so relatable, there are hundreds of us who see ourselves in her while at the same time admire her growth and her cleverness and wish we could be that brave, even for just one day. To see her stand up for herself the way she did was amazing and I could never resent a show for fleshing out my favorite character like this. If anyone had told teen me that one day I would get to watch Bridgerton come alive in HD, and that Penelope would be played by the most gorgeous, charismatic actress who'd wear all these beautiful costumes and dance to amazing instrumental versions of some of my favorite songs as she found her way to her happily ever after, I would have thought I was dreaming?! There is simply so much to celebrate this season, I couldn't fathom choosing to lean into the frustration or the resentment that some things haven't turned out exactly the way I wished.

That said, I will definitely be using this blog to work out the things that I felt were lacking too in the near future because I am thoroughly invested in Colin and Penelope's love story and that's not changing any time soon. What's this about this ride being over because the season ended??? Kids, please, now is the time we get to finally play with this toy we've been reaching for at the high shelf of the store!!! It's ours now to do as we please and I have ~so many ideas~. I simply crave more of them. I loved (most) of what we got this season, and I plan to roll around in all the good bits, just as I am already craving all the fix-it fics that I know are coming. You know, one of the things about part one was that the show was so good about giving me everything I ever wanted, there was hardly anything I wanted to read/write about. Well, I will say that that's certainly changed! I'm gonna save my detailed feelings about Polin for another post because this is already completely out of hand but I will say this: I am tired of seeing strong female characters having to sacrifice their romantic relationships as they crawl their way to self-acceptance and empowerment. That is realistic, to be sure, but Bridgerton is supposed to be for the dreamers, isn't it? So why not give Penelope her cake and let her eat it too? All in all, though, I feel like I had a delicious piece of cake but I’m left still yearning for the cherry on top. Perhaps in season 4?

[cru5h-cascades]

Sins of the Flesh Update Trailer Dissection!

(plus some other stuff that wasn't shown in the trailer!)

At long last, the long awaited trailer & release date reveal for the newest Cult of the Lamb update's out! Storywise, there's not much to go off of from the trailer, but hey a bunch of new stuff to do in the new update!

Right out of the gate we see one of the main selling points of the update in a short animated segment of the vid: SEX. It's here we see the mating tent, where followers can do their thing and create an egg (just like I predicted! the xmas art for CotL was a teaser for the mating feature!). In order to use the mating tent, a new mechanic is introduced where followers have to have a high enough level of love for each other in order to use the tent. Once they do, you can have them make out with each other in the tent and as soon as they finish their love making session they'll come out of the tent with an egg, which you can either A) harvest for food or B) keep the egg in tact to have A BABY FOLLOWER!!! YESSS!!! I REALLY WANTED THIS TO BE IN THE UPDATE SO FUCK YEA!!! It's unclear if we ourselves can use the mating tent, but we'll find out eventually.

New follower attire (previously revealed alongside the announcement that booze would be added to the game)

We're re-introduced to a new weapon: the gun (previously revealed to us a few weeks before xmas) and get some footage of it in action.

A new follower interaction is shown off where we can fight a follower during a crusade (sorta like how Shamura turned a follower on a player in the base game's story campaign). May or may not be connected to the update's new story if there is one, which might be the case.

It appears you can further upgrade your meetinghouse/church/whatever you call it in this update. Perhaps even customize it? Seems like that in the trailer.

A re-introduction to the ability to serve booze to followers (also previously revealed to us before xmas)

New rituals ahoy! The one in the trailer where the followers are going ape shit is called the Rite of Wrath, where followers will go ahead and unleash the purge in your cult grounds by going around killing and fighting each other, vanalizing the cult grounds, and more. There's another one in the trailer that might have to do with more casual canabalizim in this game (instead a follower's presumably being eaten alive in this instance). And another ritual is going to be added into the update which is called the Rite of Lust, where your followers dance around a shrine in the Lamb's image naked. There's more rituals being added into the game but those are just a few.

A possibility of gaining more hearts??

Follower Sozo. That's all I gotta say here.

And that's everything that got revealed in the trailer. There's still a few more things that the trailer didn't show, which I'll talk about now:

New minigame ahoy! By using the new drum circle, you can now play a new rhythm game-based minigame!

A new food source (which remains unnamed; possibly due to lore significance?)

The new rituals may or may not have a tie with another new game mechanic called Sin. As of now it's unknown why we need to generate Sin in this update, but if I had to guess it has to do with the story of the new update.

There was other stuff revealed outside the trailer but those just had someting to do with something shown in the trailer (how the mating tent works and the Rite of Lust). We still dunno about why the crown turns into a snake-lookin' thing and we dunno why followers can turn on us in this update but hey at least we're getting the update soon! Then we can figure all of this stuff out for ourselves.

Sins of the Flesh will release January 16th!

[arimiadev]

Hello visual novel fans and vampire lovers! It’s been a while since I last wrote a postmortem, so I hope I’ll be able to write this concisely (and coherently).

Dahlia was a short visual novel I created in under 36 hours for Velox Formido, a shortform visual novel game jam ran by robobarbie and Allie Vera. It’s inspired by Ludum Dare, one of the longest running game jams in the world where devs are tasked to make a game in 1 weekend based around a theme. I got my start making visual novels by entering Ludum Dare…which was 10 years ago, as of 2024!

I had my eye on this game jam for a while now, as this isn’t its first incarnation. I’ve been a bit burnt out the past year or so, not completely where I can’t make progress but to where I feel like my work has slowed down a lot more than my peers and feel I can’t make anything quickly. When I saw the jam was happening this weekend, I hopped on board once the themes were announced.

the themes

While Ludum Dare has a rigorous process of eliminating themes until it gets down to the final one, Velox Formido has it where there are 5 themes that win and participants have to use at least 2 of them in their entries. The final themes were…

Enemies with Benefits

Flower Symbolism

Doomed by the Narrative

Trapped with Someone

Forbidden Romance

I started crafting ideas as soon as the themes were announced, which was what the jam started- meaning the clock was ticking!

My first idea was a shounen rivals-esque sapphic story about two rivals meeting up for alone time. I started writing it immediately but moved on to another idea- being trapped with a vampire. I doubt I’ll ever use the first idea, so I’ve shared the snippet I was able to write for it here. Every new line is the other woman talking, so think of it as a quick back and forth.

Even though I had started on this idea, I wanted to write something more… mysterious. Frilly. Girls in cute dresses, to be exact. So I began potting an idea where a girl wakes up to find a vampire in her room, unsure if she’s had her fill yet or toying with her next meal.

the story

The “flower symbolism” theme was definitely my first pick, as I love the concept of it and played around with it in my last visual novel, Asphodelium. I named the characters Dahlia (beauty, change) and Camellia (admiration, longing). Dahlia represents a change in Camellia’s life, a sudden burst of newness. Camellia longs for something different, some way for things to change.

The other theme I picked was “trapped with someone”, as the premise is a girl stuck with a vampire in her room. I didn’t want it to be outright horror, but still a little creepy and tense.

Dahlia "I've had enough pitchforks stuck in my face for today." Camellia "And why is that?" Dahlia "Because your kind isn't too welcoming to my kind." Camellia "I was asking why you were here in the first place." Dahlia "Obvious questions get obvious responses. I needed a snack, of course." Camellia "And you chose my residence." Dahlia "Didn't you say this was your fathers?" Her words curl around the last word, like ivy growing against a trellis. She's clearly already had a "snack", but was it enough to satisfy her? Or am I the main course?

Both of them are somewhat young, but there is still the element of the unknown. This creature clearly already had a meal, but does she want dessert? Is she just toying with her food? Or is she truly delighted to find someone her age to talk to?

With the time constraints I wasn’t able to flesh out much of their dynamic, but I hope it was still an enjoyable taste! The story ended up being about 2.3k words long with 3 endings.

the art

I started doing the art about….12 hours before the jam ended. I love working with fullbody sprites as they offer me a lot more versatility with posing, but I knew I didn’t have time for that here. This time I went for 3/4ths bodies, namely just so I could cut it off at the end of their dresses. I spent about an hour on each of these.

With the time crunch I didn’t have time to do concepts for them- I just winged it! I knew I wanted Dahlia to have pigtails, though she was originally going to have a purple theme. Camellia was supposed to have proper curls in her hair, but because the game starts with her being rudely awoken, I went with messy waves instead. Think of it as bedhead rather than her actual hairstyle.

I also quickly did a main menu artwork towards the end of my crunch in about half an hour. It was originally going to be the cover art on itchio but Dahlia’s >:D sprite looks more striking.

For the backgrounds I went with free photos from Unsplash and edited them. Personally, I like the look of filtered photos as backgrounds depending on the aesthetics of the game.

I didn’t have time to edit the GUI aside from the textbox, which was NVL mode.

the presentation

Dahlia is stylized fully in NVL mode, with the textbox to one side of the screen. I love NVL mode for scenes focused on narration and setting the right mood.

I was considering making the game a different resolution, but because the NVL mode is to the side rather than the entire screen I wanted to make use of the widescreen resolution.

The game is set late at night, so each of the backgrounds had to be nighttime. To match with this, I tinted the sprites to match each of them. For example, the above tint looks like this:

transform nightcolor: matrixcolor TintMatrix("#8594d6") * BrightnessMatrix(0.03) image dahlia night = LayeredImageProxy("dahlia",nightcolor)

I wanted to try something more complex like a tint + another light source overlayed onto the sprite, but ran out of time.

Another part of the presentation I did was to have a variety of shots. I had a very limited about of art to work with (only changing mouths and eyebrows, no arm poses or eye positions) so I knew I had to be smart about how I composited the scenes.

One thing I’ve done in other visual novels was to have one character further away and have another closer to the camera but their sprite turned black. This allows me to give the illusion of depth without having a sprite of the back of each character’s head.

for instance, this is that technique in Canvas Menagerie

Doing this in Dahlia was a quick and easy way to make the visuals much more interesting rather than swapping between two mostly static sprites the entire game.

The way I do it in other games is on a per-sprite basis, meaning I set brightness and position each time. It’s hectic, really! But because of the time limit for this jam, I was able to come up with a much quicker way to set it up.

transform lefttt: zoom 0.5 xalign 0.3 yalign 0.05 transform leftttb: zoom 0.8 xalign -1.6 yalign 0.1 matrixcolor(BrightnessMatrix(-1)) xzoom -1

The lefttt transform is for the character in the back- in this example, that’s Camellia. The leftttb transform (b standing for “black”) is for the character in the foreground who’s shrouded- in this example, that’s Dahlia.

Basically, the leftttb transform sets the sprite to a bigger size than the farther away sprite, sets the position, and then makes the color completely black before flipping the sprite (because this should be us seeing them from behind).

I also did quite a few small animations in the game, such as Dahlia dancing around or bouncing up and down. You define it once as a transform and can reuse it again and again.

transform dance: ease 0.7 xoffset -59 linear 0.25 ease 0.6 xoffset 74 linear 0.19 ease 0.76 xoffset -70 linear 0.3 ease 0.7 xoffset 102 linear 0.2 ease 0.8 xoffset 0

If you’d like to see the code in action, then guess what- I’ve released the entire source code for the game on GitHub! Feel free to sift through it to see the components in action and copy some of the code for your own projects. All I ask is that you do not redistribute the game (i.e. download the code, make a build in Ren’Py, and redistribute that as your own game).

wrapping up

I’m pretty happy with how Dahlia came out. It’s short and visually distinct and helped “prove” to myself that I’m capable of making visual novels in a weekend still. I tried to avoid spoilers here, so if you haven’t played it already then give it a try!

— Arimia

[dr-ultimatum]

09/08/24 Project Notes

Hi, I'm Mothy, the creator of "DR Ultimatum," a rpgmaker fangan following Honoka Akino, the Ultimate Horror Mangaka, after she falls asleep on the train to school and wakes up in a mockery of a town with fourteen other Ultimates. The only way to escape is to kill: at least, that's what the animatronic rat is saying.

I want to make a record of the progress that's being made. I'll update you about two times a month. This first one isn't very exciting, so have some beta art of characters! The leftmost and middle characters are both scrapped, maybe I should bring back the sukeban girl? (Her text would use Japanese characters btw). The middle girl would eventually become Tamiko, and the right girl is beta Chioka. She looks weird without glasses...

If you have any questions, comments, or concern, you can shoot an ask or email drultimatum.contact@gmail.com

Like I've said, I've been busy for the past three months. I am happy with everyone's designs so far, though there is one student who still needs their design finalized. Expect an updated Azumi and Kuree design soon, but they are more like art updates than anything else.

Meanwhile, I've been working on the outline to the story as well as a prologue. A prologue *has* been completed, but it's now updated as I adjust everyone's characterizations and the setting. Unfortunately, I'm not very good at drawing environments, but have some concept art of the location!

For the location map, the large rectangle represents the electric fence that contains everyone. The shoddy lines are roads. Yes, there is a gun range. I think I'm happy with the locations, so my current focus is on making my outline neater and fleshing out the locations as well as I can. I have a lot of respect for LINUJ, because starting this made me aware of the things I can't quite do on my own.

Following the completion of the general outline, I'll make a one for chapter 1 purely to add as much detail as it deserves. I want to release the prologue and chapter 1 together, so I'm very excited to continue working on this. Of course, in the meantime, I'll make character bios of everyone so you can get to know them a bit more. Have another concept I made (that doesn't reflect Honoka's actual personality).

I've also worked on smaller things that are too abstract and miniscule to be put in a tumblr post, as well as starting to really buckle down what tasks I need to do. I haven't began implementing things yet, since I'm focused on concept art and writing, but I'll do that once I'm in the asset making phase. It's...a lot, so I'd like to gather a small team of people to make this something nice. But before I do that, I want to people to know that they're following a project that won't just string you along.

This is about the end for now. I'll definitely share my progress as it goes along! Like I said, this update isn't very exciting, but I hope the next one will be fun. Thank you for reading!

[pufflehuffing]

Sexual Divinity, Look What You've Done To Me a Professor Sallow W.I.P.

Here's a snippet of chapter eight from my latest work in progress! Careful, there's explicit content below. I will be uploading the story on AO3 as soon as it's finished. [My other Sebastian works]

Her skin is like satin, velvet, the finest of silk. He's almost entranced, lost in the feel of her, in the taste of her. He wants to devour her, to consume her, to make her his. And she's willingly submitting to him, letting him touch her, taste her, claim her. She's a willing participant in this madness, this frenzy of desire. He's determined, his fingers and mouth everywhere, exploring, marking her folds as his. She's a canvas, and he's the artist, painting her with his touch, his lips, and his tongue.

His hand finds the edge of her underwear, his fingers flirting with the fabric, playing at the boundaries of decorum.

And then he freezes, his hands hesitating, his mind catching up with his body. What is he doing? Is this the moment reality takes hold; when he comes to his senses, he pushes her away and ends this madness? No. The thought rises unbidden in his mind, a whisper, a command, a certainty. He can't end this. He won't. Not now. Not when he's come this far. He continues where he left off, his hands resuming their journey over her hips, his mouth fanning against her clothed slit.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, his conscience screams.  Take her, make her yours, his heart pleads.

His wife. The thought flickers in his mind, a brief reminder of his duties, his responsibilities, his marriage. But it's like a drop of water in an inferno, barely putting a dent in the wildfire of his desires, like trying to hold back a flood with a sandbag. At that moment, nothing else exists except her, him, this moment. His marriage, his duties, all of it, is meaningless and insignificant. He's lost in her, in this frenzy of desire. He pushes the thoughts of his wife firmly out of his mind, focusing all his attention on the girl in front of him. The feeling of her body against his, the sound of her moans, the taste of her mouth he remembers all too well—all of it is consuming him, drowning out any remnants of guilt or obligation.

He pushes her underwear to her knees, his fingers trailing along the sensitive flesh of her thighs, teasing, exploring. He looks up, and in that moment, time seems to stop. His mind is silent, his thoughts stilled, his body consumed by this overwhelming, undeniable need. She's dripping, eager, desperate, a heady combination that only feeds his desire. Lust.  Wanton hunger.

His fingers slide through her split fig, exploring, caressing, claiming. Her body is writhing, her breaths growing noisier, more urgent. She's already falling apart, unraveling under his touch, and he's the one doing it to her. He's lost in this moment, lost in her. His mind is blank, his thoughts silenced. There's only her, only this, only them.

His wife. The title is a bitter taste on his tongue, a discordant note in this symphony of desire. She doesn't respond like this. She doesn't shiver under his touch. She doesn't moan at his kisses. She doesn't arch her body into his like a work of art yearning for completion. But this girl, this student, does. She's everything his wife isn't, everything he needs, everything he craves. She's not a doll, a perfect, unfeeling replica. She has a fire within her, a passion, a vitality that he didn't know he was missing. His wife is familiar, comfortable, and safe. She's a known quantity, a steady, reliable rhythm. But this girl, this student, she's an unexpected beat, an unpredictable measure, a chaotic, exhilarating melody. He can't compare the two. He shouldn't compare the two. It's unfair, it's wrong, it's blasphemy. But he does. He compares, he contrasts, he judges. 

His wife is a Chopin nocturne: an elegant, soothing, sad funeral song. This girl is a Tchaikovsky firework: a passionate, destructive, explosive Slavonic march. His marriage is a quiet evening, a glass of fine wine by the fireplace. This girl is a wild party, a shot of whisky, a night of debauchery. His wife is mundane, routine, and predictable. She’s like a well-worn path, treading over the same ground time and time again. But her, she’s a wild, untamed, unbroken stallion. She’s raw, real, and dangerous. He wants to tame her, to break her in, to make her his own. She’s a symphony, a harmony of desire and need, and he’s the conductor, the composer leading her, molding her, shaping her into a masterpiece — his masterpiece. His fingers move like notes on a staff, each touch like a tone in the score. She's a delicate instrument, a well-tuned Stradivarius violin being played by a master. 

[where-is-my-beheading-ceremony]

The Founding: beta version

(disclaimer: this is a very rough and short story of how Aether's kingdom came to be. The reason I write this is just for the audience to know the basics and for me to flesh everything out)

Merchant Nibiru (Human face) circa. 2411 B.K. (Before Knighton)

Knighton is not the only kingdom that exists in the vast realm, even if it is the center of a new story. The old story however? It expands much further than the borders of Knighton. By the way, why are horses extinct???

Many thousand years ago, whilst the first kingdoms were still forming and developing their trade amongst each other lived a man named Nibiru. Nibiru was a humble merchant that found their way out of their enclosed tribal home and caused a chain reaction that makes the realm what it is now. It all starts...with a book.

- "Not thinking of settling down yet, Nibiru? You've been in the merchant business for decades now".

-The monster only scoffed, waving a dismissive hand towards their companion "What is a few decades to a monster who lives a millennium? Though admittedly, it'd be nice to settle down every now and then, actually have a home"

- "Exactly my point. So...what goods are you bringing to Swolaki this time?"

- "Only the rarest of them all. Books, spell ones. I kind of wish to keep them for myself"

- "A man of literacy? What are you doing out here working your ass off then? If you got that type of fancy brain, might as well put it to good use"

- "mmm...good point. Can't really find use for them in this merchant village though"

- "You think?"

Nibiru did not stay with his companions for too long however as he soon would have to set off towards Swolaki. Late night turned into early morning and he had a long journey ahead of him. The man did not have a chance to set off however because an older woman ran up to him, clearly distressed. 

- "You! Please help me, anyone I ask just turns away!" She basically grabbed at the tall monster's cloak.

- "Calm down, lady- what is it? What do you need help with?" 

- "My husband brought our kids to go fishing, but a storm brewed up yesterday and they haven't come back! I think they tried to find refuge on that desolate island in the distance-" 

- "O H- No I don't think I can- people probably don't go there for a reason and I don't know you enough to risk my life!" 

- "Please, at least take our other boat closer to the island, look around, you don't have to step on it!"

- "....I-...alright, I'll see what I can do" the man looked down at the books he was boxing up before throwing some into his bag. Might as well have something to do if he's going to have to be on the lookout. "Just a couple of hours out, I will in no way be staying out there any longer. If I do not come back then that means that your husband and children are most definitely doomed. And so am I...probably." He wouldn't consider himself heroic, nor would he consider himself selfish, but seeing a wife, a mother, this devastated? It basically gave him no choice but to agree.

Nibiru was not glad to find himself rowing a boat towards an island that nobody seemed to ever visit. He did not know if it was a religious thing or there just truly wasn't anything useful there. The questionable state the boat was in did not make him feel any better. Besides that, he felt like he barely fit in it, he will not manage to bring 3 more people with him...

The monster stopped rowing when he passed the halfway point towards the island. Looking around, he did not see anything for miles. He decided to rest his arms for a bit and then he might row a bit closer to the island. It was hard to see anything from here anyways and that island was humongous, it's large mountains piercing through the clouds. Pulling out one of the books he brought with him, the man found himself flipping through pages that wrote about necromancy. A relatively old art (even if this was thousands years of ago) that only recently started to be written down since it wasn't widely practiced. Not because it was morally questionable or anything, it was just hard to cope with.

Worry overtook Nibiru as an hour passed because each time he looked up from the book, he found his boat drifting closer to the island. At one point, he could see the shores of that island quite clearly and managed to notice a blurry outline of another boat laying in the sand. It is very likely that the father and children were stranded there because the boat seemed perfectly fine. The monster found themselves hesitating and attempted to row away from the island, but even in a calm sea, the island would continue to pull him closer. It was most likely some strong invisible water current that was taking him to the island, the same must've happened to the family. "Seems like I don't have much of a choice..." he muttered to no one in particular. 

Weeks. 

It was weeks later that Nibiru returned from the island, a father, a son and a daughter beside him. The woman that had asked him for help in the first place embraced her family with tears of joy, thanking Nibiru profusely, but the monster only stood frozen, a haunted look on their starved face and a slightly roughed up book resting in their white-knuckle grip as if it was his lifeline. The only book that survived this journey. He did not give the lady an explanation when she worriedly asked what her family had experienced for them to act so strange and look so...grey. Who had attacked the son so brutally for half of his hand to be missing.

It was hours later, when the merchant found themselves warming up by a fireplace in one of the village's quieter taverns, that he finally uttered his first words. "I think...I might settle down" the words sounded foreign to him after spending days desperately repeating the strange ones he found in the book of necromancy. 

Surprisingly enough, this is exactly how a new kingdom came to be. Once Nibiru had settled down in this merchant village, he used his long life to make this place a sanctuary for more and more merchants till eventually, people started to permanently settle there. The number of people there grew quickly as Nibiru had found a way to use the book of necromancy to make the economy and local ecosystem prosper. With his help, food was never an issue, people who grew ill and died too young would be brought back to life. Soon enough, with enough practice, the re-awakened were the majority compared to the living and no-one could even tell the difference. 

The island in the distance haunted him for many years however, it was almost driving him insane, taunting him. There was never anything bad with it in the first place, but his experience there is what changed his course of life. 

Finally, having enough of it and wanting to overcome his slipping sanity, the monster announced that the only way the settlement will grow is if they move to the Island. (Exposure therapy or whatever they call it) . It took time for the first families to move to the island, but staying there was no issue. The island gave them what they need and Nibiru provided the rest with his necromancy.

The island was a no-man's land, no kingdom had taken it under their crown and you can guess what happens next. With many more centuries still ahead of him, Nibiru became the ruler of this new and prospering settlement. His unreasonable paranoia towards the place diminished in time as well.

Soon enough, neighboring monarchies grew curious towards this new kingdom. The kingdom of the dead is what they called it, where species thought to be extinct thrived and the only death people ever had to fear is from growing old. All expectations of it being a kingdom that would quickly fall blew over when the inhabitants, although dead and now once more alive, proved to be the same even after death. The unbelievable prosperity brought worry to the other kingdoms and they found themselves speaking about Nibiru's actions as immoral, they deemed his necromancy evil and his people as zombies. The last straw seemed to be when animals and plants that were brought back began to spread outside the kingdom, signaling Nibiru's quiet expansion throughout the realm. No more did other rulers stand Nibiru's actions, the chirping of birds that were never supposed to be there taunting them day and night.

- "Nibiru! It's Nibiru who brought me to life and now I found my way to your castle. Never have crops grown so well until he came, life has never flourished under your rule!" the birds would chirp.

- "ENOUGH!" The monarchs would yell when coming face to face with Nibiru.

- "I beg your pardon?" Nibiru would ask, confused as to why they wanted to berate him.

- "This is not a kingdom. This is a graveyard! Do you find joy in playing God? Using the art of death for your own good?".

- "I merely give people a chance to live life, it is what they deserve!" he'd argue "And I am far from any God for I have not created anything, just helped what already was, thrive again. Necromancy is a celebration of life for I have not brought death upon anyone. There is no blood on my hands."

It is not hard to see that peace wasn't going to last forever in Nibiru's young kingdom. Sticking to his own morals, the king became a target to all neighboring kingdoms and soon war was tearing through his lands. The king tried to stay true to his words of having no blood on his hands, but obviously that promise could not stay forever. Soon enough, he rose the dead just to have more people in his army, no longer focusing on the humanity of his actions. They were dead anyways, they will not mind dying again protecting his kingdom.

Decades passed and Nibiru's kingdom managed to survive through the war, all sides too exhausted from a conflict that seemed like it would never end. Other kingdoms will keep attacking and Nibiru will keep finding people and beasts to raise. So it ended with a "Truce". 

Nibiru's death came suddenly. Most suspected that it was brought upon him by a group of wizards. Apparently the necromancer was trying to find a way to make other kingdoms succumb to his rule and others found out, striking first before he could. What truly happened was, however, lost in time. It was thousands of years ago after all.