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gentil-minou · 8 months

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Wei Wuxian licks his lips and leans forward slightly, walking his fingers across the countertop aimlessly toward Lan Zhan. “You know, Lan Zhan,” he drawls, “A-Yuan says we’re both in the book.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan responds, tracking the path of his fingers intently, “I am apparently Hanguang-jun, the moral upstanding hero.”

“And I’m the devious Yiling Loazu, who led you astray,” he smirks, peering at Lan Zhan through his lashes.

Lan Zhan meets his stare, head-on, lit from within like molten sunshine. “No,” he corrects, “not astray, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian tilts his head, waiting for him to continue. His fingers stop their dancing, resting just inches away from Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan shifts his own hand, bringing them even closer, their fingertips almost brushing.

“The Yiling Loazu did not lead Hanguang-jun astray,” he says, eyes piercing as they flicker between Wei Wuxian’s. “They were partners, and…”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian breathes, “the decent romance?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, watching him closely. The pupils of his eyes have grown so large there’s only the tiniest ring of gold around the edge. He can see himself reflected in the black. He thinks he likes the version of himself that lives in Lan Zhan’s eyes.

They’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the other to take a step forward, bracing for a fall.

It should be terrifying, this sudden drop into something completely new, something entirely unknown yet so familiar. But Wei Wuxian is filled with conviction that no matter what, Lan Zhan will catch him.

It's as electrifying as it is calming, this certainty that here, with Lan Zhan, he is safe.

Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side in a way he knows sets the unmarked skin of his neck on display. “I’m sure it was more than just decent, with a handsome hero like Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Zhan quirks an eyebrow, his gaze resting on the curve of Wei Wuxian’s neck, just as he’d hoped. "Handsome?"

“Well,” Wei Wuxian responds, tapping his index finger so it brushes against Lan Zhan’s fingertips. His skin is soft and perfect, just like the rest of him. “He isn’t wrong. You’re very handsome, Lan Zhan.”

“Really, Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, voice quiet and deep.

“Yep, definitely worthy of being compared to the beautiful Second Jade of Lan.”

“Is that so?” Lan Zhan shifts closer, the smell of him filling up Wei Wuxian. He smells so familiar, like something he knows intimately. Sandalwood, Wei Wuxian realizes, with sudden clarity.

Lan Zhan continues, “I would love to hear more about your opinion on my beauty and prestige, Wei Ying.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Lan Zhan. Why would you care what I think?”

Lan Zhan tilts his head, only just. “Do I need to? To want to know how your brain works?”

I commissioned this lovely artwork by the wonderful @lotuslate of a scene from my fic, once upon a time, 很久很久以前 where the entire cultivation world is cursed to live in the modern world without their memories and abilities, but of course wangxian find a way to fall in love all over again.

#i've been staring at this art for days they're one of my fave mdzs artist i am not worthy T__T #look at them falling in love before shenanigans try to keep them apart!!#im planning to post chapter 3 next week maybe by the end og the weekend #it's an absolute beast at 15k but it also introduces a bunch of characters im excited for hehe #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #chen qing ling #wangxian #mdzs fanfiction #the untamed fanfic #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #mxtxnet #mdzs ouat au #bushy writing #okay now that the tags are out of the way prepare for anxiety rant: commissioning art for my fic was one of the best and most anxiety thing #i've ever had to do like it's actually insane #on the one hand i love my fic so much but also i do not feel worthy of such pretty art and talent (except i paid for it and supported an #artist i really admire which makes me dumb brain extra silly) but yeah this enitire week since i first got it i basically had to play #with my anxiety in the worst way and its been awful and i want to share this art cause its so great but also i want to cry cause i feel #unworthy BUT! i am by posting this telling that anxiety to shut up and continue promoting a fic i'm really proud and excited for and #hopefully opening the floodgates so i have the confidence to commission more artwork in the future because seeing the words i write in a pi #is just about one of the most incredible feelings aNYWAYS

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edgeray · 2 months

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Arlecchino is a cold person.

(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb)

It's no suprise to anyone. It is simply an objective fact of the matter. She is aware of this. The House of the Hearth is aware of this. The Fatui are aware of this. It's ironic given the nature of her vision, but it nonetheless rings true despite the fire she possesses on her blackened fingertips. She is callous and curt, and underneath her skin there is nothing except frigid ice that envelopes her being like a fitted coat. She speaks with no warmth, acts with the absence of heat, exists in a constant state of cold emptiness--a state in which there is a void inside of her, as if sucking all that is human of her.

Years ago, when she was just a child of the same orphanage she headed, she had naive thoughts of finding companionship, someone who would provide the warmth she sought on lonesome nights. She was barely just an adolescent who dreamed of lying in someone's arms, feel the heartbeat of another so surely, it would remind her that she was indeed alive. For even the briefest of moments, she yearned for someone who would, if not shield, then distract her from the cruelties of this world. She had shed those foolish wishes aside. In the House of the Heart that she was raised in, such notions were admonished, in fact, the wishful thinking was one of the reasons she had nearly lost her life. Never again, she had promised to herself, when she mercilessly beat the backstabber. It was then that she believed when the time came, her tale would end the same way as it began for her: alone. As the years of being a Fatui, then becoming a Fatui Harbinger, hardened her, there was comfort in that view.

That is what she believed in. Until you came.

Iciness wraps her being. It is present in her expression, in her words, in her touch. But that is exactly why she finds solace in your being. Her vision could only grant her a synthetic flame, but, you, you're an everlasting hearth. She melts in your embrace every time she slots herself in your arms, as it feels like a kindling ignited in her heart. It is only with you, that she learns how warmth can be found in.

Arlecchino is a cold person.

It is why you, as a warm one, is perfect for her. You whisk away the most depraved thoughts, ease her of any emotional and mental turmoil, and you do not treat her with the same coldness as the world seems so fond of doing to her. You are her flame, the one that sparks her being and reminds her that she is alive because her heart beats with you, beats for you.

Except you are cold now. It is unfathomable to her how you can be this way when your entire being exists to warm her, but when she touches your skin, you are unbearably frozen. Your body does not tremble like it does when her clawed fingers ever so gently trace your skin. The corner of your lips doesn't quirk up into the usual small smile of yours when she appears in your sight, but they remain ever rigid like the rest of you. Uncharacteristically, your expression doesn't soften with her presence.

You are cold, just like her. And that makes her afraid. Her hand searches for it, prodding your skin for a familiar thumping that is nowhere to be found. You continue to stare at her, unblinking. Here would be the moment where you give her a beaming smirk and you'd cup her face tenderly as if she was glass. And she would let you, because you are her beloved, who has watched her shatter so many times before and wordlessly each shard back together, and it is for that reason that she would lean closer towards your touch.

Because you lie broken in her arms and her hands are stained again with the familiar color of red. Your eyes are glossy and gaze unblinkingly at her. Frozen. Even when you are covered in your blood, you are beautiful, she notes, but oh, so cold that it makes her doubt if you were warm to begin with.

She misses your warmth. Where has it gone? Or has it died along with you?

Her hearth is gone. And as she clings onto your form, her body wracking with a fear and desperation she's never known before, two revelations come to her: that there is no such thing as an everlasting fire, and even after so many years ago, she was right along.

Arlecchino is a cold person. And she will remain always cold.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #i wrote this instead of writing the actual oneshot I was planning to publish on Wednesday #whoops #i was in a little angsty mood 🥰#that's mbad #if it comforts you the next oneshot is pretty wholesome #surprisingly whipped this up in like... an hour or so #is this my usual quality? no but #this was kinda fun #i haven't written angst in a while so this was good outlet #did you guys know I'm primarily an angst writer? :) because I am #and you will see that in the future #edgeray.blog #edgeray.writes

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osamusriceballs · 9 months

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Last-Minute Plans

Ushijima x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW (cockwarming, rather soft)

Words: ~ 1,5 k

About: Wakatoshi got a ring for you, and he needs to make sure it fits.

A/n: Happy Birthday to our beloved Wakatoshi-kun~

"It fits,"

he mumbles with a sigh of relief, one he hadn't realized he was holding. He looks contently at the jewelry now adorning your ring finger.

Ushijima knows that he's late with this. He should have attempted this plan a long time ago; he despises last-minute actions. Lately, however, you've insisted on waiting until he returns home late from practice due to extended training sessions just before the crucial match, making it impossible for him to secretly slip that ring onto your finger to see if it fits. He's aware he hasn't been giving you the time you deserve lately, but he's determined to make it up as soon as he can. He intends to spoil you as soon as the match is over and his schedule finally allows him to have more free time, treating you like the princess you are.

He had nearly abandoned the idea of trying the ring on your finger. He considered simply hoping for the best, planning to alter the ring quickly after proposing if it didn't fit. He knows you wouldn't have minded, but he wanted this moment to be perfect. The first difficulty he had encountered, however, was that you had rings in various sizes in your jewelry box- probably for different fingers, but even after sorting through them, he was still not convinced that he chose the right size.

Relief washes over him as he sees the ring fitting comfortably, and for a short moment, he envisions your future together. He dreams of having you sleep beside him every night, of going on the vacation you've always dreamed of, and of giving you the beautiful wedding ceremony you've always wanted. He's already asked Tendou to be his best man and informed his parents of his plans. He even decided to send his father a notice that his son will be getting married soon—hopefully.

The ring looks stunning on your hand. It's noticeable yet subtly elegant. He's confident you'll love it; you've often praised his taste, describing him as simple in his choices, which you adore.

His gaze drifts to your peaceful sleeping form. You must be exhausted not to have woken up yet. Normally, you'd wait until he returns or awaken when he quietly lies down beside you, an act he's yet to master. You'd always greet him with a tender kiss, a gesture he cherishes most during his days and misses the most when he's away. Yet, you sleep soundly, your face soft, breathing steady. You're wearing one of his shirts, the old Shiratorizawa jersey you claim is the comfiest—adorable on you, he agrees.

He's fairly certain you're wearing only flimsy panties beneath, but he'll take his sweet time tomorrow to explore every inch of your body.

"Toshi," your sleepy voice pulls him from his daydreams, and he quickly hides the ring, clutching your hand in his. You stir, turning towards him, brows furrowing as you reach out blindly.

"Y/n, go back to sleep. It's late," he murmurs in a soothing tone, knowing you find his voice calming.

"I missed you," you groan, squinting your eyes as you try to make out his face in the dimly lit room.

"I missed you too," he replies, smiling softly and leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. You smile in return, bringing your free hand to his cheek, a bit clumsily—almost slapping his face, but he doesn't mind; he is simply happy having you close.

"You haven't shaved today," you mumble as you caress his cheek. He hums in response. "I forgot. Does it bother you?"

"No, it doesn't. But you never forget to shave. What was on your mind today?"

You, he thinks, but for once, he refrains from sharing his thoughts. He needs to distract you, to take back the ring unnoticed. How you haven't noticed it so far surprises him.

"I was thinking about…" he begins, his voice trailing off, unsure how to respond without you getting suspicious.

"Wakatoshi, come to bed. You seem really tired," you yawn, and he suddenly knows what he needs to do.

Ushijima leans down to kiss you again, this time deepening the kiss with more passion. He feels your response, your body arching into his touch, your lips moving in sync with his.

"Toshi," you're already breathless after a few kisses, and he finally feels your hand relax, fingers intertwining with his with the metal still on your finger. He typically holds your hand more firmly, but now he keeps his grip gentle, ensuring you don't feel the ring on your finger. With his free hand, he traces the hem of your shirt, his fingers gliding beneath the fabric, encountering the softness of your skin.

"Want you, but I'm tired," you whisper against his lips, prompting him to nuzzle against your neck. "Should I pleasure you? Should I make you feel full?" You moan softly and weakly nod, your eyes barely open in the dark room. Unbeknownst to you, a wave of relief washes over him. This may not be going exactly as he planned, but making love to you with the ring already on your finger is better than he could have imagined.

He quickly runs through potential scenarios in which he could smoothly slide the ring off your finger, deciding to position himself behind you while maintaining a hold on your hand in front of your body. Shifting his body weight, he maneuvers behind you until his chest presses against your back. He skillfully settles beneath the blanket without releasing your hand, making sure not to tighten his grip around your fingers. His lips find your neck, where he places the gentlest kisses against your skin, earning the softest, most beautiful moans from your lips. His hips begin to rhythmically move against your backside, and he feels how he hardens in his pants.

You contently hum while you lean into his touch, raising one leg to allow him to slip his thigh between yours. "Feels good," you murmur as he starts a grinding motion against your pussy. He feels his growing need, a nearly instinctive response to your body. His earlier suspicion about you wearing only his shirt and panties appears accurate; that much he notices when his shorts ride up and his bare thigh grinds against your cunt. As much as he wants the feeling of your bare skin against his, he knows that undressing might raise too much suspicion. Instead, he guides his free hand downward, gently tracing circles against your clothed center.

"You're so perfect. So beautiful. I love you so much," he whispers into your ear, causing you to shudder in his arms. Your grip on his hand tightens, while your other hand softly clutches the sheets. He understands your needs. Grateful that he's still wearing the soft shorts, he pushes them down slightly, quickly freeing his cock.

"Should I use some lube?" he asks, concern lacing his voice, worried about hurting you since he hasn't fully prepared you yet—a truly challenging task when ensuring your hand remains held and he can only use one hand properly.

"Think I'm wet enough," you mumble, and he dips two fingers between your folds to confirm, and he is rewarded with enough arousal to forget about his worries.

As much as he wants to ravish you right now, he knows you would probably drift off to sleep if he makes love to you tenderly—so that's precisely what he does. He gently spreads your legs further with his thigh, allowing his cock to rest between your legs. It has almost become a routine for him to set aside your panties and gradually ease his cock inside you- a practice that you often do after he comes home late from his practice sessions.

A breathy moan escapes your lips at the stretch, and he feels his own body tensing at the sensation of your soft walls around him. He continues to push until he's fully inside of you. You always take him so well—it feels breathtaking to be buried deep inside you. He still hopes you'll succumb to sleep in this embrace, even though he's surely wide awake himself.

"Feels good," you hum, your breathing gradually returning to a steady rhythm. He pulls you closer, inhaling the soothing flowery scent of your hair- a scent that always brings him comfort and calms his mind when he can't seem to rest. You might not fully grasp how much he loves you—how every fiber of his being yearns for you, how he wishes for you to be happy and to be his. This is precisely why he plans to propose to you tomorrow and to place the ring back on your finger. You wouldn't refuse him on his birthday, would you?

"Sleep well, my love."

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yeoldenews · 5 months

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A mother's word for word transcription of the imaginary phone call her four-year-old made to Santa Claus in 1911.

(source: The Harbor Beach Times, December 22, 1911.)

Through some outrageous case of serendipity I found a recording of another phone call this same child made 60 years later. Though I have to say his choice of conversational partner is a definite downgrade from the first call.

#I've started using 'our bees are all dead' as my standard filler during lulls in conversation #and no I am not kidding #that is actually 64 year old George Arthur Lincoln in the recording #I'm writing up a bio of him that will hopefully be up within a few days #because this kid grew up to be involved in Forrest Gump levels of 20th century historical events #he was the youngest american general in wwii and was involved in the strategy of d-day and the planned invasion of Japan #he was at yalta and potsdam #he started a social sciences department at West Point #which resulted in his students being called commies because why should soldiers study culture and economics instead of shoot gun at thing #he ended up as the director of the office of emergency preparedness while nixon was president - hence the phone call #this poor man had to sit through so many meetings with Henry Kissinger #his younger brother (Waunce from the letter) was also a general #they were known as 'big abe' and 'little abe'

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theminecraftbee · 1 month

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every time i exit like, an exchange writing period, and i no longer have a deadline, i start to become dizzy with "i should be writing right now--no writing??? i do NOT need to be writing right now??? cannot be right?????? writing??????"

anyway i've decided to use a poll to make you all into people who can create a deadline for me (and also i've started using habitica and want to try to write a LITTLE daily). there's no guarantee this is the one i'll actually go with given i've asked this like SIX TIMES in the past few months but this time it is a poll and also this time i'm trying to start writing daily again, so maybe this time it'll stick, idk??? so:

#bangs my head against a wall. sorry i keep using you all to judge interest to then judge whether i want to write something.#i am running into this problem where a lot of my wips are either busy waiting because they're for zines so i can't actually post them #i'm out of exchanges i actually wanna join until recursive opens to authors #and i really DO want to write something without deadline it's just that that's scary.#SO. i am like. out here trying to hold myself accountable i guess?#if it helps the one i'm currently MOST likely to write is the space heist i just have to figure out how to plan it #however if there's a bunch of interest in any of these i'll probably do that #especially since several of these are like. active wips. they Have Writing.

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bongo-clash · 2 years

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Peacock Au Part 1

Okay so Big Huge credit to @stealingyourbones for letting me do my own take on their amazing eldritch Danny idea!!!! This started out as me just doing a drawing but then I ended up with a whole DPxDC fic that I'll be posting the part two for at some point!!! Anyway, here's the vague designs:

And here's the part one of the fic under the cut!!! :D (Edit: Part 2 is Here!!)

There’s a Lazarus Pit forming underneath Gotham. Normally, this would not concern John Constantine at all, because it’s Gotham, therefore Bat territory therefore not his problem, and honestly he has his own things to worry about. Unfortunately for him, however, the infamous Dark Knight has somehow gotten it into his head that he can do something about it and, Hell, he’d said it would be a ‘big favour’, which meant the man really must be desperate; had to have been in the first place, he supposed, to have even bothered with John in the first place.

Still, he’d almost kind of forgotten what a huge mess any kind of favour for Batman could be, and thus, he now holds possession of a book that is probably going to get him killed.

Whether the actual book itself wants to kill him is up for debate, but Constantine has read the contents of this particular Book of Summonings and nothing in here seems remotely safe. He’s absolutely going to be hiding this away somewhere deep in the archives of the archives of the Justice League watchtower with an incredibly pointed ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ on it once he’s done with this, but for now, it’s the only thing he’s got in the way of sorting out this Pit problem.

There’s an entity that exists, this book claims, that keeps the balance between realms. ‘Closes doors’, apparently, and the doors the pages depict certainly look like a Lazarus Pit. This is brilliant news, obviously, but the book doesn’t describe the entity itself at all beyond that; barely any of the other entries are as vague as this, and that plus some of the frankly bizarre sigils he’s having to draw to summon the damn thing are giving him no comfort. The only remotely comforting thing about it is that the ritual doesn’t require any blood- which either means the entity is benign, or it wants something more valuable than blood.

…Okay, maybe not that comforting, actually.

But, before he can consider that maybe this wasn’t his best idea and backing out would be for the best, the sigils flare with light, and Constantine squints to keep track of the way they activate, desperate for any indication of what he’s managed to summon with that stupid book.

His feet feel feathery against the ground, like they’re barely tethered by gravity and just waiting to float away, and perhaps the seeming lack of atmosphere is fitting with how dust like stars lift from the summoning circle, bringing with them intercepting layers of purple-blue-pink-white, galaxies and nebulae being peeled off the floor. It comes with a sound- something whistling, almost. Seeming hollow, between a shriek and a bell ringing, or maybe more musical than that. It seems to change every moment he tries to focus on it, as if it’s something his ears can’t really hear but his brain is desperate to process, painful to try.

And then, the entity begins to form.

Unnoticeably at first, a white glow drifts forming in the centre. It congeals as Constantine’s gaze finally fixates on it, layers forming like jellyfish trails, or flowers, or peacock feathers with runic circles at the tips, fading smaller and smaller as they reach the centre, and a thing akin to a body unfolds into view at the front, a centrepiece. A child’s image of a shadow in opalescence, a strange curving feature where a neck might be, and searing-green spots of varying sizes scattered along the space where cheeks and eyes could’ve been, fading up and down across the lower-half of the ‘face’ and into the ‘hair’. He barely understands what he’s looking at, but maybe that’s the point.

The sound of a thunderstorm rings across the room, and the curve of the neck unfolds, and it’s an eye, and the tips of a thousand twisted, cosmic peacock feathers become eyes as well, if they weren’t always. They move, wavering, either lashing or flickering from visibility.

“And what is this?” The voice is a kaleidoscope, echoing off and from every corner of the room, and when they speak, infinite eyes become infinite mouths, too many teeth barely contained by the edges of what seem vaguely like frostbitten lips. To have something even remotely human suddenly etch itself onto the entity is somehow worse than the parts he can’t comprehend. “Who are you, to have summoned me, and seem so afraid?”

Constantine wishes, maybe for the first time, that it hadn’t been an obligation to do this alone; he’s never wanted Batman or one of the Light members with him more than now. It’s a difficult thing, almost impossible, to shake off the speechlessness. It’s a wonder that it’s possible at all, with how the room seems to have been twisted into a vacuum. “I was told you could- you could help with the pits?”

“The pits. There are many pits.”

God, this is creepy. “The Lazarus pits to, uh, to be specific. There’s a huge one cropping up under Gotham that’s not supposed to be there, and the local- I mean, the locals are getting antsy about it. …I heard you can take care of them.”

“I can smell its blood between the gaps of atmosphere, encircling. You, whose soul is bound in so many directions, who may be pulled apart like meat in time- can you sense it? Does it draw you?” John doesn’t know how this- this thing knows that, but he’s scared asking will invoke some kind of consequence, and more and more he’s wondering why the Hell he decided to do Batman this favour. He feels exposed.

“Uh… no, I don’t think so. But can you fix it?”

“Yes.”

“…Will you fix it?”

The chill is getting to him. Goosebumps are running across his arms like a livewire, and he’s never doing anyone a favour ever again. The entity makes an approximation of a hum, his ears shriek with whale song and stars, and after a pause, everything switching up and down on itself, the peacock eyes form into huge, reaching hands. For a second, Constantine’s whole body freezes with terror, because he’s petrified the thing’s going to grab him, but then the arms tumble phasing into the ground, and the green spots on their ‘face’ flare with a supernova glow and they make another piercing noise, chiming or trilling.

A long moment later, the hands slowly return to the entity’s back, and fade into the peacock feathers or jellyfish bells or whatever they were before, blinking at him. “It is gone.”

“Uh… cheers?”

“It will not return, but this place shall see its dead for some time. Try not to look.”

This is maybe the worst day of Constantine’s life. “Can I- uh, yeah, great advice. ‘Appreciate it. But, can I ask just, y’know, what you are? Or not.”

“That is up to you.” They say, and though the eyes that appear briefly between sentences bely or reveal no expression, it feels scrutinising. “What is it that closes doors? Is it alive?”

He hates riddles. He hates riddles and he hates cosmic horrors and he hates eldritch entities and he hates Batman for getting him to agree to this horrible favour. He wants to go back to the House of Mystery and pass out for long enough that this whole thing becomes a dream. “Fair enough! Forget I asked- cheers for sorting out that pit, though. Uh, don’t suppose you’ll just let me go on my way or anything now.”

“I know of your Bat.”

Oh dear. Constantine’s stomach sinks like a shipwreck into the Mariana Trench, but the entity moves on like they’d never even said it. “I will recede, and find you in time, perhaps both. You will know when I am coming, and I will find my recompense.”

And just like that, their whole form shimmers into clouds and pearls and smoke and mirrors, and they fade back into the runes that summoned them like tap water down the drain. The galaxies they’d formulated within the confines of the room fold back in on themselves and turn to whispers and then nothing, but the feeling persists on his skin long after weight has settled back onto his bones. He hadn’t known a thing like that existed until now. He doesn’t know what it can do, doesn’t know how all-encompassing it truly is.

And he owes it a favour.

Crap.

#I'll be posting the part two at some point soon since it's already written out so prepare for that lmao!!#Warning that there might be some mistakes in here since I literally just wrote this and the second part a couple hours ago #This is a Little bit of a thing about my hc on the Ghost Monarchy and how it isn't Actually a monarchy #It's just that the 'king' keeps the actual physical balance of the GZ (ie natural portal stuff) & the title originally had a different name #But when Pariah Dark took the mantle he decided it made him the ruler of the GZ and that's why the Ancients took him down #But I'll talk more abt that if I ever get around to finishing that GZ culture/history/evolution post thing I had planned lmao!!!!#Either way I Love Eldritch Danny sm and writing this was so so fun!!!#Part two will be from Danny's perspective!!!#I might colour those drawings and stuff at some point but for now I like them as they are!!!#Also before I forget I Am still thinking about that pizza delivery guy pt. 2 I just got stuck a bit!!! It'll hopefully appear at some point #dp au #danny phantom au #dpxdc #john constantine #danny phantom fanart #dp fanart #danny phantom #Bongo's Aus!!!#Bongo's Writing!!!#Bongo's Art!!!#tw body horror #peacock au

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 10 months

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I'm in love with your drawing of Wally and Howdy fighting over the arm. I love how mad Poppy is. Her saying "is2g" gave me the idea that she starts cussing more the longer she has to deal with this bs. And I'm also imagining Frank leaning against Eddie's hat saying "oh Eddie we're really in it now"

10 out of 10 artwork. Good job. No notes.

it has been Well Received it seems! i'm very pleased, i was hoping i wouldn't be the only one who found it funny ahaha

and i couldn't resist:

#if poppy knew swears she would probably end up using them yeah #but none of them know swears! if i scribble them swearing its for Comedic Effect!#because children's show puppets saying 'fuck' is peak humor imo #thinking very hard about the four of them and their experiences together #wh lights out au #scribble salad #rambles from the bog #god. one day i want to fuckin Write this au.#because i dont have it in me to plan out scribbles and draw 'comics' for it In Order #so yall are just getting bits and pieces from random parts #i do want to write it though #i need to know them i need to Know Them for that #their speech patterns their likes their dislikes their vernacular their voices their emotions their opinions and quirks #hopefully this desire to write for it persists through that point #i suppose i could... write a shitty rough draft #a very bland rough draft that would just be the basics...#that could make it easier for future me to edit and tweak and ReWrite #i am Considering....#hopefully i manage to write the Actual au and not just the aftermath which takes up 90% of the au's room in my head #but that is something i won't be talking about!#if the au gets written it'd be a Massive Spoiler! plus i'd probably write th aftermath as a companion sequel! maybe two!#for the different perspectives of course. or it would be a bonus fic where each chapter is a snapshot... hm thinking Thinking...

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icewindandboringhorror · 1 year

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Just curious what the average level of personal investment in these sorts of things is. Like, how much do people usually get into silly stuff like this their friends ask of them? etc. etc. Which I know, only surveying a small sample on a very specific website means I'm not getting an exact average idea lol, but.. curious nonetheless .. Maybe reblog for bigger sample size but also this is not very serious at all/not worth a call to action gbhjbhjb

#which I know this could be context dependent like.. maybe you'd normally dress up but on a week that #you feel sick you wouldn't or etc. etc. - but I mean.. GENERALLY. in the most general average scenario #where you have the average amount of health and free time that you always do. etc. just based on your personality #and level of investment in these things - what on AVERAGE are you most inclined to do #also of course assume they communicate with you ahead of time and are not like planning a part last minute #like 'throw together costume in 5 hours and show up tonight randomly' or etc. I would hope that if we're going with the #AVERAGE of things - most people's friends have better communication skills than springing entire parties #on people last minute lol #assume you have like.. a few days-a week or so to prepare. however ealrly people usually start talking about #birthdays. In my experience it's usually one or two weeks ahead of time. Like 'oh next weekend' or 'oh two weeks from now' etc.#ANYWAY.. feeling a little Sick again of course but still trying to get some photos or something posted #AGAIN i promise I am not going to exlcusively post polls and ntohing else forever hgkjgnekj #I just really really love the ability to post polls and have always my whole life been obsessed with surveying people #I used to think I wanted to do that as a career somehow like.. be one of the people that does psychological interviews #or produce interview asessments for a company or etc. etc. I am always the one friend in the group thats giving out custom made #surveys or asking for other simialr stuff (did you ever take an mbti quiz? how about enneagra #m?? oh yeah I know they're not really scientifically valid or antyhing but like... DID you take them?? huh?? did you??please?? ghjj)#I simply cannot resist.. posting a little poll every once in a while.. as a treat #whilst I still fall behind on like actual content and costumes and stuff gbjhbjh #New poll adventure should be not as much of a wait as the last one was though since I already have the writing #for it really. I just have to do the ms paint sketch. hopefully no unexpected other health issues will get in the way #*** *** ***#< (anytime I do these three star patterns it is an ocd compulsion not me bleeping out words or something just ignore it lol)#(it means something secret in my evil brain just pretend you do not see it. significant only to me)#BUT YEAH.. ... poll... what type of costume party atendee are you?#:0c

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sensitiveheartless · 1 month

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What’s A Rose in Fairyland about?

Thanks for the asks about this one @azapofinspiration, @duodipersponsh, and anon!! Alright, the original story, hehehe >:D I have been having a lot of fun plotting this one out! The basic premise is:

Right on the very outskirts of Fairyland, there is a small village of humans. Now, the forest of Fairyland is known for being very very bad for humans, as in "if you go in you'll never come back out", so they really shouldn't be living there — but in their defense, their village was not always on the edge of Fairyland.

Fairyland has been growing. Very rapidly. And it is now consuming their village, and no one knows why.

Most people in the village flee, but by then some of the residents have been infected by the roots of the forest. This means they cannot go too far from Fairyland, or else they'll become rooted in the ground and turn into trees, thus expanding the forest even further.

Pretty soon there's only a scattered group of people left in the outskirts of the village, both infected and not, watching their old houses be consumed. They know they can't survive there forever. Even if food weren't an issue (most of their farmland is now forest), there are monsters in the woods. Living too close makes it all too likely that they'll end up eaten.

So the main character of the story, Rose, decides to venture into Fairyland herself and figure out what the hell is going on with the fae.

...Unfortunately, Rose has all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and cannot pick up on subtext to save her life.

You can imagine how this might become a problem when facing a forest full of tricksters.

But yeah! Most of the story is gonna take place in Fairyland itself, and there's going to be some mystery elements, as well as character stuff — also, I have been really enjoying figuring out how the ecology of Fairyland is going to work! Fantasy ecology is so fun to mess around with (magic as an additional energy source!!)

I'll put an excerpt under the cut (since this is already getting a bit long lol), as well as some art I've been working on of Rose :D

Rose pushed through the brush, ignoring the tug of briars at her cloak, and emerged into a clearing.

It was brighter than the surrounding forest, but only slightly. The sun was still filtered through layers and layers of greenery that turned the light heavy and liquid, oozing down from above like honey. The few sunbeams that made their way to earth illuminated circling insects, their threadlike wings catching in the light as they whirled about in the air.

The clearing seemed entirely empty, but the surrounding trees appeared almost uncomfortably close to being a perfect circle. Rose thought about the fairy rings spoken of in childhood tales, and narrowed her eyes.

Still. It was the most direct path to take, wasn’t it?

The moss covering the ground was so dense and damp that Rose’s boots sunk into it with every step she took. She avoided stepping on the many mushrooms pushing up from the earth, remembering Martha’s warning about disturbing them. Rose really didn’t need her feet turning to wood while she tried to walk.

Suddenly, she paused.

Inside her lantern, the salamander had begun behaving oddly.

While before it had been peacefully curled around the candle’s wick, slumbering away, the creature was now crawling in rapid circles, seemingly in a panic.

“What’s the matter?” Rose asked, raising the lantern up to eye level so she could study the salamander closer. “You want out now?”

She crouched down and unlatched the front glass panel to free it, but the salamander didn’t take the offered exit. Instead, it dove straight into the flame itself and huddled there, quivering, its big eyes reflecting the fire as it stared back at Rose.

“Hmm,” said Rose.

She relatched the panel and stood, holding the lantern close to her chest. Then, with her free hand, she drew her sword, and held it before them both.

It felt a bit silly to be brandishing the blade at thin air — nothing was moving, aside from the lazily drifting insects. Still, the salamander had to be frightened of something.

“I’ll protect you,” she told the bundle of anxious flames, and strode forward with grim determination.

Before she had gone more than a single step further, she was caught around the waist by an arm, and yanked backwards against what felt like a human chest.

Without looking or thinking twice, Rose thrust the pommel of her sword back over her shoulder with every ounce of her strength.

The blow must have hit its mark, for she was released at once, and whatever had grabbed her let out a startled yelp of agony.

“Ow,” the voice said emphatically.

Rose whirled around, ready to strike again, only to find a human-shaped person there, doubled over and clutching at their face.

“By all the ancient wealds, what a prickly human!” the figure laughed, voice a little strained. “A little quick on the draw, aren’t you?”

When their hands lowered from their face, Rose could see the person was wearing a mask made of bark that hid all of their features, save for a rough pair of holes for their eyes. They were taller than her, and clad in an oddly fine-fabriced tunic and breeches of earthen tones.

Most importantly, however, their ears were long and pointed, standing out from amidst their long dark curls. An elf.

Rose leveled her sword at the elf, scowling. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Ah, not even a hello? How impolite,” the elf bemoaned. Then they swept a deep bow, apparently fully recovered. “I am Silvian of the Luminescent Grove, or as some might call me, he who wanders. And who might you be, little human?”

“Why did you grab me?” Rose asked, ignoring the question.

Silvian paused, then pointed a rather long spindly finger behind her towards the center of the clearing. “...There’s a swallower pit just ahead,” he said plaintively. “You were about to walk straight into it, so I thought I should stop you.”

Rose glanced behind her at the seemingly empty clearing, then at the salamander in the lantern, still shivering away in the fire.

Oh. Maybe that was what scared it.

“But you needn’t take my word for it,” Silvian added, leaning down to snatch a loose twig up from the moss. “Behold!”

With that, he chucked the twig past her, landing it straight in the middle of the clearing.

In the next instant, a broad chasm opened up beneath the twig, and what seemed to be a hundred spines erupted in a circle around the hole, barely an arm’s length away from where Rose stood. She jumped back at once, hiding the lantern and salamander in her cloak, and watched with wide eyes as the many spines dove inwards on the twig to drag it down into the dark depths of the earth.

Once the twig was gone, a small fountain of dirt spewed up from the hole, filling it back in at once. It looked a little like a mole hill—but it sank in on itself rapidly, moss growing back across it at an unnatural pace, until the center of the clearing was just as still and peaceful as before.

There were a few less insects in the air above the pit, but the rest of the bugs seemed unperturbed by the loss of their comrades.

Rose waited a few seconds until her heart had stopped racing. Then she sheathed her sword, turned back to Silvian, and bowed. “In that case, my apologies. I acted hastily,” she said gravely.

Silvian’s head cocked to one side, as though surprised by this. Then he laughed, and his eyes twinkled at her from behind his mask. “Don’t mention it! If you wish to make it up to me…why not give me your name, little human?”

“I’m—” Rose began, then stopped.

Thought for a moment, remembering Reuben’s words.

Whatever you do, don’t give a fae your true name.

“—Me,” Rose finished firmly. “I’m myself, and I’m not falling for that.”

…Nevermind that she almost had, the very moment he asked her. Hmm. She would have to be more on guard, it would seem.

(And here is my WIP of Rose and her kinda fucked up sword)

#while plotting this one out I have come to the realization that some of the later plot elements are uh—#possibly the meanest I've ever been to my own characters #so that'll be fun to write lol #anyway thank you for letting my ramble about my oc plot this was very fun to write out :D #this is the first original plot I've made in a while where I actually have a solid plan for the entire thing! I am excited aksfjksdjf #senhart's writing #original story #a rose in fairyland

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