DREW SAID NO BROKEN LINES, SO I SAID LET’S BREAK EVERYTHING ELSE. WHY NOT? LET’S PULL DOWN THE BRONZE STATUES OF CAUSALITY, LET’S SMASH THE STORE WINDOWS OF PLOT AND PLAUSIBILITY, LET’S RIOT IN THE STREETS OF CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND MIX OUR METAPHORS. […] WORLD WITHOUT END.
a private writing blog for a variety of canon & original characters. dreamt by eve! relies on personal interpretation and headcanons, a vague recollection of the canon material, and a willingness to adapt to any universe.
guidelines + characters, prompts.
best way to get a starter is to send a prompt or two. force-shipping through memes is totally okay with me.
if you don't know which muse you want to interact with first, ishtar usually is the safest bet you can make.
my memory isn't always great so if you see me messing up canon, please look away.
i tag triggering stuff with 'trigger /', if it's really bad i use 'dead dove do not eat /' as well. however be aware that mature and explicit themes will appear. i obviously don't condone any of it
on request muses. always happy to write them <3
muses in italics are original characters.
barbara smiles; it's unkind, but placid. she waits for the words to morph, for the reiteration of a sound to become meaning.
"cinema doesn't have a heart," she tells them when the other is done, "it has guts."
you go to the movies because you want to be digested: picked clean, grinded to nothingness. rendered absolutely formless; therefore, free. free to be, and do.
"feeling is a side-product of the process." she taps her cigarette into the air, ashes falling between them like a punctuation point. the silence stretches. she thinks of politeness; of smiling; of words being hard to conjure.
she doesn't know how to be kind, but she knows what it's like to want more than you can chew. "i used to go to the movies 'cause i wanted to escape." a secret of sort.
@favoriteache | dante said: it's like the land has its own memory.
NOT ONLY THE LAND. The people on it—the blood inside of them.
Choso feels and lives in a way that defies even the supernatural community's structure of reality. He should not exist—in fact, he only does due to unspeakable cruelty of the entity posing as his father and torturing his mother.
He is guilty because he is the only one remaining to carry that burden. Nobody else can be held responsible for Noritoshi Kamo (or who everyone thought to be Noritoshi Kamo). But with his guilt, there is also open-mindedness—a willingness to accept others that defy the rigid expectations of their society.
Dante's blood, his lineage, are scarred and marred. Shamefully so. It should be difficult to look at. But as much as Dante is tied to where he came from, he also remains autonomous. (This is something Choso often forgets about himself.)
Choso stands by Dante's side because he accepts him as he is. He gives him the space to think and explore. He won't judge. Until he has to.
"Everything lives in its own way. Everything should be..." He doesn't know French. He wishes he knew more English—wishes he knew a lot more than he had time to absorb before today.
He shifts, arms wrapped around himself not tightly, but protectively all the same.
"That is not something you resent now that you know it. Right?"
once upon a time, dante would have told you, chin raised and a sneer twisting his mouth, that he didn't do friends. nowadays it's less his fault than a natural consequence of that aforementioned attitude: there is no one left to give him a chance.
choso does. dante appreciates it, though he keeps that truth very close to his chest. he doesn't understand everything that is going on with choso; the magic that surrounds him, the darkness that simmers. he could ask. perhaps he would be given an answer.
but choso hasn't asked too much of him. so maybe he can do the same thing, and keep his curiosity to himself. there are things to learn, anyway, if you're smart enough to glean the pieces of information: the way he speaks of the world, the way he stands. like right now, arms around himself, protective over his own body like he expects someone to throw a punch. dante finds it so very ironic that a decade ago, more or less, he would have been the kind to take advantage of such knowledge.
"nothing really makes sense these days," he admits, the flat line of his mouth giving up nothing more than the words spoken.
then, a quiet "i don't know," a shrug, like anger hasn't threatened to swallow his whole world a thousand times over. dante is very familiar with resentment: he made it his own source of power for years. resentment and ambition. what is left now? he turns his head away from choso, eyes on the horizon. "i'm not sure i know how not."
so many people surprised claudia hates louis too when it's literally spelled out for you in s1, when loustat read her diaries for the very first time. in s1e5 (i think), lestat says she wrote badly of "both her guardians" and she says she didn't mean all of it. before that, she turns to louis asking if he's going to let lestat treat her like that, and louis says nothing, but lestat points out that he read him some passages, meaning louis heard what claudia thought of him and chose to rally behind lestat because of how hurt he was.
so do you really think that claudia, vicious vampire and master manipulator claudia, would let it happen a second time? of course the new diaries would cater to louis. of course the new diairies would lie to manipulate louis. of course she'd invent awful things just to make sure louis rallies behind her instead of lestat. she knows she can't escape them both, but she can kill one of them. all she has to do is separate them.
of course she uses the diaries as a way to manipulate the dynamic. she saw it happen wonderfully a first time, even if it was not in her favor. lestat doesn't mind the hurtfulness. "bring your malice", he tells her at the séance. he can take it. he's always been willing to take it. louis though? he can't. louis will choose whoever he feels less wronged by. he does it all the time. chooses lestat over claudia. then claudia over lestat, only to backtrack. chooses armand over claudia, then armand over lestat.
he's so caught up in his own self-righteousness the idea that claudia's feelings would be warranted doesn't even reach his mind.
hey guys, i'm writing this because i'm in a really terrifying financial spot right now and my anxiety is completely through the roof. last friday, i unexpectedly lost my job. because of how the contract and payout dates fall, i am left with absolutely zero income until the beginning of august, and i am panicking about how to cover the next few weeks since i'm already in the negative on my bank account.
my absolute priority right now is keeping a safe roof over my head and taking care of my dog, smilla. she is epileptic and strictly relies on her daily medication to stay safe and seizure-free. her next batch is due by the end of july/early august and costs 120€. (on top of that, my rent is 533€, making it a total of 653€ that i somehow need to raise out of nowhere. but getting smilla's medication is number one on the list.)
to try and bridge this gap, i'm also opening up emergency commissions specifically for blog graphics. if you need headers, promo graphics, dash icons, or anything else for your blog layout, please shoot me a dm. i'll be opening up slots of 3 commissions for the moment. under the cut you'll find some examples of blog layouts i made for friends.
if you aren't able to commission me or drop a few euros via paypal, please do not feel pressured at all. honestly, just hitting the reblog button helps me just as much by getting this onto more dashboards. thank you so much for reading, and for looking out for smilla and me.
if s/pn had been a little brave then castiel would have looked like straightotron 3000 for a season before starting to present more and more androgynous the more his connexion to heaven lessened
the night spreads wide above them for longer than he cares to count; his eyes are on her. they follow the rising of her chest, they linger on her mouth with every breathy sound, thick and infused with sleepiness. a feast that knows it's being hunted and still let their eyelids fall closed. how dangerous. he doesn't understand the trust; hunger hums its own lonely tune and for a moment he wonders about attaching clawed fingers to her shoulders. keep her down while he drinks. let her thrash against his unyielding strength. the idiot girl would welcome it, surely, for she told him so…
but a shake of the head and a blink, and he lingers there, watching, until daylight comes and she breathes into her own wakefulness with a stretch. how strange, to want the meal to be given… to want her like this, awake. to want the lamb and the slaughter and the kindness that comes after, not in spite of, but because of the care that has been put into taking only what is given. for the throat to be extended, for the small tilt of her face, for her hands at his thighs while he sits behind her, face buried in her neck. the sweet perfume of defeat; her unbearable liveliness a smell he wants to bathe in. he smiles, teeth peeking out. "breakfast, darling?" baldur's gate will wait a bit longer, it must.
