for made up fic titles: 'A Fungal Bloom' and 'Small Blasphemies'
a fungal bloom
- im picturing some kind of scifi horror where this mysterious fungus takes over a town and like rots them or eats through them or something terrible like that. or makes them lose it and kill each other.
small blasphemies
- so i toyed with the idea of making prudence and salome from the same death cult as eliya. and like maybe they're cursed bc they went against zeris? or maybe they were also death brides along with eliya?
(for some context: salome was killed and if she rises she's gonna get revenge on the whole cult. prudence buries herself alive to be with salome after locking away an evil dollmaker bent on eternal life. if the two of them rise together it's gonna be a bloodbath.
happy wbw! does Faery have any rhymes that contain folk wisdom i.e. 'red sky at night / shepherds delight'? if not, why?
Oh yeah, Gil’s sailor friends definitely use the “Red Sky at morning, sailors take warning” bit. Also, I don’t know if this counts, but it came to mind, so I’m gonna share it anyways :P
The first thing a child learns in the court of the star spinners is never to chase fireflies. It is said that the stars are so in love with their spinners that they come down to dance among them. But if the stars ever catch you, they'll snatch you up and spirit you away into the sky and make you sing for them forever."
Traditional is nice for big rendered things that I can really get into, like paintings or charcoal drawings. For comics and illustrations I greatly prefer drawing digitally.
How long have you been drawing?
Well. The first time I ever drew was I guess whenever my parents first decided to give me crayons.
If we mean drawing with the intent of being good at drawing, it started in third grade. I convinced a friend to teach me how to draw (which consisted of them having me copy their drawings over and over). I then became obsessed and shot off in my own direction.
How long does an average piece take you to complete?
This one is hard, because obviously it correlates with how much effort I’m putting in.
Most of my recent finished drawings have been like... between 1 to 6 hours of work. Probably. I haven’t been timing them. I should do that again some time.
Do you like to challenge yourself?
Yes. Now that I’m drawing again regularly I want to start doing more exercises/studies and more ambitious pieces.
(Though really I’ll probably just start working on narrative comix again, since in my experience they really expose your weaknesses and force you to go way out of your comfort zone if you want them to look even remotely interesting and good, so.)
What inspires you to not just make art, but to be a better artist?
warning(s): assault, body horror, nudity, corpse, suicidal thoughts. (more to be added as i write for the second prompt)
4.) “Factum fieri infectum non potest.” (It is impossible for a deed to be undone)
it was a circle of fire. anahel tried to free herself but whatever magic created it was too powerful for her to escape. she watched vera walk slowly around the circle, face twisted into a smile that made her once lovely features demonic in the fire’s glow.
“what are you planning?” anahel gestured to the body of a woman lying on the ground in the middle of the circle. she was naked. she lay face down, as if vera had just tossed her there without caring where she fell. her long dark hair fanned out, nearly blending in with the soil.
“you’re about to find out, babycakes.”
vera began to read from a book in her hands. human voice shaping around words made by something else, something not from this world.
anahel screamed, bone deep and primal like a dying animal. she burned. burned as she never had before. the fire from the circle closed in on her, sealing her into a body that was never meant to hold her, burning marks into the skin of this ill-fitting shape.
the screams trailed off into sobs as she cried. she had never cried before. anahel bowed her head to the ground, whispering prayers to her creator.
please. please kill me.
but they never answered.
8.) “Amore et melle et felle es fecundissimus.” (Love is rich with honey and venom)
for a made up fic title: The Devils Ridge And Other Hoax Hauntings
i’m picturing a few options here:
1) buzzfeed unsolved-like show where a couple of nerds explore haunted places to prove they’re not haunted.
2) a scooby doo-esque setup where someone goes to extreme lengths to make up a haunting to scare people off, but they keep getting foiled by Those Damn Meddling Kids.
3) a convoluted narrative about a set of hauntings told in different accounts by witnesses that slowly gets warped over time as they’re passed down generation to generation.
4) a couple scopes out haunted honeymoon suites pretending to be married. then weird stuff starts happening.
21. When we finally found him, he was barely human anymore.
warning(s): gore, body horror, implied murder,
When we finally found him, he was barely human anymore.
The dollmaker achieved his dream of immortality at long last - and at great cost. we took in the horror that was now his body in equal parts fear, disgust, and horror: he had skin newly sewn in, still bloody from the butchery of his poor victims, contrasting even more grotesquely with the parts in various states of rot.
i looked at him. he looked back at me. a smile spread across his face, as if challenging me, what can you do to stop me?
“morton greensley, we have gathered here to pay you back for your crimes.” i ignored morton’s derisive chuckle. “as we cannot sentence you to death, we have decided to improvise.” i nodded to the two men holding morton. they nodded in answer, dragging morton greenley to the mausoleum, where we hoped he would remain forevermore, provided a misguided soul did not release him from punishment.
morton struggled against their hold, maddened, hate filled eyes fixated on me. “i will return prudence, and when i do, i will make my home in your skin.”
“pray not. for i will rise out of the cold earth to do away with ye.”
they shoved him in and closed the doors, locking and chaining them. morton started screaming then, vicious and unholy, beating his body against the stone again and again.
i waited there in the graveyard. i waited for hours. until the others left. until he finally became silent.
