#am indeed still working on it

[gleeful-side]

Day 26: Your Letters

[bloumiiss]

“The hands that cradled your face and tilted it upward to kiss your forehead are soaked in unfathomable quantities of blood.”

“But they cradled me, yes?”

I got really into the theory of the apple (from that one image from the beast yeast chapter 7/8 leaks) being the fruit of knowledge. And I thought, what if Pure Vanilla takes a bite out of it? (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

So here’s an artwork where Pure Vanilla is slowly going insane after taking a bite, and all Shadow Milk can do is hold him as he succumbs to the same insanity that claimed him so long ago. Fun stuff, am I right? ((o(^∇^)o))

[buwheal]

Hello, Spamton!

How's life? Also, do you have any opinions on the Addisons? (Pink, blue, orange, and yellow)

If so, what do you think of them?

[tauforged]

WIP. im doing my part to counteract all the people i see in the tag drawing amir with a much smaller nose than he actually has

[xoxoemynn]

Unfortunately for you all, the more crankiness I see about S2, the more I am obligated to love it. Gonna love those gay pirates, both active and retired, so hard. 💖

[firenati0n]

10 Questions for Writers

thank you @cha-melodius and @orchidscript for the tag! :)

How many works do you have on AO3? 9

What's your total AO3 word count? 80,615

What fandoms do you write for? RWRB

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? always. i love comments and am so so grateful for every comment I get. sometimes i am slow but i respond to all of them eventually. there are so many comments i have screenshotted to go back to on bad days <3 art is meant to be engaged with and i am so honored that anyone wants to engage with mine!!!!!!!!! i do not take it for granted!!!!!!!!!!!

Have you ever had a fic stolen? as far as i know, no! hope it stays that way lol

Have you ever co-written a fic before? nothing published yet but there is tinkering :)

What's your all-time favourite ship? for writing, firstprince bc that's all i have written for.

What are your writing strengths? i am terrible at perceiving my strengths and weaknesses so i rely on my friends to tell me fjalksdjfklasdf but I'd say my dialogue / banter and sometimes my introspective bits? proposal au and angel au are good examples of this i think. i have been told my crack treated seriously is also funny. i like to think i am funny. i love making people laugh. <3

What are your writing weaknesses? i struggle with scene-setting and threading scenes together sometimes. I love writing the fun zippy bits and then i go "wait i have to make these characters do...other things?" whoops! i also am terrible at first drafts. and also writing anything that involves action or movement. so smut is 100% not for me sorry lmao you're never getting a Dick on the page from roop. dicks will never emerge. sorry to the E fic lovers jfalksjdlf i am Afraid of limbs and appendages!!!!

First fandom you wrote for? rwrb is the first I've written fic for but if you really think about it, my winnie the pooh stories on the family desktop at age 8 were fics. i was projecting my sad feelings onto Eeyore before i even understood what projection was lmaoooo call it a fix-it fic where roop eeyore is happy

xoxo roop

open writer tag and some tags below the cut <3

@kiwiana-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @run-for-chamo-miles @inexplicablymine @myheartalivewrites

@suseagull04 @everwitch-magiks @seths-rogens @anincompletelist @rmd-writes

@bitsnpisces @alasse9 @nontoxic-writes @cultofsappho @onward--upward

@zwiazdziarka @whimsymanaged @stars-hollow-sewers @indestructibleheart @anchoredarchangel

@ninzied @welcometololaland @sherryvalli @piratefalls @wordsofhoneydew

@porcelainmortal @caterpills @leaves-of-laurelin @cricketnationrise @tintagel-or-cockleshells

@eastbluesaga @judasofsuburbia @benwvatt @priincebutt @14carrotghoul

@blueeyedgrlwrites @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @getmehighonmagic @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead

[gregoftom]

TO ME, THAT’S CINEMA

[iwonderwh0]

If it's not fatal at this point I wish it was because at least there would be an end to it visible

[bobcat-pie]

[toodrasticallydumb]

Oh c’mon you knew I had to.

My version of the Barbie mugshot with stricklake because I just COULD NOT get it out of my head:

This is specifically from my Trollhunter!Strickler au solely because of the white streak in Barbara’s hair lol and now that I’ve drawn it I am oh so tempted to have it be an actual scene that happens somewhere along the story…

Little snippet of the would-be scene (it's so long it got away from me, I'm sorry):

*the two are rummaging around in a very much broken into museum to find what may or not be a message from Nomura*

Barbara: Walt...?

Walter: Hm? Yes, love?

Barbara: What's that outside?

Walter, pausing for a second to listen: Oh. That would be the em...the police, my dear.

Barbara: Oh, okay, okay, excuse me, the WHAT.

Walter: ...Em. That is, I- um I suggest you hide the skathe-hrün somewhere, lest the authorities care to investigate further into what exactly it is when they take it from your person.

Barbara: So we're not even avoiding this? You know, getting arrested by the police?

Walter: Mmmm, no, unfortunately. I don't want you using the skathe-hrün (or more specifically its magic) anymore than absolutely necessary for today. You've expended yourself enough as it is.

Barbara: And getting arrested for breaking and entering is not an 'absolute necessity'???

Walter: Not particularly, it would only be a considered a second-degree burglary since it is a museum and not a residential, habitated building; which that sub-type of burglary is a 'wobbler' charge in the state of California, which equates—if it is persecuted as a misdemanor rather than a felony—to merely (at most) a year in county jail—

Barbara: A year?!

Walter: —and 1,000 dollar fine if, that is, we are found guilty by being proven to have harbored the intent to steal something, of which we did not and do not have evident by the fact neither of us pocess any given tools to break or take any item from its case. I assume this is the first time you have been accused of any given crime aside from speeding or any other driving-related violation? Without evidence of a previous criminal record we should be lined up quite well to be merely fined or, if NotEnrique can manage it (if I can bear to call upon endless embarassment and taunting), nothing at all but a slap on the wrist though I doubt we could not accomplish that on our own given our positions in the community as school teacher and doctor respectively.

Barbara: You have wings, Walt.

Walter: And mothman escaping a building with a strangely human-shaped figure in its arms is not at all a cause for alarm to the police who will no doubt be keeping close watch of all exits and entrances which would also draw unneeded attention before we can reach the proper cover of the clouds.

Barbara: *face-palms* Getting arrested. How wonderful. 'Oh, just breaking and entering, officer, not much.'

Walter: It is hardly as terrible as it sounds, really. We can omit the 'breaking' portion since we snuck in through the window without running into any trouble that would damage it. Frankly, we could go the route of claiming guilty to the crime of trespassing according to the Penal Code 602 (California's trespassing law) being that we entered the exhibit past museum hours. On top of which it is far more accurate to what we're doing in actuality, not proper burglary since we have established neither of us had the intent to run off with anything that was not ours. Doing so we would also fare far better than with a so-called 'breaking and entering' offense (such a named law does not actually exist in California, only burglary and trespassing separately but I will clasify it as the burglary law for sake of consistency) in which we would be recieving just a simple fine rather than possible felony charges that could come with a second-degree burglary we may have committed.

Barbara: Not really helping here, Walt.

Walter: Right, apologies-

Barbara: Which, of course, getting arrested is an experience you obviously know about.

Walter: The (pun intended) offense aimed against me is dully noted. However, my dear, the fact I know how the intricacies of the specific laws of California operate does not entail I have been arrested prior to this. That would be Nomura who holds the experience in that particular department.

*pause*

Barbara: Walt. Don't you dare. You stop it right there. Unless you want--

Walt: The police department. Heh. *guilty snort*

Barbara: *sends him the disappointed death glare*

Police: *break through the door* Hands up! On the ground, now!

Walter: *laying down* I hardly find my pun to have been that egregious.

Barbara, already on the floor: Really, Walt? Good puns involve good TIMING too.

Police: Dispatch, we have the two culprits in question now in our custody. *taking a pair of cuffs out* You're coming with us. You have the right to remain silent.

Walter, being actively handcuffed: Well, I suppose then, now would be the less than appropriate time to say this museum has gained quite the em...standing in the Lake family...?

Barbara, being stood up with her arms behind her back: Officers, I have no idea who this man is.

Walter: I never once said I intended to make good puns.

I made this entirely too long but once it started I couldn't really find myself stopping. Whoops. Hope you enjoyed chaotic Walt not caring about being arrested because jail is honestly the least of his problems rn. It would honestly be a break.

[mexashepot]

What I thought I'd do when unemployed: Sleep, rest, have fun, do all the things I wanted to do but never had the time/energy to due to work. What I am actually doing when unemployed: Sleep, rest, house chores, more house chores, doing moving-related things that I should done back in June, sleep

[thetomorrowshow]

cold, empty, lonely

have a short little fic about death and disconnection :)

cw: canonical character death, description of dead body

~

He finds her body on the side of the hill, crumpled upon itself, red hair dulled against the cold, yellow grass.

Bdubs doesn't touch her, at first. He just watches, waits for some kind of movement.

In the weak light of the moon, the chill wind that blows almost makes it look like her chest is slowly rising and falling. Her hair flicks up a bit, blown like the grass around, and her clothes shift a little, and if Bdubs squints his eyes almost shut and stares at one spot long enough, he could swear that she was just sleeping.

They aren't actually breathing, though. And when he opens his eyes wide, lashes not blurring his vision, he can see again the red that shines against her grey shirt.

They had brought him her armor. It was cheap stuff, iron, held together by whatever leftover straps she'd been able to scrounge up after her good set of armor had been claimed as loot by the Red Army. They hadn't wanted the new set, and had brought it, bloodstained, as proof of their conquest.

Bdubs had pleaded with them for what felt like hours for the location of her body.

He needn't have. He could have looked out a back window and seen it, if he hadn't been so distracted with everything going on.

Their body lies just above the little river that feeds into the Crastle's moat. The river has begun to freeze at the edges, little broken-off sheets of ice forming from the rocky shore, frost touching the red-spattered stones and pebbles. And their body is just beyond that, where the stones and grey dirt turn to dying grass and bare shrubs as the slope climbs upward into a squat hill, alone in the darkness of the night.

He stands there, at a distance, watching their body for probably ten minutes.

Her body looks so lonely.

Cold. Empty.

Lonely.

Bdubs sighs (his breath puffs out in a mist before him—winter really is coming, isn't it?) before crossing the distance between them, crouching down beside the body.

Their flower crown—the one that Bdubs had collected the flowers for—has come apart, a crushed halo of daisies, partially obscured by their hair, a petal weaved in here and there.

Her hair is long, tangled, spilling out around her head like the rays from the sun, curling around her throat and caught under her body.

With a gentle touch, Bdubs brushes their hair away from their grey lips, where some strands have stuck.

Her cheeks are almost colorless, the few stubborn freckles faded. Their lashes are long, soft, forehead unwrinkled and face expressionless.

There's no twist of her mouth, no scrunch of their eyes, no desperation in their brows to denounce pain. There's nothing else, either, though—no peaceful relaxation, no joyful grin, no angry glower.

She's simply blank. It's as if she never lived, never felt.

Her face is cold. Empty. Lonely.

There's still sticky blood on her shirt, her chest slick with it, the ground stained. A lucky stab, straight to the heart. A cleaving of lifeless flesh, right through their chest, somehow missing the bone frame that once held the body together.

Bdubs pulls her shirt a little bit, rearranging it to cover the ugly, open wound. He's not quite sure why he does it. He'll just bury her, anyways.

But he does. He touches the shirt, stiff and sticky with blood, and tugs it over the wound. He pulls more of her hair away, where it's become plastered to her body with blood. He arranges her body so that it isn't half curled on its side, but fully on its back.

They look almost as they always did. Just missing everything that made her alive.

She wasn't supposed to die first. It was always supposed to be him, everyone knew it. Not her.

They probably worked so well together because of how reasonable she was. Bdubs doesn't like being reasonable, likes to kill first and ask questions later—or, if he feels like it, let them sell him a coffin first and ask questions later. She preferred to observe, keep track of enemies and allies, sneak around quietly behind the scenes and make chaos of her own kind.

Which is why Bdubs should have died first. He's so publicly provocative of the Reds, so eager to spill blood.

If anything, she was fairly peaceful. Not genuinely, but she always chose to take a step back from conflict and find a way to profit from it.

It was their Red blood that got to them, Bdubs thinks idly. They hadn't been Red for long enough to let the bloodlust acclimate, and had just gone on the hunt rather than let it simmer.

And now they're dead.

He needs to bury the body. Preferably now, when it's night yet and the battles haven't resumed.

He doesn't wait any longer.

He gets to work, picking up the shovel that he'd brought with him and stabbing it into the earth. Again. Again. Again.

The rough wood of the handle pokes into his palms, but he doesn't stop. The pain reminds him that he needs to keep going.

Every so often he pauses, wipes the sweat off his forehead, looks over at the body.

Then he keeps shoveling.

The world has lightened by the time he finishes, bathing the hill in grey. Bdubs shakes some clumps of dirt off his shovel, whacking it against the ground a couple of times.

Without further ado, he hops out of the shabby hole he's dug and tosses the shovel to the side. He gets on his knees, back creaking, and looks down at his hands.

He should wash them before he touches her, probably. Dirt is packed into every crease of his palm, his nails torn and muddy, grit between his fingers. A couple of splinters sticking out of his skin here and there.

Not that there's any point to washing them. Dirt goes to dirt and whatnot.

So, gently, Bdubs gathers up the body in his arms. He slowly turns, scooting a little on his knees, until he's facing the shallow grave.

Bdubs sets the body down, carefully, supporting the neck so their head doesn't loll. He moves their arms over their body, one limp hand placed over the other.

They wouldn't have liked this. They didn't like being touched.

He doesn't touch her any more, then.

Bdubs grasps the first handful of dirt, holds his closed fist over the grave. A couple of grains of dirt spill out, running down her shirt.

He holds it there, for longer than he should. Long enough that his arm grows weary. Long enough that somewhere, a bird starts chirping its wake-up call.

He needs to let go.

Probably, the worst part of all this is that he's doing it alone, he thinks absently. It's always been the two of them.

And there are others who could be here. Other friends. Other allies. Enemies, even. He shouldn't be alone in this. He shouldn't have to bury her alone.

It still looks like her.

He drops the dirt. It lands on her face, on her grey lips, on her bloodless cheeks.

Then he picks his shovel back up and gets to work, heaving load after load of dirt back into the grave.

And when Bdubs returns in the windy morning, the impromptu occupants that he'd left in the Crastle the previous night are all gone. It's just him, in a small castle that used to belong to two.

And Bdubs is cold.

Empty.

Lonely.

[kindahoping4forever]

crystal get ur ass up rn and write. (pls this totally lil a jokey joke. i just rlly love ur 5sos fanfic and take all the time you need to write again if you do) 😘😘😘

[bobardo]

SNEAKY PEEKY AHEAD🤭🤭🤓

[mitamicah]

Guess who’s also going to the Stockholm date now🥹💚

Looking forward to see some of you wonderful kääryle either there or in Berlin🤘💚

[pastellmochi]

non paralive moots im begging yuo listen to my wife singing