#froggy writes

[froggymug]

It is time... Another Turbotasfic

(Yes, I'm coining that play on words.)

After a lot of planning, I'm happy to share the prologue AND first chapter of a multi-chap Wreck-It-Ralph fic! A two-in-one special for the beginning!

Once again, major kudos to @randomalistic for their incredible video essay! If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have started this project! And a huge shoutout to @gretelandcat for their amazing fanart and the fact that they're working on an animatic based on my previous fics! Aaa, I still can't believe it!!!

Words can't describe how excited I am to write and share this!! I really hope my fellow Turbo enjoyers and WIR fans like it!

Now if you need me, I will be sleeping, haha.

Enjoyyyyyyyy! :3

[a-tiny-frog-girl]

To Help or To Hunt ch. 2

Warnings: Intentional fearplay, intense dehumanization (calling a person an it, controlling them, etc), blood/injury mention, implied vore mention (doesn't happen), fearplay with mal intent, hurt no comfort (yet)

Words: 1012

Summary: Wilbur takes his prize back to his room to see how far he can push the tiny.

"Welcome back, sir. Dinner is being served in the lounge. It's gold plated steak and caviar tonight." The doorman greeted Wilbur's employer with a hat tip. 

Wilbur walked into the ship after him, unsurprised when the doorman pretended he was invisible. He followed his employer up to the lounge where a plate of tough and generally unwanted steak bits was shoved into his hands and then he was shooed away. 

He walked to the worker's quarters, trying to ignore the shifting in his pocket. At least the tiny had enough sense to not alert anyone else by swearing so the other humans could hear. Wilbur just hoped the tiny wasn't soaking his favorite pair of jeans with blood.

The door was the only well made thing in Wilbur's quarters. It shut and locked with a satisfying click. Wilbur put his plate down on the three-legged table while he tried not to hit his head on the low ceiling. He threw his coat in the general direction of his bed and stared down at his angrily wiggling pocket. He poked the tiny form, only pissing it off more.

"LET ME OUT OF HERE YOU GIANT FUCKING BITCH!" The tiny yelled. Wilbur raised an eyebrow in amusement. He really didn't give up, did he?

Wilbur hooked his fingers around the tiny's waist and pulled him out of the pocket and set him on the table next to the steak. He probably would have put the tiny on another surface if any of them weren't covered in stuff, but it would also be kinda funny to see his reaction.

So far, though, the tiny seemed too focused on cussing him out to notice his surroundings. Good thing the lower decks of the ship were far too noisy for anyone to notice.

Besides, how could Wilbur resist a little more fun at the expense of this tiny?

Wilbur sat at the table and slammed his hands down on the table on either side of the boy. It worked exactly as planned, making the stream of curse words bubble to a halt. For a second, the surprise on the tiny's face cracked the facade and he could see right into its soul. It didn't last long, but it made Wilbur realize it was possible. A smirk made its way onto his face.

"I s-said–" The tiny started to stutter, but Wilbur talked over it, uninterested.

"Well, hello there, little rat. Looks like I've got myself an interesting opportunity! You know, I could probably get a few bucks if I turned you in. I've heard there's a taxidermist that'll pay top dollar on this trip even for a pathetic rodent like you." Wilbur tapped his chin, playing up deciding the tiny's fate. "I could probably make even more back home, too. What do you think? Want to spend a little more quality time with yours truly? It'll be entertaining, at least for me." He kept his eyes trained on the tiny below him with amusement in his eyes. It opened and closed its mouth like a goldfish a few times, looking like it was trying to decide if Wilbur actually wanted its opinion.

"Cat got your tongue, little rat?" Wilbur teased. He leaned over the tiny, easily casting it in shadow as he picked up a good sized piece of steak with his hands and tossed it into his mouth like a shark being given a treat. He saw the tiny's eyes look from him, looming above him, to the steak sitting not too far away, and back. He could see the gears turning, practically able to read the thoughts going through its head. Wilbur aided the process by chewing noisily, waiting for the realization of the other option he was silently putting on the table.

The tiny suddenly stumbled back, away from Wilbur. There's the realization, Wilbur thought as he let out a low chuckle. 

"Good to see your brain still works after losing all that blood." Wilbur said casually, letting the tiny stumble a little farther away as he grabbed another bite of steak. It's not like there was anywhere it could go and he could pull it back any time he wanted. 

"You want to fucking eat me?" The tiny finally said, disgust clear in its voice. "No. No way. Fuck off. In fact, while you're fucking off, why don't you leave me alone, big man?" It crossed its arms defiantly. Brave move, Wilbur noted.

"You're right about one thing, little rat." Wilbur let all the playfulness fall out of his voice, clear to the world, or at least the tiny on the table, that he was dead serious. "I am a big man. A far bigger man than you will ever be. You don't have a snowball's chance in Hell of defying me. So I'd suggest you sit down and shut. up." Wilbur stood to his full height, enunciating so that every word could not be denied. "Do you see where we are? This is my room. You're on my table. I own everything in this room including you. Your cut on your leg could look like a paper cut when I'm done with you. Do not fuck with me." Wilbur snarls with all of his pent up anger. It feels good to let it all out, to see the fear in this tiny's– his tiny's– eyes.

He waited for a response. Something bold to turn on it, a whimper to mock, anything. But it's frozen. Wilbur raises an eyebrow and readies a sarcastic comment, but before he can release it, there's a tiny thump as the tiny collapses to the table, unconscious. Wilbur huffed, frustrated that the tiny had cut his playtime short yet again. He supposed he should have worried more about the blood loss, but he just got caught up in the moment. He sighed as he realized he should probably fix the injury if he wanted the tiny to ever wake up. He was having fun, still, anyway. No use in throwing out a toy before it was used up.

[grimgrinningghost456]

“You have eyes just as she did.” He spoke softly, reverently.

Long, cool fingers extended and cupped beneath the younger man’s jaw, then tilted his chin upwards in order for the light to catch on the irises.

“Lovely.” He breathed, “I never thought I’d ever have the chance to see such eyes again.”

[changbin-froggy-jimin]

I want to have Hongjoong go to the post office in my new fic! I wonder if it should have small town vibes.... That feels narratively significant for showing the differences between him and Seonghwa. If it did then who would be the mail person? Oh! It should be Yunho that would be so-

My brain:

Me:

Link

[hypodermicfroggy]

Light Pollution

I don't recognize the stars anymore.

Terrestrial life is one of changes It rises, it falls, it expands, it shrinks And while the stars are not immutable Their span is on a much longer scale

These lights above me are not the ones So constant and familiar That my two and four-legged ancestors both Could navigate their way back home by them

These lights are not the twinkling diamonds Born from the exhale of a warm sigh That captured the minds and hearts Of scientists and artisans for centuries

Their sparkle is cold, lifeless metal And impersonal binary. Yet these are not the capsules of my grandparents Crafted with hope and fear and passion

In a time when that vast black above Was not prime real estate to be simply colonized But a terrifying unknown to be respected As well as a new frontier to explore

These are cheap trinkets, baubles Manufactured en masse then left to rot A passing whim of a creator Who thinks himself a god of men But who has already grown bored Of his own toys like a child

They form a dirty choker around a blue wife's neck She has always been faithful to him Even while their heirs slowly poison her While he looks longingly at the mistress Dressed in her tempting shade of blood Waiting down a long and dangerous cosmic hallway

A new star attempts to rise and join its siblings Forced upwards by man's sheer will It rumbles, it roars, it streaks across the sky Searing red as something goes wrong

The chemical smell of fuel instead of wormwood.

Two hundred, five hundred A thousand years ago This would have been regarded as an omen A sign of the coming end of days.

But the true prophets have been blinded Their clear skies clouded by these false stars Placed by a false prophet, a man playing god A father of lies and broken promises of innovation

And so no one listens and heeds the warnings Until his stars come falling down A hundred thousand heralds burning bright Like the stars they pretended to be Revelations that are realized One minute too late

…I don't recognize the stars anymore.

[a-tiny-frog-girl]

writers block is hitting me hard so pls ask me things

Weird Questions for Writers (because writers are weird)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

[14dayswithyou]

I'm going to be a little evil :3c /silly

*I have stolen all of their headwear, leaving only FROGGY HAT in his closet.*

"Boy it sure is chilly today. Don't forget to wear a scarf and a hat when you come pick me up, okay [REDACTED]?"

✦゜ANSWERED: I believe in froggy hat [REDACTED] supremacy 🖤🐸

He knew. Of course he knew. [REDACTED]'s security system alerted him the second you stepped foot into his apartment, and it took the dark-haired hacker almost all of his willpower not to rush home and see you. But alas, he had other matters to attend to and messes to clean up here. Things he couldn't risk putting on hold, lest he pay the consequences for them later.

So, [REDACTED] settles for watching you through his cracked phone screen as you try to sneak your way around his apartment. They didn't really understand why you felt the need to be so secretive; you knew your boyfriend would be out for the day, you had his spare keycard and access to the entire 14th floor, and [REDACTED] had made it explicitly clear early on in the relationship that everything he owned was yours completely. Nothing was off limits to you, and that included every inch of his living space.

...And even himself.

Curiously, they watch with keen interest as you quietly slide the door to his walk-in closet open and take in your surroundings once more — making sure that you really were alone in his dimly-lit bedroom. But barely a moment passes before you stride in with a newfound purpose, unzip your backpack, and begin to stash all of his caps and beanies inside.

Well, alright then. If you decided he no longer needed those items, then so be it. He was never one to deny you anything.

But in retrospect, you were honestly doing [REDACTED] a favour. He genuinely didn't really need those items in his possession anymore — especially considering how he had no real reason to conceal his identity from you after all these years of being together.

He could never forget about that pivoted moment in time when you opened up to your beloved hacker about his rather... intense need to watch over you 24/7. And after you had scolded him multiple times for stalking you from darkened corners and alleyways outside your apartment complex, [REDACTED] had all but tried to change his ways. To better themselves for you.

After all, you deserved nothing less.

Glancing back at his phone once more, [REDACTED] takes in every little movement you make as you continue to tuck away his belongings; down to the turn of your head and the flex in your muscles. Not a single twitch or glance goes unnoticed under his watchful gaze — and had the dark-haired man not been so enraptured by your ministrations — he surely would've noticed that it was just about time for him to start packing his tools up and head home.

Home, in time for the date you had planned for the evening.

But the way you purposefully moved around his closet had [REDACTED] in a trance. You were extremely methodical about the things you were swiping from his shelves; neatly packing away all of the headgear, earmuffs, and scarves on display (and even the ones hidden within the depths of his drawers!). Yet... One single item remained in the aftermath of your wake.

Atop one of the lone shelves in the corner, it sits, isolated from the rest of its kind. Worn out yet well loved; it was no more than a novelty item your boyfriend had originally won for you from a crane game. But even after their constant insistence that you should keep it, you rebutted it all by saying it'd look better on him instead — all while pushing the cute, froggy hat back into his hands with a teasing smile.

("If you keep bleaching your hair like that," his real name falls from your lips like sweet nectar, "All of your hair will fall out. When that happens, you can use this to keep your bald head warm!"

"...When that happens? Hmph. You're gettin' cheeky." With a smile of his own, your boyfriend reaches out to gently pinch your cheek. "I haven't touched m'hair in ages.")

So after watching you be so meticulous with the items you were "robbing", the hacker couldn't help but wonder what your main motive was. Why leave that silly, little frog hat alone unless... Did you want him to wear it? You knew [REDACTED] would never say no to you — let alone to a frivolous request — but admittedly, they did find it rather endearing to watch you put in all that effort just for him.

Just like how he used to be... Back before you opened the curtains of his life and brought sunshine into his heart.

Gone are the days of "Ren", when [REDACTED] had to snoop around your apartment just to get any sort of inclination of what your type and interests might be. No longer did [REDACTED] have to "borrow" some of your old clothing to keep himself company on lonely nights; to put them over his pillow and pretend like it was you he was holding close to his chest. He no longer had to steal your presents and tokens out of spite and jealousy — only to return them days later once they noticed how upset it made you.

Too caught up in reminiscing about the past, [REDACTED] had almost missed your swift getaway from his bedroom. Living up to your nickname, you glide down the staircase and across his foyer as if you sprouted angel wings on your back and stroll into the elevator, before closing the door and pulling out your phone.

And just like clockwork, [REDACTED]'s camera feed gets replaced by the bright red and green call buttons that shake and taunt him at the bottom of the screen — alongside the personalised caller photo of you smiling towards the sunset ocean with [REDACTED]'s jacket atop your shoulders. The dark-haired man leaves no room for pause before he's swiping his finger across the screen and eagerly anticipating the sound of your voice.

You greet him in that casual, nonchalant tone of yours, and [REDACTED] had to resist the urge to start recording the call — to save the addictive timbre of your voice for when he needs to hear it the most.

"Man... It sure is chilly today, don't you think?"

There's the familiar sound of tacky elevator music playing in the background, and part of [REDACTED] thinks you're purposefully calling him right now to let him in on your (not so) secret escapades... To let them know where you are.

Or perhaps you were already aware that he knows, if the way you were glancing up at the elevator camera was anything to go by.

Regardless, you don't give away any other telling signs as your beloved hacker watches you through the camera. Your bag is still carefully slung over a shoulder, while one of his old, black university caps received the pleasure of being fiddled with in your hand. Your voice returns once more, and it causes a grin to form on his lips.

"Don't forget to wear a scarf and a hat when you come pick me up, okay?"

There's a newfound teasing lilt in your tone, which has [REDACTED] latching on to your every word with bated breath and scrambling for a reply.

"'Course. Wouldn't miss our date for the world. 'N make sure y'stay warm too, angel." Without missing a beat, he easily takes his place in your little game. "Wouldn't wanna misplace your jacket 'n get cold now, would we?"

Your pixelated smile on the screen gives everything away.

You hear the unmistakable sound of [REDACTED]'s sports motorbike before you see it; watching the corner of your street as he appears from the darkness like a phantom.

And like the gentleman that he is, [REDACTED] doesn't make you stray far from the safety of the streetlamp either. The moment your boyfriend pulls up in front of you, one of his large hands reaches around your waist to draw you near (almost as if he'd gone years without being in your presence), while the other makes quick work of the latch of his helmet. In one swift motion, he pulls it off and rests it against the tank—

Only to reveal that cute, pastel green frog hat sitting atop his head.

He can't help but smile when you do; clearly pleased that he went through with your silly request. At that, you let out a low hum of appreciation as you lean against your boyfriend's chest, and [REDACTED] returns the favour by bending down and pressing a chaste kiss against the crown of your head as well.

"...Think y'could give this unworthy prince another kiss, love?" Your beloved boyfriend leans in closer until your lips are millimetres away from touching, "Otherwise I might stay cursed t'live in this froggy form forever."

[froggydraws]

Filling out the Pokédex 📝

[pond-froggie]

When Ford was living in the shack alone, he came across a creature that towered over him with lanky limbs, protruding bones, and antlers coming out of its skull. He of course dedicated a page to it in his journal. He realized the creature was trying to communicate with him but he was never able to understand what it was trying to say. He then kept discovering other anomalies and moved on from it. 

However, it would knock on his windows and door and be especially persistent when it was raining. It always followed Ford around whenever he was in the forest, indirectly chasing off other creatures. He got fed up with it keeping him awake at night so he set traps, nothing to hurt it but just to get it suck in a way that it can get out on its own so it stays away. And it works. Ford only ever saw it in the corner of his eye. Ford then meets Bill, builds the portal, realizes he made a mistake, Stan comes, Ford goes through the portal. 

Stan has journal one which he can't fix the portal with on its own so he goes searching in the forest for the other journals. He can't find them. He breaks down and yells and sits in the middle of the forest and cries where no one can hear him. Or so he thinks. 

He somehow hears rustling of leaves through his sobbing and he looks up from his hands and finds a beast towering over him. His breath catches in his throat and he tries to scramble away but he's too shaky from his breakdown. 

The beast looks at him curiously before going down on all fours and showing its neck. That seems to calm Stan down. He thought that all the weird creatures in the journal were just some form of creative expression but he remembered seeing something like this. 

Stan pulled the journal out and flipped through it eventually finding the page. He showed the creature, feeling silly for a second until it nodded and pointed to itself. The creature slowly reached towards Stan, closing the journal before pointing to the six fingered hand on the cover then to Stan's five fingered hand and making a confused trill. 

“Ohhh buddy, you're not going to believe this.” 

Turns out he did believe it. 

Stan explained everything, the creature looked sad but not all too shocked. Stan asked if it was close to Ford. The creature made a pained grunt and showed him with leaves. 

It took one red leaf and had it move around from leaf to leaf before stopping at a leaf with a pebble on it. The red leaf moved away from it but the leaf with the pebble followed. The creature made angry grunts and growls before leaving the leaf with the pebble behind again but the leaf with the pebble still followed, just out of sight. 

“That makes two of us… Wait! So you know where the other journals are!” 

The creature nodded. 

“I need them to fix the portal. Can you show me where they are?” 

The sun had set by the time Stan had all three journals in his possession. He rushed back to the cabin but stopped at the door, looking back at the creature standing just at the edge of the treeline. 

“We’ll talk more tomorrow, I promise.”

The next day, Stan found him in the clearing behind the cabin. He brought along the three journals, books he thought might be relevant, and notebooks that were filled with Fords equations. He plopped it all on the ground and threw himself down along with it.

“Buddy, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm never going to get him out of there. I never even graduated highschool, how the hell am I supposed to understand all this?” Stan pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes till spots formed. 

Stan listened to the papers rustling and figured there was no harm in letting the creature look. He then felt a tap on his shoulder. He pulled his hands from his eyes and looked up at him. 

“What.”

The creature tapped his finger against the pages so Stan looked. He pointed to different topics in the textbook then to different equations and sections in the portal drawings. 

“You saw him do all this?” 

The creature shook his head. He pointed to himself, then to his head, then to the pages. 

“You KNOW this stuff!” 

He made a ‘so so’ hand gesture.

Stan's excitement slid off his face and was replaced with sadness. 

“You weren't always like this, were you?”

The creature shook his head sadly. 

“Is there a way I can cure you?”

The creature's eyes went wide before he nodded. 

Stan pushed the pencil and paper towards the creature but he just shook his head. After some back and forth they figured out a communication method. It was slow, but worked. The creature would point to words in all the books and Stan would figure out what he was trying to say from that. 

The cure was simple. Gnome spit, fairy dust, unicorn snot, and manotaur sweat. Mix together and wipe it on his forehead. 

Yeah… Simple.

The gnomes were more than happy to give some spit if it meant getting the creature out of their forest. They also gave a discount on fairy dust for the price of one pb&j. Stan found the unicorns and started insulting the mane of the first one he saw, making it cry. He watched the Manotaurs for a while and his first plan was to challenge one to arm wrestle until he saw one snap a small tree like a twig. So he challenged them to stand on hot coals. Good thing they aren't well acclimated to humans and dont know that human feet don't look like Ford's temperature proof boots. 

Stan hiked back down to the cabin and gathered all the ingredients together. 

“You better be a cute human.” Stan groaned, glaring up at the beast most only have nightmares about currently sitting and grinning like a dog about to get a treat. 

He smeared it across his forehead and nothing happened for a few seconds until he collapsed on the ground and started writhing in pain. Stan watched as his bones contorted and skin grew in places where there wasn't before, but where there was supposed to be. 

He was turning human. 

After an agonizing minute of Stan listening to the pained growls turn into groans and yells into words and pants, a human is left lying on the ground. He holds his hands in front of him and stares at them, smiling. 

“Ugh, spit, snot, ‘n sweat? Really?!” The man wipes the mixture off his forehead. “Thank you Stanley.” He smiles up at him. 

“Uh, yeah, ‘course.” Stan rubs the back of his neck. The two smile at each other for a little bit before the man startles out of it. 

“Oh! I’m sure you have questions and now that I can talk, I’d be glad to answer them.” 

“What about your name?” 

“Oh good golly how could I forget. Fiddleford McGucket.”

“Well Fidds, how about you get settled and some real food in you that isn’t whatever you were eating out there, and then we can get to the questions.” Stan gestures to the cabin behind him. 

“That would be nice.”

When they manage to get Ford out he asks Fiddleford who he is. He grabs the journal and opens to his page and explains the curse. 

“Im surprised someone like Stanley could figure out how to communicate with you.”

“I opened the portal once to get you out, I could open it again to shove you back in, again. And I know how you treated Fidds when he was cursed, you were too stupid to see he was trying to talk to you.”

“I had more important things to work on. Besides, I would have gotten it eventually.”

“Ya barely even tried…”

~~~~~

LORE

Fiddleford told his wife he wanted a divorce and she conveniently has a witch friend that she got to place a curse on him. He wasn't able to make the cure himself or be there when the ingredients were collected. When he was cursed, he was told how to make the cure and its impossible for him to forget it. He was unable to talk or write. As for how he got to Gravity Falls… something something weirdness magnet- I don't know. 

[grimgrinningghost456]

“Shit!”

That’s it. Thats the line :) context is in tags

@0nelittlebirdtoldme

Last sentence tag game

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

Thanks for the tag @beevean!

Jonathan watches the dark shape of Castle Dracula retreat in the rearview and thinks: I did it—I got out.

20 tags seems like a lot! Low key @ to @nightmarist @rabbit-exe @tigerballoons @spudodell @renaultphile @udaberriwrites @grimgrinningghost456 @mildredmost and anyone else who wants to play 🖤

[froggymug]

Phantom Racer Chapter Three!

Hello hello! Here's the third chapter to Phantom Racer!

After Turbo’s very cold welcome to the arcade, the denizens scramble together to figure what exactly they should do with the racer. Meanwhile, said racer frets over his failed attempt at a good first impression.

I uh, got a little carried away with this one...! But!

I just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who's left kudos and comments on previous chapters; it means the world to me :]

I hope you like it!!!

[a-tiny-frog-girl]

In a writing mood but writers block has me pinned!! Send g/t story requests, maybe from prompt lists!!

I will write:

Doctor Who (if you ask for gt DW I'll love you forever/hj)

Stranger Things (can't promise it'll be good)

DSMP (also can't promise quality here)

Marvel

Criminal Minds (I've only watched the first few seasons tho sorry)

Supernatural

Sherlock (maybe? might have to rewatch)

Merlin (also maybe)

Mers

Borrowers

Fairies

Animal hybrids (neko, avian, etc)

X reader (mostly platonic tho I'm not great at romancing the reader)

fearplay, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, even some darker stuff (if you aren't sure, ask)

My OCs, of course

Tidbits from stories I've already written

I'll even make up characters on the spot if you ask me to idc

Need a giant to say some comforting words? I'll probably write that!

Your characters/sonas, maybe! (If you give me enough reference and I have a right to refuse)

FOUND FAMILY YEAAAAAAHHHH

prompts for your stories!!

there's probably more but I can't remember rn :')

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I am uncomfortable with / will not write:

vore (can't write it, sorry)

major character death

characters that suck that don't get comeuppance (/hj)

super graphic stuff (I don't mind writing the aftermath, just the actual incident is rough for me)

nsfw

[grimgrinningghost456]

How to care for Your Fledgling when they’re Stuck as a Bat.

A step by step guide by Count Vladimir Marius Dracula.

When One has acquired a brand new fledgling or bride, the first goals to ensure its success is to feed and nurture your new family member. In some cases, your new nest mate may be slow in feeding or shape shifting into their bat form. For the latter, allow me to help you along this journey by example of my dearest bride, Jonathan Harker. Without further ado, the steps to handle your fledgling as a bat, and what to do if they cannot figure out how to shift back to their proper shape.

Step 1: If your fledgling is rather stubborn by nature, and struggles with following orders, I suggest a slightly firmer hand with their training. Specifically, the hands on approach. In order to help them shift, press upon the pressure point between their shoulder blades and at the nape of the neck. By doing so, you will trigger the change to happen instinctually. If your fledgling panics, refer to step 3.

Step 2: Once your fledgling has changed forms, gently examine their wings in order to check for any damage or deformities. Afterwords, calmly explain the art of flying. If your fledgling struggles, shift yourself and teach by example in order to give them visual examples.

Step 3: If your fledgling begins to panic, (which I have more than my fair share of experience with) be sure to cup them in your hands gently but firmly. Gentle enough as not to harm their wings, yet firmly enough to prevent their flying off. If your fledgling bites, deposit them into their coffin, or a brass birdcage and allow them to tire themself out.

Step 4: Whether or not you’ve had time to properly have your fledgling fly, it is best if you only had them as a bat for an hour and a half for the first experience. It is more than likely that your young nest mate will be stuck as a bat, having no full grasp on their abilities. It is your job as the master of the nest to keep the fledgling calm. The more panicked they become, the less likely they’ll return to their humanoid form any time soon.

What to do when your fledging is stuck as a bat for over 12 hours.

It is heavily advised that you keep your bat fully fed at this time. A fledgling going into a frenzy is nothing compared to a fledgling-bat on a frenzy. Smaller, faster, and they’re unfortunately able to get into crevices that fully grown vampires such as yourself cannot.

A healthy diet for their time as a bat is as followed:

Blood, advisedly your own in order to keep the bat calm

Fruit is acceptable in this form. I have found bananas, strawberries, and oranges to be the favored choices.

Bugs are to be taken in small helpings, too much and your fledgling may become, with a lack of better terms, “flighty”

As long as you follow these instructions to the letter, there shouldn’t be any issues with the continued shape-shifting lessons, or with a bloodthirsty bat wrecking havoc upon your village. Good luck.

(I decided to give this a go, thinking it would be a funny little tidbit. @0nelittlebirdtoldme , @argyleheir , if you’re interested in taming fresh vamps as bats, Drac has you covered)

[a-tiny-frog-girl]

HERE YE HERE YE THE QUEEN HAS ARRIVED

Fish sleep!! They wedge themselves in safe places and drift off to conserve energy!! Imagine the first time a tiny mer says they need some rest and the big mer starts looking for a place for the little guy to rest, but then they look down and they're asleep in their hands!!! so cute!!!

Some mers might be able to change color slightly based on mood! Imagine a big mer approaching a school of small mers to say hello to their friend, the rest of the schools' tails are dark with fear, but their friend is as bright and excited as they can be!!

Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm at dinner, so I gotta go!! thanks for tagging me :)

Hmmmmmm

How about bonding thingys?

Little interactions that bring the giant and tiny mer closer?

Ooooo um that’s a hard one. Never really thought about it.

Mmmmm I’d say that if a met was territorial, being brought into the nest would be a big sign of trust. Since I’d say tiny mers would have better access to softer materials, they might not recognise a leviathans nest for a pile of rocks lol

And maybe wrapping their tails around together is a sign of trust? Or in a tiny mers case fingers???

I’m not super sure lol. Gonna summon the queen of this kinda stuff for help.

@a-tiny-frog-girl CAN YOU PLEASE HELP WITH IDEAS FOR DA3DM PLEASEEEEEE AND THANK YOUUU

[changbin-froggy-jimin]

Question, if I were to sell something like this would you be interested in buying one?

[hypodermicfroggy]

Iconoclast

A good tragedy begins, like so many With the shadow of an eagle Cast over an old sailor's home.

His faith had been lost ages ago Beaten out of him By father and fatherland both

Despite the scars of wars fought With enemies both home and abroad He tries to find peace anyway

For what can all of the finery And all the riches of Olympus compare To the simple joys of love and family?

And his wife is not of this land or its gods She is bronze-skinned, her features proud She is not one to be made to bow

To be so brazen, so content without the gods Of course there would be a punishment Because to err is human, but jealousy is divine

The daughter that grows within his wife is not his But neither of them know That she was conceived by a reflection

At least, not until the day When he would be brought back to memories Of bloody and burning battlefields

The bird that soars over his home now It casts no shadow, for it is a beast Of jewel-like feathers and brilliant flame

It screams, echoing them as they burn The hundreds of unblinking eyes in its tail A hateful accusation amidst the mocking sound

And the sailor is left with nothing But the ashes of his life and love Carried away on the rivers of Phlegethon

Any other man would have simply been broken Fallen to his knees and wept then and there Begged the gods for forgiveness

But the sailor, though he weeps He does not prostrate and debase himself She did not bow, and neither would he.

As many tragedies as there are People love the stories of heroes just as much Men who fight back against monsters and tyrants

And the sailor knew, since his own youth There has been a whole host of tyrannical monsters Ruling over this place for many years

He speaks not to oracles of what to do He does not raise an army He does not beseech gods of other lands

Instead he walks alone Fixated on his skyward destination Cloud-hidden Olympus, home of the gods

And in that home, drunk on their ambrosia and power They laugh with such confidence Amused by this one mortal's determination

Obstacles are put in his path Some natural, a great deal not Things to liven up the entertainment

Only one of their number does not laugh She is the eldest, the wisest, and closest to man And knows what they've brought on themselves

Is it her protection that lets him make his journey? Or is it his fury that pushes him on The way a storm, fittingly, pushes ship to shore?

The answer is unknown But beasts and barricades do not deter him Pain and punishment do not scare him away

Until at long last, the sailor is there Standing where no mortal has before In the hall of the gods

They could have cast him out easily But instead he is kept among them A fool to dance until they tire of him

And it is on that sacred mount That he meets the others Who have also been 'blessed' by the gods

The heroic Heracles Who never asked to be his father's son And lost his own family for it anyway

The youthful Ganymede Kept eternally beautiful by his immortality With eyes that betray his millenia of service

The wandering Callisto A maddened beast pacing the skies Forsaken by the ones she thought loved her

The sweet Europa, and outcast Io Neither can bear the feasts of sacred beef But for very different reasons

And so many others, children and consorts Playthings of the powerful Kept in beds and prisons both

There are those who claim That man was crafted In the image of their gods

This is meant to imply, of course That there is a trace of divinity Within all of us

But the sailor sees the true nature of the gods - When he is subject to their tumult, Their moods, and whims, and vices

He knows now, it is not a compliment He knows instead it is a damnation Of his kind and themselves

To be cast in their image Simply means being just as corrupt and contemptible As the most wretched of mankind is

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

When he walks off the mountain His hands are drenched in ichor And he is no longer alone

Behind him walk ten, a hundred, a thousand All those who the gods claimed as theirs Once again free to live without fear

And he whispers as he bares his gold-stained teeth Feathers caught between them Like a feral wildcat glutted from one of its hunts

'Long live the king of the gods For the king of the gods is dead.'