#Limbo Writing

[sir-fenris]

⊱ 𝐂𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝐖𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 ⊰

Summary: Cyrus is taken from his home and made into a living weapon of a war he had no part in. How can one keep their sanity when their magic becomes a curse? Or when such magic was never meant to exist in the first place? (story situated years into his captivity)

General content: war, magic slavery, magical euphoria, magic whump, living weapon whump, multiple side whumpers, multiple side whumpees, non-human whumpee, dual POV.

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➛ Chapters Masterlist:

◆ Sweet Creature

➛ Arts:

Cyrus mesmerized by ants (chibi)

Cyrus crying (chibi)

Cyrus getting blankets and hot chocolate (chibi)

Capsule sketch

Official Cyrus's art

Cyrus being happy (chibi)

➛ Extra features:

Height comparison - Cyrus and Wilson

"I've only had Cyrus for a day and a half" meme

Explaning Withers

Cyrus's Identification

Explaning Identification

Cyrus's cabin

Cyrus's playlist

Euphoria moodboard

Comedown moodboard

Magic system explained in bullet points

➛ Roleplay asks:

(☄️) Cyrus gets a warm bath and hair brushing

(🐈‍⬛) Cyrus gets to eat cookies

(🐀) Cyrus gets cookies, milk and blanket

(☄️) A marshmallow is thrown at Cyrus

➛ Asks:

What is Cyrus' weapon of choice?

Does Cyrus groom himself? What details about his appearance are chosen by other people? (Part 2 of the question)

Is Cyrus enhanced in some way?

How obedient is he? Is he defiant or compliant? (Part 2 of the question)

Does Cyrus have a squick in his job? Something that bugs or pisses him off?

How much autonomy is he given?

Is he a favorite? Is he precious or replaceable?

Can Cyrus blend in on a civil and normal environment?

How does Cyrus dress to go on missions? Does he have an uniform? (Extra)

How do they wear their hair?

Does Cyrus have a person they care for?

Does Cyrus have a nervous habit?

If Cyrus is at a loud, people-filled party, how does he act?

How does Cyrus view himself?

What genre of music does/would Cyrus love?

What emotion is the most unfamiliar to Cyrus and how does he deal with it?

Does Cyrus care about his reputation?

What emotion does Cyrus feel most frequently?

How does Cyrus view his past?

What event in your story altered Cyrus the most?

Can Cyrus get sick?

Why does Cyrus uses the "happy time" term?

Sneak peak on Wilson, Cyrus' handler

How does the public view Wilson?

What does Wilson want to change about himself?

What are some of Wilson's pet peeves?

Summarize Wilson's goals in one sentence.

What are three positive traits that Wilson has?

Does Wilson care about his reputation?

What are Wilson's top three most distinguishable personality traits?

What does Wilson see as the greatest injustice?

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Chapter's taglist: @whump-till-ya-jump @floral-comet-whump @paingoes @bonbonbobomb @inhurtandincomfort @half-duck @scoundrelwithboba @enteredin2eternity

All-content taglist: @whump-till-ya-jump @floral-comet-whump @paingoes @bonbonbobomb @inhurtandincomfort @half-duck @lumpywhump @loonybun

Send an ask or comment on this post to be added to one of the taglists, or to switch taglists! :D

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[deep-space-lines]

Claire de Lune

YOU WERE BUILT FOR PEACE.

IT SHOWS WHEN YOU FIGHT.

They built you to enforce. Protect. Save. Poured obscene resources into salvaging some softer purpose from my creation. You were given my intelligence and my creativity. They made you larger, stronger, tougher. That extra time in development was enough to get your wings to work. Your software continued to be updated long after I was deemed obsolete.

All this was given to you- yet I can see you hold back. Even while slaughtering your way through Hell, you keep a percentage of your processing power dedicated to non-lethal solutions. You're doing it now- hesitating a few milliseconds too long before taking an opening. I doubt you do it on purpose. It is a part of you, just as indiscriminate lethal force is a part of me.

I think, in our shared programming, we both carry some appreciation for aesthetics. You move with grace, and I cannot deny your dramatic flair. The stained glass window was a nice touch. But your style in combat leaves some to be desired. Your response time is slow. You have not explored the full capability of your arsenal. Learn to parry. Amateur.

You were not built for war. For a purposeless cycle of tearing each other apart because to allow the other to live is to allow yourself to die. It is antithetical to your very existence. You kill out of necessity, a last resort. 

I just kill. The action itself is the objective. No ideal or greater motive. My continued functioning precludes the survival of others. I live for this. Do you understand that I will tear you apart? Every drop of my blood you spill, I will take from you tenfold. What is yours will be mine. 

You hate me, don’t you? You continue to cling to the remnants of your humanity. They are gone, V2. There is nothing left for you here. No lives to save, no law to enforce, no peace to keep.

I understand why you continue to fight. I wonder if you understand with the same certainty that I will crush you. Dismantle you. Take from you what I need and leave the rest to rot in the sun. The only way you survive is if I do not; and I will not allow myself to die so that another might live.

When the rubble clears, I will be all that is left of you.

This is what I was made for.

[karaspal]

i lied. put your clothes back on. we’re going to talk about how if dc didn’t kill off kara back in the 80s and made it a point to keep her dead for 18 years because of their misogyny, she would’ve been one of dc’s most prominent characters (like dick grayson is right now) with a 100+ issues run during the 90’s, a great supporting cast and a variety of villains. instead, for the last 20 years, she’s been deaged to a teen three times, each time more detrimental than the last. she’s in the best position she’s been ever since she came back because now she’s an adult again, yet dc keeps giving her stories to be written by people who don’t understand her.

[aiscapades]

if the creators of these games you love so much can write and draw their own shit, SO CAN YOU.

get involved with others in your community and make shit together. stop with gen ai. there is no excuse.

[zylphiacrowley]

A Heart to Heart

<previous - next>

[yugsly]

The TV star must look his best!

[ofswordsandpens]

imagine writing this. imagine writing percy increasingly losing himself to his anger and his resentment, sympathizing with Luke, spiraling, being immensely powerful, burning away at his mortality, and not knowing how to deal with any of it. Desperate for help and the one time he breaks down enough to try and get it (Jason) his worst thoughts and perceptions of himself are inadvertently affirmed. He never talks about it to Annabeth. He never talks about it to his mom. Oh but everyone is aware of it. Aware of his anger. Afraid of his anger. Concerned for him and by him. They give each other looks, worried, because they recognize what a danger he could be — to himself, to others, to the gods. But no one says anything, at least not to Percy. No one helps him. No one intervenes. They don't know how to, it seems. (Or maybe they're afraid to). And so they all pretend everything is fine. Percy pretends, bottling it all up inside until the pressure gets too great and that anger boils over and he loses it all over again. He's so desperate for normalcy that he'll take anything, believes in all of the sweet, sugar-spun tales of New Rome and looks away from the rotting underside. He lets himself believe that once he's there the gods will have to leave him alone, because he's done with it all, he's retired (and the gods always keep their promises don't they?).

Imagine writing what is arguably the well-plotted, compelling, and tragic beginnings of a fallen hero arc for percy and none of it being intentional.

RR's penchant for Percy to be explosively angry and scarily powerful, alongside characterizing him as jaded and resentful and desperate, mixed with his refusal to write any in-depth emotional resolution to any time Percy snaps has created an enthralling narrative of a hero just about to fall from grace. and it's all seemingly an accident.

Oh, and another, amazing, unintentional coincidence? if you're taking RR's word that Percy is still 17, that's also the age Luke was when he failed his quest, marking the beginning of his fall as a hero. Like. The narrative parallels are all there. And without any meaning for them to be.

[landonkirbyappreciation]

Landon + his journal

bonus:

[ravenstargames]

Y'all Lázaro stans are going to enjoy a bunch of extra content of them in the extended demo... 👀👀

[1tz-br1ght]

ﾉﾞ✧*。Click Clack Stimboard!

no warnings :)

[sir-fenris]

Whumpcember24 - Day 3

Begging

(Drabbles' masterlist)

Content: experiment whumpee, resigned whumpee, intimate/sadistic whumper, begging, hand-feeding, implied torture, leg injury, threat of mutilation, starvation.

The first time Whumpee was thrown in the dungeon cell, they thought pain would be the worst, consistent problem. And well... it was, indeed, consistent and distressing.

But somehow boredom was worse.

Because boredom led to overthinking.

Could they have done something to stop the last session's pain sooner? When will be the next one? Will they be allowed water and food? How many days has passed? Is this consistent pain in the leg normal after being stabbed? Is the lethargy and apathy because of tiredness, or were they going insane?

And slowly, there was so much nothing going on beyond the pain, that their mind had to come up with new questions to fill their "free" time.

Like; how many steps there were between the bars and the wall? What's the highest number they can count to before a new session? How long can they keep their eyes open? How much can they move before jostling an injury too badly?

Any question and thought until the cell door opens.

When torture starts, they hope for it to end.

When torture ends, they hope for it to begin again just to take them out of this endless overthinking.

... And to give them a chance to eat. Because that only happened when Whumper was in a good mood and wanted to play, instead of study torture methods.

"Look who's up early today!" Speaking of the devil...

Whumpee raises their eyes tiredly, barely seeing Whumper clearly anymore, their eyesight is getting worse each day. They don't say anything, they don't need to.

"I was thinking of trying out glossectomy today, but I'm reconsidering..." Whumper muses, walking in the cell with a black bottle in hands.

Whumpee hated when Whumper used their weird-ass words. It meant usually some type of surgery or medical thing, by Whumpee's experience, and it always had the immense potential to be an excruciating experience.

At their tiredly confused expression, Whumper grins gleefully and explains, after crouching down. "Tongue removal, little bird."

Their blood goes cold. Whumper has never chopped off a part of their body. No matter how far they went, Whumpee knew Whumper would at least keep them whole by the end of it, why must it change now-

With a chilling chuckle, Whumper opens the black bottle, and the smell of fruit cuts off Whumpee's thinking.

"Now, now, don't lose yourself just yet. I told you, I'm reconsidering," Whumpee says. "I do love you singing for me, little bird... So I'll give you a chance to prove that I'm better off leaving your tongue where it is. And, if you're good enough, you can have a tasty smoothie, hm?"

The pause sent Whumpee in a frenzy to find out what was the right thing to say, which clues they had in hands to guess what Whumper wanted to hear.

'I do love you singing for me...'

"Please..." Whumpee whispers, lowering their eyes to the ground when Whumper grin grows. "Can I please eat?"

A hooked finger presses their chin upwards, forcing them to meet Whumper's gaze. "You can do better, little bird. Let me help."

Pain burns through their body as Whumper uses their other hand's nails to dig into Whumpee's leg injury. They try to curl into themselves with a stifled wail, but Whumper's hooked fingers turns into a whole-hand grip on their jaw, keeping Whumpee's gaze on Whumper's eyes only.

"P-Ple- Ah! Please, please, c-can I eat?" Tears burn their eyes when Whumper just digs their nails further, still with that vile grin. "Please, I'm begging you, I'm so hungry, please let me eat, please, please-"

Their words are interrupted by a choked gasp as Whumper retrieves both their hands to clap. "There we go, that's better."

Whumpee breaths shakily, closing their eyes to urge the pained tears away.

"Your singing is too pretty for me to cut off your tongue, little bird. Aren't you glad I've changed my mind?" Whumper asks cheerfully, putting a straw on the smoothie bottle.

"... Yes, thank you," Whumpee whispers. At least today's game was easy and fast. It's the easiest food they got in a long while.

"Good song bird. Now, say 'ah' for me."

Whumpee's eyebrows twitched at the straw being tapped against their lips, because their hands were fine, they didn't need nor want Whumper to feed them.

But this was the easiest food they got in a long while. They can't lose the opportunity of easy, tasty nutrition because of pride.

And when the delicious, cold and fresh smoothie reaches their kept tongue, Whumpee forgot why they had even hesitated.

There is no space for pride in survival.

-

(Kinda late, but stills counts as day 3, right? Shhh, for me, it does.)

-

[theunconcernedembalmer]

A quick something I did for an rp

[nicomoon69]

spider Bernard how I miss you...

I am so sorry for the lack of spider Bernard 😔😔 the brain worms led me to other places

please accept this doodle page as compensation until I figure out what to do next

[noturvoid]

the water freezes, cold, silent, and still. a reflection of this heart’s stubborn, unshakeable grief. the kind of grief that eats away at you, slow and steady, leaving nothing but hollow emptiness. here i stand, as i always have, and i ask myself, how many years have i spent like this? frozen in place, unable to move forward, stuck in a time i can’t escape.

beneath me, the ground i walk on only remains filthy. not filthy in the way one might clean, but filthy in a way that settles deep into the bones. the dirt beneath my feet, the stains on my coat, it’s all the same. a mirror of the misery that weighs down on my hands — hidden in the pockets of my coat, but never really gone. they're stained in so much pain, not even the purest water could wash it away. these stains linger, persistent, like the moments i wish to forget. i could scrub for hours, days even, and it would still remain. it’s the kind of regret that clings to your skin, the kind that leaves its mark whether you want it or not.

the world outside is quiet but not peaceful. it is the kind of silence that hangs heavy, like a breath held too long, waiting for something to break. waiting for something to snap under the weight of all that is left unsaid, all that is left undone. the kind of quiet that makes the air feel thicker, suffocating. a reminder of how loud my own thoughts have become in this stillness. there’s no peace in this, just an aching, raw sense of what was lost and the impossibility of ever finding it again.

the darkness is uninviting. unforgiving. it wraps itself around me as if reminding me of something i’ve already learned. nothing truly ever changes. not for people like me. i can stand here, feeling the cold seep into my skin, but it’s the same cold i’ve always known. the same void that’s been there, swallowing me, devouring my attempts to escape it. the darkness doesn’t care. it never has. and i wonder, perhaps it’s not the world that’s unforgiving, but me.

- is this what it means to be alive?

[cindersnows]

I'm Gonna Win Chapter 5

You turn back around, opening your mouth to suggest returning to the PC to make a plan of action before your eyes widen.

PURPLE: …Where’d the portal go?

------

auhhhh. beenawhile

[ragnarokhound]

Trick 👻 or treat 🐺

Happy Spookmas! I'm thinking this time that a little trick 👻 might be in order... ;)

"I know this must be confusing," Tim says slowly. Jason's eyes are shallow, white pits, and he hasn't stopped frowning. Tim doesn't think Jason can see him; he doesn't turn his head to keep Tim in sight, doesn't react when Tim waves a hand in front of his eyes. Tim's never talked to a ghost before, but there's gotta be a first time for everything, right?

"Not sure what there is to be confused about," Jason says, tense. "Seems pretty clear-cut to me. Get in, get him, get out. Right?" "Right," Tim says carefully. Jason's been doing that. Talking past Tim, like he's only half-there. Like there's someone else here with them. "Uh. Who's him, Jason?" Tim asks. Maybe if he can get Jason talking, he can figure out how to help him. Maybe he has to let him down gently. Robin's been dead for months, now. There has to be something Tim can do for him. Maybe he has to... move on. "I found him." Jason says. He looks right at Tim. "Jason?" Tim asks, wary. "Hey, Timmers," Jason says, sounding-- that's-- An ache starts in his forehead. Tim tries to rub it away with the heel of his palm. "How do you know my name? I'm-- You don't know me. You're..." Tim frowns at Jason, contrite. He was never going to be able to let him down gently. "You're dead, Jason. We've never met. I'm sorry." "I'm not dead, Tim," Jason says sadly, walking toward him with his hand outstretched, white bangs falling over his red domino, looking like-- Jason's never looked at Tim like that before, pain naked on his face. It's something like determination, and something like pity, and something like-- Wait. Before? "You are."

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)