#writing with regalli

[regallibellbright]

Decided "Fuck it" and stayed up until 4 AM, but hey! Coffee Dates Are Overrated is finally, FINALLY done.

[gummi-ships]

[kayfabe-is-king]

I believe Wheeler will only start winning again when he really finds himself. Right now he is deep in the denial stage of grief (look at that sad boi face above). He has wrongly convinced himself the Death Riders are still the Blackpool Combat Club he believed in. He is blindly following Claudio and Jon because that's what he's known for a while now. Only they don't see him as a protege anymore, just their little windup murder doll (his match against Hangman on Collision last night is proof of that). But they aren’t doing the proper maintenance (i.e. supporting him and you know, not forgetting about him as they leave the arena) so the doll is malfunctioning. Hence all his recent losses.

The old Blackpool Combat Club was his home and he started coming into his own with them. Look back at photos of Wheeler during the Bryan era BCC. He was genuinely happy. He was learning and growing and finding his footing. It was something good. Sure the training was brutal (it’s a combat club not a knitting circle) but that BCC showed him how to get back up. They saw something in him and wanted to help him become a better version of himself. And he did.

gif by @heeleryuta

So now he’s latching on to the remnants of what once gave him direction and purpose. Something that built him up and helped him stand on his own two feet. It’s hard to let that go even when it turns into something toxic. The Death Riders aren’t concerned with making him better. In fact, they need him broken so they can control him. He doesn’t have a purpose outside of being a chess piece in their mind games. But here’s the thing, some of their methods remind him just enough of BCC’s tough love that he can’t see the difference (classic abuser behavior). At least not yet.

I think he will eventually but it’s going to be a journey. He will have to truly grieve the loss of the Blackpool Combat Club and finally let it go. He will have to realize he can take the lessons they taught him and stand on his own. This isn’t a quick fix and I don’t think someone else should “save” him. Much like Hangman’s story arc to the men’s world championship, I think Wheeler will have to do this on his own. It’s going to get messy, he’s going to fail and he’s going to get his heart ripped out by Claudio especially. But (ironically enough) just like Papa Castagnoli said once before:

[pain-in-the-butler]

A compilation of art for my Dadbastian fanfic Coattails that I commissioned from the incredibly talented @karafina! They went above and beyond with the details... Each picture feels as cozy and warm as a storybook, right? I'm so delighted with how they turned out!! Thank you for making each one so beautiful! 🥹🥹🥹

[thicc-ray-of-sunshine]

looking through my old stuff that I never posted and was absolutely GUTTED by this bit I wrote about Maul

"You dared to follow the contours of his face even further where you found he had a literal crown of horns. How befitting. A creature so divine, hosting a physical crown to solidify their own majesty in whatever system they deemed so worthy."

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Today, it is time to briefly bemoan my lack of actual writing progress for Aylin/Isobel Week the past couple of days due to pesky real life obligations, and try to think happier thoughts, such as "Isobel is so blatantly and incredibly into the whole glorious paladin/evil smiting thing" and "Isobel casting increasingly suggestive Sendings totally counts for the letters/epistolary prompt, right?".

[waining-crescent-moon]

I just came up with an AU where Fitz was in a Nettle like situation where his mom raised him and he didn’t know who his dad was. This is ground breaking, I know. Anyway, really think about how cool it could have been like I have so many ideas.

Fitz could Wit-Bond to a wolf in the mountains when he’s kinda young. The Fool could live in a tent or a small cabin in the woods then visit Fitz every once in a while, they could actually have a childhood together. After a trip in the woods Fitz, Keppet, could return to his mother dead, courtesy of Queen Desire trying to find him but his mother lying to the people she sent. Keppet taking a lock of her hair and braiding it into his own then he has to run because the guards are returning.

The overall story could be him first running to Jhaampe and trying to explain to his Sacrifices how his family was attacked by Six Duchies soldiers. Kettricken and/or Rurisk then trying to discuss it with the Six Duchies but that only gets Regal sent their way. After Regal inevitably tries to kill him Keppet decides to travel all the way to Buckkeep himself. Along the way he may discover travel companion such as Beloved, his wolf, and Burrich.

[jessamine-rose]

*lovingly tackles Aine*

Read my Yandere! Pierro longfics first ♪( ´▽｀)

Last week, my beloved mutual @ainescribe surprised me with Savior! Darling fan art and AHAI9232@2-!/! CRYING SCREAMING I WANT TO LOOK AT THIS ART AND WORSHIP YOUR VERSION OF SAVIOR THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BLESSING ME WITH YOUR ART—

*clears throat* Anyway, now that I finally have the time to properly sit down and comment on the fan art, I’ll do just that. Feedback will be in the tags and it will be unhinged. Once again, thank you so much to Aine for drawing this <3

[clonemando]

A Kiss a Day in May

Day 20- Keldabe Kiss

Bail/Fox/Breha (ft. Trans!Fox)

Each day this month I have a 100 word drabble featuring a different clone with a kiss prompt. Not all are romantic and they include all sorts of pairings and relationships. Feel free to offer pairing/ character suggestions for future days.

Breha held tightly to Bail's hand as they waited in the medical ward in the palace for news. Thankfully it didn't take long for someone to come out and usher them into the room where Fox was. The sight that waited for them made herself squeak and Bail gasp.

Fox looked exhausted but had his forehead pressed gently to the newborn's that he was holding in his arms. Tears started to spill down Breha's cheeks as Fox looked up at her.

"Meet our daughter, Kit." He said and Bail started giggling until she smacked his arm.

"It's a cute name."

[valiantfm]

❛ I don’t think we’ve met yet, but you looked like you needed someone to talk to. My name is Princess Joy LeFrog. What’s your name? I would like to know if you’d be interested in going somewhere with me. Would you be available for going somewhere with me?  ❜ Princess Joy LeFrog asked the person that she had seen nearby herself. @forgottenfriendshipstarters​

[regallibellbright]

WIP Whenever returns!

"... Mr. Minami did that?" Fret asks.

Neku nods. "And Mr. H showed him how. I don't know why for sure, but... if Minamimoto became Composer, Josh couldn't destroy it. I guess maybe he felt it was worth the risk?" He sighs. "I dunno. I haven't had time to ask."

"When did you find out?" Rindo asks.

"About Minamimoto? When he came back after blowing himself up all Taboo'ed up. About Mr. H?..." Neku checks his phone. "Four hours ago. He's been talking with Minamimoto ever since."

"Wait. Please don't tell me that guy is our new Composer," Shoka says. Neku nods. "I am so moving."

[writerwrightlegend]

Twelve Days to Christmas(Day 7):Hot Chocolate by a Campfire.

Summary:Techno enjoys some hot chocolate by a fire after his sudden transformation by Dr. Regal.

Techno stared at his new transformation in the mirror. It had been a little while since he was forcefully transformed by Dr. Regal. He red and white steaks in his hair. His skin was paler and his eyes were red. He wore a dark purple jacket, black pants, and purple boots and black soles. Around his wrists were a pair of silver bracers with blue energy glowing through it. Attached to the bracers are chains that are hanging from the attachment of the bracers. He was surrounded by a dark aura and had a blue flame following him.

"*sighs* I look like a freak."

Techno groaned at his new appearance. He didn't know why Dr. Regal was so set of making him a part of his group.

"I hope Metto is okay and that Rock got my message... Gnh!"

Techno leaned against the wall as his legs gave out on him. His body was still exhausted from the transformation.

"Oww... God, that hurts... Come on, get up..."

Techno pushed himself up as the pain went through his body.

"Gnh..."

"Umbra!"

"*sighs* Coming!"

Techno groaned as he heard Dr. Regal call him. He hated the name that Regal gave him. He chose to ignore it as he approached the room.

"You need something?"

He said, trying to ignore the pain coursing through his body.

"Yes, I need your P.E.T..."

"And what if I don't give it to you?"

"Then, we're going to have a bit of a problem, now give me that P.E.T."

Techno reached into his pocket and searched through each one.

"Odd... It's not here."

"Not there? Check the jacket that you came here with!"

Techno grabbed the jacket from Regal and checked it. He still couldn't find his P.E.T.

"I could've sworn I put it in here..."

"Hmm... Well, it seems you dropped it at your previous location before coming here. No matter, I'll simply send some of men to collect it."

"Is that all you needed?"

"For now, yes... You're dismissed."

Techno nodded and walked back to his room. He sat down in the chair, trembling in pain and exhausted.

"Ugh... Everything hurts..."

He buried his face in his hands as he felt his body twitching. Suddenly, he felt something gently rub up against his hand. He slowly looked up to see the little blue flame holding up a canteen of hot chocolate.

"Is... Is that for me?"

Techno reluctantly grabbed the canteen and slowly began drinking the hot chocolate as he felt a blanket being wrapped around his body. He glanced down to see another blue flame moving the blanket over him.

"What- There's another one?"

He glanced over to the right where the fireplace was. He didn't remember it being lit. A large blue flame engulfed the wood, bringing a warm light into the room.

"Hmm... You know, this might not be so bad... I wouldn't mind keeping you guys around."

He said as the flamed orbs danced around him. He took another sip of his drink.

"Yeah, maybe I can make this work... Once the pain wears off, then I can see what exactly I can do in this form and maybe... I can break myself out of this prison... That is, unless Rock comes to get me..."

Techno sighed again before drinking his hot chocolate once more.

"All of that can wait... I need to give my body time to adjust..."

As he finished drinking the hot chocolate and set the canteen down on the fireplace's edge before falling asleep in the chair. The last thing he sees is the flames continuing to dance around him. He could've sworn that he heard them chanting something in his ears.

"You're the Messiah!"

He heard the phrase over and over again in the back of his mind as he slept.

"Yes... I'm the Messiah... This world will... bow before me..."

He muttered in his sleep, unaware that the dark power had already gotten a grip on his mind and was manipulating him. In the back of his mind, he could only hope that Rock would save him before he got corrupted by the dark power completely.

[shayberri789]

Here's a short (600 word) story I rewrote today; a revised version of one I wrote last year. We've done a lot of study on doubles, the uncanny, madness, ghosts, etc in my Gothic Lit course and it inspired me, and I thought to rewrite this piece. I'm really proud of it.

Something Wrong With you

There is something wrong with you.

I can see it in your eyes: a glint of predatory focus. In the sharp corners of your smile: a flash of white in your almost-sneer. I see it in the emptiness of your expression, despite it all.

There is something wrong with you.

You sit opposite me in the sterile gray cotton chair, legs crossed at the ankle, a teacup balanced on your knee. You take a sip, and there’s a taunt in your movements. You don’t look away–perhaps, a challenge, then. I sip my own tea in response. 

There is something wrong here. 

The floor-to-ceiling mirror behind you stretches from corner to corner of the wall, a vengeful accomplice to the floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the only light. There’s too much fog to see anything outside, but that’s okay. We’re too high up to see anyone else anyway. The mirror reflects on a pair of chairs. No, that’s not right. There’s two people in those chairs. No, they’re empty, and it's just a memory. I tear my eyes away from the lying mirror, blinking out the flickering vision. I look back at you. That’s right, it’s just us. There is no one else to see—

—There is something wrong with you.

Your face is familiar to me; the curl of your eyelashes, the light dusting of freckles, that mole on your right cheekbone–it’s all the same. Your features are the same, and yet, they are all at once too straight, too small, too sharp, too big, too smooth, too graceful. That smile of yours—the way you hold your cup–all of it is too polished, too careful, too delicate. 

I want to throw my cup at you. Let the hot liquid distort your expression into something—anything—else. Mar that perfect, serene–taunting–face of yours. Fill the emptiness with pain, or anger, or fear. Something to make you human again.

There is something wrong with you.

No one else seems to notice. But I do. 

There is something wrong with you.

There is something wrong with you.

There is something wrong with you.

There is something wrong with you that is also wrong with me. 

The shadows creep along the floor as the light flees, but still you do not move. You do not move except to hold my gaze and lift your cup and take a sip. You settle it back in the saucer with a delicate, deafening, clink.

Somewhere, I hear the ticking of a clock. Some part of me registers the impossibility, because there’s no clock in the room. Maybe that’s the clinking of our teacups. 

There is something wrong here. With you. With me—you. 

The empty room yawns, and there’s the ticking again, like a heartbeat. Is this room alive? Am I? Are we? Do I care? 

There is something wrong with me. 

Time does not touch me; it slips through my fingers like an errant breeze—unseen, unnoticed, unaffecting but for a gentle, cool sensation. Like the fog outside. No—no, that’s not it. You are the fog: empty and unsubstantial, hiding things from me. 

There is something wrong with you.

Your gaze is coy and knowing. You think you’ve won. We haven’t said a word; no words are needed. But you think you’ve won. You don’t know. Oh, if only you knew. 

There is something wrong with you.

There is something wrong with me.

There is something wrong with us. 

I was meant to be the only one. 

I was not meant to be at all.

Why are you here?

We should not be.

We should not be.

We do not belong.

“Go away,” I say.

You vanish. 

[welcome-to-ratterrock]

A little snippet of a one shot I (@suzie-guru) wrote for @bajingoarts and mine’s boys ♥️

Because some days the characters demand horniness and you have to write a one shot of one of them having a sexy dream.

[friendlyneighbourhoodelf]

whenever i’m writing cody i’m thinking about that description of him as regal btw. it’s important to me

[yoshiyakiryu-archive]

Some fresh nonsense about joshneku losing over at @homoeroticbetrayal

"Fancy seeing you here," Joshua chimes from his perch on the cafe seat as Neku approaches the table. It's not Wildkat, but this side-street shop feels unnaturally empty, and all the more unreal for the presence of the smiling Composer, casually seated by the window.

He could be the most powerful entity in the city, but Neku's urge to roll his eyes and tell him to go fuck himself has the budding inescapability of an oncoming sneeze. Only four words in, Neku's already reminded that no matter how much he misses the asshole when he's gone, he's a pain in the ass to have a straightforward conversation with.

"You invited me," Neku gripes, unable to resist giving the eye roll. He slides onto the seat across from Joshua, feeling another one coming on already.

"Hmm, did I? I suppose I must have. Hee hee." Joshua slides one of the two cups in front of him towards Neku. "The coffee here is decent, you should give it a try."

"…Thanks."

He continues being suspicious for a moment, but ultimately trusts Joshua, and the knowledge that poisoning wasn't really his style. If he wants Neku back in the UG, there's nothing stopping Joshua from rattling another bullet through his poor, pre-punctured brain matter. The old one must still be in there, making him think humoring this conversation was a rational idea that won't just end in a headache.

Joshua smiles, two hands on his own paper coffee cup, fingers striking it in sequence, a steady expectant rhythm. As he watches Neku, the motions change. Taking a sip, the scales shift to an energetic tempo, striking keys he cannot see in time with music he cannot hear. Weirdo.

"What did you want, anyway?" Neku asks, setting the coffee down. There's little point in wasting time on pleasantries when Joshua deemed something catastrophic enough to take the risk of actually talking to him.

"Nothing to say about the coffee?"

"Not really." It's pretty average, as far as coffee goes, and it's not a surprise Joshua knows his order.

Joshua hums, digging his phone out of his pocket and adding to what seems to be, from Neku's view of the phone upside down across the table, a personal review log of local restaurants. "That's hardly a riveting opinion, but I'll include it. We wouldn't want to find Players erased of sheer boredom, would we?"

Whatever UG bullshit Joshua was pursuing, Neku wasn't making it his problem to know. He could guess, but he won't. He won't even think about it. Nope, no dead people business here.

Joshua frowns at him through the silence, bordering on a pout, and sets his phone down. 

Neku tilts his head, gesturing with his free hand.

"Well? Did something happen? Why are we here, Josh? Is reality about to collapse in on itself? Did someone important die? Double die?"

"No, no no no, nothing like that," Joshua says waving off his tone. "Well, people die of course, every day. But that's not my concern." He cuts Neku off before he can reply that yeah, it kind of is, by snatching his phone back off the table and waving it in Neku's face. "I'm here about this."

Oh.

That.

The homoerotic betrayal thing. He'd heard about it after the fact when three of his friends texted him their condolences on losing to Brutus and Caesar. He needed to ask for context, and to be frank, didn't know what to make of the whole thing. He could have gone without knowing that "iconic homoerotic betrayal" was a tournament he'd been nominated in, and privately thinks Joshua has got to find more normal ways of hitting on him. Ways that don't involve firearms.

"Isn't that over?" he asks, with little else to say. If it was over, they shouldn't have to worry about it. Problem solved. Neku out. The arcane and meta machinations of the multiverse can remain not his problem.

"Yes," Joshua says, all business, "but we lost."

"So?"

"So, we lost! After all our fans put in such heartwarming work about us too."

Neku mulls over the word "fans" for a long moment, and decides he doesn't want to consider the implications of that either. He shrugs. "Okay."

"Neku," Joshua says, placing the phone between them and folding his hands loosely over his drink, "I don't think you're taking this very seriously."

"No shit, Sherlock," Neku snaps, indulging that eye roll. "You're not telling me why I should."

"Because we lost," Joshua says, forced patience, as sincere as he ever gets, "and because I have reason to suspect there was UG involvement." He picks up his phone again, opening an app before handing it over. "Take a look. Do any words stand out to you?"

Neku takes the phone, and scrolls slowly, taking his time to make sure there was nothing obvious for Joshua to scold him about missing, and to make him squirm, until he sees a familiar word. "Memes?"

"An astute observation Neku! I knew I'd chosen you for a reason."

He's insufferable. Neku hands the phone back and sinks down in his seat. Unbelievable.

"Memes, yes." Joshua twirls a lock of hair around his index finger, and Neku takes a sip of coffee to disguise how closely he followed the movement.

"You think that we lost because everyone was Imprinted to vote against us?"

"In short, yes again," Joshua says, smiling once more. "Someone put on their thinking cap today."

Asshole. Bastard. Little snot.

Neku takes a deep breath and swallows the growl climbing his throat.

"Explain."

Joshua hums, then shrugs, palms up and put upon. "I believe there was a site-wide Imprinting campaign leading up to the bracket. Disguised as a celebration of the death of Julius Caesar. You of all people know how easily folks can be swayed by a trend." He slumps down onto his elbows, resting his chin in his hands. "Then we lost," he continues, annoyed. "And I don't like losing."

"Obviously. Isn't it kind of far-fetched to Imprint memes on a whole website?"

"You'd be surprised what some of the Higher Plane get up to in their spare time.

"…Right, don't tell me." He doesn't want to hear about angel hobbies. He doesn't want to think about angel hobbies. "I still don't get why you submitted us to that thing in the first place."

"I didn't."

Eye rolls must come in threes. Joshua has the audacity to look affronted.

"Okay. Sure. I'll believe that. Then why is this so important?"

"I can't tell you," Joshua says, gazing meaningfully into the middle distance fingers tangled in a stray lock of hair.

He is so full of shit. There is not one iota of Joshua that isn't composed of compacted, steaming, fresh shit. This is what happens when you cross the guy's competitive streak with a crush. He should confiscate Joshua's phone. Joshua should talk to him more often.

"But! We could get a second chance," Joshua says, affected wistfulness gone. "I know how big a fan you are of second chances. We'll win the revival match." Joshua leans in, devious and conniving across from him, and Neku knows what's coming even before Joshua does a fingergun in his direction. "You will win us the revival match. By any means necessary."

"And how am I going to do that?" Neku crosses his arms.

Another shrug. "Start Imprinting memes on people yourself. Find the culprit rigging things from before. I'm not fussed about the strategy, as long as we win."

Neku closes his eyes. "I don't get a choice here, do I?"

"It's a homoerotic betrayal tournament, Neku. That's against the spirit of it, wouldn't you say?"

"Fair enough." It isn't. Not really. But Neku's learned to pick his battles. He's learned to pick them very well. "But I set the terms."

"Oh?" Joshua's pitch rises in surprise. "Intriguing. Go on."

Neku lifts up a finger. "One. No penalties for losing." Joshua grumbles against his palm. "Two, if we win, you're showing up for group outings. No excuses or leaving early. Spend time with us."

There's unmatched satisfaction in the way Joshua looks like he's swallowed something far too sour. "These aren't very nice terms, Neku."

"Take them or leave them. And no funny business."

"…Fiiiiiiine. I guess you'll just owe me."

Joshua pulls himself from the table and stands, all drawn-out, fluid movements and exaggerated resignation. His coffee sits abandoned on the table, half finished.

"Owe you!?"

"Hee hee. For being so generous, of course. I'll pick you up when the polls open." Joshua touches his sole fingergun to Neku's temple before leaving the cafe and an exasperated, incredulous Neku. "Toodles."