Writing And Aesthetic

Riley, he/they, 21. Current active WIPs: The (Un)Fair Folk, Babylon (Rebel Blue.) I also might talk about my D&D characters! Main is radioactive-tiefling. Icon by @retsof WIPs / D&D

[dragonstoravens]

Babylon Chapter Masterpost

[ID: a blue patterned banner with text reading “BABYLON.” End ID.]

This is your one-stop shop (for now, until the Rebel Blue website is up and running) to read everything of Babylon that’s been posted thus far! Will be updated regularly as chapters come out. The current plan is to post an update every Friday (unless it’s around a holiday that I might be traveling for), and to have Volume One finished by this December. Enjoy!

Links to each chapter on Wattpad will be posted next to the chapters as they’re posted, as well as a general link by the title of the volume.

Babylon is a Sci-Fi Romance series written by myself and Kit @charlottedotexe​.

Comic Sans Intro

Babylon Volume One: Chance Encounters (Wattpad)

Prequel: Trinity’s Introduction (W)

1. Meetings (W)

2. Thawing (W) 3. Camaraderie (W) 4. It Grows On You (W)

5. A Favor For A Friend

6. A Different Normal, 7. A Modicum Of Restraint

8. Freeze Frame (CW for panic attack), 9. Little Victories, 10. Handled

11. Ask Nothing, 12. The Power of a Smile, 13. Angel On Your Shoulder

14. Unflattering, 15. Apologies

16. I’m an Idiot but At Least I’m Fun (CW for blood, mild body horror)

17. Bad Behavior, 18. A Dancer in Her Own Right

19. Pandora’s Box, 20. Brotherly Interlude

21. Outside Looking In

22. Accidents Happen, 23. Never Too Late for a Disaster

(End of Book One)

[monamoni]

[mttrgirl]

[viperosedae]

I made a discord server!

Are you an artist of any kind? Do you like working on collaborative, multi-person projects with other artists? Then come join The Share Zone, my server for finding collaborators!

Highlights:

this server is for ANY kind of art. are you a writer? a musician? ttrpg designer? video game programmer? you're all welcome to join

open to anyone of any skill level -- whether you're looking for paid work for a professional project or just someone to roleplay with

dedicated channels both for showing off things you're proud of and for getting constructive criticism on things that need some work

publicly available for right now but i intend to keep this fairly small (50-60 people Tops, most likely), so may be locked in future -- get in while you can!

[viperosedae]

.....if i made a discord server for other creative fiction writers to meet up and potentially find cowriters would anyone be interested

[dragonstoravens]

Reblogging for writeblrs!

[isabellebissonrouthier]

[bodhrancomedy]

Emmett and Six, My Bois

Brother Amity sat back in his chair and smiled. “That is why I took the precaution of mixing a potent sedative into both of your drinks.”

Ice filled his gut. Emmett looked down at the empty mug in his hands then over at Sixsmith who had gone white.

Before he could think what to do, his friend keeled over.

Brother Amity laughed and turned to look at him with such smug triumph that Emmett was tempted to punch him. His hands were tingling and already he felt like there were clouds gathering in his head –

Sixsmith jumped back up to his feet, laughing. He clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “Your face!”

Both men froze.

Sixsmith swaggered back to the table and took hold of the gobsmacked cultist by the shoulder, gently spinning him around so his back was to Emmett. His tone dropped into Cheerful Teacher as he said, “Little tip for you, brother, sedatives take longer to work than you think so, for Gods’ sake, dun’t announce it! Wait! It can be several hours later an’ then you look like an idiot if nuthin’ happens. Hells, what do they teach ‘em these days?” he waved a finger in Brother Amity’s face, “I ‘member a situation in Calliope…”

The code word piece through Emmett’s fog. Hastily, he spun and grabbed the pile of records and the accounts book.

It was heavy. Weighing it in his hands, he caught Sixsmith’s eye and hefted it.

To his surprise, without breaking stride in whatever fiction he was currently concocting, Sixsmith shook his head. He just took hold of Brother Amity’s elbow and began to steer him into the corridor. Emmett followed.

“You’ve got to learn a proper poker face,” Sixsmith was chattering like a sparrow, waving his free hand dramatically, “Otherwise you look like amateurs! Just a little drop, keep talking about inconsequential things until it takes hold. Also, prob’ly dun’t do it by yourself an’ never, never make snide little hints of evil things. No puns. It’s not classy, darlin’.”

They reached the door. Sixsmith reached out and opened it, holding it with his free arm as he gestured Emmett and Brother Amity outside, still grinning.

Dropping the cultist’s arm and leaving him on the porch, Sixsmith beckoned Emmett down the steps and turned. “An’,” he said magnanimously, “never let them keep talkin’.” He bowed. “Good day.”

Catching Emmett’ sleeve, they began to stride down the street, leaving a bewildered Brother Amity on the steps of the cult headquarters.

“Do you have the things?” Sixsmith asked through an easy grin.

“Yes –“

“Good. When we turn this corner –“ shouts were rising behind them – “we run like hell.”

By the time the spell broke fully, they were two streets away and accelerating.

[bodhrancomedy]

Emmett and Sixsmith Reunited - Tocktick Bodhrán M.

Emmett stared in utter bewilderment.

If it hadn’t been for his friend’s distinctive accent or the birdlike tilt of his head and blink which meant he was waiting for an answer to a clever comment, he wouldn’t have known him.

Sixsmith had changed. It felt stupid to be surprised in the moment – five years was a long time when a man was approaching, no, just on the cusp now of seventy – but he’d been holding in his head that last image of Sixsmith standing at the corner, with a bag over his shoulder and flashing a cheeky salute. The last thing he’d seen before his oldest friend had been swallowed by the marketplace.

This Sixsmith’s hair was completely white and hacked close to his head, more an attack than a haircut. His stance was different: his left shoulder hanging lower than the other and he’d lost enough weight that his ribs showed eerily through his dark shirt, not helped by the prominent chest and shoulders characteristic of Taiyeks.

But it was his realising that it wasn’t paint on Sixsmith’s face which knocked the breath from his lungs.

Three long, puckered scars raked down the right side of his face, crossed by a shorter, thicker one from his eyebrow to his hairline. It twisted his face into a strangers’, a jigsaw not quite put back together right. It was almost as if someone had tried to keep a tally on his features and miscounted.

Sixsmith’s mouth twitched and abruptly curved into a wry smile. “I know ‘m pretty, Emmett, but not that much.”

“Six… I…”

“We dun’t have much time,” Sixsmith was pulling boxes and candles off the shelf, gaze flicking towards the door, “they start their little boxin’ matches in half an hour. Usually, they dun’t let me out of the –“

Emmett didn’t let him finish. Seizing Sixsmith in a frantic embrace, he managed, “They said you were dead, Six. I thought…”

He felt Sixsmith stiffen and he began to draw away in fear of having hurt him, but arms wrapped around his neck, keeping him close. An amused huff of air passed Emmett’s ear.

“An’ you believed them?”

“Well…”

“Idiot.”

A chuckle unearthed itself. “How long have you been here, Six?”

“A few months.”

Anger flared. Emmett shoved him away, heart thumping. “A few months? Months?”

“Emmett, please –“

“You’ve been here for months and you didn’t say? You let me think you were dead for months? What’s going on?

“Shhh!”

“Don’t shush me, Six, we’ve been sick with worry! Where the hell have you been?“

“Emmett, calm down –“

“Calm down? Four years of complete silence –“

“Shuddup!” Sixsmith clamped a hand over Emmett’s mouth. “Shuddup. You have to be quiet.”

Emmett, fingers tight about Sixsmith’s wrist, suddenly noticed that his hands were trembling.

Sixsmith bowed his head, inhaling deeply, and then spoke in a rush, “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everythin’, but right now, you need to be calm or we’re both fucked, alright? Understand?”

Tone had never been his strong point, but Emmett could read this one.

He nodded.

Sixsmith let go. “Sorry ‘bout that. But we really dun’t have the time.”

“Short version then.”

“I messed up an’ now if I dun’t get out of here soon, somethin’ really, really bad is gonna happen.”

“What? What’s going to happen?”

Sixsmith opened his mouth a few times and then looked away. “Bad. Just bad. Emmett, you gotta help me.”

Adrenaline surged through his veins. “How?”

“They’ve got me papers. Upstairs. Without ‘em, I can’t leave. I’d be picked up imm-im –“ Sixsmith worked his jaw, slamming a hand against his head – “at once by the coppers.” He smiled again, but humourlessly this time. “Not that that’s new.”

“Sixsmith, why do they have your…?”

“Dun’t worry,” Sixsmith clapped him on the shoulder, abruptly cheerful, “I think I’ve got a plan.”

[lizzorasaurus]

Commish for @radioactive-tiefling

[wizardysseus]

the writer’s urge to ask your friends “do you wanna see a little somethin’ i’ve been working on?” when the little somethin’ you’ve been working on is 800 words and ends in the middle of a sentence

[writeraskgames]

OC Alphabet Soup

Send me a letter of the alphabet A-Z, and if I have an OC starting with that letter, I'll tell about them.

[bodhrancomedy]

Tocktick Opening by Bodhrán M.

The Sturm Islands, 1880

The gas lamp flickered disconcertingly. 

Emmett Askren, captain of The Iris, groaned and rubbed a large, brown hand across his face. The blinking light ignited shards of pain in his retinas, the ebb and pull of the chatter in the tavern threatening to wash him out to the sea of a meltdown. 

Carefully, Emmett placed his hands on the table and closed his eyes, pulling all his concentration down through his arms in the half-forgotten method from his childhood. While the Sturm Islands were hardly the seat of Suliland decorum, certain traits were unacceptable anywhere. 

Even as the thought passed through his head, guilt flooded him. Tapping unconsciously on the table, swaying just slightly in his seat, he offered up a silent apology to Kizzy. The idea of his daughter being ashamed of something they had no control over froze him to his core. But rules were rules and society was unforgiving – a tocktick child had time. An aeronaut with debts did not. 

An aeronaut with debts and no ship had even less. Emmett scowled to himself and opened his eyes again, brushing a strand of greying hair behind his ears and then scratching his stubble. He should shave, he thought helplessly, to make himself seem more trustworthy to potential clients, but the idea of running a razor over his chin made his stomach turn more than the beer behind the counter.  

Five pounds… it was an impossible ask and the deadline was approaching at the speed of one of those new-fashioned locomotives which had driven him to this place. And that wasn’t even counting the coin he’d need to spend on the broken ship once he had it back. Emmett swallowed convulsively and glanced up at the clock on the wall, peering past the premature and garishly coloured banners proclaiming loyalties for the upcoming Throgmorton Aeronautical Contest. 

Quarter past four. 

Li was late, as usual. Later than usual, actually. His heart thudded faster, frissons of anxiety shooting up his spine as he tried to relax back into the chair – feeling every splinter of it – and wait. 

Somehow, he doubted she was going to solve all his problems. 

But it wasn’t going to stop her from trying. 

His hands were still twitching as the tavern’s occupants suddenly increased in volume – one of the local cardsharps was trying, unsuccessfully, to start a game – so he shoved them into his pockets and tried to pretend he wasn’t about to become tonight’s entertainment if one more person bashed their mug into the table –

Paper crinkled against his fingers and he frowned in confusion. Looking around in vain for Li and her infamous cane, Emmett withdrew a folded sheet and realised he was holding Sixsmith’s last letter. 

Something heavy settled in his gut and he swallowed. He didn’t remember putting it in his coat, but it’d been a long time of trying to break that habit. The letter stayed with him no matter how many times he told himself it should be stored with the others so it wouldn’t be lost, or stained, or torn. It was the logical thing to do, he thought, but somehow, every time, it was folded up and slipped back into his inner pockets. 

Emmett wasn’t sentimental. At all. 

With the gentleness of a historian examining a precious relic, Emmett opened the letter and scanned the first few lines. 

Dear Emmett, 

There might not be any correspondence for a bit. Things have happened here and I’m just not going to be able to write until it’s all over. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, and it’ll be a funny story when I’m done, but, for now, don’t expect to hear from me for a month or so…

It was dated 1876.

Someone smacked Emmett across the shin. He yelped and shot out of his chair, turning to face his attacker, pain-filled tears blurring his vision. 

Captain Li Xiuying looked up at him, arms folded across her chest and her ornate, dolphin-tipped cane dangling from the crook of her cotton-clad elbow. 

“Captain Askren,” she said sternly, “Your manners are appalling.”

“Sorry, Captain Li.” 

“I said your name three times, Askren.”

Emmett grimaced and then gestured to his right ear. Even after twenty-five years, he couldn’t look his old employer in the eye. “The blast. It…”

“Pity. It could have knocked some sense into you. Now sit down and close your mouth. You look like a cooked carp.”

“Captain Li did you –“

“Manners, Askren? You cannot blame that one on your ear.”

Emmett shut his mouth, feeling his cheeks burning, and offered his hand to Li. She took it, her mottled grip vice-like on his fingers, and let him guide her into the other chair. 

Perched on the edge like a queen, Li patted the table and said, “I have to say, I am relieved to see you looking so healthy, Askren. Skinny, but not, well. Still got everything. When I heard the news, I expected…”

Grimacing, Emmett righted his chair and sat down, spreading his fingers wide. “We were lucky. Well, lucky enough. Superficial –“ he saw Li raise her eyebrows and he amended – “light burns only. No one killed. Just destroyed The Iris.”

“But your ear?”

“The shockwave. It’s… it’s going to get better, I’m sure. It’ll be fine. Li, tell me –”

Li arched an eyebrow at that, but asked, “Miss Keziah Nunn?”

She always insisted on that epithet. Emmett privately suspected it was to scare the kid into some semblance of obedience: no one could put more ice into a full name than a former tutor. It sent shivers up his spine and he wasn’t even the one in trouble. 

“She’s alright. Wasn’t home. Only time I’ve ever been glad of her…”

“Criminal tendencies?”

“Explorations.”

Sighing, Li flapped her hand dismissively and said, “Not that I want to question yours – or even Sixsmith’s, I suppose – parenting…”

“Speaking of Six,” Emmett interrupted, heart thumping, “Did you go to Erdenbay? Did you find anything? See anything?”

Li sat with her arms folded and puffed out her cheeks in lieu of an answer. 

“What does that mean? You did go, didn’t you?”

“Of course I went, Askren. I asked around – even dug out an old lumograph –“

“You’ve got lumographs of him?”

“I’ve known him longer than you have, Askren. And, strangely enough, they were invented back in the days of yore.” Li exhaled heavily. “Are you sure there was a message? That you’re not…?”

Her look laid a knife against the pit of his stomach. Even Emmett could interpret that one. 

“I’m not mad.”

Li’s mouth twisted. 

“I’m not. Look!”

The paper rattled in his hands as he slid it across the table. Obligingly, Li took her tiny eyeglasses – the lenses alone costing more than the entirety of Emmett’s current capital – and bent over the paper. She didn’t move. 

“E-R-D-E-N-B-A-Y. Four. Eleven. The fourth of November. He was trying to send me a code!” 

Li buried her face in her hands. 

The knife in his stomach punctured his gut. Rocking back and forth, abruptly, painfully aware of the growing clamour of the tavern, Emmett jabbed a finger at the letter. “Don’t you see? Something was happening. He was –“ the words stuck in his throat because he’d never known them to be true – “he was scared, Li. Scared enough that he wanted me to meet him and he couldn’t say it straight. I flew out – diverted a big shipment and –” 

“And he never showed.”

“No, but –“

“Why are you still here, Askren? Why didn’t you leave with every other intelligent aeronaut last year? The changeover, the riots, the permits that cost more than you make in a run, why did you not leave?” 

Emmett’s jaw worked, but he couldn’t think of a response that didn’t make him sound stupid. The gaslight was flickering faster now, each flash as bright as lightning. Someone was tuning up an instrument. “I…” 

“You knew it was happening, Askren,” Li said. The lines at the edges of her eyes were sharp. “I remember you voicing concerns at the time.”

Emmett nodded. 

“Why didn’t you leave then? You knew there was going to be a disaster at some point, and these islands are not a good place for a child.” Her voice dropped to being barely audible. “Especially a child like yours.”

Emmett bristled. “There’s nothing wrong with my daughter. What are you trying to get at, Captain? I’m sorry, call me stupid, but you’re not making any sense.”

“How much are you short by?”

“Five pounds, Shades, Li, please just answer me.”

“I have a suggestion, Askren. You will not like it, but listen to me before you get angry.”

“Not until you tell me,” Emmett spat the words around his teeth, panic rising in his throat to thicken his accent, “what the fuck –“

“Sixsmith is dead.”

Her words hit him like a hammer. His lungs splinted under the assault, leaving a black void in his chest. Emmett opened his mouth several times, unable to draw a breath; not quite able to articulate the swirling tempest of terror, rage, and sorrow slamming into his stomach. 

So, it was a small, stupid sound that escaped him. “No.”

Li leant forwards and, in an unusual display of sympathy, rested her hand on his. Emmett flinched, her touch burning his skin. “I called on an old friend in Ester –“ that meant nothing because Li counted every person she’d ever met a friend – “who has a ghastly habit of collecting obits.”

It shouldn’t have been possible for his blood to get colder, but Emmett felt ice slip into his veins as Li withdrew a folded sheet from a voluminous pocket of her dress. 

“Obituaries of unclaimed bodies.” Li sighed and began to read, “Recovered thirty-first of August. 1876. Taiyeku male. Pale and of between sixty and seventy years of age. Shorter than average, medium build, short grey hair… beaten to death –“

“No!”

“And why not? Grey eyes? Sixty to seventy years of age? Pale? Grey hair –”

“Short hair. He never wore it short.”

“He could have cut it.”

“He wouldn’t. That was part of his – his particular sept. Remember? Even when he got soaked in that mud-oil-stuff in Wulder?” The laugh was an octave higher than he thought was possible, fingers drumming uncontrollably on the table. “Look, there must be – dozens of Taiyeks in Ester. It’s near a port for fuck’s sake! 

“Look at the last line, Askren. Three scars on his left hip and brown birthmark below the collarbone. That’s him.” 

Nausea rose in Emmett’s throat and he had to swallow, shaking his head. The musician in the corner drew her bow across the strings like some sick celestial underscore to his horror. Eyes burning, he shot to his feet, covering his mouth with his hand. The thud of the chair hitting the ground was gunshot loud, smashing through what little self-control he had left. Steadily, a drumbeat against the rising – rising everything – he began to slam a hand into the back of his neck. 

“Askren?”

Too much. Everything. Too much.                                                           

Barely aware of the stares and the exclamations, Emmett fled. 

The alleyway wasn’t much better. It was dark and dank, reeking of piss and refuse, but that was moderately better than the swirling barrage of humans outside it. At least the setting sun would help with his aching eyes and it wasn’t snowing. 

Struggling to slow his breathing, Emmett leant up against the slick stone walls and pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth. Marketplace chatter was still spiking against his temples and – feeling like a small child – he clamped his hands over his ears. The noise dampened, falling to a manageable ache in his good ear, completely gone in his left. 

Dead. 

The word looped over and over in his brain as he tried to calm himself. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. 

“No,” he muttered. Sixsmith wasn’t dead. There had been a mistake or maybe something worse. Maybe it was some kind of trick. Maybe Sixsmith had – had faked his death. Yes, that sounded right. That sounded like something he would do. Or sounded like something Emmett could imagine him doing. Li hadn’t seen the body, right? So it wasn’t official. 

Yes. Of course, the man wasn’t dead. The banging in his chest was abating as he seized this new certainty with both hands. He was just – just taking his sweet time getting here. Probably having issues with getting a permit. He’d heard they’d shut down production after the poor little Harvester kid had tried to shank Phineas Gorge on his quarterly annual inspections of his sky factories. Being a Taiyek would only double the difficulty, as unfair as that was. 

Abruptly, Emmett’s stomach dropped as another memory forced its way through the throng. The oh-so-small – ha – matter of the arrears.

Dazedly, head still ringing and squinting against the low light, Emmett made his way out of the alleyway and towards Clinker’s Hill. As he began the climb, nervously ignoring the persistent calls of the Long Market which lined the rubble-strewn path, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing up at the silver specks, glittering and grumbling against the ruby-red storm clouds, several miles out into the ocean, suspended on the coasts of the blighted Harvest Isle. 

He’d seen the Sky-Harvesters almost every day for five years and he still shivered at the sight. There were six of them, all tethered deep into the ocean, and sometimes he had nightmares if he watched them for too long. Each airship was a behemoth of a machine: the smallest half a mile wide, all engineless, all crammed with more than a hundred workers right in the heart of a never-ending arcane storm. The original workers – certainly all of them dead despite the Islands’ capture being less than thirty years prior – had been the families of the soldiers who had kept attacking the Suliland troops after the surrender, caged on a barren lump of rock. The life expectancy of a Harvester back then had been four years. Now it was barely nine. 

So the Empire had needed new workers to reap its volatile lifeblood from the tempests. You never applied for the job. Gorge’s East Empyrean Enterprises had a steady supply of those who escaped the noose. It was the employer of thieves, turncoats…

… and debtors. 

Emmett stopped at the crown of the hill, panting hard. He leant against a low brick wall, emblazoned with fresh graffiti foretelling a Miss Devitt as Throgmorton champion of 1880, and tried to get his breath back. Putting The Iris down as collateral had been stupid, he thought, but the alternative – himself or Kizzy – was unthinkable. He’d rather lose his home than his freedom. 

Well, he’d rather not lose either, but it was an impossible situation. Today’s earnings (four shillings and ninepence) would barely cover food, let alone a ship, and Kizzy’s wage – while welcome – was a pittance compared to it. 

That was when he realised he was being watched. 

[bodhrancomedy]

He is still crying when I take his hand and lead him, without a word, out of the garden which he made. "Take me home," he pleads. "Take me home." I drop his hand and watch him, silently. "Please," he whispers, "I do not know the way." It has been so long that I do not know either. Devouring him is a mercy. - The Heart of the Garden is a Single, Silver Rose by Bodhrán M.

[bodhrancomedy]

You know what, I've had a couple of my friends (@queer-crusader and @rileylefae) asking what the fuck this is and I'll give you some background.

Years and years ago, like before I started university-years ago, I started writing a series of vignettes which I rather uncreatively called The Rainbow Portraits.

The concept was a series of seven short image-focused stories each based around a colour of the rainbow.

The Heart of the Garden is a Single, Silver Rose is - as far as I know - the only surviving piece I have. Strangely enough, it was actually originally intended to be the Orange story which does make sense in the whole context (there's an orange grove which is very important).

The rest of the work has been lost, not that it was ever finished in the first place. I have vague memories for some of the concepts - like Red was about a warrior woman retiring (I think), and either Green or Purple was about a little girl climbing back up from the underworld. The only solid memory I have is that Blue was about an elderly midwife rescuing a magical fox from a trap during a rainstorm. If I can find the snippet I wrote I'll share it here.

But yes, it's supposed to be very fucked up and poetic.

[bodhrancomedy]

He is still crying when I take his hand and lead him, without a word, out of the garden which he made. "Take me home," he pleads. "Take me home." I drop his hand and watch him, silently. "Please," he whispers, "I do not know the way." It has been so long that I do not know either. Devouring him is a mercy. - The Heart of the Garden is a Single, Silver Rose by Bodhrán M.

[traumatizeddfox]

I WASN’T A BAD DOG

I WAS A SCARED DOG

[kahvilahuhut]

food themed oc asks 🍅

food preferences tell a lot about us and the same can be said about our ocs. And so, here's a funny ask game.

GENERAL/MISC

🍎 What's your oc's favorite food(s)?

🍊 Your oc is brought to the fruits and veggies aisle of the grocery store. What do they pick?

🍌 If your oc would pick a yoghurt or something like it, would they rather 1) eat plain yoghurt 2) eat flavored yoghurt or 3) eat yoghurt with the fruit bits in it.

🥭 Does your oc drink juice? What's their favorite kind of juice? Do they mind the fruit pulp that can sometimes be found in these?

🥝 Does your oc have food restrictions? Is the reason related to health, culture, ethics, preferences or something else?

🫐 Would your oc eat something they found outside? (for example: berries, mushrooms, not eaten chocolate bar, stuff like that)

🍇 Does your oc prefer coffee, tea, or hot chocolate? Do they prefer them hot or cold? What would their usual order in a cafe be?

🧄 How much spices does your oc use when cooking? Do they prefer bland taste or spicy/rich in flavor meals?

🍤 What's their opinion on seafood?

🧇 Do they enjoy baking? What's their favorite thing to bake? What's their favorite pastry to eat?

🍳 Do they enjoy cooking? What's their favorite thing to cook? Do they cook alone or with someone else?

🥖 What's their favorite kind of bread?

🫕 Do they like cheese?

🍾 Does your oc drink alcohol? What's their favorite drink(s) (can be alcoholic or non-alcoholic)? Would they know how to mix a cocktail?

🍟 What is your oc's opinion on fast food? How often do they buy it?

BREAKFAST

🥐 Your oc is given a chance to order a breakfast from cafe - what do they order? Would they actually do that?

🥯 What's their usual breakfast like? Do they eat breakfast, and if so, how regularly? Do they eat alone or with someone else? What would an ideal breakfast for them be?

🥚 What is your oc's preferred way to eat eggs? If your oc doesn't eat eggs, what do they think about scrambled tofu or the equivalent in their world?

🥓 At what time does your oc eat breakfast?

🥨 Brunch picnic time with friends/partner(s)/companions/[insert your ocs' close people here]! What is your oc bringing?

LUNCH

🥗 Your oc is now at a salad bar (a buffet-like place where you can do your own salad). What do they put in there? Do they add some kind of protein? Some sweet fruits? Some seeds or bread?

🥪 What kind of sandwiches does your oc like/would like to eat? If they could eat it for lunch, would they only eat it or something else, too?

🍣 What's your oc's typical lunch like? Do they usually eat lunch, and if so, how regularly? Do they eat alone or with someone else? What would their ideal lunch be like?

🥟 What's something your oc would love to eat for lunch almost every time?

🥙 They are having a lunch date. Which place do they pick and what are they ordering? Do they hurry or would they rather be late from whatever happens after lunch?

DINNER

🧆 Would they rather eat a stuffing lunch and light dinner or vice versa? Why?

🍚 They have been invited for a dinner by someone close to them! Where are they going, what are they ordering, what are they drinking and what do they talk about?

🍛 What's your oc's typical dinner like? Do they usually eat dinner, and if so, how regularly? Do they eat alone or with someone else? What would their ideal dinner be?

🍜 Do they love cooking dinner or would they rather eat somewhere else or order takeout?

🥘 Does your oc prefer a quick, calm dinner or would they rather have a very long one?

SNACKS & CO.

🍩 What is their favorite dessert? Do they get it often? What is their go-to dessert?

🥕 They are packing some snacks because they're going to be away from home for a while. What do they take with them? What's their opinion on trail mix?

🍒 How often do they eat berries and other kinds of veggies?

🥞 Your oc is ordering food from a fast food chain. They can also pick something else than the main meals. What do they buy?

🍦 Your oc wakes up at night, feeling hungry. Do they go eat? If yes, what will they eat?

🫖 Does your oc eat anything between dinner and going to sleep? How often?

☕️ Does your oc eat anything between lunch and dinner? How often?

[dragonstoravens]

...okay it's been a while but ask about Trinity and food pls

Or others if you know them and would like to!

[greelin]

in my documence. straight up “writing it”. and by “it”, haha, let’s justr say. Words certainly

[greelin]

hey.

[most-definitively-a-human-deact]

ID: greeling has screenshotted someone's tags, which say #tw lies. Greeling writes out "hey" in large, bold lower cases . End ID