#now again this is just my outline for a concept - this is by no means complete!

[beetled-juice]

Toonjuice, But Make It Horror

I love the animated beetlejuice cartoon so much! but I keep getting hit with ideas of how to translate it from a show for kids into something more along the lines of rated R horror. It would go much further than the musical in terms of the visuals (since it’s still cartoon-esque logic), but I also think it would still be hilarious to keep things like he can’t eat beetles on screen. So these are a bunch of unrelated ideas thrown together for how I would build on the established canon!

Should be kinda obvious, but this is a warning that I'll be discussing horror in its different forms. While I don't think I've described anything that needs specific warnings, I would imagine a general body horror / gore warning could apply, along with emetophobia for a very brief mention of vomiting. If there's anything that y'all think should be tagged please let me know!

Summoning:

To keep in line with how horror movies present demon summoning, I think to summon Beetlejuice you would need to do more than simply say his name. So based on the little ritual and chant Lydia does in the cartoon, I’ve created my own form of a summoning ritual!

To summon him you need to be in front of a mirror or reflective surface, and the summoning must be done in the dark. You’d also need a bowl of water, three candles, and three drops of blood.

In my mind, the summoning would go something like this:

You keep the set up in your bathroom - this gives you easy access to water and a mirror. The bowl you use is made of carved black stone, something spooky you picked up at an estate sale years prior. You use whatever candles you can get your hands on - sometimes it’s birthday candles from Walmart, other times it’s the nice beeswax ones you can get at the farmers market. You also keep matches and a small knife.

To start the summoning, you fill the bowl with the hottest water your faucet can provide and place it on the counter in front of the mirror. You place the candles in a triangle encompassing the bowl and light them. You then pick up the knife before closing the door and turning out the light. In the flickering lights of the candle, you prick your finger and bleed three drops into the water. As you watch the small ripples break across the surface, you begin the incantation.

Though I know I should be wary,

Still I venture someplace scary.

Ghostly haunting I turn loose,

Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse!

With the summoning complete, you look to the mirror for your ghostly friend to appear in. Sometimes he comes right away, other times it takes him a bit to find the right mirror (”got held up in traffic like you wouldn’t believe babes, took me forever to get to ya!”). When he shows up, it’s always sudden and jarring - one moment you’re seeing your own reflection in the dim light, the next you have his glowing eyes and too-large-to-be-human grin staring back at you. He’ll then slowly climb out of the mirror, sometimes oozing out like a snake and other times using the mirror’s frame to haul himself out.

Now obviously you can’t have all of these items with you at all times! If you need to summon him right away, you could just say his name three times. This method, however, comes with a catch - what you summoned is still your Beetlejuice, but it’s not the stripey version we all know and love. You can’t explain what it is he looks like, because this version of him was not meant to be seen by the living. Your brain is simply unable to comprehend what it’s seeing, and the longer you look at him, the more serious the effects. With your first glance comes a pounding headache and ringing in the ears, then comes the bleeding from the eyes and nose, then vomiting, and eventually you’ll either pass out or it kills you.

If you have to summon him this way, keeping your eyes closed may not be enough to save you - his voice, while not quite as deadly, will still cause a lot of damage if he’s not careful. He has to make a concerted effort to speak in human language, and if he loses focus he can easily shift back into a demonic tongue that will make your vision white and your chest hurt. He also has to keep his volume in check, lest he accidentally explode the nearest windows and your ear drums (or worse: your head).

It may seem odd that knowing his name isn’t enough to summon him, but there’s a very good reason for that. Appearing in his true form when his name is spoken thrice acts like a defensive measure - to know his name is to innately hold power over him, because you now have the ability to dictate his summoning and banishing at your will. Summoning a demon is supposed to be difficult, not something you just do at a whim. He hates the idea that his freedom is subject to someone else’s will, so making the summoning as difficult as possible helps prevent most people from ever attempting it in the first place! And that worked well for him until he met a couple of breathers that he actually likes to be around. Luckily, he’s got a work-around for that (loopholes, you know he loves ‘em).

This work-around would allow you to use his name (three times in a row, spoken, unbroken) without the potentially deadly side effect of seeing him in his true form. Unfortunately, this option requires a deal - a contract, to be precise. No, you don’t have to sell your soul - it’s more of an outline of when and how it’s acceptable to summon him. For you and Lydia it’s entirely a formality, with the contract taken down to the bare bones before signing, but for some random stranger it would be approximately a mile long with lots of confusing language to essentially guarantee his continued freedom. He is a sleazy con artist at heart, and he knows how to offer a deal that only benefits him in the long run, so the fact that the contracts for his two favorite breathers are less than a page long and simply grant blanket permission to summon him whenever is a very big sign of his trust in the two of you.

Other Characters:

Now the toonjuice universe isn’t all about Beej (though he may argue otherwise) - it’s also about the colorful cast of dead people who make the neitherworld their home! I’ve included some bare bones concepts for each of them:

Poopsie:

Poopsie would be this absolute terrifying monster of a dog. He’s massive, your head only coming up to his shoulder. He has thick matted fur that looks like the colors of an oil slick, and there are definitely parts of him you shouldn't touch because chunks of fur, skin, and muscle will come off in your hands (it doesn't hurt him by any means, but it's definitely gross and a little traumatizing for you). Whenever he barks or growls it's like a sonic boom that rattles your body and knocks the wind out of you, and after the first few times Poopsie learns not to do that around you and Lydia anymore. Unfortunately Poopsie can't give you any kissies because his saliva is like an acid, so while it wouldn't hurt a dead person it would absolutely burn a breather. His breath is also noxious, and it kinda stings if he's panting too close to your skin. 

Even though this Poopsie is the embodiment of a hellhound, he's still an absolute sweetheart to you and Lydia, and he loves when the two of you play with him or give him your attention! He and Beej still have their stupid rivalry, and Doomie still tries to chase him and run him over whenever he sees him, but instead of being this tiny little furball he’s now as big as a truck. I’m also now thinking about how the episode where they have to rescue him from the pound is even funnier with this version of Poopsie, because now you have this monster dog trailing along behind the three of you in the sewers trying to escape the mean dog catcher who maybe reaches up to poopsie's chest

The Monster Across the Street:

I think he's just impossible to look at directly? His form is constantly shifting and you can't quite get a lock on what it is he looks like, like liquid shadow or the way light reflects off water. It's almost like trying to describe the center of a black hole when you can only see the event horizon. When you ask Beej about it he tells you that TMATS is supposed to take on whatever form will allow him to scare someone the easiest - not like shape-shifting, but something more primal that harks back to humanity's fear of what lies in the dark. 

He's still very annoyed with Beej, and at first he’s ready to go after his breather pals for simply hanging around the ghoul, but once he sees that Poopsie likes you and Lydia he immediately becomes very friendly and polite. He loves having the two of you over for snacks and to talk about art (preferably with Beej somewhere else), and he greatly admires how the two of you maintain your calm in and amongst the horrors of the neitherworld.

Most importantly, he still has the southern accent and the cowboy hat and boots.

I think Ginger, Prince Vince, and Jacques wouldn't need to change much - you’d just have to make them a lot less cartoon-y and really lean into the horror of how they’re Almost (but Not Quite) Normal.

Jacques:

A real skeleton with a sharpie-d on mustache is very funny but would also be very unnerving. You can obviously see space between the bones, and without the connections of things like tendons he should just be a pile on the floor. So it's not like how we use wire to string up a skeleton - you can see that parts of him are free floating, like the cracks of light visible between his vertebrae or that his fingers seem to hang in space.

I think adding in things like details about obvious areas of healed scars from broken bones could be cool, like where he broke his arm as a kid. Adding to his backstory we could say that maybe the reason he’s a skeleton in the afterlife instead of a normal ghost is because he died from massive hemorrhaging after so many of his bones were crushed in an accident. Now for the rest of eternity he’ll only be able to see the cracks and the scars; the blood stains and the unhealed calluses; the areas where the bones still don’t fit together quite right. He is truly terrifying to look at at first, but that really makes him sad - he’s an absolute sweetheart, and he hates that his appearance scares people so badly.

You’d also experience the horrific noise of bones shifting and cracking whenever he moves, and the fact that his voice seems to reverberate in the air around you instead of seeming to come from him since he obviously doesn't have lungs or vocal cords. 

Ginger:

I think Ginger can just be a spider, nothing to change with that one

She has very obvious "I'm venomous and will kill you" markings like most animals would have in the wild, but turned up to a 10. I think it would be interesting if her markings seem to change every time you see her, or if they shift and change when she dances!

I can’t tell if it’s creepier if she's the size of a Prius or if she's the size of an actual spider and can just rapidly climb up your body to sit on your shoulder to talk to you? Or, like her markings can change, maybe her shape can change too?

Prince Vince:

Honestly I think Prince Vince is hilarious as he is and I wouldn't really change much about him. He's not meant to be scary, he's pathetic and sad and I love him for that. 

I think the fact that when he's sad it rains could definitely be turned up in terms of the danger factor, like it summons lightning storms and flooding and all that

Having said that, the idea of a prince of hell who's just emo is VERY funny in the midst of this horror world. Like welcome to hell where everything is horrifying and it would probably drive you mad to stay there too long, oh and also the prince of hell is just a moody emo teenager who cries all the time. He looks exactly like what you'd expect of an emo / goth teenage boy and that's why he's perfect

[thechekhov]

Hello! I'm a big fan of your work. I wanted to ask for advice / thoughts about an art problem I've been struggling with that you seem to have at least some sort of solution for?

So basically I'm an animator and digital artist (hobbyist), and I'm constantly coming up with new ideas for things to make. Only problem is that most of these ideas would take up to or longer than 2 months to make because, yknow, animation isn't quick, especially if you want to take your time to make it good. But with so many ideas that all take so long to complete, I often find myself tied and frozen as I can't decide what's most worthwhile to start first. I passionately want to complete all these projects, but my inspiration for each one waxes and wanes in a way I can't control, and I've just been stuck for several months. You juggle a lot of projects- not all of them art, but it still seems applicable here. This is excluding other life responsibilities like work and stuff, I don't have problems with getting that stuff done. This is purely within my creative hobby.

If u can't say anything thats fine I'm just curious- You have a massive output with great quality. Thank you!

This is a very kind message, and one that humbles me a lot, because although I'd love to bestow upon you some sort of advice that might help, or give words of wisdom..............I feel like that would be fake of me because

I also suffer from this very same thing

That is to say, this part of your message:

my inspiration for each one waxes and wanes in a way I can't control

It rings true for me too! I think it might ring true for many others as well.

There are stories in my head all the time. There are stories, and concepts, and IDEAS and they are all so shiny and new in the beginning, and then they slowly peter out and, since I frequently don't have time to do anything about them, they fade into the background.

I have enough trouble with this in terms of COMICS (also a lengthy medium, though less so than animation, which, OOF, you have my condolences, you are stronger than I) that I have started to just come to terms with the fact that some things are not meant to be.

Which is, I think, one of the small bits of advice I can give.

1. Some things may just be ideas, and that's okay.

I think one of the best ways that I've learned to deal with Idea-Death is making it count towards something in the future. That is to say, using them as compost.

In order for this to work, you have to actively put your ideas into the compost pin instead of the trash. That means maybe investing in either a notebook, or a sketchbook, OR just a discord server for yourself where you organize ideas and dump them all into a channel to scroll back through later.

It may seem useless at first, but honestly, it can be satisfying to PUT them somewhere instead of letting them fade away.

Plus, you may one day scroll through them and rediscover an idea at just the right time. OR you may be inspired to take parts of an old idea and repurpose it for a new idea that you DO have motivation for.

However, there's also this part, right?

I've just been stuck for several months

I.......feel this. Sometimes I, too, feel stuck for several months. There are times when even if I WANT to work on something, I just don't have the time. It takes too long to finish!

.........which is why I recommend the following:

2. Don't finish. Just start.

Now, this is the toughie. I can't exactly say that it would work for everyone. But I have learned that I am WAY more likely to return to a project and work on it again sometime in the future if I actually DO something for it the first time I get inspired.

I have SO MANY things that I have not published in my folders. I have sketches of gifs that are 10 frames long. I have concept art sketches boldly labeled with project names that will likely never get off the ground. I have Googledoc files with summary and plot outlines for stories I'll probably never write. I have discord channels with random ass concepts and a few sketches for characters.

And what I have found is that if I just WORK on these ideas when I feel like it, they are more likely to survive, even if they don't thrive right away.

I'm also a huge proponent of Procrastination Rotation.

That is to say, I have so many projects I COULD be working on, that if I ever feel frustrated or stuck on one thing, I just shift myself slightly to the left and do another thing instead. I almost never force myself to work through a block (save for a few money-motivated deadlines) just to complete a thing.

Stuck on a comic? I'll go write a few lines of fic. Unsatisfied with where the fic is going?

I'll go sketch out an illustration. Incapable of finishing an illustration?

I'll go google some references for another comic project and slap them all into an image file for later, so that I have SOMETHING in place for when I want to do studies.

And so on and so forth.

I have comic ideas, and comic sketches, and 30+ pages of original comics sketched. I don't know if they'll make it. It would take a lot of work.

But it also takes very little work - just a few extra pages sketched while I'm bored for an hour. Or a bit of lineart while I listen to a podcast. Or just a doodle somewhere which I snap a pic of and add to my discord channel for that project.

Will it work for everyone? Probably not. But I think that our creative culture is sometimes too attached to a linear production style. The truth is that art, or illustrations, or animation, or comics - none of it has to be on an assembly line. It can be tinkered with and put aside. And then, maybe, picked apart for scraps.........or maybe made into something new!

I don't know if that helps you at all, but I hope it at least helps someone.

And good luck with your animating!

[loupy-mongoose]

Well....

I seem to have found my new fixation.

But it's not Pokemon.

It's something else entirely.

Back in 2022, I had a similar bout of art/writer's block. I found a random plot generator and started getting stuff...

I eventually ended up with this;

I was hooked.

(That's old art from '22 btw)

First off, I have to say that while the story itself covers very heavy and dark topics, this post here doesn't have anything like that. So here you're safe, and I will of course apply all the necessary warnings and tags going forward! ^^

I fixated hard on that story, writing up a loose outline of basically all of it. And thankfully, I wrote most of my best ideas down, because, as tends to happen, the fixation faded after a while.

I came so close to starting it on DA back then--A prologue comic ready and everything. But I fell just shy of the courage I needed to actually publish it.

Well, now I've fallen in love with it all over again... with a new life.

I've taken the wolves' story, and merged them. :>

The characters are gonna be my plush wolf fellows/werewolves. This does mean their wolfiness will probably fall second banana to everything else going on, but... I want it to be, darn it. I'm having way too much fun with the idea! XD

Anyway, I have concept arts!

Here we have Timber (gray haired man), one of the wolves I mentioned here and the druid in this story, and Eirwen (white wolf/young girl), who is the Necromancer. :>

And the staff... One of my personal favorite new additions...

It's a creature called a Staffwyrm.

Instead of magical staves, mages in this world get magical creatures. :3

Staffwyrms are a breed of dragon specially bred to assist mages in channeling their magic. A mage acquires an egg and incubates it; meanwhile, the hatchling reads the magical signature of its soon-to-be master, morphing to appear like a branch from a symbolically relevant tree. However that symbolism applies is up to the powers that be. :)

Staffwyrms are highly attuned to the wishes of their master, and can instinctively stiffen to meet their needs. A hook to climb or grab something? Of course! A sturdy step to reach something or see higher? Might take some figuring out, but they got you! A backscratcher? Sure, why not!

A loyal pet and companion? Absolutely. <3

@puzzled-zebra commented that it had a boop button, so I had to. X3

Anyway, I've been having a lot of fun cooking up this story again. As sad as I am to apparently be taking a true break from Pokemon stuff, I'm very proud of this story and happy to have something to muse about. ^^

[edgeray]

hii edge! is it possible if i request an arlecchino/reader with beauty & the beast au :0? thank you so much in advance aaaaaa i love your writing so much it always makes my day^^

To Break a Curse

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi anon! Of course, here's going to be my reminder that if you request from me again as an anon, give yourself a name/emoji :). So I technically have already made a beauty and beast au (here is the link), but I suppose I could just rewrite the concept. The original au did differ a lot from the ‘disney’ version so for this one, so for this one, I will actually try to align this more with the disney version. Slightly dark because I'm not going to have talking kettles and candlesticks in here. Will be assuming gn! reader for this. Also I'm glad that you enjoy my works and bit sorry for the delay ^^ I am so sorry the ending is shitty at the end I am deadass about to fall asleep, I was this close 🤏 to falling asleep. I was typing with my eyes close lol. It's like 3:30AM for me so I'm gonna hit the hay. Maybe I should stop writing these at 12AM lol.  Content warnings / info - mean arle at the start, semi-graphic violence, prolly forgetting something but I'm tired, 2.7k words 

You've heard of the rumored forsaken prince, everyone in your village has. People rarely mention her by name, opting to call the cursed prince ‘the Beast,’ based on her animal-like claws and her temperament–just as vicious as a feral beast. The castle which she alone resides in sits on the outskirts of the forest next to your village. Every villager warns you to never trespass into the Beast's territory, unless you wished to never return. However, you've never believed in the existence of the Beast and her castle--after all, you've gone to the forests numerous times and have never encountered her. Perhaps this was just a way to scare off children from getting lost. 

Today, you learned how wrong you were. Venturing into the forest to forage for your dinner, you had accidentally delved too deep into the forest, now lost. Night approached soon as you searched for an escape or a shelter, but your search was unsuccessful.

Trudging through the forest, you heave for breath, your feet aching from traversing the rough terrain of the forest, not helped by the uncomfortable shoes you chose to wear. You thought that the foraging wouldn't take long but you found a large patch of mushrooms that led you deeper into the forest than you intended. You gaze up at the sky, it being pitch black with only the moonlight and the stars guiding you through. 

The shadows produced by the trees unnerve you, your imagination and paranoia warping them into abstract monsters stalking you. You know that there is nothing in the forest that can hurt you, unless the rare bear, but the knowledge didn't soothe you any more. You feel something hit your forehead–something light and small… and wet. It takes a couple more droplets before you realize it’s now downpouring. You bite your lip out of frustration, wrapping your arms around yourself to store as much body heat to yourself. Your footsteps speed up and you look more frantically, until you see something imposing in the distance. It's hard to make out in the fog, but it seems like the outline of some sort of building. 

You run towards it, only to be faced with a wall. You follow along it until you reach a gate, and behind the gate, you can vaguely make out a structure larger and more obscene than anything you've ever seen before; it looks nothing like the village establishments. If anything, it dwarfs your entire village as a whole, likely massive enough to fit your village inside based on the height alone. At least this would provide you shelter from the rain and cold, is the only consideration you make before pushing open the gates and rushing down the stone path. 

You nearly trip over the stone passage and as you arrive at the entrance, you soon realize it’s a castle. Its uncanny shape now makes some sense, but from then on lack of light through the windows, it seems like no one lives here. You press on, entering the castle. You’re thankful you're no longer being pelted by the rain and then you're immediately struck with awe from the decor and grandiose of the interior. Although the castle is unlit, you're still able to make out some details of the room you enter. Admiring the spiral staircase and the magnificent pillars, a thought strikes you. Why does no one inhabit the castle? 

Abruptly, there is the sound of something shuffling and it makes your marveling halt. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach and fear clenches onto you tightly as the incessant terror of not being as alone as you though plagues you. Spinning around, you search for the origins of the sound only to scare yourself when you accidentally kick against a piece of furniture. You yelp out, before silencing yourself when you cognize it was nothing. 

And then a thud. And another, coming from behind you. Paralysis enraptures your body and before you have the time to breathe, a heavy weight crashes into you, making you tumble into the ground. You let out a scream, turning around to view what just struck you, and two glowing red orbs stare back at you. You gasp wildly, trying to scramble away when your throat is suddenly tightened and you're forced against the ground. It feels like claws are just barely brushing against your neck, threatening to puncture into you if you so much as breathe. A whimper escapes you and a whispered plea escapes you as you lock your eyes on the pair of red. 

“P-please…” 

A deep, resounding voice responds to you, causing shivers down your body. “What are you doing in my home?”

Tears well in your eyes and you try your best to speak as clearly as possible. “I-I'm sorry. I didn't k-know! I'll go, p-please let me go!” You beg, your hands raise to pry off the hand over your throat but a feral growl stops you. 

“Do you know whose home you intruded into?” 

You shake your head. The grip around your neck intensifies for a few moments.

“Speak.”

“N-no…” 

“This is my castle, Prince Arlecchino's. Though, the villagers like to call me something else… what was it, ‘the Beast?’”

You suck in an audible breath as your eyes grow wide. This is the Beast? The Beast is real? Then are the rumors of people disappearing in the castle true as well? What will happen to you? Your mind goes into a frenzy, with all the wonderings of what the Beast would do to you.

“P-please don't kill m-me…”

“Kill you? No,” the Beast answers coldly. The hold on your throat slackens and the Beast’s hand slips away. “I won't kill you. But you've trespassed my home. And for that, you will remain here, for the rest of your life.” 

“W-what? B-but,” you breath is caught when you feel a tug on your arm pulling you up to your feet, the same claws that pressed against your neck digs shallowly into your arm, making you wince. 

“This is your punishment,” the Beast says, its red pupils glaring down at you coldly. You gulp, but accept your fate. The Beast could easily kill you with one swipe of her hand. 

“Follow,” it instructs, and you do, trailing behind the Beast as it navigates the dark surroundings effortlessly, a testament to how long it's been here. You trip over another piece of furniture, making you stumble onto the ground. 

“I'm sorry–” you stammer out an apology immediately.

“Be quiet,” gruffed the Beast. You scramble to get up but feel yourself hoisted up, by the Beast presumably. You yelp from the sudden position, now carried in a bridal style–its hold is surprisingly gentle and its claws don't prick you.

“Where are you taking me?” You inquire, clutching onto the Beast’s shoulder–which for some reason shocks you that it’s firm just like any other human, although you know that the Beast is a human–when it goes up the staircase. 

“A guest chamber.”

“A guest chamber?” 

“Would you prefer the dungeon?”

“No… thank you… Prince Arlecchino.”

The Beast pauses its movements, halting in place. 

Your thoughts flood with anxiety, wondering if this would trigger a violent reaction from the Beast. “Did I offend you? I’m sorry, I really am.” 

“No. It's just been a long while since someone referred to me from my title.” The Beast continues walking, unaware of how its–her–words shattered your mindset. 

That's right, how could you forget? ‘The Beast’ is still a human, cursed or not. Perhaps Prince Arlecchino deserved being inflicted by a curse, but you could not imagine yourself with the fate instilled on the forsaken prince, nor being singularly called ‘the Beast’ by every waking person. It's dehumanizing and awfully isolating, and it makes you question how long it has been since she's been called that, how long it has been since she has been seen as a human. 

It makes your heart ache. 

You count the flight of stairs that she goes up, and then for the first time, you see orange light coming from one of the rooms at the end of a corridor–an open fire likely. As the Prince walks closer to the room, you're able to make out more details; it's a bedroom, but more apparently, you can finally see her. You tilt your head up, and you expectedly, yet unexpectedly at once, you view a very princely face: pale, flawless skin framed by snow white hair and ebony strands, and sharp jaw. Prince Arlecchino glances down at you, sharp cross-shaped pupils burrowing into you. Her expression seems curious of yours. 

“You do look like a prince…” you think out loud absentmindedly, your face flushing as you realize your verbalization. 

The Prince says nothing, thankfully, and doesn't note your fluster. You look away from her face and glance at her hands. Like you've heard from the villagers, they are black, as if dipped in ink and her nails are red claws. Though what the villagers have yet to mention was the markings on her forearm, which are, admittedly, entrancing. She finally sets you down once she enters her chamber, which is obviously well-lived in. 

Taking a nearby candle holder and a few logs of wood set nearby the hearth the Prince silently exits her room to go into the room next to hers. You follow her into the room, this one obviously not used but still has a lot of furniture. Using the logs and the candlestick, she ignites the hearth and what you assume is going to be your room fills with heat and light. 

“This is your room from now on. Do not ask for me for the rest of the night,” she gruffs, and closes the door behind her. Her footsteps go away towards the direction of her bedroom. 

You blink, reality setting in. You’re still in your wet clothes, but you can't do much but strip and wrap yourself in dry sheets. You do exactly that, before sinking into the bed. It's like how you imagine sinking into a cloud to be–you fall to slumber in the manner of minutes. 

— 

You do not see her until the next morning, when the sun finally peaks out and you're able to see where you walk. Exiting your room, you note that she's not in her chamber, and you wander the castle. A whiff of something metallic combined with a musk catches your attention and you travel down the stairs until you reach the ground floor. You spot a figure crouched over something, and when you near the sight more, you discover the Prince hunched over a deer carcass. A sickening rip makes you cringe as a limb is torn off from the body. 

“P-prince?” You ask hesitantly. The Prince turns, a calm expression over her face. Only a bit of blood smears her lips. 

“Yes?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Eating. It is also for you.” 

You stew in silence long enough for the Prince to turn back and resume. “Prince Arlecchino, how long have you been surviving like this?” 

“Since I was cursed.” 

Your heart aches again. “It is raw.”

“Indeed.” 

“It cannot be good for you.”

“It is all I have.” 

It is a sad sight. You think that ‘the Beast’ fits her the best here, like a starved animal instead of a human trying to live. 

“Prince Arlecchino, if you allow me, I can improve your eating experience. It would be healthier for you and it would be more appealing to eat.” 

The Prince perks up her head, glancing back at you.

That day, the Prince learns of the wonders of cooked venison. And perhaps, you've never seen a brighter, warmer light than the one that glints in the Prince's at her first taste. 

—

“What is it that you're reading?” 

Arlecchino glances up from her book. “It is a romance novel.”

“I didn't think that you'd be interested in such things, Prince.” 

“You grow curious about things you do not have.” 

You frown and contemplate. It seems like… she's always wanted company. “Prince, may I ask you why you chose to isolate yourself here?”

The Prince remains quiet for several moments before she responds, in a voice uncharacteristically quiet. “The villagers do not accept my appearance.”

“Because of your curse?”

“Yes. They’re afraid of me. Of my eyes, of my hands. Of my strength.” 

“Have you not tried undoing the curse?”

She bitterly laughs. “There is nothing that breaks the curse. It is impossible.”

You narrow your eyes. “There must be something. There's no such thing as an unbreakable curse.”

“You are right. However, the conditions to break this one is… unobtainable.”

“What is it?”

 The Prince's gaze shifts from you to the stack of books that pile by her bedside. You recognize some of the titles from your village library–they were all in the romance category. You never realize until now that the Prince looks at them with a hopeless longing. “To be loved and to love, is what it is in simple terms.”

There is that heartache again. 

You shake your head, trying to any more painful thoughts circling around the Prince. “If you truly gave up on breaking your curse, you would not still be alive, would you?”

“I will not entertain this thought,” is all she says, but you know her answer already. 

You sigh. “Can I at least… read with you?”

The Prince tilts her head and pauses. A clawed hand grasps onto yours, and you're pulled into her lap. The steady heartbeat of Arlecchino's can be felt from the contact. 

— 

It takes several weeks for you to figure that the Prince does not enforce her punishment. You have escaped out of the castle before, if only to find more things to forage. She has seen you exit out of the castle but she does not chase you or force you to return back. Although you’d like to see the village again, you're also not sure if you do want to go back–the castle is quite comfortable and you’ve had enough of petty village squabbles. You wonder why it is that she doesn't stop you, why she was so forceful of it at the beginning. 

You recall the discussion regarding her curse. She had given up on finding a way to break her curse, however, she had always sought out company. Perhaps she had the punishment to force you to stay… to enjoy a company she has been able to for years. Now, Arlecchino has given up on you being a potential cure to her curse. It must be why she's no longer hesitant to let you go.  

But she is wrong. In those weeks you spend with her, you've learned much more about ‘the Beast.’ You've learned that she is kind in a quiet, observant manner. She's hunted for you, lit your fireplace, made your clothes. She cares for nature, appreciates its beauty and intricacy unlike anyone else you know. And she is romantic, some of the village men could not compare to her when she's read so many books. 

One day, a rose is left on your bed, no doubt collected on your bed. 

That night, you approach her room.

“Prince Arlecchino?”

“Yes?”

“The rose… thank you for it.” 

The Prince remains in silence, observing you with adoration in her eyes despite her bone chilling features. “You’re welcome.”

“Roses are often used as a way to confess,” you say. You know that she knows already, given the amount of books she read. “Is this what I think it is?”

Prince Arlecchino nods. Tentatively, she takes your cheek in her hand and cups it, her claws gently brushing over your skin. “Yes. I think I am in love with you.”

A smile forms on your face and you lean in to press your foreheads against one another, creating an intimate air. “I love you too, my dear Prince.” 

The two of you lean against one another, your lips meeting each other and you close your eyes. The Prince places a hand behind your head, pushing you closer. You don't notice that her nails are no longer red, nor are they sharp. She doesn't notice either. 

The ink from her arms wash away, and with that ‘the Beast’ is swept away, stolen away by you. Prince Arlecchino stands in place of the missing ‘Beast.’ 

[haleyvalentineart]

Late post! To be honest, I just wanted this to be done tonight. I’m also adding a textless image if you want to zoom in on any details, and will continue below with the concept.

The basic premise of my fan comic (right now) is that Matt as Daredevil somehow causes the death of one or more people, which makes him go into a downward spiral and recklessly throw his life around during Daredevil activities. In this scene, Foggy is exasperated, trying to get Matt to see sense as to how careless he is being.

Next in the works is either a positive Matt and Foggy interaction based on some replies I got (thank you!!) or a page to practice drawing the Daredevil echolocation type panels. If you’ve read the comics you might know what I mean, if not, it’s like a two color contour line that outlines all of the objects in the space the way DD might “see” them. Other than that I’m glad to draw asks/requests.

If you saw the version of this where they were floating… no you didn’t <3

And thanks to MattFoggyFanartArchive for alt texting this! :)

Finally some notes on the art itself, mostly for future me. If you care to read, be warned they are mostly criticisms:

Matt and Foggy designs are not final, mostly based off of Checchetto design (hairstyles). The staging took a huge turn from how I planned it. Overall spent way too much time on this page, but then again that included planning, 2 sketches, lines, color, and lettering. Foggy’s mouth in panel 2 was a struggle. The dramatic lighting might be a little too dramatic, it’s hard to see the characters. And TOO MANY WORDS! Way too wordy. Although I liked this dialogue in the beginning, seeing it in action is not as good. It might work better in a writing piece than in comics. Finally have to stop hand writing my text when there is an “add text” button with a comic font. On a lighter note, introduced movement into the scene with Foggy circling the table and motioning with his hands. Made the page less static. The dramatic lighting does help to show which direction characters are facing. Had a lot of fun with decorating the office and hid a few easter eggs. Expressions are alright.

[goodluckclove]

Hey. Stop scrolling for a second.

You scroll through writeblr a lot, don't you? I get why. Lots of fun people, interesting concepts and prompts. But maybe you haven't taken that jump from collecting resources on writing to actually writing.

Once again, I get it. It's daunting if you've never done it before. I've been doing it for a while and I genuinely can't think too hard about the act itself as it happens or else I get all sweaty and confused. I flopped spectacularly at a game of Scrabble tonight because I just ran out of words to think of and I'm in the middle of my 13th novel. Writing to me is like side-eyeing the sun - but that's besides the point.

What I mean is that you should do it. That idea that you think could be, might be, maybe has potential. More than that, I think you should do it right now. Right now.

Ooh but Clove, it's one AM and I have to do open heart surgery tomorrow. Cool. Write three sentences and go to sleep, then see if you want to do more after you get your license revoked.

But what if it's not good? Okay. What if it isn't? But what if it isn't, and it GETS good later? Or what if it isn't, but then later in the story you find a way to make those three initial sentences make sense? Three sentences isn't a story, unless you're Ernest Hemingway or a Haiku Man. Moving on.

Clove, where do I start? Honestly if you've never finished a project, or really never wrote anything at all, maybe just start at the point that sounds the most interesting in your head. To find the process that works for you takes work and experience so maybe for now you get dessert for dinner.

But I don't have an outline/character sheet/world map/mood board/playlist/ECT! Cool. Maybe that's an issue. Maybe it isn't. There's only one way to find out.

But it's hard! It's hard at first and then it gets easier. It's a muscle. You work at it consistently and you'll get to a point where you struggle to remember what it was like to not know how to write.

But it's painful! Hah yeah. That's kind of the more honest issue, isn't it. It's easier to think that your idea WOULD BE GREAT rather than face the fact that you might not be able to MAKE IT GREAT. That fear isn't based in reality, though. People like different things. You might write a work that you're displeased with in one aspect and find that it's changed someone else's life for a completely different reason.

What if I'm not a good writer? I struggle with this a lot and I've been published. It doesn't really go away even when people cry at your work and heap praise on it. But if you like to do it, if you would still be doing it even if there was no end promise of fame and success, you should do it.

What if I'm not a writer at all? I used to ask myself that. There are lots of answers to this question so I can only give my own: you are a writer if you write - past, present or future. If you haven't written in a long time but you're trying to get back to the craft, you are still a writer. You just have to keep trying.

What we do is half-trade, half-religious act, and because of that it is easily one of the weirder passions. I don't really get why people romanticize the field but at the same time I guess it seems pretty magical at times. As a writer, though, our job is to be the proverbial Man Behind the Curtain. You have to know how the magic trick works enough to do it successfully, but you also still have to be amazed. It's weird. I don't know why I do it.

I still do it though.

Write three sentences. Right now. Why not, right? If you send them to me in an ask I'll read them, or you can send them to me at my email address that I posted a few posts back because I'm old enough to know online safety and choose to ignore it. Or just do it for yourself.

Make something. You deserve to be a source of creation.

[pm0]

@hajimedics revealing my #anonymous self to show how ur post inspired me 🫡

ok I guess I will explain what the symbolism in this drawing means under this cut now :)

BASICALLY Rave’s tags on his art got me thinking about mutual sentience theory & the idea that who these puppets actually are does not align with what playfellow workshop created them to be — specifically, the actual desires of the puppets in whps are not the same as what playfellow thinks they should desire — and it made me think about how it might apply to Frank & Julie.

We know that neither of them fall into (strictly) binary gender labels, we know that Frank is gay, we know that Julie was confirmed sapphic in a stream — and yet we see playfellow putting them into the roles of cisgender heterosexual man & woman respectively, that they cast them to be in the roles of each others romantic love interests (see julie-rella animation cels). So I wanted to draw something based on that concept, the contrast of who they are vs who they’re “supposed” to be.

This is why I included 2 Franks and 2 Julies here, one set in my usual style for drawing them and the other being more ‘on-model’ — the former are a representation of who the puppets actually are, with their agency, while the latter are who playfellow themselves outline the puppets to be. The playfellow puppets are a ‘perfect’ version of sorts, their canonical accuracy + their sparkling appearance being extensions of how true to the script they are.

The framing of these two sets, how they interact with each other within the image, is meant to show the situational helplessness Julie and Frank share. They are stuck together in a ring of lavender flowers (do you get it. wedding rings. lavender marriage. I’m a master of artistic metaphor /j), looking to one another in worry as they’re surrounded by playfellow’s expectations. Neither of them want this, for themselves nor for each other, but what are they meant to do? They aren’t trapped by something they can just escape from, they’re trapped by their own identities; the will of their creators and the will of themselves are intrinsically linked, each at their core are answers to the question of who “Julie Joyful” and “Frank Frankly” are, to try and sever that connection is an impossible task.

The circles above each of the on-model puppets’ heads are primarily meant to be halos bc well. you know how queer religious trauma goes (there’s a ‘playfellow workshop is a stand-in for american christianity and possibly god’ metaphor in there somewhere) BUT they are also supposed to represent wedding rings too, to show yet again how playfellow likely wants them to be a couple — and not in the “a couple of bestiesss(๑>◡0)~☆” way they’d like to be

I think that’s all????? not really much else I can say here. background is black + slightly red for that whrp undersite feel and the on-model puppets are drawn in white to contrast with the primarily black background but also because they’re technically Julie & Frank’s straightsonas & black+white=straight pride flag. ok bye

[flickrrposts]

Black Hat is going to be Hypnotized by Heroes - Theory

Why?: It'd be cool.

Okay, seriously, this could be nothing more than fanfic potential, but in case there's some small chance that I'm right about this, here are a few points on where I'm coming from.

#1 - Tension

This show has reaffirmed time and time again, in the show, comics, livestreams, interviews, that Black Hat is:

A, Powerful,

and B, Terrifying.

I don't think I need to go through evidence of that being the case, if you're familiar with the show at all, you know this.

He's been side-lined throughout the entire show, and it would not only be cathartic to finally have him show off his powers, but it would also make him feel like a real threat in the story if he's positioned against Flug, Dem, and 505.

The tension would be raised to infinity. The show would practically feel like a horror movie because of how near-impossible it would be to defeat him.

#2 - Goldheart's Plan

According to Miss Heed at the end of s1e6, Goldheart wants to "end all villainy."

Black Hat controls all villainy.

P.E.A.C.E. has already caught on to how deep Black Hat's rabbit hole goes, via the agents creating the Podemos Bailar website. (omg, with Magician being one of the agents, then Black Hat's hat is the "rabbit hole", it's like a pun, you get it? You get that-)

Before the third Arenque Noticias video, Melissa Lead states, "If you ask my objective opinion, I'd say a controlled villain is better than a villain set loose."

As observed by @paper-gold-theories, characters with gold accessories tend to be associated with Goldheart or the Golden Rule in some way (Miss Heed, Porccini, the reporter in s1e4).

Melissa wears a golden necklace and ring, so it's very likely that her opinions either align with the Golden Rule, or Goldheart himself.

So if Goldheart's objective is to brainwash all villainy, then who better to target than the man at the top? (the man in the top-hat, haha, I'm on a roll)

#3 - Black Hat's Weaknesses

Alan has hinted that Black Hat is not invincible, and has actually described him as "lazy".

So the concept of Black Hat slipping up is not an impossibility for the show to explore.

#4 - Details

This is getting into TJLC levels of analysis, but I've noticed a couple things that could somehow be foreshadowing this:

In this poster:

Villains have a red outline, and heroes have blue:

(The fact that Flug and 505 have blue is an analysis for a whole other day)

But Black Hat has a gold-ish color on both sides:

This could be a stretch, but,,

In 2021, promo art was released for the show:

And Black Hat's monocle looks suspiciously pink.

Sure this could just be red shading that accidentally looks pink, but it isn't that hard to edit if the colors came out wrong, I did it just now:

The difference is night and day:

I don't think Black Hat has ever been associated with pink before outside of Demencia's fantasies. It would have been easy to choose any other colors too, like green, yellow, orange, or even blue.

The Black Hat being lit with pink for the first time is a coincidence in the very same promo that ALSO includes Miss Heed.

And as is obvious, ALL of the people Heed hypnotizes have glowing-pink eyes:

Even if this isn't foreshadowing to my specific fan-theory, I find a Black Hat - Heed connection extremely suspicious.

It's very well that in this scene, Flug DID perfect Heed's formula.

The heroes have the perfect hypnotizing formula. Or at least they still have some version now.

They have the means.

So TL;DR, Flug perfected Heed's hypnotizing formula, and so P.E.A.C.E./The Golden Rule/Goldheart is going to use it to control Black Hat when his guard's down.

(or somethin like that, idk)

[another-lost-mc]

is it bad that as much as i like your ocs (theyre amazing, i love them!), i really miss seeing you write for the canon characters

You know, that’s valid. The proportion of Canon and OC content here lately has been way off. It’s sort of the elephant in the room I ignore every time I think about Obey Me and my inspiration automatically focuses on the world building or OC potential instead.

There’s a few reasons why I’ve been less interested in writing canon lately.

1. Disappointment with Nightbringer. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure why this game exists (except to overhaul the franchise’s monetization structure). The premise and lore payoff hasn’t been that great for me personally - it feels more like an AU rather than a canon addition/continuation of the OG game. It feels like we still end up with more loose ends and questions that we don’t have (and may never get) answers for. I’m still waiting for Raphael and Mephisto to be dateable, by the way. As a result, my focus when writing OM content has been using the OG story/characterization using the odd piece from NB that makes sense, and that leads into…

2. My favourite parts of Obey Me are under-developed in canon. I enjoy most of the canon cast, I really do. But I want more Celestial Realm lore, I want more Michael (and not NB HM Lesson 20 Michael), I want more angels in general. They’ve mentioned Uriel a couple times now, give me that angel please and thank you! (No longer relevant, I wrote a version of him myself.)

The world feels so empty at times but there’s so much potential. Parts of the Devildom are more fleshed out with NB adding to it, but what about the other realms? What’s going on with the Sorcerer’s Society and the reapers? I never know if the interesting hints of lore we get are truly relevant or if it’s just something the game decided was convenient for a plot point and never gets mentioned again. NB has been great for Solomon fans since it’s practically a Solomon x MC fanfic written with a forced roommates trope, and that might be the best thing about it from a lore perspective.

My OCs were originally meant to explore gaps in the world and give the canon characters room to grow beyond the one or two defining traits the game keeps repeating over and over. I like writing Mammon when I can have him interact with Karasu, I like imagining the types of angels other exchange students might meet in the Celestial Realm, I like giving a name and personality to the mysterious owner of The Fall where so many events and Devilgram stories take place. Admittedly, it was refreshing to see that other people enjoyed reading about them or imagining them paired with their own MCs/OCs too. I call them the OC Fan Club with genuine affection.

3. It’s not something I talk about often but before I began writing fanfiction, I was mostly focused on concepts or outlines for original stories. Writing supernatural and horror themes always been my interest as a writer so anything with demons/angels/other monstrous races automatically catches my eye.

It’s a little mean to say, but half-baked worlds like the Devildom are a lot of fun to use as a foundation for expanding my own ideas. The OC story I’ve been working on is one way for me to write longer and more complex pieces which is the type I like most. Granted, it includes nearly the entire game cast and it explores the Devildom and Celestial Realm in ways that tie together some of my favourite personal headcanons and characterization. It focuses on angel characters and the history/culture of the Celestial Realm which are two of my main interests for this game. It’s a huge project - the outline is nearly 20k words on its own, it’s practically a novel divided into four sections with 30+ chapters and an epilogue. I can’t even express how excited I am when I get to work on this.

That being said, I do like writing canon content and I’ve been missing it more lately. I got burnt out when it felt like I was losing interest in NB and was pushing myself to keep writing anyway which isn’t great.

Today someone left a nice comment on something I wrote a while back, an angst piece for the demon brothers. I haven’t read it in a while and after going back and re-reading it, I was like, “Huh, I don’t remember liking this as much as I do.” And then I remembered something in my drafts that’s been rotting away, half-edited and ignored, and realized that I wanted to finish it. So, I’ve been slowly tinkering with things while I work on my angels’ story. Some of my plans are ambitious and real life distractions (mostly health related, like my recent bout of COVID) haven’t helped.

If I learned anything about my writing since starting this blog, it’s that:

writing what you’re passionate about is more fulfilling than writing what seems trendy or popular

giving and receiving feedback and fostering friendships/supporting each other keeps the community thriving

self care self care self care

Anyway. My goal has always been to write about the things I love about the game world and the things I create that are inspired by it. It’s a delicate balancing act that I’m still working on.

[changbunnies]

Outlaw (18+)

♡ Pairing: Cowboy/Outlaw!Changbin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: wild west au, cowboy/outlaw au, dubcon, strangers to... something? basically just filth with a little plot thrown in

♡ Word Count: 4.9k

♡ Summary: Y/N, after being displaced from her home due to outlaws, returns a year later in the hopes to reclaim some lost belongings. But the outlaw Changbin, who has claimed her old home for himself, won't let her take her things without getting something in return. edit: this now has a part 2 you can read here! <3

♡ Warnings: strong language, changbin is mean in a way that he disguises as 'nice' ??? very insincere and condescending :'), minor mention of someone being dead, changbin also remains nameless for a bulk of the fic because he is a stranger. that's about it for general warnings since this is mostly smut lmao but let me know if i missed something that should be here!

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): dubcon!! (please read responsibily and with your own discretion for what you can handle!), petnames (sugar, darlin, sweetheart, good girl, he uses "little lady" exactly once, he also calls reader dumb once), manhandling, nipple play, biting/marking, unprotected piv, some slapping and choking, a lil dacryphilia. lmk if i missed anything!

♡ Notes: i originally wasn't going to post something again this soon but i was possesed to write this after repeatedly seeing cowboy concepts from my faves :') as usual, if you're interested you can check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams !

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Get in, grab the stuff you need, and get out before the sun starts to set– that’s all you have to do. You are in the remnants of your childhood home, nestled within the ghost town that is the place you grew up in. Abandoned over a year ago, when a band of cowboys came stirring trouble and driving out the locals with their exuberant drinking and penchant for violence. 

Your parents, the owners of what was once the town’s largest and most successful saloon, had unfortunate run-ins with the vile men on a daily basis, having to turn away regulars for their own safety and clean up the abundant mess left behind from the nightly roughhousing. 

It was with a heavy heart that your family left everything behind, with the hopes they could rebuild somewhere safer, out of the radius of all the outlaws and their gun fights. Your family hasn’t had the easiest go of things since then, having expended nearly all of their tucked away savings in the process of relocating and building a new home and business.

And now here you are, searching your hold home for anything that could help. You’d heard news of dust settling in the area as the infighting between local gangs were dying down, and thought now would be your best chance to return for things that had to be left behind.

You knew there was no physical money to be found, but if you were lucky there could still be trinkets left behind that would fetch a good price. Something that maybe the cowboys wouldn’t recognize as overtly valuable, but would be to a trained eye. 

"Ya lost, sugar?" a gruff voice says from behind, making you nearly jump out of your skin. Shit– how did you not hear him approach? You quickly stand and turn around, the image of a burly man in the doorway, with dark curly hair and equally dark eyes. There was no way this man approached silently– you must have just been too absorbed in your task to pay attention to outward noise.

"Not lost," you say, voice firm now that you are past the initial surprise of being discovered. You are not nearly as alarmed as one might expect you to be; you were born and raised in the saloon, helped your parents keep it running smoothly as a barmaid once you were old enough. You handled your fair share of unruly drunks and trigger happy outlaws, learning from an early age how to get men to abide by your rules. So surely you could handle this man too.

"Sure 'bout that? This ain't the kinda place a little lady like yourself goes wanderin',” the man says, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe. Despite the relaxed way he does it, it's clear he doesn't intend on letting you past him. If anything, he almost challenges you to– with a look that says you can certainly try to get past me, but you won’t. 

"This is my house. At least it was, until people like you drove us out," you spit out against your better judgment. You normally know better than to instigate a fight with a lawless man, usually using a disgustingly sweet tone and batting your lashes to get them to listen to you.

You should know to bite down the resentment that runs through you, even if the feeling is justified. But the way that he’s treating your home as his property makes your blood boil. "Just let me get my things, and then I'll never see you again.”

The man hums, as if considering your words, before the corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. "I don't much care about that darlin'. It belongs to me now." The minute townsfolk like you left, this town was up for grabs for anyone who wanted it, and he and his gang gladly claimed it. Whatever you left behind, every little thing no matter how small, it’s all his now– it’s as simple as that. And you can’t take from him without paying a price. 

You glare at him, eyes full of scorn. What pisses you off the most about him is that he knows it’s his fault you lost everything you held dear, and he doesn’t care– he holds it over your head, using your belongings like a bargaining chip.

As if you’re a dog waiting to be fed a treat or a fish on his hook, completely at his mercy, unable to get what you want or need unless he’s kind enough to grant it to you. And you hate that it makes his eyes light up with a twisted delight, the smirk making you want to slap it off his face (though he’d probably just find that amusing too.) 

‘Fucking asshole,’ you think to yourself. What do you do now? Grovel? Does he want you to get on your hands and knees, beg him with a desperate voice and teary eyes? ‘Oh please, mister cowboy sir, please give me my things back!’ As fucking if– you would never do that. The man lets out a laugh, as if he can read your mind and knows exactly what you think of him. 

But the thing is, he does know what you’re thinking, knows that you absolutely hate him right now. He's seen that expression on countless faces before– a fire burning in the eyes, red hot rage burning through your blood. But if there's anything he's good at, one thing he loves doing more than anything else, it's extinguishing the flames of pretty young things like you who think they can talk back to him. 

"If it makes you this upset, you can always take it up with the leader of my gang. He’s the one who ‘forced’ you out, not me," he says, a devilish smirk plastered on his face before he continues, "Oh, but he's 6 feet under now. Guess you're outta luck, huh? You're stuck with me darlin'. So let's figure this out together, hmm?" 

He steps out of the doorway, letting the previously open door slam closed behind him. You want to stand your ground, but unconsciously you take a step back, and then another, and another, until he has you cornered. Back pressed against the wall, his palm planted firmly on the wall next to your head, effectively caging you in. 

His other hand reaches for the bag hanging off your shoulder, full of your old personal effects. Valuable trinkets buried under old journals, black and white family photos and letters penned from distant relatives; all items that scream of sentimentality.

How sweet. It's too bad he's not a nicer person; maybe then he'd let you walk away with all this useless junk that he has no need for. But what would be the fun in that? 

"I can't let you just take what's mine, we both know that wouldn't be right," he says while gripping your bag tightly in his fist, as if he gives a single fuck about what's right or wrong. All this stuff belonged to you before he and his stupid outlaw buddies effectively stole it anyways!

He’s blatantly playing with you, stirring up your emotions just to revel in the reaction it grants him. "Ya gotta pay for it, sweetheart. I know you’re a good girl who knows better than that," he continues, feigning sweetness and care with his tone. 

"I don't have any money to give you," you glare, though the aggression in your eyes doesn’t match the timid way you speak. And that's the crux of why you're here– sure, you've been picking up sentimental items as you move through your old home, but you desperately need money and you came back in the hopes there'd still be something of use to you that hasn't been pilfered yet. 

"Oh, don’t you worry 'bout that. I'm not interested in money darlin'," he says as he tosses your bag to the side, no care at all for any breakables inside. His face moves an inch closer, hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He watches with amused delight as the cogs turn in your head, a realization that makes your eyes widen and face flush. 

"Y-You– I–" You hate yourself for stumbling over your words, and giving more entertainment to the man in front of you. You can tell he likes the way you begin to crumble, breaking down your resolve to be resolute bit by bit. His words are accompanied by a mischievous glint in his eye that you would acquaint with playfulness if you weren’t currently being trapped against a wall by an incredibly strong, intimidating man. 

"Don't worry, sugar, I'm not a monster. I won't force you," he smiles, knowing very well what he's doing. He frames it as if it's your choice– as if he can be free of blame if you give in, as if he isn't taking advantage of your desperation to get your things back. He takes a step back, freeing you from your caged position against the wall, giving you the opportunity to flee right this second if you so choose.

But he knows you won’t. Because you’re brave, or maybe just foolishly stubborn, and you refuse to leave without what you came for. The illusion of choice he’s giving you– it’s almost sickening in its cruelty. And that stupid fucking smirk on his face should make you feel disgusted, resentful, furious, but you feel none of those things– you feel… butterflies? 

Fuck. Are you attracted to him? How fucking stupid can you get? To be attracted to a man who has such little regard for other people, who looks at you like a plaything he can discard the moment he’s bored. His words might be framed sweetly, but the message underneath is clear– you are going to give him what he wants. "Well, what do ya say, sweetheart? Wanna have some fun with me?" 

You swallow, looking at him with shaky fists and red cheeks. Are you really going to do this? Give yourself up to a stranger for things that rightfully belong to you in the first place? It goes against everything you stand for, the rational part of your brain screaming at you to just leave. What would your family say if they found out how far you degraded yourself for something so objectively small? 

But fuck it. Against your better judgment, you agree to ‘have some fun’ with the frustratingly attractive outlaw in front of you. The man smirks once more before he grabs your face under the chin with a rough hand, directing your head up towards his, kissing you with a roughness you've never experienced before. 

There’s a noise of surprise that leaves you, the moment happening so fast it makes your head spin. He squeezes your cheeks, forcing your mouth to open for him, his tongue wasting no time on entering. Unconsciously you reach out for him, desperately grasping for something to hold. You're impossibly dizzy from the feeling of his tongue making circles around yours, and you need to ground yourself, doing so by tightly clutching his shirt in your hands. 

His teeth snatch your bottom lip, tugging harshly before soothing the bite with a lick, and repeating. A whimper escapes you, though you can't tell if it's from the sting in his bites or excitement welling in your gut.

You've always been treated delicately by men before now– like you were made from porcelain, like even the smallest of bends could result in a break. And that's what you always thought you liked, so why..? Why is his treatment making your entire body shiver in delight?

He grins when he pulls away, satisfied with the dazed look in your eyes, the swollen red of your lips, the way your breathing has substantially quickened. He wants to ruin you even more– make you delirious with need for him. 

He reaches for the top of your dress now, pulling it down just enough to expose your chest to him. "Pretty," he says with a grin so attractive that it makes your stomach twist. What the fuck is this guy doing to you? You should be ashamed of yourself for finding any semblance of enjoyment from this. 

Rough, calloused hands waste no time groping the newly exposed skin. You suck in a breath, trying desperately not to let out any sounds that would grant him satisfaction. He tuts in disapproval, though he actually loves seeing you try so hard to keep the tough act going– it’s the fight to remain in control that makes it so fun, after all. 

He tweaks your nipples without remorse, pinching and pulling between his fingers, causing a yelp to escape you before you could even hope to stop it. His face lowers, and for a moment you think he’s going to resume the messy, wet kisses, but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips meet your neck, teeth grazing the skin before he decides on a spot to bite down on. 

Over and over, his teeth sink into the soft flesh of your neck, creating a constellation of bruises in their wake. It’s a reminder, you realize– a reminder of what you chose to do with the nameless outlaw, evidence of what you allowed him to do to your body, an imprint of shame and desire that will follow you for the days to come. 

The noises that leave you are his absolute favorite– pretty sounds of pleasure mixed with pain. Your hands have moved from gripping his shirt to his arms, nails breaking the surface of his skin and a pleasant sting accompanying it. He pulls away once satisfied with his work, another pleased, devious grin on his face as he admires what he’s done to your previously unmarred skin. 

He snakes his hand under your dress next, chuckling when he feels the wetness drenching your panties. "I knew I liked you," he says, tone low but smirk ever-present. Pulling away from you, he walks to the nearby sofa and sits comfortably, raising an eyebrow when you just stare instead of following him over. "C’mon over, sugar. Don’t make me wait." 

You step over slowly, doing your best to swallow down your nerves as you reapproach him. He pulls you to his lap when you’re in his reach, not wasting any time in getting you where he wants you. He lifts the bottom of your dress, bunching it up around your hips, exposing you to his view. He takes a moment to admire the way your panties cling to your skin before he swiftly pulls them to the side.

There’s a gasp from you that follows, not just because of the sudden exposure, but the distinct sound of tearing that fills the space. Did he seriously just rip your underwear? “Oops,” he says with absolutely no sincerity in his voice, “what a shame. They were so pretty, too.”

He laughs when you mutter ‘asshole’ under your breath and glare at him, endlessly amused by the way you react to him. There’s part of him that even considers making it up to you later– once he’s done with his own fun, of course. 

He moves his hand to his pants next, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper with ease, pulling his (notably large) cock out so nonchalantly that it nearly leaves you stunned. He watches you, reveling in the way your expression changes, the annoyance you held just moments ago melting into a timid desire. 

You stare at him, shy and apprehensive, but still wanting, craving him. He makes a show out of spreading the accumulated pre-cum along his length, indulging in the way your eyes follow every move his hand makes, as if completely and utterly enraptured by him. And in a way, you are; you’ve never been so captivated by a stranger in your entire life the way you are now, intoxicated by the view of the man pumping his cock in front of you.

"Ride it,” he says when he finishes preparing himself for you, “Show me how desperate you are." His light, almost playful tone frames it as a request, but you can tell it isn’t– he’s telling you to do it. And if there’s anything you’ve learned so far, it’s that you can’t resist him, even if you wanted to; you’re under his charismatic spell, with no hope of escaping.

You take a breath, steadying yourself for what's to come before you travel further up his lap. He brings a hand to the nape of your neck, in a gesture that doesn’t at all help with your nerves. How does his hand on you suddenly feel so heavy? A trembling hand reaches for his cock, lining him up with your hole, but you pause before you lower yourself on it, looking at him with clear apprehension in your eyes. 

He raises his brow when you initially pause, and for a moment you think he’s going to scold you for making him wait, but he doesn’t. Instead, he smiles, expression softening ever so slightly. “You can do it, darlin’. I know you can make it fit,” he leans closer to you as he speaks, his breath fanning your ear as he draws you in by the neck to meet him halfway, “because you’re a good girl who does everything she’s told, aren’t ya?” 

Fuck. If you weren’t positively dripping before, you definitely are now. How does he keep managing to say things that make your stomach twist and a shiver run down your spine? He leans back when you finally begin to sink down on him, hands resting behind his head as he takes in the sight of your scrunched brows and flushed cheeks. 

He's so fucking thick, easily the biggest you've ever taken, but the sting is the most delicious thing you’ve ever felt. Your breathing is ragged by the time you are fully sat on him, your thighs completely flush with his. He allows you a moment of respite, letting you adjust to the feeling of being so full of him, though you aren’t entirely sure you can get used to it. You feel every ridge, every vein, every twitch– so much so, that it makes your entire body tremble. 

And if the outlaw underneath you is being honest, he’s just as equally affected. You’re squeezing him so tight, and if this were any other time he would completely forgo watching you ride him and instead pound straight up into you. But he wants to see how much more obedient you can be, how well you’ll take his orders, how well you’ll listen to him. He wants to see you lose yourself for him, become brainless in the pursuit of pleasure.  

You’re moving again before he even has to tell you to do it, whimpers and moans freely leaving your lips now, much too far gone to care anymore about keeping them held back. The man’s cool exterior cracks for just a moment, head falling back as a low groan escapes his throat. He won’t say it aloud, but you’re driving him crazy– the push and pull he had with you being the most fun he’s had in ages.

"Open your mouth," he commands when he lifts his head back up and you oblige easily, much to the stranger's satisfaction and amusement. Look at you, so full of fight when he first laid eyes on you, now reduced to a cock hungry mess. Listening to him without an ounce of hesitation, completely at his mercy– he loves it. 

He rests two of his fingers on your tongue, letting them linger there for just a moment before he pushes them down your throat. You sputter and gag around them, eyes immediately watering from the intrusion. "You can take it," he tells you when he notices the tears welling in your eyes threatening to fall, "C'mon sweetheart, take what I give you." 

Saliva drips down your chin from the corners of your mouth as he effectively chokes you on his fingers, slapping you on the thigh with his other hand when you show any sign of slowing down. You just barely register his voice praising you in your ears, tears openly falling down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, forced to keep up the pace he set for you without faltering. 

He can’t help but let out a groan when he admires the view– you’re so fucking pretty when you’re crying, so breathless and ruined, all for him. He’ll give you a gift, he decides; reward you for playing your part for him so perfectly. He pulls his fingers out from your mouth, but there’s no time for you to catch your breath because he immediately brings them to your swollen clit. 

His touch is both harsh and fast, sparing you no time to allow oxygen into your lungs. A loud moan leaves you, your head falling forward and onto his chest from the combined feeling of his wet fingers on your clit and his cock reaching the deepest parts of you. "F-Fuck, please, please–" You're so close, your entire body tingling with pleasure as the knot in your stomach grows incredibly taut.

"Aww, poor thing," he coos mockingly, another slap landing on your thigh when your pace stutters, "need to cum so bad, don't you? Dumb little thing needs my help?" You nod frantically, watery eyes pleading with him. You don’t know when you became so desperate, but it’s all you can think about now. You want it, need it, more than you’ve ever needed anything. 

"Mm, beg for it," he says, the wicked grin returning in full effect and drives you completely crazy. "If you do a good job, I might help." You whine, pace once again faltering as you’re driven to the brink of release, but not quite reaching it on your own. Your thighs burn from the exertion, knees aching and body impossibly tired. 

And so, you do the one thing you said you would never do– beg for him. “P-Please, please help me, wanna cum so bad,” your voice quivers, and he grins, evidently pleased by the display of desperation. He won’t give it to you that easily, though. Because who would he be if he wasn’t at least a little mean? 

"Oh, you can do better than that, I know ya can. Try again, darlin', show me you mean it," he says, hands grabbing your hips and forcing you still now, unable to do a single thing until you tell him what he wants to hear. He smirks when you let out a frustrated cry, your hips being held firmly in place and unable to seek any sort of stimulation. “Go on, sugar. Tell me how bad you need me.” 

“Please, I’ve been so good, gave you everything you wanted, so please, please, need you so bad, please-” you’re babbling now, words leaving you shamelessly, eyes once again watering as the desperation builds overwhelmingly high. You’re clearly no longer in your right mind, because if you were you would never do this. 

The satisfaction he feels from reducing you to this is indescribable, and he’ll be sure to reward you for indulging him so sweetly. He pulls you off his lap with ease, tossing you to the side of the sofa as if you're nothing but a doll. He grabs your arm after he stands, pulling you up and subsequently bending you over the arm of the sofa as he stands behind you. 

He sinks back inside you easily, hand reaching under you and fingers playing with your clit as he pounds into you from behind. Fuck, fuck, fuck- You're vision blurs, eyes rolling back as white hot pleasure courses through your veins. His other hand holds your hip roughly, his nails digging into your skin, not slowing his pace even as you cum around him.

Your hands claw in vain at the sofa cushions, finding no purchase. Your legs quiver, eyes squeezed shut as your left with no choice to accept the overwhelming pleasure that takes over senses. Reaching his hand to your neck now, he pulls you up to him by the throat, your back now flush against his chest. Your breath hitches when he squeezes, the pressure on your neck alarmingly good. 

"Tell me your name, sugar. Who is being so good for me, hmm? Need to know," his words tickle the shell of your ear, making your brain feel impossibly muddled. It takes you a few tries to get your name out given his unrelentingly fast pace, but you manage to stammer it out for him to hear. 

Your body shudders when he repeats it in your ear, the sound of your name falling from his lips making you clench around him. “Oh, you like that, hmm?” he teases you with a short laugh, though you are too far gone to be embarrassed by it. 

“Y-Yours, want to know yours too,” you manage to say, though it’s practically a beg. For better or worse, you want to put a name to the face of the person that made a mess of you. He hums in response, and you’re not entirely sure he’ll even tell you, but he does. 

Changbin. It sounds vaguely familiar, but your brain doesn’t have the capacity to dwell on it at the moment– not with the way his cock is currently drilling into you. And in the same way that your name leaving him had an affect on you, the opposite does the same for him.

It makes him almost feral– an overwhelming desire to make you forget everything but his name, for nothing to remain in your mind but him. He loses his composure for the first time all evening, driven purely by his need to cum, with you being the sole reason for it. 

He releases his hold on your neck, letting you fall forward against the sofa. Noises no longer leave you, a pleasure so intense that all that escapes you are sharp, quick breaths. “So good, fuck, you’re so good, ‘m gonna cum-” you hear him pant out from behind you, his pace faltering for the first time as he chases his orgasm, his hold on your hips so intense it’s sure to bruise. 

You reach your high first, voice coming out in short, broken moans as your toes curl and body convulses under his hold. He pulls out at the last possible second, his cum spilling between your thighs and dripping between your legs. Your legs collapse when he lets you go, the armrest of the sofa being the only thing keeping you off the floor. You close your eyes, chest heaving as you try to regain control of your harsh breathing. 

Changbin picks you up after tucking his softening length back in his pants, adjusting your position so you are now laying on the sofa properly, back comfortably nestled against the cushions. He lets your legs rest on his lap when he sits down, a subtle grin plastered on his face while he waits for you to finally open your eyes. 

“How ya feelin’, sugar? Did ya have fun?” he asks, a smirk growing on his face to match the cocky tone in his voice. Asshole. He knows what the answer is, and he just wants to hear you admit it.

“I’m not answering that,” you scoff, and he laughs, the amused glint returning to his eyes. Back to the cat and mouse, huh? That’s perfectly fine with him; he’ll play this game with you for as long as you let him. 

Changbin stands now, grabbing the bag he tossed aside earlier from off the floor and returning it to you. If you’re being honest, you’re surprised he’s keeping his word– you hoped he would, of course, but there was no guarantee. “What’s that look for, darlin’? I told you, I’m not a monster,” he says and you roll your eyes. He may not be a monster, as he puts it, but he’s definitely still an arrogant asshole. 

“I’m headin’ up for a bath, but you’re welcome to join me if ya like,” Changbin says, and once again going against your better judgment, you find yourself genuinely considering it. You should definitely leave– get your belongings back to your family, ride far away from him and never look back, and yet.. 

“I want in first,” you say as you stand, leaving your bag behind on the sofa as you walk towards where you know the bathroom to be. “Whatever ya say, darlin’,” he grins as you once again take control back in your own hands; you won’t have it for long, but if he wants the game to be fun, he needs to let the ball be in your court sometimes. 

The game of cat and mouse can’t exist without a little give and take, so for right now, he’ll give; so that when he takes, and takes, and takes, it’ll be that much more enjoyable. Watching as you strip yourself naked to enter the tub, smiling when you fight him on whether or not he should help you wash up and find you new clothes to wear, laughing when you grumble about deciding to stay for the night. Oh, he’s really looking forward to the fun he’ll have with you from now on.

[checkereddreamsandicecreams]

MmmmMMNGH some early concept sketches. Pretend any weird lines don’t exist—-I’m drawing this on my phone like the poor person I am lolol.

The story is still developing as well but…feel free to add in any input! I love hearing ideas.

Instead of Wolfwood being a terrible Ashley Furniture salesman, Vash decides to give it a try and spills his wine all over the bleached upholstery.

….whatever leads up to that scenario I’m not sure, but the death is certain.

The roles are reversed, and Wolfwood has to bury Vash. And he’s absolutely terrified of what this means now, especially for humanity once Knives finds out about this.

Vash’s soul enters the afterlife, and it’s kind of a big community like in Coco. The mood is mixed, maybe he recognizes quite a few people. But he probably doesn’t want to be recognized, really.

Especially not when those fangs of his are on full display. He’s just skull and bones, even lankier than when he had flesh. This wasn’t the “him” that people had come to know in the living world.

Somehow, Wolfwood finds out a way to enter this realm and he attempts to do it without Knives knowing about any of this. He has a time limit. He paints his face, covers his head, wears black gloves, whatever he needs to do to blend in.

He manages to find Vash (though it’s not that hard, he’s one of the few 6 ft+ tall skeletons meandering around). He lays out the stakes, lets Vash know that Knives is going to wipe the planet clean now that there’s nothing holding him back. He misses him, he honest to god needs to come back to the living world no matter what it takes.

But Vash….he hesitates. Maybe he’s seen Rem. Like the actual Rem. He hasn’t talked to her yet but he needs to. He’s been just a stone’s throw away from her at one point and he’s going to find her again and he needs to tell her everything. He can’t go back. Maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe he’s somehow given a normal life here, as normal as it can be. He sees everyone he’s missed, and they missed him. And they’re like family. Why would he come back?

Wolfwood knew Vash’s skull was thick, but he didn’t know just how thick until his fist makes contact and quite literally pops it clean off Vash’s shoulders.

They eventually come to an agreement and there’s trials they would have to face to get back to the living world, but I wanted to capture just the amount of color this world would bring out compared to dusty Gunsmoke.

I’m wondering if Vash still has powers in this world. Maybe, Wolfwood’s flesh starts to fade away the longer he stays there, but for Vash it’s the opposite. He can bring out powers and he gains a faint blue glow that outlines his wings and his missing arm (I don’t think he would carry that prosthetic into the afterlife anyway?)

I’ll do more doodles but hopefully you guys like these for now?

[galesdevoteewife]

Wedding ask!! I would love to know the answer to 26 and 31!

💜

It'ssssss WEEKEND!!! Thanks for the ask!!! YEEYAYY let's goooo!!!

24. The Night Before -

It was almost dawn… The sky was beginning to lighten, and birds were chirping sporadically. Gale paced anxiously back and forth in the tower's grand hall. Tomorrow—today is his wedding day, and his bride is still somewhere in the hells, fate unknown. His finger once again found the sending stone ear cuff, trying to contact Zilvera. Nothing came back, just like his other attempts that night. Suddenly— Zoom, a portal behind him! Sulfur, heat! A pair of delicate arms threw themselves around his chest and spun him around. They had just fallen to the ground when an axe slammed heavily into the floor, only a few inches away from the tip of his shoes— "Get the hell out of my way, fuckers!!! I'm going to their wedding and you can't stop me!!" A loud, fiery voice pierced the early morning serenity. It was Karlach, they had arrived! One by one, friends emerged from the portal: Wyll, Astarion, Shadowheart dragging a still-swinging Lae’zel— "Told you I'd make it," Zilvera said with a smile.

Zilvera was jailbreaking Karlach and Wyll the night before! Gale, on the other hand, had a different adventure. He had to help settle the arriving guests, take them sightseeing, and ensure their accommodations were comfortable. My HC Gale has a huge family, and he had been busy as a bee socializing and trying to be a good host ever since the wedding day was marked on the calendar. It wasn't easy nor much fun for him. Oh, how he wished to lock himself in the tower, with Zilvera in one arm and an old, intriguing ancient tome in the other hand…!

[Note] My Zilvera and Gale have a pair of unlimited sending stone ear cuffs, basically cellphones. Gale's is on his left ear (the side with Mystra's earring. He still wears it in my postgame as a reminder of his lesson), and Zilvera's is on her right ear. As a drow and a human, the couple has fairly different concepts of time (and many other things, too). Zil, being a free spirit, often disappears for weeks at a time. This mixed with other factors once made things a bit difficult. Nonetheless, they decided to work it out together and the ear cuffs were part of their attempt.

31. First Night, Morning After - The wedding, or rather the marriage itself, was something Gale wanted. He wanted to give her a safe haven, to be her home, and she his; despite her never showing interest in any of those. He had his worries in the back of his mind that he was imposing his ideals on Zilvera. He had been trying to sell the idea to her, showing her the best he knew to convince her. Even after the wedding, it didn’t quite feel real. It was done. They were now husband and wife—spouses, family, partners, bound by vows, witnessed and blessed by their friends and family. They didn’t get a chance to be alone until the middle of the night the next day —

Even though Morena insisted it wasn’t necessary, Gale was determined to walk her home until Tara promised to take care of it for the third time, and the tressym was losing her patience. He closed the entrance door and felt the urge to say something to fill the sudden silence. "Wow, we danced a lot. Do you remember Aunt Leia’s graceful dance moves? I am not a bad dancer myself, but she's always been the best in our family, until you—" "Gale." "Y-Yes?" "I love you." Gale’s eyes widened in shock. She had never said it before— Zilvera knew well the weight of the phrase for him, so she had been hesitated to say it. She felt it would be deceitful if she didn't truly understand what it means. That had changed, Zilvera thought to herself. She looked into his dark brown eyes, noting how the moonlight and lamplight outlined the features of her new husband. I love you, she whispered again, as if she was warming up to the feeling of how the words rolled off her tongue.

Nothing spicy happened that night. They bathed together, exchanged thousands of kisses. Zilvera then sang exhausted Gale to sleep. She spent the rest of the night humming, combing fingers through his hair, writing the day into a song to keep the memory for them forever.

🧡

Me, the entire time picturing all these. Thanks you again for sending the ask, it was so much flufffff!!! ♡ Wedding Prompts ♡01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

[iceiclehorned]

Comfort food(s): So… admittedly, I have quite the sweet tooth. I’m quite guilty of enjoying a range of snacks, including oreos, buenos, ice cream… you name it. I mean, I work it off easily in the gym, so it isn’t too bad. It’s finding the will to not indulge in something delightful — which, at this point in time, will never ever happen.

Comfort drink(s): I enjoy drinking mochas occasionally, as well as a cup of tea (British things, innit?) and hot chocolate. Hot chocolate has always been my favourite since I was young, and then I started to explore different coffees, found that mocha was perfect. Oh, and when I say I like tea, I mean sweet tea with a minimum of two sugars. It’s satisfying to have on days where I just don’t have the energy to do much, in honesty.

Comfort movie(s): I already have a post that is due to be deleted about it, but Pride and Prejudice. No matter how many times I watch it, it still gives me this giddy, excitable feeling that can only be expressed through that goddamn romance. I don’t normally find my interest piqued by romance generally speaking, but the way feelings are there, protected by the ego and pride of both parties involved, unwilling to admit wholeheartedly that they are in love, using the excuse of their differing circumstance to keep them apart — until the ache of what the heart wants becomes far too unbearable, forcing one another into each other’s arms. Such splendour should be appreciated and adored! It fills my heart with a joy that is rarely communicated with through media such as a a movie or show. There is also Howl’s Moving Castle. The art, the story, the sheer romance (the scope of the story does go beyond that of a simple love story, but i am trying to avoid rambling on too much) of it all is so freaking enthralling! but I don’t want to claw into that just yet. Okay, so, maybe there is a theme here that will never be discussed beyond this post! I forgot to throw in Coraline.

Comfort show(s): Naruto/Naruto Shippuden is one of them! It honestly stuck in my brain for quite some time to the point where I was constantly watching it. I don’t have it in me to revisit it, but Itachi’s character was one that I fell in love with, given the choices he made & the overarching plot twist behind his actions. I feel like the story for it is one of the best-written forms of media I have ever consumed so disgustingly, and I can’t wait to do it again!

Comfort clothing: I enjoy wearing sweatpants the most, baggy t-shirts & hoodies are my main go-to clothing pieces.

Comfort song(s): My taste in music is vast. I’m happy to try out absolutely anything that is suggested to me by a friend, even if it turns into a whole playlist. Naturally, I have songs that I listen to that count as my base, such as Something About You by Eyedress, Dent May. I also just listen to a lot of The Weeknd’s music.

Comfort book(s): I don’t really have a set of comfort books to share right now. I might update this in the future with some, but the only memorable story is “You”. I prefer it over the show for sure. The exploration of a man so psychologically twisted that when he finally “settled” and had a kid, he would abandon a son, purely out of disgust, knowing that he would turn out just like him. Also, Guinevere Beck is my favourite. I just perceive her as a human character, somebody with flaws that are outlined clearly, and it was an aspect I really enjoyed. I might even reread the first book, just for her. Side note: the cage is such a cool concept, and I will be taking notes. kidding. not really.

Comfort game(s): If I’m honest, I’m not sure if I have any specific comfort games? I really enjoyed games like The Crooked Man, Ao Oni, Paranoiac, etc., RPG horror games have always been my beat, but it’s funny because I can’t cope with horror movies, even if it is a thrasher. Thrillers aren’t so bad, but I’m a wuss puss T_T I’m not too ashamed to admit it.

tagged by: @wifeysaremylifey - thanks for tagging me, you beauty! (Since I started writing this, @mysticallities also tagged me — thank you!!)

tagging: @boomania @ancicntforged @wildnin @capravulpes @captivemuses @eternalbxtterfly @eternity-hero @hxroic-wxlls-rxborn + anybody else that would like to take part!

[bettsfic]

I’m not sure if you answered something like this before but I’m having a bit of a writing crisis. I have only ever written very short pieces of fiction and I have discovery written all of them. As I embark on the journey of novel writing, I have decided that discovering the plot as I go wouldn’t work because there are just too many moving parts.

Now I am outlining and pre-planning, like architects, but this process fills me with so much doubt. Like I can’t execute these plot points. This story isn’t good enough why tell it? Things like this and worse fill my mind dude the planning stage and I’m very tired of it. It takes away my desire to tell the current story I’m working on so then I’ll just assume it’s the idea and try a different one but the same process happens again. I really want to write a novel but it seems like I just can’t sit in the planning stage without feeling discouraged and completely loosing the motivation to tell the story. Not out of boredom but out of confidence in the story and in myself to execute it in the best way possible. There are so many decisions to make, so many moments of insecurity at this stage, for me.

Note: I have tried discovery writing a novel but I always struggle to connect the plot threads to the main conflict while drafting this way and I tend to deal with a lot of decision fatigue for such a project, slowing down my writing.

Do you know of any steps to take to deal with this?

it sounds like you're focusing on your weaknesses over your strengths. there are a few people in the history of humankind who have been able to sit down and write a book-length work of fiction in a planned and measured way, and who execute it the way they intended. doing that is a task so close to impossible that i don't know why we don't consider it a miracle. i guess it's success bias. we only ever see the work of people who can do that so it's hard to see that almost nobody can do that.

my point is, very few writers write a novel on purpose.

you say, "i have only ever written very short pieces of fiction." that's your answer. if that's your natural writing state, if that's the way you perceive ideas and execute them, that's what you do. one of two things will eventually happen: you'll amass enough stories that you have a book length collection of stories, or you will stumble accidentally into a novel. either way, you'll end up with a manuscript. i know everyone thinks "i want to write a novel" and honestly i love that, i love that people want to contribute to the lineage of fiction, but just because novels make the most money in western publishing doesn't mean that they're the highest literary art form.

right now it seems like you're banging on the doors of a broken elevator, when actually you have to take the stairs. except the stairs won't actually take you where you want to go; they'll take you somewhere else entirely and you just have to accept where you end up. but it's better to take the stairs somewhere than to take the elevator nowhere.

my advice is this: make a list of all the novel ideas you tried to plan but gave up on, and write them in the shortest possible form. give yourself a word count maximum. say, 4k words. it's going to be hard, because you wanted them to be longer and you had a different initial conception of them, but that's the fastest, most methodical way to figure out which ideas can't be executed in short form and therefore must be given a longer form. you'll know it when you finish the short version and you can't stop thinking about it. you'll want to stay in that world with those characters for as long as possible until they finish telling you their story. at that point, doubt becomes irrelevant. doubt withers in the face of curiosity and personal fulfillment. you have to know what happens simply for your own satisfaction, and that will lead you to a very sprawling, messy, overwhelming draft of something that you might be able to carve down into a novel. but by that point, even a novel may seem too small to contain the world you've built.

push yourself to be better at what you're already good at instead of trying to be good at something you struggle with. it's the long road, but at least that road will take you to new places.

[wetcatspellcaster]

Hi, me again. I hope you enjoy being appreciated because a few days back I’ve commented on ao3 under Honest Lie how I’m not sure about reading Pieces (fear of angst) and now I have reached act 3 of it and I have no words for how it kept me on my toes all this time. I love the vampire soul concept and I am also a Spuffy preacher through and through so it makes me even more happy that I can read about it somewhere. Generally, Buffy is one of my favorite fandoms and I believe it to be a pop cultural gem of its times. (also - Angel is such a boring person in Buffy, though he does do way better in his own spin-off. And he has a very high voice? Or is it just me?) I fell in love with Spike when he asked if he can bum a fag, lol. But also - Giles, omg. Rewatched recently and Giles is hnnggg.

I wanted to ask if the general soul-shape was inspired by Howl’s Moving Castle concept? The way Rose held on to it you know when reminded me of Sophie so much. And I loved it of course, I even cried a little!

Second thing I wanted to ask - have you ever seen ‘The Magicians’? It has this amazing plotting that reminds me of someone’s campaign where everything goes wrong and whatever you do you have to fix it afterwards and it of course causes other things to go wrong. I have a feeling you would love it. Also - it’s fucking heartbreaking at times and has amazing characters and archs.

So - again, thank you for all your work, as a fellow ‘I’m sorry that I exist person’ I wanted to tell you that you are precious and must be protected at all cost!

hahaha, thank you so much lovely! I'm sorry that An Honest Lie is currently in a place where Pieces becomes the better option to read in terms of angst (the next chapter of HL is so close, but um... Chapter 26 of Pieces is still my priority) but I'm glad that you liked it!! When I put an 'eventual happy ending' tag on a fic, I do mean it!! I promise!!

So... I did not realise Pieces was Howl's Moving Castle until so late in the game. Truly embarrassing of me. Fake fan behaviour. Picture me at 2am, staring at my ceiling at around the point Chapter 10 came out, shouting "FUCK." But i didn't deliberately lean into the imagery, in the way you think - I'm not saying that parallel is not there (it is and it jumpscared me).

The image of the soul/Jarstarion came during the outlining stage from the fact that everyone at the time was talking about Astarion's name meaning Star (we were that early into the discourse around his character, this is months ago now) and so it left me with this image of the soul looking like starlight, in reference to that. Obviously that means it's also calcifer coded. bc calcifer is also... a star. (HOW DID I NOT SEE THE HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE PARALLELS. HOW? HOW????)

I haven't seen the Magicians! I know the books have a bit of a reputation for being edgelord fodder so it put me off the tv show, but I'll be sure to check it out :)

[staybabblingbaby]

Fan Experience with SKZ a2 d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Reader wins a contest to have dinner with SKZ and they become friends :D (and maybe more? 0w0)

Word Count: 1,399

Notes: I kind of went for a sillier sort of vibe for this (bc I am a silly person) but I wonder if it makes Reader seem too childish? This one is shaping up to be a one-shot, or maybe one-shot series, idk. I sort of feel like I need more lead up or environment descriptions, it just seems like it's moving pretty fast. I do have a car scene sort of outlined in my head as well as part of the dinner scene, but it'll probably be a bit before I write it lol I have once more accidentally avoided pronouns, unsure how I've done so. Might try to keep it up.

Warnings: None that I know of? It's just silly fluff idk what u want from me.

Masterlist Link :D

"I can't do this." you whine pathetically. Ha-Yun, your best friend and the sacrifice you'd dragged to this fan opportunity, wraps a comforting arm around your shoulder.

"You're doing it." she says firmly. Maybe the arm wasn't a comfort after all, maybe you were her captive now. Turnabout is fair play you suppose.

"We're already here, and the guard has already left to get someone. It's too late to back out now." She finishes reasonably. She’s made several good points, but the day you admit that is the day you marry her. Unfortunately, Ha-Yun happened to be very straight.

"You don't know that!" You insist, "We could run right back out the doors, just poof! Gone." You speak like some sort of madness had taken over you. Quite honestly, it probably had.

Ha-Yun turns to face you properly now. She knows you well enough to know that you were genuinely freaking out, no matter how silly you were about it. She gives you a sympathetic smile, and tugs you closer. Presumably to keep you from running off (and maybe to actually comfort you, just a bit).

"It'll be fine. You adore those boys, just be chill and respectful and it'll all go well." Once again, Ha-Yun appeals to your reason. Too bad you weren't feeling very reasonable at the moment.

You turn yourself to hide your face in her neck and make a sound not dissimilar to a boiling kettle.

"What if they hate me?" You desperately question, "What if they think I'm weird, or ugly, or annoying, or, or, or!" You trail off breathlessly, on the verge of hyperventilating, and feel Ha-Yun gently pat your head.

She makes soft seal noises to mock you and then says, "Well if they do its not like you'll ever know."

Another keening whine leaves you as you slide down to crouch on the floor, arms sliding down with you to wrap around Ha-Yun's knees. She stumbles a bit, but regains her balance by using your head as a cane. She lets you stay there, blessed saint that she is, and continues to speak, wretched devil that she is.

"I mean, really, they're not gonna tell you to your face, and you're not gonna see them again after today." She points out. You'd like to argue, but it's not like she's wrong.

You'd ended up couched on the floor of the JYP building, clutching your best friend's pant leg, on a random Tuesday, about to meet Stray Kids AND eat dinner with them, by pure dumb luck. Actual, literal, luck. Like, won-a-raffle sort of luck. You may as well have won the lottery for everything this opportunity means to you.

Once-in-a-lifetime was an understatement.

"Just have fun with it," Ha-Yun finishes her mini-speech, heedless of your internal (and external) freak-out.

"I think I'll die, actually." You mutter petulantly into her thigh.

She snorts at you, ruffling your hair aggressively and disregarding your half-hearted attempts to swipe at her for it.

"C'mon, what happened to the person who was bouncing off the walls excited about this?" She cajoles, shaking you around but not dislodging you.

"They're dead and buried." You deadpan. It wasn’t like you weren't excited, really! You were just going to perish from sheer anxiety, that was all. Could anyone really blame you? You were about to meet your idols. It was kind of a big deal!

Ha-Yun does nothing but pat your head twice. "Well unbury them," She commands, "the guard is coming back."

Your head snaps up to see, not only the beefy security guard who'd checked both of your I.Ds and passes with great suspicion a few minutes ago, but also the Bang Christopher Chan.

Your brain stalls for a second seeing him dressed head-to-toe in casual black, barefaced and smiling beautifully at you. And then you realize the position you're in and scramble to stand properly, far too late for either of them to have missed your bout of insanity.

You attempt to slide yourself behind Ha-Yun in your humiliation, but the cruel woman snags your elbow with one hand, and your opposite shoulder with the other, and holds you in place in front of her. You take back anything nice you've ever said about Ha-Yun, she's pure evil and out to get you.

Before you can panic too hard, Bangchan and the security guard are in front of you. Though Bangchan is all warm eyes and kind smiles, you can't help but feel small in front of him. You shrink back into Ha-Yun, but she doesn't allow you to retreat. You promise to yourself to only make foods she doesn't like for a whole month when this is over.

"Hi, good to meet you!" Bangchan greets cheerfully. You do your best to match his smile despite your fear and return his greeting, introducing yourself before motioning to Ha-Yun, who was still holding you hostage.

"And this is Ha-Yun, she's my emotional support human today." You're not sure how she's as functional as she is as she both bows respectfully and shakes Bangchan's hand, prompting you to do the same. This was one of the many reasons you'd chosen to bring her over any of your friends who were actually Stray Kids fans. Functional emotional support summed her up nicely.

As greetings wrap up, Ha-Yun turns to you with mischief to dramatically interrogate you.

"Is Emotional support all I am to you?" She demands, "I thought we were more than that! I thought we had something special!" She places a hand over her heart as you'd shot her, dipping back way too far in her dramatics because she knows your hand will catch her whether you want it to or not.

Supporting most of her weight with your fist dug into her upper back, you retort, "You thought wrong."

Bangchan's snicker reminds you of your audience and you tuck your hands behind your back with an embarrassed flush. Ha-Yun is treated to a heated glare when all she does is laugh at you, but you may as well have been air for all it affects her. Two months. No yummy home cooked meals for Ha-Yun. You swore it.

Bangchan begins to speak and your attention is immediately back on him instead of your comedy act of a best friend.

"So, the company actually picked out the place for dinner, so we don't get to choose, sorry." And he really does seem apologetic, despite this seeming like a very reasonable thing to you. "It's this barbecue place down the road, we'll be meeting the others there, if that's alright?" Again he asks like he genuinely values your opinion in this, and the prospect of being in even one (1) of this man's thoughts as an individual causes you a bit of a crisis.

Luckily this is exactly what you'd bright Ha-Yun along for, and she easily agrees for the two of you, guiding you along with the experience of having born witness to more than one blue-screen brain moment in your life.

She strikes up an easy conversation with Bangchan as he leads the three of you deeper into the building towards a different door, leaving the security guard behind. You're a bit jealous of her comfort, since you sort of feel like you're simultaneously walking on air and suffocating on that same air, but she keeps her hand on your back to keep you walking and rubs little comforting circles there. So. She's forgiven. A little bit. Back down to one month of no yummies.

Bangchan leads the three of you back, explaining that there was a company car waiting for you all outside, but that it was closer to a more private entrance for security reasons. He catches you looking around curiously as you walk, and generously explains the types of rooms and offices you walk past like some sort of tour guide. In fact, he apologizes for not being able to give you a more thorough tour and you frantically assure him that this was more than you'd ever expected in the first place.

You don't catch the pleased look he has as you crawl out of your shell a bit to ask him more questions, but Ha‐Yun shoots him a grateful look over your head. If you see the tiny nod they exchange, you just assume they're using their listening skills as you speak.