I'm an 19 year old amateur writer. I'm currently doing commissions. I normally write in horror, but I will branch into fantasy and romance, specifically monster and human romance. If you could do paid commissions, that would be great, and if not, that's still alright! :) I'll mostly write for monsters and humans, but would not be opposed to try fanfiction or x readers, but they may not be as good compared to my other works due to never writing in that style. https://ko-fi.com/katherinewrites8375
I'm currently open to commissions, paid and free alike. I am the most versed in horror, but have also written for the fantasy and romance genres. For the romance I'm better equipped to monster and human romances. My work is also on Quotev under the same name, as I am trying to get my writings out there.
For paid commissions the prices are:
100~200 words: $10
500: $15
1,000~2000: $20
For all commissions:
I will need specific genre, any specific location, race, gender, sexuality, and ethnic background. As well as anything you want in there like tropes and what not.
walks into his dads office and yells at him about killing someone WHILE school is active
argues with his pharmacist over refilling his ADD meds in the middle of a pharmacy (if anyone knows anything about ADHD/ADD meds you know that shit won’t work 😭)
steals adrenaline straight from a hospital then proceeds to break nancy out of said hospital
asks nancy if she wants to inject adrenaline, and when she proceeds to go “no wtf quentin” he just goes “suit yourself” and fucking stabs that shit into his thigh
this isn’t in the movie but the fact that in his dbd lore he wishes he was the one to kill freddie and then proceeds to basically summon the entity deserves the fucking cake
in conclusion, quentin is feral and would bite people in fights
Cold; an empty, icy feeling crawling into every being in it's path.
Cold; an old creaking building, house standing abandoned.
Cold; piercing blue eyes emitting the same feeling that a biting winter wind brings.
Cold; a shelf collecting dust, flakes of faded paint landing daintily on rotting wood and mildew laid lace and cotton.
Cold; cracked pericline yellowing with age, once alabaster skin spidering into chipped grey.
Cold; glass eyes glinting in the light, oddly human in their intelligent gaze.
Cold; painted lips molded into a smile cracked revealing a marred frown.
Cold; the same feeling of a tomb.
Cold; emptiness that won't go away; shivering and fearful in its embrace.
Cold; a once pristine facade cracked and broken at the seams, perfect skin bleeding with age.
Cold; a prison made of pericline hiding tears and silenced screams beneath.
Cold; the same thing you will feel once you purchase me and bring me home. Kept close and cozy by a bed made full. Soon when you sleep, I'll creep and make you into a prison skin deep.
Cold; a shared eternally, cold and locked in place, but a mutual connection it'll be.
An eternity of cold and me.
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The light from the blue corn moon cast dancing shadows amongst the green giants, trees older than the far off village. A song carried on the wind, crickets playing out, controlling the sea of dancing shadows. As night carried on, so too did the song - changing, adding the young frogs and the ancient toads, croaking out an applause. The dance of the frozen night continued, twinkling bugs flowed through the dark tendrils of their fellow, loved guests.
You see, my dear readers (and fellow welcomed guests), this ritual happens every night Great Lady Moon changes from her beautiful pearl slip and dawns a gown of bluebells and forget-me-nots. She too, partakes in this dance, a sweet lovely night dance. She is the glitter dawned hostess, smiling radiantly down upon her guests as they danced in tandem to the rhythm they set. It is such a splendid occasion, a special one at that, one that gathers everyone around in harmony - from beings of old to the newborn doe. The royals of the old forest twirled around with the common folk, a dance that comes only every few moon's. No matter the issues of day, the dancers prance around with friend and foe. A kingly rose in the shadowed meadow takes the blushing Dahlia, a peasant to his static, whisking her away he does, off into a magical spin far into the night.
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As day faded to night, a piercing howl rang through the air. Lady Moon's children sang a lovingly greeting up into the sky, watching as Lady Moon faded to Mother Moon and Sibling Stars. The great pack of Mother Moon's furred children stalked through the darkening wood, weaving through the towering trees. Hunting they were, for offerings to appease their sweet mother and siblings. Their mother shone glittering silver upon the multicolored fur of her children, aiding them in their ventures.
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Great Mother Moon wept as a small, white figure laid unmoving in her light. A small hare, taken far too soon by her Brother, Death. He swept another guest into his arms, dancing merrily with the silver souls, guiding them in pained walts into his kingdom shrouded in perpetual darkness. Sister life watched him go, kneeling to the crimson soaked snow, placing a small star in the center of the bloody circle - a gift from her Sibling Star's.
In the years following, as a grand dance was preformed, a glowing gardenia bush swayed gently on the breeze, following the movements. Snow white petals chiming in resonance with the soul taken so long ago.
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Flowers twinkled softly in the night, acting as shimmering guides to their unseen guests. The wood and creatures alike were not the only souls to gather for the dance. Those once housed in house of flesh and bone, they too join in dance, swaying in the gently sewn breeze, following their shimmering guides. Each Blue Moon Ball, the souls of the lost dance in merry joy, a dance of death, orchestrated by the lovely Lady Moon.
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TW: Graphic description of gore and violence, mentions of assumed death, blood, gore, severed limbs, graphic depictions of mutilation, graphic descriptions of mutilation of children and animals
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Blood dripped from the cobweb decorated ceiling, chains clanging in the breeze as severed limbs and decapitated heads groaned along with the creaking tune. The furniture was not spared either, blood seeping into the fabric of couches and chairs, woods tables staining red; metallic mixing with wood. Each room housed a new scene, from the front living room to the darkest parts of the attic. Frankensteined monster - humans cut and stitched together - a macabre dinner party down the hall - a family opening presents for Christmas in the other. The house of horror, a morbid art piece of a deranged mind. The smallest of bodies mixed with dogs, children's limbs swapped for dog legs, ears stitched to their ripped out hair. Limbs cracked and torn, children's eyes decorating the dinner plates, replaced by berries from the trees lining the garden. Snow fell silently outside, devoid of the red parade that plagued the offending home. Christmas lights twinkled in the frozen night air, doomed to burn out from overuse, owners never once again going to touch them. Inside the house, in the deep dark attic, a small figure sat, crouched, heaving breathes leaving red stained lips. Visura and gore dripped down the chapped lips, pooling on the floor beneath the shivering figure, a small child, one not of the house. The attic had been a prison, a cage that they could not escape from, until a crack appeared in the chained door. The child, thought small, was not just a normal child taken in the night; sharp teeth smiled as it slithered from the room, sweet aroma and laughter drifting through the candle lit air. A wheezing laugh was all that remained from the crouched monster, skin peeling and falling away, darkened scales shimmering in the pale beams of moonlight.
When the police finally surveyed the house, calls of worried family blowing up the phones, all that remained was the gore soaked display. The perpetrator, a demon in stolen child skin had long since fled after it fed, leaving only behind cackling laughter and desiccated bodies strewn through the whole house - a mock display of happy times - a warm Christmas night full of joy.
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Waves lapped at the heels of the great, sheer cliffs, salt clinging to the rocks and far into the grooves. Rain beat down on the earth, rings flowing in the rushing water, foam sloshing at the rocks in tandem. The wind picked up, whirling the rain about the area. The story of the Siren and her human lover was a retold tale in the parts of the underwater worlds. The woman with hair as fine as gold had fled into the night, jumping from the cliffs in grief to the arms of her awaiting lover. There they sank underneath the turning waves, locked in an embrace. Arms intertwined around the other, lips embracing as the air left the lungs of the land woman. There in those salty waves do the forlorn lovers lay, locked in a comforting embrace, lovingly gazing at the other for a stand still eternity.
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To love you is dark, a flickering flame in a darkened room, warm and safe. Heavily do the shadows hang, hugging me in a phantom embrace. A comfort only know to those who love a shadow, a comfort only known to me.
The snow crunched under the weight of a young girl, feet bare, just as pale as the snow they walked on. She was followed faithfully by her companion, an equally young faun delicately pranced after his friend. The duo continued on their trek - human child leading - showing no signs of being effected by the bitter cold that crawled and bit at her skin. She'd been out here a long time, skin fully gone pale as the dusty snow she happily danced through.
The faun she named Sirius followed his chosen companion closely. Eilonwy smiled warmly over at Sirius, gently patting his head as they stopped by the shadowed edge of the treeline. Sirius walked past Eilonwy, stepping up behind a tree, hidden from the residents of the small village. There he stood watch over his female companion, watching as she danced around for a few minutes before she darted off. The call of an aged voice, thick with worry spun in the air as she dashed - her mother.
Sirius bobbed his head, soothed to see her back home and safe. He began walking back into the the woods, prancing deeper as the sun dipped on the horizon. There, back at the treelined village, his friends mother fussed about, picking Eilonwy up and running up onto the porch and straight through the open back door.
When the girl had not exited through that very same door in the following few days, the young deer began to grow worried for his companion. Sirius, relentless, began to pace back and forth between the trees, carving a worried path. Eventually, knowing his friend would not show, he bowed his head with great sadness and ventured back into the snow covered trails.
The snow grew thicker as time wore on, heavy snowfalls pledged the village and forest alike. A storm had come, mother nature ran her furry down onto the earth. During this time, Sirius stood guard over the abnormally silent house, anxiously waiting the return of her dear friend. Sirius had grown into a young buck since the last time he witnessed his friends joyous prancing - spots gone and the points of antlers gracing his majestic head. Even as the others bedded down for the storm, he stood watch over the house.
An excited yip sounded from next to him, startling him. A lone fox ran back and forth, jumping about. Snow crunched ahead of them, static footfalls that slid every few steps. Eilonwy - crying she was - still as small as she was when she left. Sirius ran over to his saddened lane human and nudged her cheek in attempted comfort. A small hum echoed from his throat, a silent question - 'what happened?'.
Eilonwy did not answer for many minutes, instead choosing to throw her arms around her brown fured companion. Beated silence pasted, only quiet sniffling remained. Eilonwy pulled away from Sirius, rubbing her swollen eyes and tear stained cheeks. There she revealed that her parents have been fighting - crying so loud they ignored their only daughter. Every question she asked floated by their heads, dismissed and forgotten in the icy air. When they left the house without her, that was the final straw for the frail girl, she ran from the house and to the only comfort she knew - Sirius. Late into the night Sirius comforted his friend, bedding down in a sheltered grove, curling around the girl. Neither noticed that her skin was still as pale as the snow, but no shivering persisted the prolonged visit to the snow forest.
A couple, late the next day came home, tears staining each of their faces. As they entered their dark house, they collapsed again in anguish, there in the corner of the room laid a small casket - one only fit for the smallest of children - there only child.
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