#Original character writing

[ninjagecko72]

Ever just make an OC and you think they’ll just be a one-off character but then all of the sudden, whoop. You dive into the character to understand how they handle a situation you put them in, you help them succeed, develop their personality more than you planned and you’re just attached to your little baby now so you’ve got to see them grow and flourish and make it to the happy ending they deserve?

[xikyuu]

“oc question #3: if they could have a real life conversation with you, how would it go?” curtesy of ‘_..darr1ingz.._’ on tiktok.

at some point, the conversation became one-sided and more of me psychoanalyzing them. it kinda resembles a letter format, but if you pay attention, there are gaps where it seems like dallas (he/him) responds. extra notes are at the top of my tags. have fun reading!

total words: 2,329. writing under cut:

i’d ask dallas what its like to see all these worlds. yes, i know i made you and the conversations you have but i desire connection i cannot have.

what is kismadoré actually like when everything is sewn together lovingly? did you feel loved, even if it was temporary? are the city streets worn down with love and care? does it show the world that city of life is, indeed, living? that there is water in it’s roots?

what’s your handwriting like? did you ever decide to go to college in a universe? if so, what was your major? did you get multiple degrees? what was your favorite class? least favorite? favorite teacher? do you have a favorite fun fact? please tell me.

where there times you were genuinely scared for your life? are you afraid of me? of the complete power and creation i hold over you? i’m so sorry i hurt you.

do you have a favorite stuffed animal?

what was your father’s name? do you hate me for what i did to him? do you hate me for what i did to your mother? do you hate me? i caused all this hurt for you. you could’ve survived if i gave you a happy life. i could’ve made you a loving father, but i don’t know what that looks like. i could’ve gave you your mother, but i’ve never seen my mother and father exist in the same place and not be at each other’s throats. do you forgive me? please don’t forgive me. i love you. i wish i could be you. do you hate me? i killed alibi. i killed skip. i killed you. they’re dead because of me. they had to start a rebellion because of me. your father is cruel and evil because of me. would you kill me if you had the chance? do you wish you could see them again? i’m so sorry.

you know this is real, right? you are real. you exist because i exist. i made you and i am still making you. you are something i will always come back to. you make me happy. you make my friends happy. they love you. yes, really. i wouldn’t lie to you about that.

did you know alibi is based off my friend? they created kit’s design. i made alibi into themself. did you know that one of the potential names for alibi was mochi? there was supposed to be another in the resistance crew. i scrapped them early on.

what’s it like to shoot a gun and know every shot has killed? i’m sorry. is the metal cold to the touch? does it burn your hands with memories? does your finger still sit perfectly on the trigger? even if you try to bury the subconscious knowledge of how to do anything with that wretched thing? it’s why you got your namesake, after all. i’m sorry. i don’t like guns, either. i wanted you to be safe.

you need to let go of the mask. stop pretending you are fine. people want to help. remember what we say about communication? it is key.

who was the person who killed you? i don’t know who they are, just that they were misguided and brainwashed into hating you. i’m so sorry. you could’ve had another friend before you died.

what’s your favorite plant? did you ever hide in the willow trees like they were curtains? what is the easiest tree to climb? does that one tree still have bark torn off from how often you guys tried to climb it? do you remember the tree that bore fruit and attracted the many flutters of butterflies? and how they rested gently on your hands and chest? how you held out your arm and several would perch on your arm like it was an extension of the tree? and didn’t that one butterfly land on your nose? did you have fun?

theres so much pressure on you. i’m sorry.

juno and asmo are okay. they survived. you know this, right? i’m sorry you didn’t get to see them heal. they miss you.

do you still wish on acorns? do you still play the violin? do you still dance in the rain with a big smile on your face? do you still dance around the tall bonfire to songs of kismá? and what of the picnics in flower fields?

i’m sorry you had to hide guns in a basket of flowers. i’m sorry you had to be paranoid and hypervigilant. i’m sorry i ruined your breathing with the orange gas.

do you still share folk stories to the multiverse about kismadoré?

whats your favorite color? is it green like me? how is it that we are so similar but so different? i made you in my own image, but the mirror reflecting me is distorted.

whats your favorite form to stay in? do you have any favorite jewelry pieces? what is your favorite dessert?

you can see the indents from when i made you—like clay. does that mean i messed up or does it show the care that i put into you? molding you until you grew into something i cannot be?

do you have a favorite memory? do you have more? what was it like to sit in the desert at a campfire, surrounded by people you love? did you have the heart to say that you might not survive this run to freedom? what was your reaction to the walls falling? i’m sorry your home is so corrupt.

what new dishes came about in kismadoré that i’ll never be able to try? what cultures meshed to make one giant city? had anyone ever tried mixing soul food and japanese together?

what songs play at the funeral rites? what colors do you wear to mourn?

do you still know cardinal directions like the back of your hand? it’s because of the compass, right? does kismadoré have an official animal? official dish? is it recognized on maps? if it isn’t, i’ll write it into canon. how many people live in kismadoré? i know the initial population was small. oh wow. that’s a lot.

whats some of the funniest reactions people have had to your powers?

are your fingers burnt from the fires? do you lose sensation in them sometimes? does the cold make your bones hurt? i know it does for me. how bad are the scars in person? i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry.

do you have a favorite book? what genre do you like? i have so many recommendations. do you have any for me?

do you draw? paint? can i see? it’s totally okay if you don’t want to show me. how’s your poetry coming along? any favorite symbols you love to throw in? yeah, floriography is great.

were you aware when asmo blessed you as you bled out in her lap? she recited the poem. ‘may the stars be there to guide you.’ that one.

i’m sorry. i took you away right after you finally got your freedom. do you think that’s cruel of me? you got it eventually, just not in the way you expected.

what is time like if time is not linear?

you know you are allowed to be loud, right? it is your right. it is in your nature. kismá calls to ask you why you aren’t screaming and yelling and singing and crying and clapping and stomping and dancing and whistling and humming and laughing and breathing and living and why are you not shaking the stars with excitement and joy because you are loved, my dear, did you know that? did you know that your heart beats in your chest, even if it is out of tune? the blood in your veins makes music you cannot even comprehend. the wind makes a sound that we can copy and sing along with. the water is clean for you to wade into. kick it around and laugh. your clothes get wet, but that is nature. the wind will hug you as it passes. its cold but it means well. the flowers dance even in the midst of a hurricane and so will we. we will dance even when crying. that is the beauty of it. sá boé dáli, sá baoyă dáli.

do you still think of them? the nostalgia is lethal. but does lethality even matter to someone who cannot die? do you indulge yourself with poison just to wonder what could have been? when did you forget their faces? when did you forget their voices? do you know this is self-destructive? of course you don’t care.

does your home still affect you? are you kintsugi pretending to be a person? do you know where each you used to be? where on your porcelain vessel lays the tiles of the child soldier? the fake confidence and paranoia of the resistance leader? the people-pleaser? the scared child? and did you get your eyes from the gods who remade you? the gods who held your cracked form gently and helped heal you? at what point are you not a person anymore? how cracked is the still, cold heart that rests in your chest cavity? it contains every person you once were and will be. you can take the man out of the walls, but the walls came crumbling down and embedded themselves into your then fragile, human skin. you can try to pick out the concrete but it’s stuck, it’s there. just like the shrapnel from the bullets that fused themselves to your corpse. you can run, but you can’t hide. you can never avoid the past. do you even want to?

you forget you aren’t human. not anymore. even so, you cling onto humanity like a child crying for their parents. you feel emotions as deeply as the next. you stand next to a human in a vessel that is dead and wonder why you feel as if you don’t belong. your empathy is damaging. your mannerisms mimic something you aren’t. hold onto this. pray for more. do not loose it.

how do you manage your anger? where do you feel it? that’s interesting. can you feel it twist itself between the valves and chambers of your heart? do the thorns of malice pierce your lungs? do you wish it would stop burning in your chest? do you ever have a sick satisfaction with you shoot off insults? do you feel regret when you snap at a loved one? when does it spread to your throat and take it’s wretched hands and choke you? when does it embrace your shoulders in justice? do you give people what they deserve? and what happens if they don’t deserve it? whenever will your lungs be damaged from the live coals that simmer? do you ever cough up the smoke? and when do you grab that gun and deliver retribution? is anger a welcome feeling for you? do you hate the thought of hatred itself? that would be funny. or is it that you fear who you become when you are this monster born of emotions, ash spewing from cracked lips with magma burning in your eyes?

and how do you feel about violence? is it an unremovable part of you? is it in your brain and does tends to stick no matter how hard it clings to your amygdala? what would you be without it? do you still remember how to kill a man? the best place to hit with the bat covered in rusty nails? does the blood still drip from your fingers and onto the floor? do you still feel that automatic reaction to pull out the gun whenever anything bad happens? do you forget how to care about the blood dripping from your fingers? did you still crave it? do you crave for the thing that raised you? do you ever smile when you shoot? have you become desensitized? you hate it. you hate it so much. you love it. the rush of adrenaline. you hate that you crave it. you pull your lips back into a sick and bloody smile when the tyrant is dead. you were numb the first time it happened. why are you so conflicted?

was death cold? what form did it take, if any at all? did it embrace you or was it so sudden that you thought your neck broke? did it unsettle you or did you feel comfortable? or did you feel nothing at all? after all, most are nothing in death. who was the first to meet you? to come and take your hand and lead you to the Garden? and how many times did you refuse that you were safe in Their care? how many times did you die after that until you finally cracked and sobbed and went down that road of healing? did you expect to see your old family in death?

what’s it like holding stardust in your palms? to be able to peek in at universes? to be able to walk among worlds like you are a part of it yourself? what’s it like being everything and nothing at once? can you hold the multiverse’s mysteries in your many arms? do your wings ever get in the way? what’s seeing like with that many eyes? to be so human and so otherly that you are stuck in an eternal venn-diagram, comparing your every move with that of your mortal past and your immortal future? but the past is the future and the future is the past, right? how silly of me to forget.

what will you do from here? now you’ve met me? am i everything you thought of? am i so different from your expectations? am i pressing too hard? wouldn’t you already know this? you’re made to know everything.

i’m sorry for everything, by the way. i think you knew that— yeah. come visit me again. ‘May The Stars guide you.’

[gravekeeper-anna]

Daily Writing Challenge || May 2024

Day 1: Mysterious/Appearance

In the overgrown pocket of forgotten cemetery in Tirasfal, the Great Plaguebat landed with quite a force, making the old soil shiver in its impact, the threads of webbing loosen from the stone parapets of the nameless mausoleum standing just across the spotty dirt path. The Gravekeeper slid down slowly from its throne of a seat with the care unexpected of such a entity, ensuring her bone wings would not catch on the Plaguebat’s catchings.

Something else was disturbed in her arrival home - the white rose bush planted at the side of her underground sanctum. A few white blooms were jostled from their own home, joining the pale, dry grass below them. Anna eyed the rose bush for the span of a few frozen seconds, statuesque, before dismissing the great bat from the dark thicket. She tracked the Plaguebat with her gaze until it was embraced entirely by the Tirasfal fog, pathed vaguely in the direction of the Undercity. It still had gone nameless, but the Warbat had belonged more to the Undercity’s secret tunnels more than it had belonged to her.

The Gravekeeper turned again to the rose bush, this time with almost a hesitation in her footfalls toward it. Unlike the Plaguebat and herself, the white rosebush was not something that belonged to Tirasfal, neither should it have been able to thrive so well in the nutrient-less soil. In fact, she would have expected such a natural flora to quickly rot, or be corrupted by the nascent energies of the deadened land. She often brought flowers here to their death, whether to mix into required reagents or dry out for later use and decoration.  It was a rare feat for the living to find purchase in such a place. She certainly did not plant the bush in that soil;  it was a bold move on all accounts for the one that did.

Anna was removing her heavy gauntlets by more action than thought, natural sense told her that she would crush the cloud like roses on the ground with them on. Her movement slowed as she questioned such buried instinct. Why did she care if she crushed these particular roses? Powdered rose may have sold well on the elven market, or a torn petal may have been an interesting addition to a cup of tea. Dried, dead roses were better appreciated in her decor too. As she reached down to gently take a severed head of a rose into her spidery fingers, the sting of Light magic lit on her stony skin, every petal laced with the preserving magic. The rose head would not start to lose its color or health for a week or so still, even fallen from the safety of its leaves. It was a magic and even a rose she recognized, though she did not think it would follow her ‘resting place’. For some reason, the sting of the rose felt…interesting on her sculpted flesh. A sting to disrupt the numbness.

Coal briefly caught her eyes as the bat-winged tom leapt up to a grave cross nearby, making it his perch as he watched her. The little homunculous  did not seem uncomfortable as she neared with the rose head, expecting that Coal would have darted away with a disapproving yowl as he did around most of the Light-natured. He made himself on home there on that cross, in fact, leaning into her other hand as she reached to grant him a pet. 

“Could be a threat, you know,” the Gravekeeper spoke to her familiar with an absent tone, but the cat only continued with his rattling purr underneath her touch. “I should rid of myself of the entire thing, root and petal and all.” 

“Mrrrrp?” Coal purred his questioning, and questioned her logic. Perhaps the cat knew more than a cat ever let on. White roses were for Remembrance. Enchanted, Gilnean variety.

“Hmmm. Quite tricky…quite the mystery…” Lady Anna whispered, her voice a haunt as she considered, pulling her train of thought away from the tangle of memory the roses evoked, and the mysterious patron that might have supplied it.  Coal only blinked slowly at her, ‘innocent’, continuing his odd, rattling purr. 

“Ohh, I suppose I’ll let you keep your little secrets.” Anna settled with the cat, and perhaps her benefactor, and left the inner known mystery at that.

@daily-writing-challenge

[art-tnt]

 Although a little different than some of the usual tips shared here, I feel a lot of artists struggle with character development on the smaller scale. It is easy to create a long backstory and flesh out the grand legend of a particular character. It is a greater task to convey a captivating story in a shorter length. Just because this is a writing tip doesn’t mean it can’t help visual artists with character development. Here are some helpful tips that the link expands upon in detail:

1. Understand that a short story is not the same as a novel 

2. Start as close to the end as possible 

3. Keep up the pace 

4. Keep the number of characters small 

5. Give the reader someone to root for 

6. Create conflict! 

7. Suggest a backstory but don’t elaborate 

8. Appeal to the five senses 

9. Dialogue should bring your story to life 

10. Edit until it hurts

[ruth-writes]

ruthswip

I still don't know what to call this so I'm just gonna call it ruthswip and tag all the posts that so I can find them later

Chapter 2: Alex's POV

Content warnings: abuse, depression

I was drunk when the hospital called. It wasn’t much, just two beers. But for someone who’d never drunk before, it wasn’t ideal. I’d only agreed to it because Aaliyah was the first person I’d met in a while whose face I didn’t want to slam a door into before I never talked to them again.

The day we met, Sam had just burst into our dorm, wearing an outfit loud enough to wake everyone in a ten-mile-radius (as always), and announced, “There’s a party tonight, and I think that girl Billie’s gonna be there.”

I’d barely given him a second glance, not letting myself get drawn away from the perfect setup I’d made on my bed. I’d managed to prop my laptop on just the right number of pillows for my neck to not get a cramp from staring at Doctor Who all evening and placed all my snacks within arm’s reach. “So?” I asked dismissively.

Sam didn’t get the hint. He never did. “What do you mean, so?” he said incredulously, walking over and hanging himself from the top bunk. “We have to figure out what to wear!”

I reluctantly paused the show, but only took out one of my earbuds. “We? I’m not going.”

Sam groaned dramatically. “Alex, what plans could you possibly have that are more important than a party with Billie there?” He emphasized her name like it was supposed to tell me something. I didn’t know her, and I hated parties. The list of things that were more important than this party could reach from me to the equator.

I knew he wouldn’t accept any reason, especially not Doctor Who which he considered ‘dumb nerdy shit’, so I sidestepped the question. “Can’t you just go on your own?”

He placed a hand over his heart and feigned being shot in the chest. “On my own? Alex! How am I supposed to talk to her without my wingman there to make me look good?”

I didn’t even hide my eyes rolling into the back of my skull. The only reason I was Sam’s ‘wingman’ was because as his roommate, I was the only person who’d put up with him. “Um, here’s a crazy idea: just go over and say hi.”

Sam rolled his eyes back at me. If we kept this up, we were gonna end up in the hospital because of fallen out eyeballs by the end of the semester. “No one does that, Alex. See, this is why you need my help. What would I even say?”

I wasn’t denying that I needed help, but I sure as hell wasn’t gonna get it from him. “You could ask her about her interests,” I suggested. “Try to find some common ground.”

That, apparently, was not helpful at all. Sam looked flabbergasted. “Alex, are you dense? I don’t want to waste my time with chit-chat. I want to fuck her.”

His unapologetic misogyny never ceased to amaze me. “Then maybe you should just tell her that,” I said sarcastically.

Sam didn’t get it. “You think so?”

“Yeah! It’s straight to the point and honest. Women love honesty these days.” I tried to lay on the sarcasm extra thick, but it was hopeless.

“See, Alex, this is why I need you to come. You just get girls.”

“I thought I had so much to learn from you,” I reminded him.

“You do! We can learn from each other! C’mon, please?” He dragged out the please until he was out of breath.

I groaned. It was clear I wasn’t getting out of this. “Fine. But I’m not carrying you home again. If you pass out, I’m leaving you there.”

“Yes!” he screamed, slapping the bed and making it shake. I winced, covering my ears. “Let’s go! You agreed, there’s no going back now!”

Yeah. My peaceful Doctor Who evening was gone for good.

--------------------

The walls were shaking from the pounding music when we entered the building. I was kind of worried the elevator would fall as we rode to the top floor, breathing a sigh of relief when we arrived, but the feeling immediately left me once the doors opened.

I let myself take a moment to assess the situation, which wasn’t great. The hall we were standing in was apparently already part of the party. People were scattered along it awkwardly, yelling at each other over the music. Most of them were swaying, some more than others. There was a beer pong table set up a few feet from the elevator, where the wasted jocks were hanging out. I made a mental not to give them a wide berth. Only three of the dorm rooms were open, making me wonder what the people in the other ones were doing. Were they holed up under their beds, wondering if it was too late to drop out without losing their already paid tuition money?

“C’mon,” Sam commanded, pulling me towards the dorm the music was coming out of. People had formed a kind of circle around a few girls, who were jumping up and down in a tight-knit group. Guys kept trying to be a part of it, but they just ended up standing on the edge, breathing down their necks awkwardly. I could perfectly imagine Sam joining them.

Right on cue, Sam shouted, “There’s Billie! Let’s go talk to her.”

I tried to object and point out that the girls were clearly not open to being hit on at the moment, but Sam had already gone ahead and was trying to force himself through the crowd. Unfortunately, he grabbed my arm and pulled me after him before I could run.

One thing about dance floors they never show in movies is how suffocating they are. Everyone is moving around, which means you have to just such up the fact that your feet are getting absolutely trampled and you’re constantly colliding with bodies that are drenched in more sweat than a football player during practice in 100-degree weather. And we weren’t just standing near the edge, we were heading towards the epicenter.

Sam immediately fell in line with the brainless, sex-obsessed guys circling the girls like vultures. But Sam wasn’t a vulture, waiting for his prey to be passed out so he could scoop it up easily. He was more like a hyena, a determined hunter. “Hey, Billie!” he yelled.

The girl with baggy pants, a striped top and her tight curls pulled back into a ponytail turned around and fixed him with an annoyed glare so terrifying I wondered if she practiced it in front of a mirror. “Yes?” she said testily.

Sam wasn’t fazed. “I’m Sam, and this is my friend Alex,” he introduced us.

Her glare moved over to me, and I gave her a small smile she didn’t return.

Sam glanced at me pointedly. “We wanted to talk to you for a second.”

Oh, right. I was supposed to say some magic words that made her so horny for him she’d fuck him in the bathroom next to people barfing. But as she looked at me know, her pissed-off gaze boring into me, I knew in my bones it was a lost cause. “Um… could you maybe… tell me where the bathroom is?” I yelled.

They both stared at me. I felt my face become even more flushed than it already was from the heat. “Um, sure, it’s just down that hall,” she pointed with her finger. “You probably passed it when you came.”

“Thanks,” I somehow stammered and yelled at the same time. I turned and fled, ignoring Sam’s incredulous expression.

Since I didn’t have anything better to do, I decided actually heading to the bathroom and hiding there for a bit didn’t seem like the worst idea. I managed to force myself through the crowd and find the door, only to discover someone who apparently had the same idea first.

She was slumped against the wall, staring at her phone. Her perfectly put together outfit didn’t match the scene. It would’ve been great for some kind of rock concert. The red plaid overall dress stood out against her dark complexion and the rest of her clothes. Under the dress was a plain black shirt and fishnet tights that led all the way to her big leather boots. Her makeup was dark, too, from her eyeshadow to even her lipstick. When she turned to look at me, there was a clacking sound from all of her jewelry clanging together.

“Oh, sorry,” I stammered, moving to close the door, but she stopped me.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t actually have to pee or anything, I’m just hiding. I can leave.”

“It’s fine, I don’t either,” I confessed. “I was looking for a place to hide, too.”

She studied me for a moment, as if she was sizing me up. “Well, in that case, why don’t you join me?”

I made my way over, awkwardly seating myself across from her in the small space. These were the moments when I wished I could be a foot shorter. Just enough to get me to a normal person’s height. We solved the problem by pulling our knees to our chests.

“Why are you hiding?” she asked.

“I just hate parties,” I told her.

“Why are you at one, then?”

“My roommate made me come,” I explained. “He wanted me to help her get into this girl’s pants, but it was pretty obvious she wasn’t into it, so I bailed and asked her where the bathroom was.”

“How noble of you,” the girl commented.

I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic in a good way or a bad way. “Thanks, I guess?” I said uncertainly.

She laughed. “You’re welcome.”

I decided to get the subject away from me. “So why are you hiding?”

She gave me a knowing smile. “I just hate parties.”

Yeah, made sense. “So you’re here because…?” I prompted.

“My best friends dragged me.”

“Well, at least it was your best friends and not some asshole the school forced you to live with.”

She frowned, scrunching her eyebrows together. “I don’t know, I’d say it’s a lot easier telling an asshole to fuck off than your friends.”

That was probably true, but I wouldn’t know. “Yeah, I don’t know why I go along with him,” I admitted.

“Maybe you should figure it out before you agree to help him harass women again,” she said flatly.

That shut me up for a bit. Maybe I wasn’t much better than Sam. “You’re right,” I said finally. “I’ll stop.”

She gave another small laugh. “Well, that’s good to hear.” There was an awkward silence until she had the mercy to break it. “So, what do you do when you’re not hiding in bathrooms?”

“Well, I’m majoring in nursing.” That was pretty much it. I didn’t have much of a life outside of school.

She tilted her head. “Are there a lot of guys doing that?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I wanted to go into the medical field, but all the extra stuff you have to do to become a doctor is just too expensive. And I really didn’t want to do residency.”

“How are you paying for your tuition?” she asked curiously.

I was slightly taken aback by the upfront question, but I didn’t mind. “My dad is helping me,” I explained, failing to mask the bitterness in my voice that was always there when he came up.

The girl picked up on it. “You don’t seem too happy about it.”

I sighed, wondering how much to tell her. “Well, he might’ve made the offer after being radio silent for fourteen years, thinking it would fix everything.”

She made a face. “Damn.”

“Yeah. It beats being in even more debt, though.”

“That’s probably true,” she agreed. “Do you know how much it’s gonna be when you’re done?”

I stared at her, not knowing how to react to her directness. “Do you ask everyone you meet about their personal finances?”

She grinned. “I do, actually. I think it’s interesting. And I firmly believe we should make talking about money more normal, because making it a taboo subject stops us from fully understanding our class position and only benefits the oligarchs at the top.”

Oh, so she was a socialist. I should’ve guessed by her outfit. “How are you paying your tuition then? If you’re so comfortable talking about it.”

“I’m not a college student,” she explained without missing a beat. “I’m in dance school, and I pay for that by also giving classes there. I live with my parents, so I can save up a lot of money, too. I want to have my own studio with Billie one day, and we’re gonna run it on a socialist model.”

Of all the information she’d just thrown at me, only one part stuck. “Billie?” I asked.

“Yeah, she’s one of the friends who dragged me here tonight. We’ve been friends since we were little, and we’ve both been at the studio for just as long.”

I swallowed. Fuck, the one time I actually started maybe making a new friend, Sam had to come along and ruin it.

“What’s wrong?” the girl asked.

I didn’t know how or what to say to her. “Was Billie wearing a striped top today?” I asked, grimacing as I eased my way into it.

She frowned in confusion. “I think so? Why?”

I grimaced again. “I’m pretty sure she’s the girl Sam tried to hit on.”

It took a moment for what I was saying to click for her, then she doubled over laughing. “Oh, she’s gonna love when I tell her about this,” she gasped.

Yeah, I could never be seen by any of them ever again. After watching her laugh for a while, I announced, “You know what? I think I’m just gonna leave and hope Sam doesn’t kill me tomorrow.”

She sat up, putting on a straight face again. “You want to get out of here together?”

My heart skipped a beat. Regardless of the embarrassing circumstances, she was a pretty girl asking me to leave a party with her. It felt like a belated opportunity for a teenage experience I couldn’t pass up. “Sure.”

She was much better at navigating through crowds than me, making me take her hand and marching right to the eye of the storm, where Billie and unfortunately Sam still were.

“Billie!” she yelled, making her turn around. “We’re gonna leave!” She motioned to me, and when Billie looked confused, added, “We met in the bathroom!”

Billie gave a confused laugh and a thumbs up, and we left after the girl stole a couple of beers off a nearby table.

The ringing wouldn’t leave my ears, even after we’d been walking around campus for at least twenty minutes. She’d offered me a beer, which I’d taken after some hesitation. Now, I was feeling a little dizzy and almost tripped over the sidewalk.

“Whoa,” Aaliyah said. We’d learned each other’s names now, after trading numbers. “Have you ever had beer before?”

“No,” I admitted. “I don’t usually drink.”

She laughed at me. The sound was much clearer now that we were away from the loud music, letting me appreciate how nice it was. She ran ahead a bit, doing a few pirouettes that made her braids fly out behind her.

“You know, my brother’s a dancer, too,” I told her once I’d caught up.

She grabbed my hand, making me twirl her. “Yeah? Did he ever teach you anything?”

I snorted. “God, no. I’m pretty sure I was born with two left feet.”

She faced me, then reached up to put her hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes. “We’ll see about that. Put your hands on my hips.”

I did, and it made us close enough that our bodies were touching. If I tripped now, it wouldn’t only be because of the alcohol.

“Okay, now put your left foot forward,” she instructed. I stepped on her boot and she giggled. “That’s your right foot.”

“Right. Sorry.” I managed to put my left foot forward.

“Good! Okay, now put your right foot to the side.”

Through stumbles and giggles, we got a rhythm going. It was starting to be kind of fun, until we were interrupted by someone shouting, “Hey, lovebirds!”

We turned to see Billie and another person with blue hair waving at us. “Oh, God,” Aaliyah groaned and stepped away from me as they came closer. “Why are you guys leaving so early?” she called to them.

“We’re not!” the blue-haired person yelled. “We’re just taking a break!”

Then they were standing in front of us, and I had to awkwardly say, “Hi,” to Billie.

“Hey again,” she grinned.

I shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry about earlier.”

She shrugged it off. “It’s okay. It was funny.”

Okay, kill me now.

“It’s Alex, right?” blue hair asked.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m Riley. They/them pronouns,” they introduced themselves.

My phone saved me from having to say anything else. I glanced at it, expecting it to be Sam calling, but it was an unknown number. Immediately, thousands of the worst possible scenarios popped into my head. Was it about Jamie? What if they were calling to tell me he’d had a suicide attempt? Or worse, not just an attempt? What if he hadn’t even needed to do that, because John had just killed him? “I’d better take this,” I told the group and stepped away.

“Alexander Taylor?” a man’s voice asked.“Yes?” I replied, my heart jumping into my throat.

“This is St. George’s hospital. We’re calling about your brother, James Brown.”

[kei-maki]

Yo who would be interested in an au where all my ocs live together and it’s pure chaos

[tamasprout]

"I Bet on Losing Dogs" OC Lore

so I've been working on some oc lore for Vincent. after 6 years of no contact between him and his old friends, will his best friend take him back? please give me constructive criticism back, I would love to hear what y'all think :)

------------------

As Vincent pulls up to the house, he can feel himself shaking. His hands tremble as he parks and sits. Waiting for a minute, he tries to push aside his feelings about this. All he needs to do is go up to the door. Knock. Then leave if no one shows up. He just needs to go up, then everything can be okay. Vincent takes a deep breath, looking at the house in front of him, the house that he basically spent his childhood in. Inside was his best friend, the one boy who stuck by him through everything as a kid, the one boy he could trust, the one boy he fell in love with, that same boy he left six years ago. As he gets out, every action feels slow, the anxious opening and closing of the car door, the dreadful walk towards the house, and that awful yet electrifying knock at the door. As he stands there, just waiting for an answer, it feels like eternity passes by. Every second as achingly long as the last, with every breath as noticeable as ever. It’s been too long, he needs to go, the longer he stands there the more he drowns in the thoughts. However, luck wasn’t by his side that day and the door opened. 

There stood a man, not a boy, but a man who looked skinny and tired. A man that had the most petrified look on his face. They both stood there, nothing said, nothing done, just staring at the other. “Scott?” Vincent says wearily, his voice shaking from the nerves. He can recognize this man in front of him, he looks exactly like a younger version of his dad, just with a slimmer face. As Vincent stares at Scott, all he can do is remember everything, his yearning feelings, the obsession, the good memories, the bad memories, and when he left. His chest tightens, his legs going numb, and his mind blacking out. All he can do is stare at the man he lovingly called his best friend for years.

Scott couldn’t say the same when he saw Vincent. He could only see the same eyes as the family who ruined his life. The family that drove his best friend away, that made his dad the tired and burned out man he is, that made him part of that god forsaken restaurant to carry on the cycle. Scott heard the shake in Vincent’s voice and it snapped him out of the anger, reminding him that Vincent left those people. Even if it meant leaving him, it gave Vincent a chance to live. Scott had to say goodbye, but he said goodbye twice now. The first time when Vincent left on that train, and three years after during Vincent’s funeral. They never found Vincent, but they could have. They obviously could have kept looking, kept searching. If they looked harder and farther, maybe, just maybe Scott could have found him. It was the third anniversary of Vincent’s funeral and there in the flesh, at Scott’s house, is the dead man. The man he waited for thrice, the man he mourned for twice, and the man he fell in love with once. “Vincent…” is all Scott can say without letting go of control. All he wanted was to yell and scream at Vincent, but he also wanted to cry and hug him, never letting go this time. The silence between the two was loud, it was yelling everything that neither wanted to say, but the other knew anyway. Vincent was the first to reach out, hugging Scott and crying into his shoulder. Scott couldn’t feel. There was nothing in Scott that could do anything, everything was frozen, except the tears that ran down his face. When Vincent noticed Scott hadn’t moved or hugged him back, he kept sobbing, this time for a different reason. Vincent still loved Scott just as much as he did before leaving, those feelings had never left him. In that moment, he knew Scott once again didn’t love him like that, but he needed this. Maybe one day he could convince Scott to love him again.

[lavander-gooms]

OC-tober time!

Alright, I made my own prompts last year and decided to do it again this year! Please join me if you would like. Below are the prompts.

1. Introductory Questions:

• Favorite sweet treat?

• What's their favorite Halloween tradition?

• What's under their "mask" (what are their insecurities)?

• Their favorite monster?

• Are they superstitious?

2. sweater weather!

3. black cat

4. apple cider

5. raking leaves with another character

6. fair weekend

7. halloween pjs

8. charlie brown comic

9. as YOUR favorite monster

10. visiting a graveyard 

11. as a villain

12. in flannel

13. hay ride

14. solving a murder

15. haunted house

16. free space

17. picking a pumpkin

18. candy apples!

19. rainy day

20. doing the monster mash 

21. their gravestone

22. in a scary/thriller movie/tv show

23. making pie

24. beaten up

25. picking apples

26. hogwarts house

27. in space

28. vs a villain!

29. camp fire

30. pumpkin carving

31. halloween costume

These can be interpreted in any way, in drawing or in writing! They are vague for a reason.

If you do do some of these, tag me pretty please!

[sigg-vbj]

Post-War Recovery Efforts

"You're lucky to have come out with just a few minor cuts and bruises," the doctor had said, the words echoing in Vanessa's mind as she sat in the sterile examination room. She remembered nodding, barely comprehending how close she had come to not making it at all.

That was two weeks ago. Now, she stood amidst the wreckage, the remnants of a city torn apart by chaos. Heroes from around the world had arrived, their presence a beacon of hope in the midst of despair, working tirelessly to help rebuild what had been lost.

Gigantomachia's rampage to reach Shigaraki had left a scar on the land, a wound that ran deep through the heart of the city. Vanessa bent down, her hands slipping under a massive slab of concrete. She gritted her teeth and lifted, the muscles in her arms straining under the weight. Suddenly, a chorus of horrified screams erupted from the civilians helping nearby.

"What? What's the matter--?" The smell hit her like a punch to the gut. She looked down, her eyes widening in horror at the sight of the mangled remains of those who hadn't escaped in time. "...Shit..."

Her stomach churned, bile rising in her throat. She nearly dropped the slab, but sheer willpower kept her going. She lifted it completely and tossed it onto a growing pile of debris. Kneeling, she picked up a silver necklace, the name engraved on it glinting in the dim light. She placed it in her back pouch, already half full of trinkets from the deceased.

"Why are you doing that?" a hero in passing demanded, their voice tinged with accusation, as if she were looting. Vanessa met their gaze, her eyes hard. "I'm sure their families would want something to hold onto," she replied, her voice steady despite the chaos around her. Without waiting for a response, she continued her grim task, determined to clear the streets and honor the fallen.

No one wanted to talk about this part. The news stations painted a hopeful picture, focusing on the future and what it held for everyone now that the war was over. But Vanessa knew better. She knew that for many, normalcy was a distant dream, peace a mere illusion. She took it upon herself to help them find it, one step and one day at a time, even if it meant facing the horrors that others chose to ignore.

End

(Wanted to write something more on the not so positive side of having to finally focus on rebuilding in Japan. Will definitely explore more of this!)

[pocketnotebook]

First Date

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Jovian sat across from Lance with an awkward smile on his face. He could feel himself beginning to sweat. I haven’t been on a first date since my first date with Francine. That was 21 years ago, what am I doing?

“So,” Lance started, avoiding eye contact, “Honestly, I don’t really know what to talk about. I haven’t been on a date in forever.”

“Same here,” Jovian laughed nervously.

They sat and ate silently. Jovian poked at the beef tenderloin on his plate, he was way too nervous to eat. But at the same time he felt bad not eating the expensive food, especially since Lance already planned to pay for their meals. Jovian began to eat small bites of his meal, until Lance tried to create conversation again.

“I know I should be asking you questions about yourself, but the only thing I can think to ask you about is how your daughter is doing,” Lance admitted.

Jovian smiled and looked up at him, “I don’t mind, I’m always happy to talk about my daughter. Tilly’s doing great. She’s very enthusiastic about her interests, which I’m always happy to see. What about you, do you have any kids?”

“Nope. Me and my ex-wife divorced before we could have any kids, so no kids. I do have some cats though. They’re basically my children.”

Jovian laughed, “I have one cat. Tilly named her cheddar.”

Lance grinned at the name, “My cats are also named after foods.”

“Yeah?”

“So there’s Mango, Pomegranate, and Peach.”

“Mmm fruit,” Jovian smiled at him.

The two of them sat in silence again, but this time less awkwardly. Jovian examined Lance. His face looked as red as Jovian's face felt. He also noticed Lance’s eyes. One was green and the other seemed to be hazel. God, is he pretty.

“Do you like ice cream?” Jovian asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you want to go to the ice cream place across the street after this?”

Lance’s face lit up, “Sure!”

After sharing a cup of ice cream, they walked back to the restaurant parking lot. Lance followed Jovian to his car to wish him a good night.

“Thanks for the food, sorry about the awkward start to our date,” Jovian chuckled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance smiled.

Jovian opened his car door and got in.

“Wait,” Lance stopped him before he could close the door. He leaned into Jovian’s car a little, “…Can I give you a good night kiss?”

Jovian felt his face go bright red, “Sure.”

Lance had both his hands against the car to keep his balance as he leaned into the car, and pressed his lips to Jovian’s. Jovian started to tense up and left his hands where they were. His heart was quickly beating as he pushed his lips into Lance’s.

“Good night,” Lance said as he pulled away.

“Good night,” Jovian stumbled over his words as he watched him walk to his car. Oh my God.

[bleedeverywhere]

fuck it. are you tired of me vagueing about my ocs all the time. well you’re in LUCK! here’s a small doc of my most specialest boys!

[chocor0se]

Some info about Anna Lark, my PJO x HP OC

Child of Hermes

Around 2 years younger than Percy (set in modern times)

Becomes friends of Hermione first, then Neville, then Harry and Ron

Meets Luna during GOF, after new traumatization during the war

They bond over being crazy and seeing thestrals

Becomes sorta friends with Draco during POA (if he’s getting a redemption arc might as well start early)

Dog person though she’s still fond of Crookshanks

Definitely sees Ronmione before they do

Has a dagger given to her by Luke after an unsavory encounter with a man that’s the same material(s) as Backbiter

Not the Kronos parts or the portal openers though

Gets a lot of letters from her siblings and friends from camp, to the dissatisfaction of her owl

Owl’s name is Hermes

She has respect for the gods, but couldn’t help herself from naming him that

AroAce, though she doesn’t exactly know it yet

Has a fear of people leaving her

Is definitely stressed out about the second wizarding war when it starts

Can read people easily

Tries not to get into fights due to being kicked out of three schools before Hogwarts

First grade teacher was actually a monster so Anna pushed her out a window which is why she got expelled the first time since it still survived

Other two times were just because of stacked up penalties

Very good flier, but not that interested in playing quidditch much to her housemates’ displeasure

Likes jumping from rooftop to rooftop, this does not go away once she gets to Hogwarts

if you want to read about her look at my pinned post for my ao3!!

[gigimarvels]

The Comfort of The Night PT1

*this Chapter takes place sometime in the timeline, my rambles aren't always linear* After the fight with the hobgoblin hoard near the estate of Jade, the Warden of the West, Thyme was hurt badly saving Topaz before she took the brunt of a hit that would have killed her. the good thing about Pixie's, they regenerate their bodies fast unless the wound is TOO deep, they then scar. Thyme added 3 new scars to his body that day. Something happened however since that event, while he was healing at Jade's estate Topaz became more open with Thyme. they would meet more occasionally during Topaz's night walks.

"Good evening little princess" Thyme's voice spooked Topaz from her deep thoughts as she was sitting in the gazebo in the back of Jade's estate. springing her to her feet. a light chuckle came from the Pixie's chest as he grinned his usually snarky grin at her, but topaz noticed it seemed softer than usual "may I ask why you're awake at this hour?" "i can ask you the same" she rebuked, but stopped herself, a flush of embarrassment hit her cheeks turning her a rosy pink "I...." she proceeded to walk over to Thyme "I was talking to the moon, praying really.... I don't know, you probably think I'm now crazy, but i do it when I'm lonely, worried..... I... you do think I'm crazy" Thyme just stared at her, his stare was peaceful, his smile grew softer as she rambled "No, I don't think you're crazy, we do whatever we can to cope" he finally put his cane against his hip, he shifted his center of balance to his right leg to alleviate his left for a moment and he stood in front of her, bandages in need of changing from the old blood, hair in disarray from sleeping the day away, the light of the moon illuminating his lavender eyes as he stared at her "what we're you to talking about?" he motioned Topaz back to the gazebo bench. They both sat down as Topaz told him what she was saying to the moon, how she was frightened by the fight, how she was worried when she slightly lost control of her light magic, how she prayed for Thyme's speedy recovery. "You prayed for me?" "Mhmm" Topaz looked up to the moon in the night sky "you saved my life Thyme, I don't think I really did say my thanks" Topaz put her hand on top of Thymes missing stump of a left hand and looked down at it, then into his eyes "Thank you, I'm sorry you're gaining new scars because of me" Topaz unlocked her gaze from Thyme's almost scared he'd be upset, but he snorted turning it into a full belly laugh. Topaz was so confused "Sorry, sorry princess" he cleared his throat "Don't apologize, i gained a new story... yeah at the detriment of my own body but...." he's eyes darted to look at her with a big smirk crossing his lips "women tend to like a man with scars" he flashed his fangs at her through his grin, Topaz hit him lightly. they both giggled at each other, after a few moments Thyme got up from the bench "I should leave you two to your conversation, i just needed air so I'm heading back" Topaz arose with him from the bench, and grabbed his left arm and pulled it to her chest, her right hand instinctively rose to his left check lightly touching the bandage hiding the small cut on his cheek "Take...." she smiled sweetly at him " take care, I'm happy i got to see you tonight" Thyme smiled back, his eyes kind "honestly, my thoughts are the same.... Topaz, I too am happy i got to see you tonight" as they parted and waved goodnight, Topaz felt a wave of relief wash over her, she sat back to stare at the moon by her lonesome as she stared a few words unconsciously slipped from her lips "I love him" she caught herself and put her hand over her mouth, but after thinking back on those words she smile, giggled, looked back up to the moon with a big smile on her face "I love him, don't I"

[smorp-a-dorp]

Love giving myself psychic damage thinking about The Guys I Made Up like ah yeah I wrote these characters into existence I’m so proud of themOUCH OOF OUCH OUCH OOF OWIE AAAAAAAAARGEHSHSJDHGDHDHDHNSND 🧠⚡️🧠⚡️🧠⚡️🧠⚡️🧠⚡️🧠⚡️🧠⚡️🧠

[bloody-vampires606]

Vampire Otto AU Fic

A/N - Got a request in insta for this, so I decided to post this here! Fic under the divider

Working in the OR was a tedious task. Focusing on the patient, ordering nurses around, staring at the hearts of patients. Watching as blood pumped through their body. His mask could only dampen the scent of blood so much. He bit his lip, his way of controlling his raging instinct during surgery. It was only a matter of time until he could go home. He held his scalpel steady, this was his work anyways.

. . .

“Honey! I’m home!” Otto called his voice reverberating through the house. After 12-hour shifts at the hospital, Caine always thought his husband would be tired. It always surprised him when Otto was as boisterous as usual.

“How was the shift today?” Caine asked, getting up from his seat on the couch to welcome Otto with a kiss. He could taste the blood from Otto’s lips. Caine needed to talk to him about that bad habit, but that could wait.

“It was torture Caine! I wish my passion wasn't medicine. I can't stand it,” Otto whined. Leaning into the hug and resting his head on Caine’s shoulder. “You know dear, you seem awfully delicious today.” His lips kisse Caine’s neck. A shiver running down the gingers spine as Otto just leaned in closer to his jugular.

“Well, after a 12-hour shift. I’d say you deserve some relief.” Caine said he had been relaxing all day for this reason. His husband was insatiable after such long shifts, and Caine couldn't deny he loved the hunger Otto held for his blood. He tilted his neck, just enough for his vein to show more prominently under his skin.

Otto licked his lips, holding his mouth open as his fangs grazed Caine’s neck. Caine took in a sharp breath as Otto dug his teeth into his lover. The feeling of blood rushing into his mouth, the taste of iron on his tongue, and the whine Caine let out as Otto sucked.

They stood there for a while as the bleeding began to stop. Once it slowed, Otto pulled his fangs away from Caine. He kissed Caine’s neck before smiling up at his husband. Caine looked pale, and he was beginning to sway.

“Sorry Caine! Come on let’s go sit down.” Otto yelled, rushing to the couch to sit down Caine. Even after his long shift at the hospital, he had one more person to take care of.

[littlepriestfreak]

Abe's Struggles

I didn't want to think about this. Especially not here, standing in front of the congregation, in my holy attire, fantasizing about the feeling of another man's blood dripping down my face and staining my teeth. How my voice doesn't crack when I lock eyes with the man at the back of the church is beyond me. Phantom aches burn under my collar in the shape of a human's bite. He stares at me, hungry, as if the only thing stopping him from devouring me where I stood was the sweet old ladies in the first pew and not because we are in the Lord's house. What sanctity does this place have if I, the one who took an oath to protect it and it's children from sin, stand in front of a monument to a god I created as his blood soaks my shoes and stains the fabric that covers my knees. I am knelt powerlessly, head bowed as if forced to taste the metallic liquid below, as the falso god stands above me. There will be no mother weeping at my feet during my self crucifixion for I will not rise in three days as a sinless man of God. I will instead rise with the sun tomorrow, don my collar and blood soaked shoes, and put a mask over my sins as they consume my flesh.