#Inkwell writer
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Worldbuilding and writing religions: some helpful links.
Chaotic Shiny has a wonderfully thorough religion generator. It gives you bare bones of things like "is the religion focused inward or outward" or "how is it passed down," "afterlife," "family size," "prevalence," "how outsiders are viewed," "major taboos," "high virtues," "deadly sins," and more!
You could just take the questions themselves as inspiration for creating your religion! We merged a couple different generated religions and used them to build more detail. Really fun.
I also love how the podcast Writing Excuses talks about various aspects of worldbuilding religions and portraying religions, and even portraying real world religions that are not your own. Check out their stuff here.
I love seeing religions portrayed in a way that makes sense and doesn't follow tired tropes. Whether they're part of the main plot or just represented as part of a character's life, it's soo cool to see it done well!
On a personal note, my religion guides my life, and I am open to respectful asks about stuff like day to day impact/mindset or other insights if you'd like some help with writing religions!
-Inkwell
#writeblr#writing#worldbuilding#writing resources#worldbuilding wednesday#cowriting#inkwell writer#foxfire ink
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Wait... So, Inkwell came from the ink machine!?
{Inkwell Writer} : "Is that what you call that machine from the 1900s?"
{Inkwell Writer} : "Yes... I was the first... The fist one that needed ink to live."
{Inkwell Writer} : "But the saying how too much of a good thing can be bad? Well, I felt as if I was drowning, and struggled to get out of the pool of ink."
{Inkwell Writer} : "Kneeling on the cold metal floor, I felt so..."
{Inkwell Writer} : "Scared... Helpless... And vulnerable."
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Hello Jay, I would like to hear your headcanons about Tom and his mom 👀👀👀 Go on, speak into the mic 🎤
AAA HI NEIL I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED
Taps mic 🎤 ahem
Buckle in cause this got absurdly long I did not expect to get this long omll
So I guess I'll begin when he was younger,, when his mother and father first got married they were just going into their 30s, and while weren't actually trying for a kid they did end up having one: Tom
Barbara (Tom's mom) was ecstatic at having a kid whereas Peter (Tom's dad) was terrified, he knows he has anger issues and is very aware of how he's gotten easily frustrated with children in the past and doesn't want to get angry towards his soon to be son (though Barbs has been a dear with helping him and his anger, truly he'd be in jail by now if not for her)
Fast forward a bit, Tom's born and while Peter isn't magically cured of any anger issues, Tom is just the sweetest little guy and he, genuinely throughout his fatherhood, has not once gotten angry at his son. Gotten angry a good few things, but his son and wife weren't in that list
Tom is also born completely nonverbal (this is a little reference to how 2004 he's drawn without a mouth,,, I know that all the characters are at this time because mmm animation but in most fanart of 2004 only Tom is the one kept without a mouth because that and his one eye gives him creechur vibes I love it so I incorporated it like this) due to his autism, and he did get formally diagnosed early on due to this
It's a bit of a struggle trying to figure out what he's saying but he's a quick learner for how to read and write so if he can't get what he's trying to say through hand motions or actions he'll go and write it down (at least when he gets around 5yo, the years before were hard and they had to learn a weird, Tom version of sign language,, to clarify not actual sign language just learning what motions of his mean what)
One interaction I think about a lot with Tom and his mother is in Tom's youth when he's, maybe, 4? And he sees his mom shave her hair for the first time. Tom didn't like the sudden change as she looked like a different person and was having trouble understanding why it was gone
It took Barb a while to fully understand what he meant, why he was crying and whatnot, but finally able to sit him down in her lap he started making a lot of motions towards his own hair and then Barb's, and the interaction goes something like this:
"Are you talking about my hair?" Barbara quietly concerns, gesturing to her now bald head.
Tom made small grunts with wide eyes, rocking in his mother's lap incessantly.
"Okay, okay," She nodded holding her son's hand gently in her own- less so holding and more resting them in her own. "It's gone, baby."
Tom didn't seem to like that answer, shaking his head no with his hand reaching up to grab and tug at his his in distress. His eyes were screwed shut, why would his mom do that? But Barbara was quick to respond with carefully holding her son's hands again, their fingers interlaced as he squeezed on her hands instead in his temper.
"You don't like that it's gone?" She tilted her head to the side, bringing Tom's hands away from his face and towards her chest.
He shook his head no with an upset grunt, swinging his hands (and by proxy his mother's) side to side to drive the point further.
"Ohh,, pumpkin," Barbara gave Tom a sad smile, resting their hands in her lap as she gave him a small, reassuring squeeze.
"It’ll be alright-”
Tom hated that answer more, giving a frustrated noise as his eyes started welling with tears.
“Honey,” Barbara frowned at the tears coming out of her child’s eyes, it hurt to see him so upset, gently running her thumb along his cheeks to swipe them away. “I’m still mama, I’m still you mom.”
She led Tom’s hand over her heart, letting him feel the steady beating of it. The constant and steady pattern of thumping seemed to entrance him for a moment until his mild rocking and distressed noises slowly came to a halt.
“See? It’s still me, baby.” She cooed, running her thumb along the back of her son’s hand. “My hair is gone, but I’m here.”
“Sometimes, in life,” Barbara began, setting Tom’s hands down in his lap again now that he was calmer. “things change, and we can’t control it. Like my hair, you couldn’t control that, could you?”
Tom looked up from watching his hand feel the steady movement of her heart pumping, looking up at his mother’s face. He still looked displeased and upset, but less so, even going as far as to reach for where her hair used to be, trying to grab at the air around her head like it was still there. Fruitless.
She held his hand again, pressing it against her cheek with a broad smile, one she gave him often. He couldn’t keep his resentment for long, giving his own goofy smile back with a giggle. The way her gap tooth showed when she smiled that big was forever burned into his memory, only disappearing from her face so that she could kiss the palm of her son’s hand.
Tom shook his head, frowning at the thought but keeping a wide eyed expression to his mother as she continued her lesson. She smiled to him once again.
“Well, that happens a lot in life.” She sighed, cupping Tom’s cheek in her hand. “And no one likes it, you’re not alone for thinking that. But what you can control is how you deal with the change. Like how you showed me how upset you were, so now we’re talking about it. Do you feel better about it now?”
Tom took a moment, eyes casted down as he thought on it. He gave a small nod as he looked back up at her.
“Good.” She beamed. “And from now on, I’ll do my best to let you know beforehand when I make a change like that, alright?” She kissed Tom’s forehead, causing the child to give a small giggle. That was her favorite noise.
Now, Tom was always a Mama's Boy (not in a derogatory way, he just loved his mom a whole hell of a lot) but even moreso after his father died. They both were grieving and so it caused them to cling closer together because of it, to the point that had it not been for his friend (at the time only Matt, but later Edd too as this was before Tord was introduced to the friend group) he probably would've completely self isolated
They do a ton of things together as Tom gets over and they both eventually heal from Peter's death, baking, sewing, shopping, watch movies, anything they can do when they have the chance to hang out together
They were so close in fact that Barbara was genuinely the first person he came out to for being nonbinary (He/They pronoun user :) ) and of course she loved him unconditionally, but he didn't even tell Matt, Edd or Tord (now in Highschool and having been introduced to delinquent) that yet
However, later in his highschool years, around late Junior year (11th grade) or early Senior year (12th grade) of highschool his mother dies as well. Not from a freak bear with a gun attack though, instead from Pneumonia, which is something she tends to get a lot and always had in her youth, and while it usually isn't fatal and there is treatment and whatnot and she definitely took as much as help as she could, this time just hit different it seemed.
This really fucked with Tom during some of his most important years of his life and caused him to go into a BIG depressive episode for a long long time
Side note that I guess also kinda applies: Had it not been for Tord being just as stubborn of a jackass as Tom, he would've completely self isolated. Edd and Matt helped a lot in his youth but he also had his mom to encourage him, but now with his immediate family all gone he didn't see much of a reason to interact with people. And where Edd and Matt lack in persuasion, Tord more than makes up for in the lack of giving a fuck and would literally drag Tom outside even if he was kicking and screaming. This is mostly because Tord is second only to Tom himself in how durable he is, like a brick shithouse (built like one, too) and not afraid to make Tom hate him if it meant getting him better in the long run (a running theme I have for their relationship :) they're less so "GRR I HATE YOU I HOPE YOU DIE /GEN" and more of like have this weird understanding with eachother where like "I'll literally kill you if you touch me but I'd kill anyone you touched you" type beat, unafraid to get the other to hate them for the greater good because they have the understanding that they wouldn't do something so wildly stupid for no reason. Yes that plays into The End and the future events of WTFuture)
I love them so much oh my god you have zero idea
Anyway, TL;DR
Tom and his mom are extremely close and helped each other get through the worst of times while Tom continues to learn the lesson of "everything changes, it's out of your control, and you can only control how you proceed with it"
#jay talk#jay answers#also i just wanted to add: the reason Tom's mom is bald has nothing to do with any sort of illness or genetic disorder#she just was like “fuck it” and decided she wanted to shave it off#i know that sounds weird but i try to incorporate it in the way she dresses too#i chose this because one: [insert bowling ball joke here]#and two: to show her openness as a character and that's got nothing to obscure who she is#not wearing layers. usually not wearing long sleeves unless it's cold. same thing with pants and they're usually skinny if she does#character design is my passion and psychoanalysis is my game I'm sorry you have to deal with it lol#i really need to draw her more i love Mrs. Barbara Inkwell#and thank you Neil for asking this#I'm bursting at the seams /pos#and I'm trying to get back into the writer grind 💪💪 so this helps lol#sorry it took me so long to respond to this ask lol got my creative mojo back so I'm grabbing it by the reigns and multitasking#to the best of my ability without burning myself out that is#i guess i'll add the ew tags cause this is like a headcanon rant so#eddsworld#ew#ew tom#tom#ew tom's mom#tom's mom#ew oc ?#barabara#barbara inkwell#peter was mentioned#fun fact: he took barb's last name cause he despised his own last name :)#also her name's inkwell and that's sick as fuck#eddsworld headcanons
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"Writing for this fandom can be rough. It's not the worst, but the hit to kudo ratio is pretty disheartening, and even on Tumblr there's not that much engagement. My highest stat fic has 590 hits, 57 kudos, and only 3 comments threads- it's kinda discouraging." submitted by @the-starry-inkwell
#yea :(#most ppl who post their stories expect some kind of engagement#I feel like writers in most fandoms have it pretty rough#especially small-medium fandoms like this one#reminder to kudos and comment on fics you enjoyed if you haven't already#it could rlly make a writer's day!#thsc#mod dave#thsc confession#thsc confessions#@/the-starry-inkwell
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Hi! I love your art and the detail of your worldbuilding! Thought I'd see what I can throw your way. What are some common misconceptions about the behavior of one of your animals?
Thank you! This is a great question and one would think I'd already have some cool answers to go but apparently not, I think I will give it some more thought later.
I do have some "basic" misconceptions about cireks though. In the current timeline they have a reputation of being bloodthirsty predators and ruthless hunters (colored by historic occurrences and increasing human encroachment causing human-cirek conflicts). However cireks are not obligatory carnivores, their diet includes besides vertebrate animals a lot of insects and larvae, fungi, nuts, fruits and shellfish. They're not even overly successful hunters on average and generally prefer easy meals. They also scavenge a whole lot. However hunting activity tend to increase the bigger a clan of cireks gets.
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The Bottom Of The Inkwell [Chapter 16]
Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader
Chapter Rating: M
Chapter Warnings: brief saucy moments
Proofread: Nah
Taglist: @envyspinebender @ficfanatictrf
Chapter Summary: A morning with Viktor. Also you’re insatiable.
The rest of the day spent with Viktor is light and airy, almost passing in a haze. You can’t help the bubbly feelings filling your heart, warming you so well from the inside that there’s not a moment when you’re not smiling.
You know for a fact that your mother is suspicious of the two of you, when she gets home. You know that she can see the delight that you try to hide, and how you seem to cling a little closer to your boyfriend.
To anyone else, you might just look like a sappy couple, but to a happily married woman?
She knows.
You know she knows.
And you know that she knows that you know.
Still, she doesn’t say anything to you about it, even when she manages to catch you alone for a few moments. You’re hardly embarrassed by the topic anymore, too thrilled by all your new discoveries to possibly be shy about it, but you really didn’t want to have the awkward sex conversation with your mother.
—
Later in the evening, she bids you a soft goodnight before she heads up to bed, leaving you and Viktor curled up together on the couch.
You’d been trying to study all afternoon, going over the various notes and observations you’d made in your classes. Your focus had easily drifted, though, away from the words in your textbook, over to the little crease in between Viktor’s brows.
The way his lips pressed together while he read and reread his class material, the way his honeyed eyes were sharp with concentration. The little moles on his face, each of which you desperately wanted to kiss.
Neither of you had gotten much done after that, far too focused on each other to care much for school.
Even now, while you pull your clothes off to get ready for bed - his attention is on you, helping you with the buttons of your blouse, guiding the soft fabric off your shoulders and down your arms.
Mapping a trail of warm kisses over every inch of skin he happens upon.
You slide into bed together, comfortably entangling your limbs while whispering little affections. The sheets are soft against your bare skin, sensitive from the near constant press of Viktor’s fingertips: drawing little patterns into your flesh, leaving a pleasant thrill of goosebumps as he wanders.
Wanders lower.
Sliding, sinking in, spreading you open. Murmuring praises in your ear while he reduces you to a whimpering, shaking mess. Holding you impossibly closer as you go boneless with bliss.
Holding you, while you begin to doze off.
“Hey, Vee?” you creak, barely awake. You’re not even sure he’s conscious still, with how still and quiet he lays behind you.
But eventually he shifts in his spot, humming slightly in reply.
“I think tomorrow, I’m going to go back to the market,” you tell him. “There are a few things we didn’t get to grab when we last went. I still want to get them.”
He hums again, squeezing his arms around you for a couple seconds before relaxing. It takes all of your willpower to not start giggling at his actions - you know he wouldn’t appreciate your sentiments on how adorable you think he is when he’s sleepy like this.
“I wouldn’t mind going out again,” he finally mumbles, his words slurred and his accent thicker than usual. “There are a lot of things we didn’t get to see.”
Oh.
Right. Of course he’d want to go with you.
You squirm in his hold for a couple moments, until you’re able to roll over in your spot to face him. It’s dark enough that you can’t see him clearly - can’t even find his shadowy outline against the backdrop of your room. But you can feel his warmth radiating forth, even where your bodies aren’t touching.
“I was actually thinking I might go on my own,” you explain sweetly.
You instantly feel the way he tenses, and you move quickly to pepper kisses across whatever parts of his face you can find.
“I would love to have your company, Viktor,” you assure him, “But I can’t very well shop for you if you’re out with me. It would ruin the surprise.”
But instead of relaxing at your words, like you’d hoped he would, he remains on edge - breathing shallower, shoulders tight and locked even beneath your soothing touch.
Like you’d expected.
“I promise I won’t get anything big,” you murmur, bringing one of your hands up to cup his jaw. “Just a few little things to put in your stocking, okay? And the materials to actually make it.”
He takes a couple moments to weigh your words in his mind, before the stiffness finally eases out of his body and he molds himself to you in a tired heap. Sighing deeply as he wraps his arms around your midsection again.
“I suppose I can cope for a few hours on my own,” he grumbles, and you’re unable to contain a snort of laughter.
“I’ll make sure to bring you a sweetmilk cocoa.”
—
The rest of the night is blessedly uneventful. You fall asleep cuddled up with your boyfriend, slipping into unconsciousness with an ease you haven’t experienced for months. On top of that, your dreams are silent. No trace of nightmares to addle your mind with guilt or grief or anxiety.
You remain warm, and safe, and loved.
Even when the outside world starts to creep in the next morning, you’re comfortable. You’re cozy, and you feel rested, if not a little groggy.
Cracking an eye open, you peer around your childhood bedroom. Light glows inwards from the half-drawn drapes, casting the room in a hazy sort of glow. Like a perfect moment cut from time, the dust motes in the air are illuminated by the thin beam of sun seeping in.
Floating around so slow, you swear that you must be dreaming.
You glance over at the clock on the table beside your bed, squinting a bit until you’re able to focus on the numbers.
It’s just past nine, you realize, deflating back down onto your pillow. Far later than your classes would ever allow you to wake, but still earlier than you’d risen the past couple of days.
And yet you feel completely rested.
You lay there for a handful of minutes, allowing your body to wake up on its own terms instead of forcing yourself to immediately start your day. It’s peaceful, you think, to not have a full list of tasks bearing down on you.
Sure, you have things you want to accomplish today, but you hardly feel like you’ll face some kind of dire consequence if you don’t get to them immediately.
It’s…nice.
“Mmn…” a soft whine comes from beside you, barely audible if not for the stillness of the room. You let your head fall sideways to stare at your boyfriend, who still appears to be snoozing quite deeply.
Should you wake him?
All of your instincts say not to - telling you to preserve his comfort and let him rest. He barely gets enough sleep as it is, your mind supplies, going over a list of reasons why you should leave him undisturbed, and slip quietly downstairs to start breakfast.
But…
…you’d promised him.
You’d just spoken to him about all your troubles - told him openly and honestly about what kinds of thoughts ran through your mind on a daily basis. More than that, he’d shared his anxieties, too.
His fear of losing you, the only person he had left. His anxiety around not being able to take care of you, or keep you safe. The worry he felt when you weren’t around.
If he wanted to stay in bed, that was fine. But you weren’t going to cause him any more stress.
“Vee,” you whisper, tenderly stroking the apple of his cheek with the back of your finger. “Cmon, sleepy. Time to wake up.”
He squirms a bit while you speak to him lowly, and press a couple of kisses to his forehead. It takes a good thirty seconds of prodding, and a couple of unhappy whines, but eventually his eyelids flutter open, and he blinks at you with drowsy honey eyes.
“Good morning, sleepy,” you murmur, unable to contain the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth.
Viktor, on the other hand, stares at you with a rumpled sort of confusion that you’d never before seen him express. He was always thinking, always working to make sense of things and figure out problems - learning how things work.
But now, as he looked at you without even the barest hint of focus, you know.
There’s absolutely nothing going on behind his pretty amber eyes.
Not so soon after waking, at least.
You huff a couple laughs and gather him in your arms, earning yet another rumble of complaint. Or perhaps of affection? You can���t really tell, in all honesty. Not until he wraps his arms around you in return do you know that he’s happy.
“I’m going downstairs to cook breakfast,” you tell him, laying a kiss to his bare shoulder. “Do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay here to sleep a little longer?”
A few beats of silence.
Then,
“Mmnb…”
Your shoulders quiver with barely-contained laughter.
“You gotta use words, vee,” you snicker, pulling back slightly.
Viktor, however, uses your distracted amusement to his advantage, rolling over to knock your relaxed form off balance. You don’t really tumble very far, considering you’re both already laying down, but it gives him the leverage he needs to find a spot on top of you.
His chest pressed flat against the soft of your tummy, he sets his chin on between your breasts to stare up at you with half lidded eyes. Drowsy, you realize, but sharpening with a decisive sort of hunger that you hadn’t yet gotten to observe.
“I’ll have you for breakfast,” he says again, now unimpeded.
“Vee!” you squeak in surprise, as he very quickly makes his intentions clear and kisses his way down your body.
Never breaking eye contact, his mouth finds your core. Like you’re the finest delicacy he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting, he spreads you open, and revels in the soft squelch of your pussy clenching around his fingers.
“Jsi dokonalá, miláčku,” he whispers, before closing his lips around your clit.
—
The rest of the hour is a blur. Filled with pleasure and sighs, and Viktor’s delicious whines as you knit your fingers into his hair and pull. His love leaves you hazy and happy, wobbling on weak knees as you dress and make your way downstairs.
Breakfast doesn’t take long to get started. The first thing you do is set the percolator out on the stove to get a sufficient amount of coffee brewed - none that were in your household would be able to function well without it.
After that’s set out to boil, though, you move over to the fridge to assess what you might make.
It’s not much, you realize, when you tug the heavy door open and peer inside. There’s a little bit of this and that, but not quite enough of any one thing to make a meal that would feed the three of you.
You supposed you could make a mishmash breakfast, and use up the rest of what was available, but that…would require a lot of dishes. Dishes that you didn’t want to be the one to wash, later on.
You crinkle your nose, and grab a cardboard tray of eggs to count them, and set them on the counter.
Butter…cinnamon…sugar…?
One by one, you lay ingredients out, formulating a gameplan in your mind.
—
That’s where Viktor finds you, twenty minutes later. Bent over a frying pan filled with snapping oils, carefully and perfectly searing slices of bread before sprinkling them with what looked like…salt and pepper?
“What are you making?” he wonders, approaching slowly so as not to jar you into burning yourself.
You glance up from the stove, and beckon him closer so you can pull him into a kiss.
“It’s toast,” you tell him proudly when you part, nodding your head towards the heaping plate of fried bread slices. “And once they’re cooked and buttery, you dip them in the sugar-cinnamon mix - trust me, it’s delicious.”
He watches you for a few moments more, leaning against the counter while you work. You’re cute, he thinks, when you’re as focused as you are. The way your brows pull together and your lips mush together in the most adorable little pout.
“You can grab a plate, Vee,” you tell him, pulling the final bread out of the pan to drop in the last of the sugar.
—
It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fix yourselves up and find your spots at the table, settling into an easy conversation while you stuff sweet bread into your mouths. Until you’re both full and happy, with little sugar crystals stuck in the corners of your mouths.
That’s where your mother finds you, half an hour later.
Your plates are neatly stacked at the edge of the table to be cleaned at a later time, and both you and Viktor have a fan of cards pinched between your fingers, staring one another down with distrust and deep concentration.
“You cooked!” she chirps, barely drawing your attention away from the game at hand.
“I did,” you reply, carefully leafing through your numbers, before selecting a few and placing them face-down on the table. You can feel your mother’s presence at your back, glancing curiously over your shoulder to get an eyeful of your hand.
“It’s all under the plate with the dome on it - it should still be hot,” you tell her, hoping she might stop spying on you.
However, she only wheels herself closer, coming up beside you to fix you with a pointed smile.
“Won’t you be a dove and fix me a plate, darling?” she asks, fluttering her eyelashes in the most dramatic manner possible.
It takes all your willpower not to snort and roll your eyes - instead settling on a deep sigh.
“Fine,” you grumble halfheartedly, and set your cards face down. Really, you should have just handed them to your mother, knowing full well that as soon as you leave your seat, she’ll snatch them up and begin playing in your stead.
You stand up and stretch, and wander over to the counter where you’d stored the rest of the meal - glancing back briefly to see that yes, your mother had indeed stolen your cards and was about to ruthlessly decimate your boyfriend.
You turn away just as she slaps down each card with full confidence, biting back a grin when Viktor makes a shocked noise of complaint.
“That’s the third time!” he gripes, without any malice.
“Technically, I won that one,” your mother chimes, with an expression you just know is cheeky.
“They were my cards, Mama,” you call over your shoulder, scooping up her breakfast to return to the table. “Just because you’re the one who put them down doesn’t mean you’re the one who did the work.”
Your mother scoffs quietly, taking the plate from you and moving over to her own spot.
You find your seat again, and gather up the deck of cards to reshuffle them. Viktor watches with great interest as you expertly fold them together, flipping and throwing each little rectangle around and into the deck.
“You play cards like you’re from the undercity,” he says bluntly, his gaze on your hands with rapt attention. “I’ve never seen anyone from piltover play this game so effortlessly, or without unearned arrogance.”
You raise a brow at him, carefully observing him while he watches you. Until your hands still, and he’s finally able to draw his eyes back up to yours - beautiful honey brown almost fully eclipsed by the black of his pupils.
Oh.
You swallow thickly, willing yourself to hide how genuinely flustered you are. “Mama, do you still want me to pick up some of that pretty blue fabric while I’m out today?” you ask, a little too loudly.
She glances over at you for a second, before nodding and going back to her food.
“If they still have enough,” she replies, “You know how much I need, yes? If there’s none of the blue, pick another satin that you like.”
You nod, and pull out a folded sheet of paper from your pocket, along with a painfully short pencil. You scribble down a note about the fabric, in amongst the numerous other things you wanted to pick up while you were in the city, as well as how many yards you’d need.
“It’s chilly out today,” your mother chirps, when you fold your list back up and stuff it deep in your pocket. “Viktor, why don’t you borrow one of my husband’s wool coats when you go out-”
You open your mouth to protest.
“You too, dear,” your mother cuts you off, staring pointedly at you. “Your coat is hardly warm enough for temperatures like these, and the only woolen one you’ve got is from when you were quite a bit smaller.”
You snap your lips shut with a soft pop.
You know your mother means well - you know that she already cares dearly for Viktor, and wants him to be well taken care of. But her lack of tact makes you wince internally. Your boyfriend has seen your coat, he’s felt it, he’s commented on how soft it is! He damn well knows that it’s warm enough to withstand even the chilliest of temperatures.
You know that your mother is just making sure he stays safe.
But does he? Would he take her words the wrong way?
“I appreciate the concern,” Viktor sighs, resting his cheek on his palm, “But I am afraid I have been, ah…uninvited from this particular excursion.”
Your mother looks at you.
You look at her.
“I need to shop for presents!” you whine, when she gives you a look filled with offense. “And don’t act so put upon - now you have someone to play cards with for the afternoon.”
You quickly stand and collect all the plates that had been left on the table, carrying them over to the sink so you can dump them into the warm, soapy water.
“I’ll only be gone for three hours, maximum,” you promise, glaring over your shoulder at them. “And if I found out either one of you gambles while I’m out, there will be hell to pay.”
“But-”
“No, Mama. You will not be cheating away my boyfriend’s money.”
Silence falls across the room, so thick you can almost feel it.
And then, with a smile hidden behind his hand, Viktor mumbles, “Like how you were cheating, earlier?”
Your mother bursts out into loud raucous laughter, collapsing back into the cushioned seat of her chair to shake with uncontained mirth. Your boyfriend is quick to follow her example, chuckling alongside.
You sigh tiredly and turn back to the dishes.
You can’t let either of them see the amused smirk that tugs across your lips.
—
Some time later, after everything has settled down and you’ve cleaned the kitchen up, you start to get ready to head out. You pull your boots on and lace them up tightly, and shrug your coat over your shoulders.
You debate wearing a hat for a couple moments, but eventually decide against it - it doesn’t look windy out, even if it’s cold. You should be fine without it.
Viktor finds you in the hallway, stepping closer to you with something akin to sheepishness written on his face. He carefully reaches for you, helping you with each button on the front of your coat until he stops at your collar.
“I’m sorry,” he says, smoothing out your lapels. “I…am not used to being able to act so casually. Not up here. If I upset you, or-”
You shush him with a kiss, taking his face in your hands to hold him still until you’ve had your fill of him.
“I’m not mad,” you promise, with one final peck. “I’m happy to know that you’re comfortable here. This is your home now, too, you know? You’re part of our family.”
He slides his hand over your own, holding you tightly against his cheek for a couple moments before releasing you.
“If that is the case, then…perhaps I could add something to your shopping list?”
He pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket, and hands it to you, waiting patiently while you open it and scan over the words.
“It’s ah…it’s a recipe my mother used to make,” he explains, fidgeting with his sleeves, “It’s kind of like a…bread stew? With meat, and potatoes, sometimes onions. She told me that it was strictly a family recipe, but you-”
He pauses for a moment, pretty pink dusting across his cheeks and out to the tips of his ears. “You are my family. And this is one of the few things I’m able to give to you.”
Your heart swells in your chest at his words, knowing how deeply he must care for you - loving you to the point of trusting you, not only with himself, but with parts of his family that had long since disappeared.
His eyes widen, when he sees tears welling up behind your lashes.
“Můj drahý, don’t cry-”
“I love you,” you sniffle, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him closer. “I love you so much.”
He settles into your hold with practiced ease, letting his cheek rest on the top of your head while he whispers sweet affection to you. Happy and tucked up together, as you’re meant to be.
#viktor x reader#viktor arcane x reader#arcane x reader#The Bottom Of The Inkwell#not the end i promise there so much more to go#i have writers block tho so#pls be gentle
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What If 1.925: Twilight was just a figment of Princess Celestia's imagination?
"Twilight, could you go deal with Tirek II for me if you so please?" Celestia rung a bell.
A spectacled Raven Inkwell sighed, kneeling at her Princess's hooves. "As you wish, my Princess. I must remind you, we have no records of this Twilight Sparkle that you refer to myself and my sisters by."
"Alright, Twilight," Celestia shrugged, swallowing another bite of her cake. "Oh, and could you remind your babysitter that the Crystal Heart needs to be watered thrice daily as well?"
Raven saluted. "One of my sisters has already communicated with Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. There is no issue to report regarding this task."
Celestia tapped a hoof idly against the arm(foreleg?)rests of her throne. "Ah!" she suddenly burst, "That reminds me, how's that brother of yours, my dishonorably-discharged-for-medical-reasons student? He still making googly eyes at Cadance?"
Another Raven stepped up beside Raven and whispered something in her ear. Raven stiffened up, nodding at Celestia. "Prince Shining Armor of the Crystal Empire has been married to Mi Amore Cadenza for years, Princess. They have already produced children."
"Grandchildren!" Celestia cheered, clapping her hooves together in excitement. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, Twi? Fetch me my guards, I must attend the baby shower at once!"
Raven reached a hoof out. The second Raven beside her floated a communicator into her grasp. "Prepare a chariot, the Princess intends to travel. We need full accommodations and a nurse onboard. It is not necessary, but it may be the Princess's preference for the Royal Chef to also be present. As a reminder, all references to the chef must be done by the name 'Pinkie Pie', lest we upset the Princess."
She paused. "Also, notify Mi Amore and Shining Armor of her highness's arrival in advance. They must prepare for yet another baby shower. We already know well what happens if there is not one to attend."
Raven passed the device back to her sister before bowing again. "It is done. Is there anything else that you request from your faithful student?"
"Nope! Just Tirek."
"As you wish."
Raven knocked on the door. She stepped back, waiting a minute. Then two.
She knocked again, checking her watch as she glanced at a third Raven Inkwell that stood beside her--this one a pegasus.
And about half a dozen more of her sisters behind her.
A loud thump emanated from behind the door, followed by a groan. Heavy hoofsteps clip-clopped up to the door.
"Celestia again?" Tirek's tired voice came in muffled mutters. "Doesn't she believe that the all-powerful Tirek is in Tartarus or whatever that place is?"
"The Princess believes that your next-in-line has come to rampage. I have brought my sisters to assist in the relocation. We hope it will not inconvenience you as much as it had the first time."
The door creaked open as Tirek let the Raven Collective enter. He yawned, scratching his side as he watched each mare pass his belongings out into the hallway.
"What about everyone else in the apartment?" he yawned, stepping aside for his sagging mattress to be carried out. "Don't they have to relocate too?"
Raven gave a brief nod as she passed. "You know well the size of the Collective. The other occupants of the complex are also being assisted as we speak."
Tirek watched as his cart of possessions was loaded onto the train. He turned his head, glancing one last time at the unassuming apartment that he'd called home for the past three years. It wasn't too bad of a place, to be honest. Yes, it was drab and dull--nothing like the gaudy mansion he'd been placed in for show the first time around.
Those acting days were over, anyway. The constant need to hire himself and other actors to stage worldly threats to distract the Princess was far more draining on Equestria's resources than it was to simply pass along rumors and demolish derelict buildings. It worked to the nation's benefit, in a sense--the Princess remained placated by her delusions of a student, while at the same time the decaying infrastructure of the countryside could be allocated the resources needed for redevelopment.
His eyes shifted to the line of carts lined up behind his own, each one hauled by four, no, six of the same mare.
He always wondered where they came from.
In the distance, a deafening explosion marked the end of the derelict building.
The Raven Inkwell that stood beside the open doors of the train's cargo truck lifted a radio to her mouth.
He could just barely hear the words she muttered.
"Sparkle has arrived. The target has been eliminated. Report back to the Princess via dragonfire at your assigned time."
#rq: Forcalor#mlpwhatifs#my little pony#what if#writeblr#ask blog#tumblr writers#mlp#Princess Celestia#Raven Inkwell#mlp tirek
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The Inkwell Prompt 04. 🕯📜
"Everyone knows that puddles are portals. Which means that's not your kid splashing around. Not anymore."
Tag us! We'd love to read and reblog your work.
#inkwell prompt#prompts#words#writing#writing prompts#writeblr#creative writing prompts#creative writing#fantasy#horror#writing tips#writer's block
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About
I feel as though the inked pages and the written word and the worlds that exist in between them, have always been my solace. I remember, as a preschooler, crawling into my mother’s lap with my storybook in hand, begging her to read to me. I remember starting my first novel at the age of seven and never looking back. Books became my religion, flipping through their delicate pages, my sacrament.
It is almost impossible to be spared from the compulsion of penning down your own words when you make the written word your holy communion. And so I, too, succumbed to the inevitability of becoming a wordsmith. Perhaps not one with indomitable skill but definitely possessing a beguiling passion for her craft.
Spilling Inkwells is my personal sanctuary where I create a landscape of my musings, experiences and love for the written word.
#spilling inkwells#literary blog#my writing#poetry#prose#literature#poem#politics#personal#poems on tumblr#writers on tumblr#writeblr#writerscommunity#writing#quotes#self promo
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Out of Inkwell au thought: What if by some sort of magic induced miracle, most likely using ink and the magic from Oswald's world (from Epic Mickey) the four toons were able to bring Walt back?
Mind you it wouldn't be the real Walt but a clone which is where the angst comes in if the toons were successful. Let's say they had some hair (or if a personal item would be enough) and they made a clone that looked like Walt when the hair was cut off, like when he was in his twenties! Would that clone retain the memories the original had at that age? If so then they could very well know who Oswald is but not Mickey or Willie.
Or there's the second option that clone Walt would know the four toons, but not that he isn't real. If my memory is correct then according to the story of Epic Mickey, if you don't have a heart (or soul) then you technically aren't real. So clone Walt could experience a crisis born out of self awareness which would either make him literally fall apart or the magic keeping him alive could alter reality, since they're no longer in Inkwell.
Something else to point out is that the toons would have to lie about clone Walt being real and if cartoons have taught us anything, non- villain toons aren't very good liars. Tricking people yes but outright lying? Nope!
So the question I'm sure you're asking for this au is why do this in the first place? Welp, the answer is simply: Mickey. In this au Oswald is the only toon out of the four who had a close bond with Walt when he was alive. Mickey was created yes but didn't know Walt very well until after the black and white cartoons were sent to Inkwell. Now that they're free Mickey wants to make up for lost time so he risks it all by bringing a clone of Walt to life but the kick in the heart is that not even the clone can connect with Mickey the way Oswald can. :(
These are just jumbled thoughts for a possible short story with this au but I'm open to feedback. :)
#mickey mouse#oswald the lucky rabbit#out of inkwell au#this kind of morphed from a musing into a possible narrative lol#such is the brain of a writer XD#epic mickey#its mentioned but tagging just in case
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STS fun: Generators for making coats of arms (plus a couple other generator mentions). Anyone have any to add? What are your favorite generators for worldbuilding?
Tagging @hd-literature, @tate-lin, @blind-the-winds in case you guys wanna throw any links out there. That's how this works, right? (Hi it's Inkwell and I'm new here, hahaha.)
Got a few images and links below.
Happy Storyteller Saturday!
-Inkwell and Crooked Writer
This is the coat of arms for the Stewards of the Swords, the anti-eldritch bodyguards of the king and his family in our WIP audio drama, Songs of Decay. It's cool cuz the Steward represented there in the middle keeps the Swords (the king's family members) from being corrupted by eldritch influences and turning on the Crown. Read more about the Stewards here.
We used Armoria to generate and customize the coat of arms above.
Armoria actually connects to Azgaar's fantasy map generator! If you generate a map and click on a city, it will show you that city's emblem.
Similarly, you can also click on a city to edit its layout in City Generator by Watabou, a medieval fantasy city generator. All three of these resources are pretty dang awesome, and I love that they all work together!
This is the crest of the Haldane royal family of Imeuiad from our fantasy WIP, Outcasts.
We also use Draw Shield. Draw Shield even has resources on their website to learn about heraldry and related vocabulary. I loooove that it types up the term for each feature you add to the shield, so you can learn blazonry ("the art of describing or painting heraldic devices or armorial bearings") as you go!
Happy Storyteller Saturday!
-Inkwell and Crooked Writer
#writing#writeblr#cowriting#writing resources#worldbuilding#fantasy worldbuilding#fantasy world#original fiction#fantasy writing#Outcasts#songs of decay#resources#heraldry#family crest#coat of arms#inkwell writer#crooked writer#foxfire ink#foxfire resources#foxfire worldbuilding#sts#happy sts#we had to look up what sts is but we're all for it#storyteller saturday
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another WIP
Started experimenting with his design lol
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You write poetry
Or well, at least you try to. Try not to bleed out the pain into words and instead carve the words into the world outside. You write down sensory imagery. You write down the way the grass is turning green under the ice. You put yourself out in the world and fight the pull of the gaze turning inwards. Surely there’s nothing left for you there. Surely you’ve emptied the well by now. You listen to the songbirds. It’s spring. One whistles two notes, low-short high-long and you whistle that much back at it and pretend it is your shortest sweetest poem yet. It’s spring. You can hear the birds singing, and the concrete of the sidewalk is long since cracked but not yet unwalkable. Inside you are coming up with compound words. Bilesweet. Summerrotten. Stranglelung. They taste like the inside of your mouth. Surely someday you will run out of whatever it is that turns into pain into poetry into shame but for now your mouth is full of the kind of words that bloat and writhe with maggots the longer you leave them there. Your mouth is a corpse garden. You try your hardest not to talk about death and your tongue is rigor mortis stiff. Outside the birds are singing, it is spring. It is spring. It is spring. You listen to the bird song and try to convince yourself that your lungs are only full of fertile soil.
HEAPING HELPING OF COMPOST // PD
#inkwell incarnate#poem#poetry#vent poem#been in a bit of a writers block#but also trying to wrestle with my brain in different areanas than poetry#its certainly been an attempt
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𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕯𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕾𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖊𝖗
hello, friends and fellow pen wielders! recently, i moved to a new city and have since been in want of a writing community to immerse myself in. but with the pandemic, it's hard to regularly meet with people in person. which is why, with the help of some very lovely friends ( @booksandlewks @acciomanorian @figonas ), i've created an online writer's community dedicated to providing a space where we can share tips, WIPs, and general writerly grievances.
i would love for anyone who follows me here, who is interested in writing at any capacity or level to join us on our Discord server, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕴𝖓𝖐𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖑. we'll be hosting weekly prompts, sprints, and WIP workshops. for an invite link, just DM/inbox me and i'll be happy to send one your way!
—Em 🖤🗡
#novel writing#writing tips#writing advice#the inkwell#writer's discord server#why is a raven like a writing desk?
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Inky’s brain: Two things…number one…
Bunny Event??! *makes not to draw oc in White Rabbit Fest gear even tho he’s a black bunny beastboi*
Secondly….oh yeah, Sebby has two older sibs….*makes note to make more Zigvolt fam OCs*
Lots to do, friends, lots to do lol
#neoninky#twisted wonderland#ao3 writer#ao3 fanfic#sacred crown chronicles#twst oc x canon#diasomnia#zigvolt fam#bunniiiiieeeesss#twst oc: lawrence inkwell
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Words are Fleeting like Shadows
Quick lil piece about Gale struggling to write a poem about you, his beloved at the riverside camp. Tried to make it pine-y but idk just needed to write my idea out.
be nice im sensitive.
The lantern, positioned at the edge of the campsite, emitted a soft, warm glow, illuminating the surrounding area. Sitting beside the river, Gale had his back hunched over his journal, his forehead furrowed with frustration. His quill hung uncertainly in his hand as he stared at the blank page before him, lost in thoughts of the one he had longed for. The sound of the river running close by was the only thing that broke the silence of the night.
Gale had been sitting like this for hours, trying to capture the essence of his feelings in verse. He longed to describe the beauty, grace, and spirit he saw in his beloved, but the words eluded him like fleeting shadows. Despite his best efforts, Gale couldn't find the right words, and frustration was mounting.
He missed Tara, his dear Tressym companion, who had always been his confidante, muse, and ever-faithful companion. Her feline wisdom and gentle purrs had often helped him break through writer's block, but she was nowhere to be found; she was probably back home in Waterdeep.
Gale dipped his quill into the inkwell again, determined to break through the barrier holding him captive. He closed his eyes and summoned memories of his beloved, trying to recall every detail of her laughter and smile. He wanted nothing more than to immortalize his feelings for her in verse, but try as he might, the words remained stubbornly out of reach.
Frustration and longing were bubbling within him, threatening to consume him whole. He yearned to pour his heart out onto the page, to express the depths of his love, but he couldn't find the right words. So, he closed his journal and set aside his quill, resigned that some things were beyond his grasp. For now, all he could do was wait, hope, and dream of the day when he finally found the words to express his love for her.
#bg3 gale#gale of waterdeep#gale x tav#gale baldurs gate 3#gale bg3#gale dekarios#gale fanfic#gale fluff#gale romance#gale x reader#galemance#bg3 gale dekarios#gale#gale dekarios x reader#tav x gale#tara the tressym
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