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thecomfywriter · 23 days

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How to Write Narration/Dialogue in a Child’s Perspective:

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Heyyo! Welcome to a new #thecomfywritertoolbox post! This question came up in discord (this is for you, @the-letterbox-archives) so I thought I’d write a post about it, since I haven’t done one of those in a while.

Before we get into it—as you can tell, I have a new blog post setup!!! I’m really happy with how it turned out, since i wanted to organize my posts better without having all the links bombarding the bottom. So yes, check out the links above ☝️

Now, without further ado… On writing children’s voices.

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Age and Developmental Stages:

Children have a very unique perspective in this world, especially since age and time in terms of childhood works completely different to how it works with adults. A two year age gap between a twelve-year-old and a fourteen-year-old can feel monumental due to the development, life stage, and experience each child has. Twelve-year-olds are still newbies in middle school, probably forking around with their friends, going to recess twice a day and needing to ask permission to get something out of their desk (this is based on the Canadian experience lol. Obviously, it differs between countries). Whereas fourteen-year-olds are freshman in high school. TOTALLY DIFFERENT.

so when writing from a child’s perspective, really consider their age as a determining factor.

a kid trying to fit into their new high school and impress their older classmates will talk far more differently than a preschooler, or a middle schooler.

Listen to audios with children of said demographic speaking:

You’ll notice children tend to have a different cadence and pattern of speech. They hesitate on some words, stutter on others, drift off into though mid-sentence, or jump ship and talk about something completely different. The younger they are, the smaller their attention span, and the more filterless they become, because younger children don’t yet have a grasp on social norms, so they’ll tend to speak their mind and ask more questions.

Another thing to consider here, however, is how they were raised. were they raised to be priss and proper, and speak without stuttering? Do they have a speech coach for that?

Questions to consider when addressing the cadence, tone, and patterns of speech of children:

Do they have a lisp that needs addressing?

Do they speak really quickly and forget to take pauses, meaning they have a lot of run on sentences?

Are they emotionally reactive and yell a lot, or switch between moods fairly quickly?

Vocab and grammar!!!

Again, this is highly dependent on the age demographic of your kid, but younger kids are shit at grammar!!! Especially the funky rules of irregular English verbs. It’s harder for a child, who is taught to recognize the conjugation patterns of ‘-ed’ to signal past tense, all of a sudden be told that saying “telled” is wrong. They might make mistakes like that until they are corrected otherwise.

But again, that’s for the younger kids.

Elementary school kids will chipper chapper with their friends and family a lot. They seek to impress most of the time. They’ll get excited over things they know really well and most kids giggle a lot/get excited when it comes to talk about them (some kids have social anxiety and won't, but instead go quiet). When I worked summer camp, the kids would always try to grab me and smile really bright whenever attention was on them and whatever they wanted to talk about. They made a lot of silly jokes, but acted mighty proud whenever people laughed at them. So they’d repeat the joke louder. Again. And again. And again.

It’s an age of asking approval from adults and peers. But also an age when the idea of authority inspires submission, because they regard those authority figures in a higher esteem. So the way an elementary kid will be boisterous and laugh amongst friends is probably not how they’ll talk to adults. Until that adult earns their trust, they might just shrink into themselves and be as small as possible.

Then you have the defiant age group. The preteens to teenagers. They have their own slang, oftentimes. A way to differentiate those from the “in-group” and those on the “out-group”. if the out-group uses their slang, “Eww… that’s so weird. Why are you talking like that? Look at her, she’s trying to be cool, oh my god. That’s so embarrassing.”

Yeah, this is the age where passive aggressive bullying is strong lmao.

Younger kids trying to be mean will be blunt with it: “Your mom smells like old socks!”

Older kids? Older kids will give you stank eyes, lock gazes with their friends, try to fight off a laugh, and then look back at you all sobered up. There’s more exclusivity at this age, but also a wider range of vocab. That vocab is used creatively, as a means to express oneself in a unique way, or as representative to the group they identify with. So bear that in mind.

And then you have young adults but womp womp this is about kids LMAO.

Perspective:

LASTLY… Consider perspective. How does a child see the world? Bright and colourful? Hopeful? Do they notice the butterflies that flutter across the sky, the ones that adults have gotten used to, so their eyes glaze over? Do they smile at every stranger because their parents taught them to always be kind? Do they spot an ice cream truck down the street and LOCK IN before proceeding to plead their parents for money to go buy some?

What are the things the child values? What are the things that they haven’t wrapped their head around yet? if you’re trying to write in the perspective of a child, these are the things to consider.

Oh yeah. Bonus point. Children gets embarrassed TEN TIMES easier than adults do. Specifically preteens and teenagers. Younger children are a bit more shameless, because again… No concept of social norms. But preteens have started to develop this shame and insecurity and MY GOD it burns.

So TLDR:

Consider age demographic (SPECIFIC AGE)

Consider grammar mistakes and vocabulary limitations

Differences in peer-peer interactions vs adult-child interactions

Consider perspective

Cadence, tone, and speech patterns

Watch videos and observe the way children speak in different contexts

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That’s all folks! Have a mighty bopping Saturday!

Happy Writing!

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clxckwork-sun-n-moon · 1 year

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slides in here smh smh cant believe u asked for offers of a toolbox prompts after i went to bed. i feel like 28 feeling for each other in the dark has some nice potential, hit eclipse with mechanic being extra vulnerable and still reaching for him

I am Looking Directly

@naffeclipse tagging for the bloodstain fool

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Nightlight (1.8k words)

The mechanic didn’t normally do house visits. Generally it was safer for themselves to remain in the workshop, despite their infrequent little scouting trips over the rooftops on the lookout for animatronics in need of a helping hand. Without being able to know fully what they’d be dealing with when called over to deal with a problem, then they wouldn’t be able to properly prepare what tools to bring, and they couldn’t always rely on their pocket-sized pouch to be enough to fix whatever situation they found. Not everything could be fixed with a screwdriver and piece of cloth.

Eclipse, as with many other occasions, proved to be a special consideration. If anything because he knew exactly what the issue was - he’d caused it, after all. When he’d come by and asked for them to come with him to follow through to a safehouse to deal with a ruptured oil pipe in someone’s leg, his mechanic had given him a concerned look but packed accordingly, asking questions throughout. How was the injury caused? Was there other damage to wiring? How much of the pipe was damaged? Eclipse calmly responded to each question, watching another tool and wrench and solder kit drop into their duffel bag, until finally they were being shepherded out the door and under Eclipse’s guide as they followed him along the streets.

There weren’t often animatronic bounties to collect. But when they had enough blood on their hands to start rivalling Eclipse, then the problem had to be dealt with, and the payout was suitable enough. Maybe he was more lenient towards these ones because there was no satisfaction found in spilling oil rather than spilling sanguine. But also if he brought in animatronics with damage, then he knew deep down that they would be left in that state, no matter the severity. He would make sure his animatronic targets arrived at the precinct whole rather than holey.

It meant, this time around, he needed smaller and steadier hands to deal with the unwelcome opening in this particular bounty’s leg.

He hadn’t missed the way that the mechanic had stiffened up when they looked at the bounty, handcuffed to a pipe with a shoddy tourniquet sealing up the worst of the leak. He hadn’t missed how they hadn’t looked at him once during the process of talking with the bleary animatronic, soldering up the split oil pipe and rejoining broken wires. Even when Eclipse crouched down to hold the bounty’s leg when one of the wires sent spasms through the limb, his mechanic didn’t look up from their work.

It was a long hour.

“Okay. Okay, the fix is holding,” the mechanic said quietly, sitting back on their knees as they shut the leg panel. “Can you flex the leg for me?” The bounty stayed quiet, still on occasion glancing back to Eclipse as if expecting some sort of twist, but regardless stretched out the leg before pulling it back in close. The mechanic watched in silence, eyeing the panel for any beads of oil from a new leak. But none appeared. They were too good at their work to allow for any faults.

Nodding their head, they rocked back up to their feet, lifting their duffel bag along with the rise. Eclipse stretched out a hand to steady them, and while they didn’t pull away, the gesture wasn’t directly acknowledged. Instead they finally looked back to him with a stoic, blank face.

“He’s fixed. Can you walk me home…please?”

A favour for a favour. Eclipse gave his bounty one more look over, a glance that had a glower returned in kind, before keeping his hand on the mechanic’s arm and guiding them off towards the door.

Night had sunken well into the city, a blanket of darkness broken by street lamps and emergency lighting that pinpricked a few of the backstreets that Eclipse knew very well. With the neon buzzing overhead, his shadow stretched out over the walls and pavement, swallowing the presence of his mechanic who walked at his side. A space, imperceptible to some but cavernous to him, had formed between them.

“Are you scared?” Eclipse didn’t want to finish the sentence fully, but he asked nonetheless. For a minute, there was no reply, and the silence started to pick its fingers into his wires with a painful ache. A desire to pull them close, to immediately reassure them that there was no need for fear.

“Look, I knew you were involved in messy business from the day I met you,” they replied quietly, words matching pace with their stride as the pair followed the street. Two steps for every one of Eclipse’s. “I’ve known for every time you come in with another shot injury or buckled knuckles with blood on them. It’s…different seeing it in person.”

“Much messier than you imagined.”

“Yes.” They exhaled a sigh. “I don’t…tend to think too much about the rest of the city. I have patients to fix, paperwork to redo so my funds don’t get frozen, people to worry about. A lot of things go past me. Including the worst parts. I don’t like to be oblivious, I just…don’t have the capability of filling up my plate with things I can’t control.”

Eclipse turned his gaze away. Now it was his turn to be silent and ponder. The pair worked on two very different sides of the city’s coin. He cleaned, they watched. He broke, they fixed. He clenched a fist on things he desired control over, they stepped away to focus on what they did control. No ambition. Only helping hands covered in oil.

He glanced down at their hands. Due to the leak fix, they were monochrome black and grey, a sheen glinting over the skin whenever they passed under a street light. He would have to make sure they cleaned up properly once back at the workshop.

A hiss and pop sounded overhead. Both stopped in their tracks as one of the lamps let off sparks before going dark. All around in a wave without motion, lights blinked out from every lamp and window in the area. Nighttime flooded through the street, encompassing every space and form, swallowing everything in sight.

“A blackout,” Eclipse muttered, adjusting his optics. Nothing that would cause him issue - he could easily see without external light. He took a couple steps forward when a hiss of his name stopped him.

The mechanic had flattened themselves against a wall, leaning against the solid structure while they stared around. All of their sensibility and professionalism had gone out the window, leaving blind panic in its wake.

“Eclipse?” they whispered again. “Clip, I can’t see.”

Ah.

“I’m over here,” he spoke, and the response was immediate. Their head snapped up towards his voice and their hand reached out, patting at the air as they slowly moved away from the wall and their last point of security.

Despite everything they’d seen, they still trusted his voice to walk into darkness and find him.

Unwilling to let them continue with flailing around blindly, Eclipse reached back out and took their hand, letting them attach fully to his arm.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly, taking their hands and moving them closer, up to his hip where they latched on once again. Even their head pressed up against him as they sank into his side. Though the gesture wasn’t necessary, he adjusted his coat, letting it wrap around them in a safer level of darkness. One hand clung onto his waistcoat, the other held onto the edge of his coat. Shaky panic breathing began to calm to something slower.

“Is this the part where you say that you’re scared of the dark?” he asked.

“No. The dark doesn’t scare me,” they replied. “It’s the helplessness that does it.”

That much was painfully true. Eclipse found the top of their head through the coat and rested his hand over them, prompting them to lean up against him again.

“Good thing I’m with you,” they said, and he could hear the smile in their voice. Another light tenderness ticked over in his servo.

“I’m not going to be able to walk with you like this,” he commented, thinking about their small gait and the awkwardness of having them attached to his hip like a child (and that thought prompted unwanted memories for certain). With about as much grace as possible with one person seeing and one person holding, he lifted them up into one arm, tucking up against him with their grip tight on his coat still. After a soft back and forth, repeated “Are you balanced?” and “I’m okay”, Eclipse continued down the route towards the workshop.

Sure, he could have walked with them until their sight readjusted to the lack of light, however long that would have taken. But now he held them close, and he could see how they kept their face turned against his shoulder, a hand flat against his collar instead of hanging on for dear life.

They were scared of helplessness and they leaned into him with the comfort of a lifeline.

His other arm wrapped up around them, a hand encompassing their shoulders, and his mechanic made a small sound of reassurance. The alleyways fled away under Eclipse’s strides, confident in his direction. No-one was around to see the pair, any humans having fled indoors with the lack of light driving them to the security of four walls and candles. It was just them in the darkness.

Soon he found a familiar door, and he set the mechanic down on the ground, for they had the key. But as they fumbled it out of a pouch, Eclipse knew that there was a much easier way about this. Crouching down just a bit, he wrapped his hand around their’s, the key teeth still visible. Although they glanced back blindly with an expression of surprise, they didn’t complain, letting him lead as he fed the key into the lock and let their hand turn the rest of the way.

Ushering them both inside, Eclipse locked the door behind with the right bolts and then continued his shepherding, settling the mechanic down on the sofa. Next was the fireplace, pulling sticks and logs out to feed into the engine’s maw, his lighter’s flame catching on the edges of newspapers to start feeding the fire proper. As the warm light crackled into existence, the mechanic drew in closer, drawn closer with a moth’s desire. Sitting down next to Eclipse, they once again leaned against him, and this time he quietly wrapped an arm around their shoulders. His precious raven.

“Thank you,” they said quietly.

“You asked me to get you home. So I did,” Eclipse replied. Favour for favour, that was how they worked.

“I don’t know, I think I owe you for this one,” the mechanic said, giving them a side glance. Not wary, only curious.

Eclipse mused, prodding the fire and prompting more of the twigs to fall into the flames, consumed into the light.

“I’ll think of something,” he finally murmured. His mechanic hummed in understanding, head tilting to rest on his torso. The fire crackled, light spread across the pair as the fire devoured all that Eclipse placed into it. To him, a maw. To them, a beacon. To both, a respite from the past evening.

#clockwork writings #bloodstain fool #offer of a toolbox #bounty hunter!eclipse #hehehehe enjoy the drabble snack~#answered #lavenoon #friendly neighborhood mutual

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remyfire · 4 months

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Get in, pals, we're breaking generational trauma cycles and experiencing character growth

#we are putting new tools in our toolboxes and we are learning how to use them #we are practicing self-love and fighting the urge to demonize ourselves while also focusing our energy on becoming better people #we are uplifting those around us and asking for help when we need it #we are taking acetaminophen and drinking water because oh god the headache just came in the middle of writing these #anyway it's been a day but an impactful one and there are still miles to go before i sleep so let's get to it remy #my ramblings

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rmd-writes · 1 year

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The Grindr Toolbox: A Guide to Getting Nailed

A series of three fics based on this tweet.

When I first saw the tweet, I knew immediately that I had to write a fic based on it, but then I was struck with a dilemma: which fandom? Unusually, this particular prompt worked perfectly in my mind for each of my fandoms, and so an unhinged plan unfolded.

The aim: one prompt, three fics, three fandoms, each following the same loose structure while being distinctly unique to each ship.

Did I hit the brief? Read on and find out

A Helping Hand (Tarlos)

When TK’s bathroom sink is flooding and he needs help, pronto, he turns to Grindr to find someone close by. But what happens when the best one night stand of his life walks in the door?

This Is Not a Drill (David x Patrick)

Building flat pack furniture has never been David’s forte, and when he loses the metal tool thingy that was in the box, things begin to look dire. Some quick thinking brings a neighbour to his aid – a gorgeous, curly-haired neighbour with forearms that are, quite frankly, rude. And perhaps most inexplicably of all, he’s nice. David isn’t used to nice.

Are You Screwing with Me? (firstprince)

Alex is only downloading Grindr because he’s curious. It doesn’t fucking mean anything, right? And when he answers a call for help from a very hot neighbour – who has no business having a shoulder-to-waist ratio like that – he’s just being friendly. It definitely doesn’t mean that he’s going to discover things about himself that he’d assumed were just passing curiosity.

Or, the Grindr meet-cute AUs

As always, it takes a village and I owe a million thank yous to @welcometololaland @celeritas2997 @indomitable-love @athousandrooms @everwitch-magiks @howtosingit for everything from listening to me talk about these fics endlessly, helping me make some crucial decisions, beta reading and supplying me with titles. I couldn’t have done it without you 💖

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thefortysecondolive · 7 months

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I have reencountered the aroace writer problem of wanting to write a story with a romantic plot but getting stuck as soon as I realize that that means I have to write attraction please send help

#aroace #writing #fanfiction #listen this fic was supposed to be a ship fic because I like being able to hold multiple interpretations in my head at once #and because it works well that way thematically speaking #and a little because it's a niche AU and I want Something to hook people in (yes yes write for yourself I know but I Publish it for others)#but now I'm like. do I Have to? can't they just be aspec in this AU too?#and they Can but I've already set myself up for it to be shippy/a slow burn #and I want to be Able to write romance as like a tool in my toolbox or whatever #but going from 24k of intensely aspec fic to trying for a slowburn is simply. A struggle #this is about tatort saarbrücken

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understandingbimbos · 1 year

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further 4chan notes

Regarding transformation preferences:

Well the issue is how much it changes the character. People have been calling certain type of women bimbos since well before a lot of modern surgical stuff was around or in style. Maybe you ideal bimbo has a late 80's to mid 90s look? Personally I don't mind some IQ loss, but if your character isn't starting out super smart just some personality changes can work too. An extremely perky nympho qualifies as a bimbo to me.

This is a very subjective fetish overall

/aco/, 2021. Tips on writing a good bimbo:

Depends on what specific bimbo type you're going for, but the most common mistake is to write them as a literal retard or a child in an adult's body. Sure, a bimbo might be dense or childish, but it's their all-consuming interest in looking good, getting the cutest accessories, the hottest make-up and using all that to look their best to go have fun with friends or lovers — that is the basis of the character.

The "stupidity" is often simply the fact that important or "intelligent" thoughts or knowledge is being superseded in their mind by the thoughts and knowledge on the aforementioned topics and desire to have fun. It's those hedonistic interests that also make them disinterested in mental cultivation (hence denseness) and careers, and make them dependent on sugar daddies (hence childishness).

But the base core values of a bimbo are:

Looking good according to their bimboish cute and voluptuous sense of style, which might not even stop a bimbo from being a gym bunny or a goth, just depends on what they find cute or good-looking

Having fun: usually by partying, shopping, socializing (including sex), but even stuff like science can be placed here if the bimbo is naturally smart and thinks it's fun)

Being outgoing: they want their good looks to be enjoyed by others and are stereotypically outgoing, preferring to have fun with others

Being naive: is actually a side-effect of the previous three, but is so set, that I decided to add it; the fact that they are pretty, happy and outgoing, makes other people treat them nice, which makes her just assume that everyone has good intentions. That doesn't stop some bimbos from having an almost supernatural women's intuition.

Finally: alignment. Bimbos gravitate toward chaotic good, but are easily shaped by their environment: a bimbo that hangs out with mean girls, might easily assume that bullying is just good fun and doesn't hurt anyone; a bimbo that is spoiled by her sugar daddy can easily become a brat.

/aco/, 2021.

On identity death and bimbofying established characters:

The most salient traits of the personality are "bimbofied" as well as the body, and made to accommodate the new owner. When these traits are pleasant or neutral, they become slutty, and when they are unkind, they either become slutty as well or remain expressed but unable to prevent the body from acting sluttily, thus making the sluttiness even hotter by trying fruitlessly to react against it.

Identity death is for people who are too lazy to work the little details of the old life into the bimbo's new life.

Figure out what kind of sex the character would enjoy most, and make that her goal.

Figure out what the character would do to themselves to get to that goal.

Preserve/Add a few details of the character that don't get in the way of that goal.

/aco/, 2021.

"What are your favorite tropes to see in bimbo art?"

Maybe this is cheating, but I like to see hints of bimbofication. Suppressed twinges of regret or disappointment or something that this is how her life turned out. That or a gaping abyss in the soul threatening to pull other girls in. In any case - keep it visually restrained, and keep the thematic eyes on the prize. This is a fetish for bimbos, not for tits and ass large enough to eat a city. Lip enhancement is nice, but it shouldn't leave the girl looking like fucking Birdo. Don't confuse the signified and the signifier; it's all so much garish clown makeup, sure, but it still can't do that much to hide that it's the same girl underneath it deep down, even as her soul is being eroded by her facilitated interactions with the world around her. The most extreme physical transformation that makes sense here is things like breast implants, and even there, less is more - the size change doesn't need to be that extreme to convey that it happened.

/aco/, 2023.

"What element of this fetish is more important to you?"

For me it's wholly the physicality of the bimbo as an objectified, 'fake' hyperbole of the natural woman. The idea that a woman would willingly undergo such a transformation, such that no aspect of her, at no time, can ever be conceived as 'non-sexual' again is super hot to me. Her very existence is sexual at all times, she cannot hide it due to how absurd and eye-grabbing her proportions and aesthetic are - she has deliberately undergone a transformation to fully become a sexual object for mens enjoyment.

The whole "IQ loss" or "dumb girly submissive" aspect is mostly immaterial for me. For WOMEN I've met who share this fetish, though, this seems to be the main compelling component. Which is fine, so long as she gets the fake tits and slutty outfits to go along with it.

/aco/, 2023.

On the difference between bimbos and gyarus:

Visual trappings are different, and gyarus are more bitchy/aggressive than dumb and slutty.

This, gyarus can even pass as tomboys or delinquents but bimbos are like barbies, human sex dolls.

Gyarus are culturally bound to prostitution as well, as long as we're splitting categorical hairs. It's not just fashion/sex

/v/, 2023.

"Who the fuck gets a hard-on at the thought of fucking an imbecile?"

I do, kinda. I mean, not as in "Me so horny we want fuck" kind of retarded way but in the "Like, oh mah gawd, Kim Kardashians ass is, like, totally hawt? I'm gonna ask my doctor to, like, give me one just like it, fer sure" kind of way. You know, the totally vapid and superficial kind.

Hobbies and speech patterns are not indicative of a person's intelligence. I know people with a Ph.D. and Master's with similarly stupid hobbies. I also know quite smart and capable people who own their own businesses who talk in very similar way, it's more about where a person grew up, quality of their education and who their friends are than about intelligence.

Sure, but I think a bimbos interests would be kinda limited to shallow, superficial stuff. You know, stupid pop music, Reality TV, fashion, Make-Up and, of course, sex… and they might actually have fairly extensive knowledge about these things but not much beyond that. Basically, a bimbo is someone who might very well be able to give you a perfect recap of every episode of Big Brother but would have trouble solving a simple math equation.

/co/, 2016.

"What tickles your pumpkin?"

It seems to be a bit unusual but I like Bimbos being dominant and sexually aggressive. There's just something very appealing to me about the idea of being dominated or forced to serve a girl who's much dumber than me. Mind you, that doesn't mean that I want her to be a bossy bitch, she should still be nice but also kinda spoiled and selfish. Basically, she's still addicted to cock but more for her own pleasure than for that of her partner.

I'm also into the idea of bimbos humiliating normal, smart women.

/aco/, 2016.

On PegasusArt (degradation, maledom, misogyny, and self-inserts):

The moment you put your obvious cringey self-insert and try to link the fiction back to yourself (Instead of just dabbling in fictional characters), you take a step back from the fantasy aspect and make the latter power fantasies weird and gross seeming. That applies to any intended effect in fiction.

Bad bimbofication content is more about how great it is that the guys are getting laid, rather than the hot slutty extremely-fake women. I think sucking off guys is great, but I think most fans of bimbos would consider this a 'gay' interest. I'm much more interested in the blonde slut with the giant silicone filled tits.

imo the bad bimbofication is the shit where its obvious that the pic is more about the girl being degraded and made nonthreatening as opposed to being pumped full of silicon and covered in makeup

It's really just storytelling 101. His content is bad because it isn't actually about the bimbos, it's about his idiotic self-insertion, the bimbos are essentially completely irrelevant and only serve as props so his manlet can get his rocks off by being a colossal piece of shit. Good bimbo content is always going to put the bimbo first and forefront, so he fails right at the starting line.

I like when the girl is degraded and made nonthreatening. I especially like those works where the girl doesn't even know she's being mocked. That being said I still think Pegasus is trash. He's such a turbo autist with no self awareness. It's seriously cringeworthy to see Mind Control Manlet insult the defeated women. I think the key is that women NEVER look like they're enjoying it. It's just an angry faggot raping a sad woman. I like my bimbofication darkly comedic.

/aco/, 2013.

On dollification, drones, and degree of stupidity:

Bimbofication generally allows enough thought for the bimbo to be able to talk, though generally not enough for any real self-awareness. A complete loss of thought is more a facet of dollification (though I tend to prefer my dollification with the person being completely immobilized but completely aware).

Either way, where's the fun in playing with a broken toy? The best of both bimbofication and dollification allow the fantasy of the person being aware of what's happened and being helpless to turn things back. In the case of bimbofication, nothing gets me off quite like the moment the bimbo finds they can't do something they used to be able to, or those distant notions of "something isn't right… shouldn't I be able to read?" barely manage to form before being shattered by something that occupies their tiny minds more clearly, like a dick.

Things bimbos are known for: Not being smart, but certainly being capable of some degree of independent thought. Like, y'know, they're, like, dumb? But, like, they can still, like, at least think thoughts and junk.

/d/, 2013.

On degradation, maledom, and conflicting definitions:

I personally don't like the derogatory interpretation of bimbos, where they have to be braindrained and become so lobotomized that they become sex slaves essentially out of force and cohesion, because they're too stupid to not be taken advantage of. To me that signals a humiliation/degradation fetish where the kink is trying to destroy her personality/soul and make her into a sex object, and nothing kills my boner faster than that.

There are a lot of sluttification fetishes, like corruption, hypnosis and ganguro. But I don't feel any of them gave to do with 'bimbos' persay. A slut might routinely be a gold digger, or some kind of business pro cocksucker executing sex with precision, intent and purpose (To get a promotion, reward a free expensive dinner, earn a rich boyfriend, ect) but not care much about sexuality in itself.

My ideal bimbo is always sex positive, but still keeps her availability even when she's not actually commited for sex otherwise. Sometimes she might act like a cute ditzy flirt, other times she may go all in with sex and make your wildest dreams come true. And yet others, she might just feel like going shopping, seeing a movie and hanging out in the mall like a pink-loving blond girly go. She might load herself on sexual potential (big pouty pink lips, skimpy clothes), but whether or not she acts on it is her prerogative. It's not something she feels ashamed or reserved about, just something she does or she doesn't.

The most important aspect of bimbos for me is is they ENJOY sex and being sexy. Not for money, gratitude, or any form of degradation. If it's just a character forcibly becoming a sex slave that has nothing to do with bimbodom, what's the point? Also being ditzy and openly signaling sex isn't always mutually exclusive with empowerment.

Now for me some degrading lobotimized exploited sex slave scenario is fine as long as the bimbo herself is happy dappy. I figure the main point of any sex is satisfaction, no matter how you arrive at it.

Now, I find the stereotypical sluttification stories are a bit more negative in tone. I don't like those very much either. Like with corruption it's dependent upon a self-awareness of the degradation, bimbofication however is all about the shameless lack of self-awareness and living happily in the moment. No harm, no foul.

It burns me that there's so much confusion between the two given the different extremes of feelings they can inspire.

If anything it's the submissive/derogatory bimbo fantasies that are the fake bimbos.

Go back and watch some of the 80s comedies that fueled the stereotype. There are A LOT of bimbo characters that would actually be considered dominant or intimidating.

They're full of things like the uptight college lecturer trying to teach, but the scantily clad blonde in the front seat chewing bubble gum and twirling her hair around her finger keeps distracting him and giggling at his discomfort.

Yet here you get insecure idiots with no understanding of history and who can't cope with the idea of a woman enjoying sex thinking they can dictate the one true bimbo.

Characters like Orihime or Usagi. They may not be sex obsessed or fashion flirty cocksucking tramps but the archetype and personality is the same.

I'd say as much so for Marilyn Monroe. It's more a wide range of traits about a girl being either fun flirty and ditzy, or huge and busty + upbeat. There's no exact definition or ideal bimbo, I love the mental aspects as much as the physical ones.

For example you can have a shy "nerdy" girl, who when she tries to socialize actually comes off as spacy, innocent and kind of cute in that bimboish way. Her personality at heart is similar to a bimbo and makes her one, despite her look. That one chick from the anime HxH, Shizuku comes to mind.

On the other hand you could also have a huge well endowed, thick and extremely busty woman with lots of makeup and sexual appeal, but she's smart and mature with a kinda fun personality. The body is what makes her bimbodom.

If having a high libido is all that it takes to be a bimbo, then the term is meaningless. As was discussed at length, all dictionaries and wikipedia associate bimbos with low intellect - it's the one common trait amongst bimbos. Remove that trait and you no longer have a definition for bimbo since we have already ruled out that physical qualities aren't set in stone for a bimbo… so there's nothing else to define them by other than intelligence.

/aco/, 2015.

On lip expansion:

I'm of the opinion that lips, especially the bigger and plumper they are, are the secret ingredient to make any girl look more like a bimbo with minimal effort. They just ooze femininity, I agree.

The nice thing about lips is that a single change can make big lips go from just being big to totally bimbo, and that's changing it from being shaped to having none, removing the natural bow and making them fat and shapeless. Good lord it's hot.

It takes very little to push their size over what's typical into bimbofied. When they get to be that fat, the lips always seem to droop into that natural O-shape for fellatio somewhat, and it looks like she's always puckered and ready to slurp on some yummy cock.

And, a pair of overplumped kissers can make nearly any expression look a hundred times more air-headed and clueless. It manages to be both totally cute and smoking sexy. I'm glad you know your LDM's too, he does the best mouths.

/d/, 2017.

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alienheartattack · 1 year

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Me: All fanfiction is valid!

Also me, gripping my bejeweled chalice in rage: Character x reader is a pox upon the land

#HOT TAKE ALERT #i don't wanna yuck people's yum but i hate that shit #it is fundamentally bad writing because y/n is not a character to be developed #i am also just generally in favor of putting at least *some* veneer of creativity on your wank fantasy #cxr is just mask off fapping #and it feels weirdly low effort compared to the alternatives #i don't think you can really improve very much as a writer if you exclusively write character x reader #it's too awkward to sustain a plot so you just get oneshots and pwp #which have their purpose but you don't want those to be the only tools in your toolbox #not to mention that a lot of the characters read as OOC since we can't see their development of their relationship with y/n #on a personal level it doesn't appeal to me because i don't want to fuck the characters #idk i wonder if cxr is the new mary sue self insert but if so it's less creative than develping an OC!#i'd rather see a million obnoxiously perfect mary sue OCs than a single y/n #fanfic is a labor of love and i wanna see that WORK

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sackclothandasdfjkl · 1 year

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Writing is rewriting

#writing #writing wip #writer problems #writing toolbox #writblr

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dutybcrne · 8 days

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Plot born from a Thinking bc of smth I saw:

Kaveh trying to find a way to obtain a vessel that functions like Katheryne’s bc he wants to give Mehrak her own body so they can be like a little family

#//Adding this to the list of fics I need to write jdbfb #☆ ┆ ( .ooc. );#//Could even go as far as to strike up a deal with Farui; bc he’s that desperate #//The want maybe born out of rlly being made conscious abt his age and him thinking he’s running out of time to have a family #//Or seeing colleagues or even cyn0nar| with C0llei that get him the want to have smth like that #//With or without a partner; he doesn’t care. he’s longed to have a family of his own for SO LONG #//Or him getting SUPER close to paying of the debt at last and spiraling bc now he thinks he’ll HAVE to move out #//And the resulting loneliness of having his own place again would simply HURT him; & he can’t BEG Haiyi to let him stay after #//So he makes plans to ensure Mehrak can be there for him as more than a simple toolbox #//As the daughter he’d always DREAMED of having #//Or smth idk #//Wifi is not working so am mobile bound #//But the want to do replies is just #//Bleh #//brain won’t cooperate

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mercurygray · 10 months

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This morning I just could not, for the life of me, get my brain to settle anywhere. I have a bunch of prompts in my box and a couple of them are for characters I haven't written in a while.

My mind kept telling me I needed to touch something, to physically experience the place I was trying to write. Which, obviously, is a little weird.

So I went with my gut and tried that.

I have a tray of stones that I've collected from different places I've visited - I grabbed a big smooth black stone to run between my fingers, since the last place I left this character was a volcanic island. I closed my laptop, lit a candle, and I sat, literally on the floor, with this stone in my hand and my eyes closed, doing deep breathing and trying to visualize where this scene could be and listening to my characters.

This was brand new for me - I've never done this before, using a physical prop. But it worked. I know what the scene is now, and I have a better sense of where it takes place.

Changing your mental environment using smell or taste or touch might unlock something for your brainstorming, too.

#writing advice #it's another tool for the toolbox

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thecomfywriter · 2 months

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You're not a bad writer. You're just an inexperienced one.

Writing is a skill that requires practise and honing. It requires dedication and repeated stimulation to grow as a writer. You aren't going to show up to your document one day with the perfect writing style that encapsulates your voice perfectly or is stylistically engaging. Oftentimes, it takes a lot of trial and error to figure out what your writing style is yours. But that isn't to say you're a bad writer. Just that you're still learning.

I'm going to give you an example of what my writing sounded like just a year ago. Draft 4 (the Blasphemous Draft, as I like to call it) was literally so atrocious, it forced me to go back to the drawing room and create the masterpiece that is now Draft 5 (the Canon Draft) of ToV. I wasn't a bad writer. It was just a bad draft that didn't represent the story I wanted to tell properly. Therefore, I thought the writing was bad, when in fact, i just needed to retry and approach it in a different, more authentic angle. Here's the excerpt from each draft of ToV to show you how I've personally grown:

Draft 1 (the OG-OG Draft):

I don't have any excerpts from it because it was wiped off my laptop lmao rip. It was iconic though.

Draft 2 (the Trauma Draft // the OG Draft):

"You must realize what a great honour it is to learn like we do. Humans believe there are selected few with magic in their blood, able to do what Cairoyas do. Those are their supernaturals. Whereas we, Cairoyas, can learn magic as a skill, as easy as it is to learn art or music, but a lot more difficult too. You must make terrible sacrifices to learn magic, Alan. To learn, you must give me your time, time that will take out of your sleep, your lunch, your leisure activities. And much effort is required. Strength, control, endurance, and much much more is needed. You must also be able to take the pain and a whole lot of it as well. I will torture you in many lessons, the magic will show you no mercy, and you must be able to fight it, to endure it, and you mustn't give up. Magic has a way of twisting your mind boy, so listen to me clearly when I say this: if I say something, you do it. If you feel the magic telling you to do something though, use your judgement. Many magicians have gone mad with magic- the power intoxicates you, and you'd do anything for more. Be careful my boy. You must remember who you are. The last sacrifice you might make is yourself."

Draft 3 (the Campy Draft, aka the goofiest draft that I still quote to this day):

Ahh, but dear Erevena… if you bring a vampire in the sun, its skin will set afire and it will burn. Similarly, if you stab a Mezomeena’s eyes, their ability to shapeshift will cease to exist. A wizard is nothing without his wand, a witch is helpless against water. Mermaids are confined to the water, and even dragons are limited to their primitive minds. But us, Cairoyas, we’re innovative, smart, advancing with the times. We have the ability to strengthen our bodies, adapt to our surroundings, grow stronger, more powerful. We are not limited by our abilities, nor are we weakened or killed by bodily imperfections.” The change in Hilbert’s tone was beginning to scare me more than fascinate like he intended. The image of the fallen dragon beneath his feet kept flashing before my eyes. “We, are, perfect. Simply limited by our moral obligations and our bodies weakness, easily soluble problems. Imagine, a man above all, who is not held back by societal expectations, or physical weakness. Who’s mind is elevated, unsuspectable from corruption, external or internal.” The glory of his vision twinkled in the blues of his eyes as they focused on mine. He pointed his bony finger at me as a grin grew on his face. “You, Erevana, will be that man. We will train profusely, until your muscles have the strength of ten dragons, and your mind elevated to their heights of the Arcane World. You will be my prodigy.”

Draft 4 (the Blasphemous Draft, aka the bane to my existence):

“Ahh, but dear Erevana— if you bring a vampire into the sun, its skin will set afire and it will burn. If you stab a Mezomeena’s eyes, their ability to shapeshift will cease to exist. A wizard is nothing without his wand, a witch helpless against water. Mermaids are confined to the sea and even dragons are limited to their primitive minds. But us Cairoyas, we’re innovative, smart, advancing beyond our times. We have the ability to strengthen our bodies, to adapt to our surroundings, grow stronger and more powerful. We are not limited by our abilities nor weakened or killed by bodily imperfections.” The change in Hilbert’s tone was eerie, scaring Alan more than it fascinated him like Hilbert probably intended. The image of the fallen dragon beneath his feet kept flashing before Alan’s eyes. “We are perfect. The only limitations we possess are our moral obligations that we ourselves create and the easily soluble fatigue after long durations of magic use. Imagine a Cairoyas above all, who is not held back by societal expectations or fatigue. Who’s mind is elevated, unsusceptible from corruption, external or internal.” The glory of his vision twinkled in the baby blues of his eyes as they reeled in Alan’s direction. He pointed his bony finger at Alan, a grin growing despicably on his face. “You, Erevana, will be that Cairoyas. We will train profusely, until your muscles have the strength of ten dragons and your mind elevated to the heights of the Arcane World. You will be my prodigy.”

Draft 5 (the Canon Draft):

“For Maadh’s sake, Markum... Nevermind that. It appears our first lesson is a history one. I’m afraid we will not have time to introduce any actual forms today, as the Flame seems to be setting now, but I will end today’s lesson off with this: non-mages are not of our world. They exist in their own pitiful societies, in a land of their own, to live out their mere lives engaging in odd conflict, loathsome diseases, and perhaps the most unfortunate of their states— a lack of magic. Ay, cursed they are without any ability to manipulate any form of magic. Among them in their world sometimes lives the odd supernatural, but they too are limited by flaws, their power unmatched to our own. [...] Ah, but dear Erevana… if you bring a vampire into the sunlight, its skin will set afire and he shall burn. If you stab a Mezomeena’s eyes, their ghastly veils will die and they will cease all ability to shapeshift. A wizard is nothing without his wand, a witch helpless against water. Mermaids are confined to the sea, and even dragons are limited by their primitive minds. But us Cairoyas? We are innovative, smart, advancing beyond our time. Our capabilities to strengthen our bodies, adapt to our surroundings, grow stronger and more powerful— they are boundless. We are not limited by our abilities nor weakened or killed by bodily imperfections. [...] We are perfect. The only limitations we possess are of our own moral obligations, and the easily soluble fatigue of overexertion. But such is not a design imperfection. I tell you this, Erevana— imagine a Cairoyas above all, unbound to societal expectations or fatigue. Whose mind is elevated, insusceptible to external or internal corruptions. [...] You, Erevana, will be that Cairoyas. We will train you profusely, until your strength exceeds that of ten dragons and your mind is enlightened past the glories of the Arcane World. You asked of me to become your mentor, and I said I’d make a Limious of you. These are the fruits you shall bear. You will be my prodigy.” - Hilbert to Alan (‘We are perfect’ monologue), Chapter 7

You will grow as a writer. Grow into your style. Grow into your confidence. Grow into your pride for your work. You will grow. You just have to water the plant and feed it with the warmth it needs to blossom.

#writers #writing #writing community #wip #writerblr #writers on tumblr #writblr #writers blog #thecomfywriter #thecomfywriter's wips #thecomfywriter toolbox #thecomfywriter advice #writing advice #writing tips #TCW monday motivation

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clxckwork-sun-n-moon · 1 year

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a touch prompt from @pure-plum

"5. feeling their pulse"

feat. @naffeclipse's Bounty Hunter!Eclipse and a sequel to this prompt. be aware this drabble contains violence and major injury

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Anyone who deigned to shake the rotten underbelly of the city was bound to get a target on their back. Small or large, constant or wavering like the river tide, there would inevitably be someone coming after you. Depending on how much shaking you did, you could end up with a small number of very dedicated guns trained on you, waiting for the opportune moment, or you could end up with a large number of people unaware of the danger they were about to run into.

Eclipse did a lot of shaking. Not large and heavy-hitting, like the vigilante, making the rot tremble and fall in their wake. He did his own swathes of small concentrated jabs, steadily burning weeds that grew from cracks in the concrete.

For the longest time, he had the benefit that anyone who decided that he had slighted them to the point of retaliation would only be coming after him. His brothers were, in a way, protected by the distance that they had built between themselves and their brother. Even as this distance was slowly being broken down, Eclipse maintained the illusion of separation. There wouldn’t be any involvement of that sort in his brothers’ lives, not in the past and not now.

There was also the protection that came with the way that he carried out his business. On a normal day, he would quite casually come out of a hole with blood across his hands. So if someone decided to hit anyone close to him, then his wrath would have been dealt exponentially.

It meant he wasn’t prepared for anyone to be ruthless and gutless enough to make a step after a figure that he’d allowed to be close.

So when he arrived at the mechanic’s door to find it loose and open, the cold shock of surprise punched twice as hard.

The inside had been tossed around, put mildly. A couple of the larger stools had been knocked over, a drawer of tools emptied on the floor. Most importantly, the room was empty of life. Eclipse took a step inside and his shoe skidded for a brief second, liquid underfoot. He glanced down, and found puddles of prismatic black flecked by splatters of red, all close within the immediate space of the door. His gaze slid up, and saw more red across the edge of the door itself. Fingers trailed up, smearing the beads of red along by the slow, methodical movement.

Everything was red in that moment. Red burning against his optics, red burning in his servos, overheating and whirring at furious speed. Clenching his fist, Eclipse slammed it into the wall beside the door frame, leaving brick dust to crumble like ashes.

He pulled back. Stared into the empty room, sweeping the surface with a cold gaze.

Considering the knocked over furniture, there’d definitely been a scuffle. At least two or three other people, enough to overwhelm the mechanic in little time. Maybe tossed over the stools to get to them, while they dumped the drawer to slow down their attackers, but to no avail. Too many, too quickly. The scrum was over and done with before more damage could be done. As they were brought to the door, they’d lashed out. An animatronic took the hit. With the amount of oil, it was a grievous hit or an old injury that easily split. But then the animatronic or one of the capturers retaliated on them, before they were taken outside.

Eclipse was quite good at putting threads together. He watched the picture unfold, saw a familiar face among the ghosts of events that had taken place. Quietly turning on his heel, he put the tiny ‘Closed’ card in the window and shut the door behind him, letting the locks fall into place.

This wasn’t even him going to work. This was him having to clock in overtime. And unlike the majority population that hated overtime, Eclipse intended to make the most of this for his own satiation.

The goon that answered the knocking door had the brief chance to look a touch surprised before Eclipse grabbed him by the face, dragging him into the dark outdoors and slamming him into the wall. His other hand snatched away the pistol from the goon’s shaking hand as he tried to pull it out the holster.

“Where’s my mechanic?” Eclipse asked, voice low as he leaned up closer to the goon.

“What?”

Eclipse pressed the barrel of the goon’s own pistol into his stomach and felt the breathing get faster over his hand.

“Th-They’re in the basement, near the boiler room. One of those spare rooms, but the guards will - “ The gunshot was muffled by the goon’s body, bullet ripping through his stomach. Eclipse pulled a handkerchief out of the goon’s pocket, shoving it into his mouth to stem the heaving pained wheezes, and dropped him on the ground before stepping inside. Maybe he’d still be alive by the time Eclipse returned. He knew he wouldn’t last beyond sunrise at the very least.

The building was barely metal beams and brick squeezed into mortar, bare walls carrying any trace of sound from one corridor to the next. Eclipse passed by empty door-frames with rooms of boxes, desks with stacks of files or papers, blank rooms of shelving waiting for smuggled goods or crates of fire-arms.

Well. Inevitably when word got back to the precinct, they would deal with the clean-up and reap the rewards of this gang hideout.

Another goon stepped out into the corridor, an animatronic with an unfortunately blank face that turned in Eclipse’s direction. He’d already raised the pistol he’d borrowed, firing twice into the animatronic’s torso and once into their face. The burnt out servo sizzled and spat before he stepped into the cracked porcelain, crushing any wiring and activity underfoot.

By now the gunfire echoes were rattling down every corridor of the building. Eclipse emptied the pistol cartridge and dumped it on the floor, casing and chunky metal clattering on the ground. Instead he unhooked the tommy gun off his shoulder, flicking off the safety and holding it at his hip.

Footsteps, hard and fast, made the telltale call of someone hurrying up from a turning ahead. The human fell quickly under a barrage of bullets, scattering red across the grey wall. Eclipse turned down that corridor, stretching the sanguine paint down the path behind him and casting another spray of ruby from the back of the next goon to step into view.

Two animatronics attempted to jump him from behind, failing to take into account how the sound bounced and warned him before they took their chance. One took three bullets to the neck, messily severing the head from the metal body, which Eclipse then used to slam into the face of their buddy. Stunned and reeling backwards, they were open to Eclipse swinging up a hard kick to the hinge at their abdomen and knocking them over. This time he separated the head by stomping down hard with his heel on the more delicate neck of this animatronic, listening to it crack apart as the exposed broken wires popped in the air.

The flight of stairs he found led both up and down. Any lighting down here was minimal and orange. As Eclipse started to descend, waves of hot air breezed up from below, making his coat swirl back in his trail. It reminded him of the way books and people spouted off about Hell and various peoples’ inevitable fall into it, as punishment for their wickedness.

It was possible that Hell did not exist for animatronics. He would make one if necessary.

There was just the one wide corridor at the bottom of the stairs. Eclipse paused, listening intently for any sounds of feet coming up behind him or shuffling out of sight from the further empty doorways. But all there was to hear was the faint rumble and hiss of the boiler room.

He shuffled forward. Moving slower, quieter. Yellow pupils flickered from doorway to doorway, searching. Hunting. Each stride carried past another empty room. His toothy grimace curved into a snarl as the red burned brighter.

And there they were.

Eclipse darted into the room, dropping down to one knee as he immediately lifted their head up within the palm of his hand. They were handcuffed to a pipe, one leg stretched out and a tourniquet of bloodied cloth tied tight around the limb. More blood had trickled from their head, dried in streaks down their cheek. Eyes shut and form uselessly limp, they moulded under Eclipse’s touch as he sat them up and pressed his fingers underneath their neck.

There. A pulse. Low and wavering, but there. He leaned his forehead against their’s, feeling the steady ticking of their life force under his hand as the waves of red started to recede from his servo. Only once he could lean back without the crushing desire to curl his fingers in and hold desperately, did he rock back on his heels and take one more look over them.

There was too much blood. They were positively drenched in it, a ruby scarf over their shoulders and sanguine painting their trousers, a ruined blush and faded lips. Rolling up their trouser leg, Eclipse eyed the thick red hole sunk into the skin, matched by an exit wound in the other side. Good, he wouldn’t be digging anything out of their flesh. But their coagulated blood still coated his hands and fingers, smeared on his coat as he reached up and snapped the handcuffs in two. As he lifted them up into his arms, he watched them shift and whine, more sparks of life through weak human noises. Like a newly born kitten. It was pitiful to watch, and he wanted nothing more than to have them back to squabbling, fretting, and laughing with him.

“I know you’re stubborn enough,” he murmured to them. “You won’t go down with a fight.”

“Eclipse?” Their eyes didn’t open but they heard him, knew him. His grip tightened, turning and sweeping out of the room.

A familiar face stood, blocking the stairs and flanked by several other goons. His painted face a leer, one of his legs wrapped up in bandages that showed black blooming stains. Eclipse had asked his mechanic to fix him, of course they would have known where to strike and make it hurt.

“I’m surprised you took so long,” the animatronic mocked. “We were wondering if-”

The tommy gun roared into the spiel, Eclipse cutting through any further acid dripping words with bullets that tore through the animatronic’s chest plate, shredding their finely made suit and ripping apart the metal below. He buckled and fell without further speech, limbs briefly jerking as Eclipse emptied the rest of his clip into the body.

In the hollow stillness that followed, he ejected the cartridge, lifted a new one out of his pocket, and slotted it into place. All still with his mechanic secure in his arms.

Eclipse’s blackened gaze swept over the goons that trembled in their places. They fell like cards, blown away by the wind. And bullet holes.

There was nothing to relish here. He’d come for what had been taken. He barely even cared how his bounty had already left the jail cells - some form of “good behaviour” in the shape of copious bribery, no doubt. He’d squandered his chance of a continued existence by putting his hands on what was Eclipse’s and spilling their sweet ruby red.

Stepping over the bodies in front of the stairway, Eclipse hurried up and through the corridors, retracing his steps back to the door he’d entered by. The man he’d left outside to bleed out had tried to crawl inside, and Eclipse didn’t care to check his stride as his foot crunched into the human’s hand on his way out.

Once more he shifted the body in his arms, tilting their head back so he could check their pulse. It was neither weaker nor stronger, a steady and faint rhythm. Slowly his fingers slid around the back of their neck, thumb still pressed on their pulse, pulling them in close as his shoulder dipped to curl around them.

Mine. The thought hit with such clarity that a shudder ran through Eclipse. A puff of steam spat out the back of his neck as he slowly straightened up, letting go of the mechanic’s neck to nudge stray hairs away from their face.

They needed immediate medical attention. The nearest hospital was an hour's walk. His brothers’ apartment was only half of that time in distance. They didn’t have the same equipment, but if Eclipse carried their mechanic into a hospital in his current state there would be more panicked questions than action. There’d be attention, possibly separation. But the hospital could be trusted to make sure his mechanic would be getting up by the next day. His brothers would find out one way or another about what he’d done to get his raven back.

Eclipse started walking.

#cw blood #cw violence #clockwork writings #offer of a toolbox #bloodstain fool #bounty hunter!eclipse #sleuth jesters #dcamv #dcaverse

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