#once the first bits get written

[dredshirtroberts]

okay so! in doing the WIP word finder things (super fun btw i should do that more) I acquired the wherewithal to finish the L&E prequel i may or may not have mentioned in doing that (because for some reason NONE of the words came up in it which was wild to me) because i was like "Well it might not have those words, but I could add some more" and then all of the sudden it was done?

Anyway I'm only mentioning this because i'm really proud of myself for Finishing Part of a Project and any time i do this i need to Make A Note so I Feel Good About Myself and also hopefully don't forget that it's finished. Admittedly it's Draft Numero Uno (that's number one but i'm using Spanish cause i'm fancy) (i don't know a lot more spanish than this i keep trying but i end up using a french accent 90% of the time anyway so i'm just gonna keep it to a minimum for now lol) but it's something.

OH also probably a good time to let you all know (or remind you if I've said it already it) that I'm Rewriting Lia & Em's Adventure in Thedas. You will not see it until it's done. You are likely NEVER going to see this prequel because it's primarily for my own personal use as a reference in later L&E-related storytelling. That said, just know it's Pretty Damn Good for a first draft and also I've Broken My Own Heart Already so expect more angst and shit in L&E the updated version (which will also hopefully be getting a different title).

(Do not fret, I will be leaving what I have of L&E up on AO3 for your perusal, and I will be likely drawing heavily from my favorite parts in the updated version. I think it's important to acknowledge what i've already written that people have enjoyed and keep it up, while also working to make it something I can be even more proud of in the future!)

So! If you would like to see more L&E-redux-related posting, please let me know. It's Slow Going (as I'm sure you were able to tell i have a LOT of WIPs currently running at the same time, seeing as how i had to narrow it down to the two y'all kept seeing bits of earlier today) and probably I'll mostly only have Plot Points I'm comfortable sharing as well as Vibes and potentially like. First runs of scenes that may or may not be in the final product.

[ryllen]

Look what came through the mail today! The letters & ( •̀ω•́ )σ 3 little gremlins from letterstoear.

Just wanna say i adore the flower stickers on the letters too much, they are that much worth mentioning.

[tales-of-snaktooth]

Welcome, Captain Seaside | Year 287 | Part 1

First (here) | Next

Workin on a comic! As the title says, this will revolve around Seaside's first meeting with the other three matriarchs.

The grump of the hour isn't here yet, but we do have these two bickering!

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[psygull]

First Snow (2006)

"Hey, they say it's gonna fuckin' snow down here this year, can you believe that?"

[anastacialy]

y'know, i keep making a habit of swinging my bat at hornets nests, but i have to say i'm getting so, so tired of people complaining about shows not making perfect sense when they aren't even close to done. we're four episodes into this season of doctor who. we're four episodes into this season of bridgerton. and yet in both fandoms i keep seeing people whine that such and such didn't make sense or it wasn't explained all the way and by god you guys i think maybe explanations might come later in the season. this is something most viewers will recognize as being called a 'plot.'

[enigmatic-enigmas]

urrruuguh. trying to motivate myself to finish my podcast script by telling myself I can't get stickers for my work water bottle until i finish it

[ichorblossoms]

i only remember the day i made grimm and yarrow bc it was 4/20 and i thought it was funny anyways happy one year to these two fuckers eating away at my brain and here's to them continuing to do that for...the foreseeable future

since i have created So much about them in this year, i wanna recap what the fuck i've done bc i have never had this happen before. it's definitely new to hyperfixate on some ocs so intensely but i'm having a good time with everything so! i can't say i'm upset that these two kicked my ass into gear with drawing so much !!

starting off with the first sketches of them i scribbled down before i had to get back to work on other stuff bc i don't think i posted these

they've evolved a bit but....not by much really. esp in regards to yarrow i had what is more or less his current design nailed down within a day. not to mention that these two both had names within 24 hours? that usually does NOT happen for me

in terms of all the other art, th galleries aren't the absolute best metric to measure how much i've drawn my ocs bc it doesn't account for all the sketches and wips i have lying around and i upload gift art so it's not all mine in there NONETHELESS it's wild comparing their th gallery stats to the main trio of ttw bc those three literally have a decade of existence on them

(also grimm has five more standalone pieces of fanart than yarrow, so the gap between how much i've drawn the two of them is even smaller)

within a year, these two have, give or take, half the amount of stuff as i've managed to make for my other mains that have been around over a decade. ofc with ttw being around so long there are a lot of unfinished things, paper drawings i have stashed away, things that're retconned, and so many more sketchbook doodles of them that just never got posted so it's not as comparable to honeybee bc it's a more constant slowburn in my brain. but still. still

that's also not to mention the 16 or so full comic pages i've drawn for them?? (most of those are under toyhouse's literature bc it's easier to post them that way) which doesn't sound like a lot, but bc i've never done that before with any of my ocs it's. wild to me. i'm still figuring out a method that makes making comics as painless as possible bc i have ideas! but it still feels like i'm like pulling teeth sometimes! i can say it feels a bit easier to make comics now but i still have a lot to figure out :,,D

also i've been writing. i don't consider myself a writer. i said "fuck it we ball" and started writing. i guess i am on technicality, and it's not as if i haven't written anything at all (hi ttw and the old peartree draft), but definitely haven't written extensive prose before this. anyways i've got a 10k-word outline and am approximately 35k words into the first draft so it's not nothing! in fact that's a lot for me, esp bc i'm constantly battling the urge to edit things over and over and also the awareness of the skill gap between me and all of the writers i am constantly reading so it's overall just a...really slow process OTL

because i'm deranged and refuse to make things easy on myself, i envision honeybee as an illustrated novel, but not necessarily illustrated like fantasy novels are i'm talking like....a novel with comic panels in it. i have a vision. (also i had a dream where i read a book like this i can See it in my mind). it's fine. i'm normal. <if this comes to be for realsies i will have to learn how to do so much typesetting bullshit

i don't have any special art to commemorate my Year of Brainrot, but i guess i'll post some writing below the cut. heads up this is First Draft Shit, even though these are the parts i'm currently more fond of i am...not confident in my skills as a writer yet so please offer me some lenience hgfklhgld

anything in [these brackets] is going to be drawn either as a standalone illustration or a small series of comic panels so just hold my hand and imagine with me.

ordered chronologically but missing a Lot of context partially bc i'm not writing any of this in order. i try to keep grimm (they/it) and yarrow's (he/they) pronouns consistent, but excuse any flips bc again, this hasn't been through any external editing, in fact y'all are the first to see any of these words.

part 1 (years 0 to ~1)- least written-for part atm but i re-outlined it semi-recently so i know where to take it

*grimm is misgendered here intentionally, yarrow doesn't know The Pronouns yet

part 2 (years ~6 to ~8)- currently the most-written

part 3 (years ~9 to ~10)

does a little dance and makes jazz hands before faceplanting. thank you if you read any of that hkgdslfhlfk

[finderseeker]

Every so often my mind cycles back to the beginning of the Double Dingsaster AU and the trauma I put Windy through (like he doesn’t have enough) and I just. Think about him.

[seventh-district]

several days and 15 thousand words later, i am relieved to report that the suffocating urge to Write Something has been sated and no longer has me in a chokehold

[persephoneflouwers]

Anons ✨

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Adventures in writing my English SAC, also known as 550 words of Theon being an angsty bitch,,

[xnervouscircus]

oh

that's

oh

i'm

i am legitimately tearing up oh wow

[wildandmoody]

The one time I decide to give regular TV shows a chance i go right back to joining the "ppl who hate watching romo and sex in tv shows/movies vs. the ppl who do" war on the side of ppl who hate it

[stillcominback]

💕

[purble-gaymer]

*blacks out for three days and wakes up with this open on my computer* what the fuck