worldsfromhoney

[worldsfromhoney]

whatever happened to men shoving each other against the wall out of pure lust, thinly veiled as hatred? we're in need of more homoerotic, yet homophobic doomed romances in media

[worldsfromhoney]

Prompt #253

Supervillain leaned their cheek on their fist, watching Villain type intently on their phone from across the table. A slow-growing ache rose behind their ribs, but when Villain smiled at their screen, that ache felt like a stab.

“Are you texting Hero?”

Villain looked up, blinked a couple times and set the phone face down on the table. “They’re just letting me know there’ll be a stand-in for them tomorrow.”

“Did they say something funny?”

“Huh?”

“You smiled. Was it something funny along with the information?”

“Just a joke, why are you being so sensitive?”

Supervillain let out a long sigh.

“You’re just dating me to make them jealous, aren’t you? And to get me out of their way.”

[worldsfromhoney]

imo the best way to interpret those “real people don’t do x” writing advice posts is “most people don’t do x, so if a character does x, it should be a distinguishing trait.” human behavior is infinitely varied; for any x, there are real people who do x. we can’t make absolute statements. we can, however, make probabilistic ones.

for example, most people don’t address each other by name in the middle of a casual conversation. if all your characters do that, your dialogue will sound stilted and unnatural. but if just one character does that, then it tells us something about that character.

[worldsfromhoney]

Short comic, while I work on something bigger on the side. It is nevertheless a very important topic. A lot of seabirds die because they eat plastic. They feed their chicks with the waste. It’s really tragic.

[worldsfromhoney]

maybe put a shock collar on Ashtray?

Lightning in His Veins

[masterlist]

CW: shock collar, pet whump, conditioned whumpee, dehumanisation

His Mistress has a new collar for him. Ashtray should be excited at the prospect of being decorated, but something about it makes his stomach churn. It is big, black and ugly. Nothing like the delicate accessories his Mistress usually dresses him in, and that almost feels like a sin.

Maybe it's because the collar is a gift from one of her friends, watching excitedly. Not for Ashtray, of course, nothing is ever for him, nothing belongs to him, that’s how it's supposed to be. But sometimes they gift her things to dress him in, though nothing comes close to her knowledge of style and grace. This collar must be one of those gifts then, and who is Ashtray to question that. A Good Boy never questions his superiors, a Good Boy never questions anything. A Good Boy does what he is told.

So Ashtray does. He bares his neck prettily, taking note of how his torso moves, twisting on fresh burns, knowing that the glitter the servants applied must shine like tiny diamonds. And maybe, silently, he hopes that his Mistress’ friends must be so jealous of her beautiful, perfect possessions, decked in gold and jewels, just what dreams are made of. 

…At least he thinks that’s what dreams must be like. Objects don’t dream, naturally. 

As his Mistress closes the clasps of the collar, as her pristine red nails scratch over a burn scrab, he can’t help but focus on the feelings of prongs digging into his throat in an uncomfortably familiar way. Ashtray doesn’t dwell on it though. He has already learned, there is nothing to fear. The blank rooms are far gone and instead have been blessedly replaced by the shining smiles his Mistress graces him with, her cold hands like glistening ice bringing warm burns, and the golden glamour she has allowed him to be a part of. 

Satisfied, his Mistress steps back. She is saying something, talking with her guest, exchanging airy laughter and warbled pleasant tones, washing over Ashtray like pearly morning dew he can picture in his mind but has never seen before. He could get lost in her voice, riding on it like clouds carrying him through his purpose, and yet never being too distracted, always keeping an eye on the ground just low enough so he’ll never miss a clue he can’t understand, never missing the remote–

The remote being handed to his Mistress, equally as black as the collar, making him suddenly awake of the prongs against his throat and the pit forming in his stomach. 

Ashtray stays still though, perfectly poised, and suppresses the flinch before it had even fully realised. Maybe he hopes, desperately, if he is Good enough she’ll decide against it. Maybe it was all a test, maybe, maybe… Maybe he can see it coming just enough to give her the reaction she wants. 

Almost pleadingly in the silence of his own mind, Ashtray knows he isn’t trained for pain. He is supposed to be an Ashtray, an object with a specific use, it’s all he could ever hope to know. The thought of displeasing her with his reaction scares him more than any pain ever could. What if he reacts too much? What if he is not– Lightning burns down his veins, ripping out his throat, his skin and tissue and soul. Two punctures spread venom down his very being, and there is no escape no escape no escape no escape no escape

Suddenly, it’s gone and Ashtray finds himself curled up on the ground, his limbs still twitching. He can’t remember how but surely it wasn’t graceful and–

His mouth rips open in a breathless scream, a pathetic, garbled screech barely noticeable over the sound of mindless thrashing, limbs hitting the floor, head banging against polished stone. It’s fire and lightning and Punishment and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know anything, only knows Pain and Punishment and Please Stop.

Pause.

Breath.

Notice saliva dripping from the mouth. Not elegant. Not trained.

Hell. 

Like veins imploding, swallowing what is left of Ashtray, leaving no trace of his purpose. Like poison, destruction, ruin, Ødelæggelse.

Stop.

Gasp.

Look up at Mistress, hope for mercy, hope for anything.

Find glee. Find amused laughter. Please.

It never ends…

• • •

He is still here. Ashtray is still here. Twisted, on the ground, the venom still burning in every vessel, but here. His tongue feels thick and swollen in his mouth, dried and bloody at the same time. Somehow, it is all pain, every single cell in his body is pain and lightning and shocks still coursing through him.

Maybe she heard him think. Maybe she felt her Ashtray have stupid little thoughts about things he should be grateful for, like being adorned in a big, black, ugly painful it hurts burning agonising beautiful collar. 

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

#chefs kiss #mwah #delicioso

[worldsfromhoney]

Little Origami Stars

A doll.

Its witch has been missing for years.

But everyday, it finds a little origami star with a message contained inside.

Sometimes the messages are short. Sometimes they're written in text small enough to fit the entire message. Sometimes the message is on both sides of the strip of paper.

All are addressed to the doll - ink laced with its witch's magicks.

Every time it receives a star, it always makes sure to fold it back up again.

It's already long passed a thousand.

But it can keep waiting.

No matter how many stars it takes, a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred, a million -

It will wait forever if it has to.

She's worth it.

[worldsfromhoney]

One quiet day on the farm, the Little Red Hen found some wheat seeds and decided to make bread.

"Who will help me plant these seeds?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Horse "But I'm a workhorse, and I'm too busy moving carts around."

And so the Little Red Hen planted the seeds by herself. And they grew into bountiful golden crops.

"Who will help me harvest the wheat?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Dog "But I'm a guarddog, and I'm too busy keeping away burglars and predators."

And so the Little Red Hen harvested the wheat herself and made it into flour.

"Who will help me bake the flour?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Pig "But I'm a mother of 5 newborn piglets, and I'm too busy taking care of my young."

And so the Little Red Hen baked the bread herself into twenty beautiful loaves.

"Who will help me eat the bread?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"We would." said the Farm Animals. "But we're ashamed, for we didn't do anything to make the bread."

"Nonsense!" said the Little Red Hen. "You, Horse, helped move around the stones that built my oven. You, Dog, kept me safe while I worked. And you, Pig, are raising a new generation of Farm Animals, who will too contribute to our Farm one day. You've all helped me so much by simply being you."

"Besides," the Little Red Hen added. "I couldn't possibly eat all the loaves on my own, most of them would go to waste. Come, eat with me."

And so the Little Red Hen and the Farm Animals ate the bread together. And all saw their own, and each other's, worth.

#🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 #DUDE #SO WHOLESOME DAMMIT

[worldsfromhoney]

Tagged by @aquadestinyswriting

Tagging: @did-i-do-this-write @tc-doherty @kjscottwrites @cyril-v-pyromancer @imbrisvastatio

[worldsfromhoney]

Reblog if you support equal rights because I do 💕

[worldsfromhoney]

Okay writers listen up

I'm gonna tell you about how I wrangled my shitbird brain into being a terrifying word-churning engine and have written over 170K words in under a year.

I wanna be clear that before unlocking this Secret Technique I was a victim of my unmedicated ADHD, able to start but never finish, able to ideate but not commit and I truly and firmly believed that I'd never write a novel and such a thing was simply outside of my reach.

Now I write (and read!!) every day. Every. Single. Day. Like some kind of scriptorial One Punch Man.

Step the First

Remove friction between yourself and writing.

I personally figured out how to comfortably write on my phone which meant I didn't have to struggle with the insurmountable task of opening my laptop.

I don't care if this means you write in a Discord server you set up for yourself, but fucking do it. Literally whatever makes you write!

(if you do write somewhere that isn't a word processor PLEASE back your work up regularly!)

Step the Second

Make that shit a habit. Write every day.

For me, I allow myself the grace that ANY progress on writing counts. One sentence? Legal. Five thousand furious hyperfixated words? Also legal.

Every day, make progress. Any progress.

I deleted Twitter from my phone and did my best to replace doomscrolling with writing. If I caught myself idly scrolling I'd close whatever I was looking at and open my draft and write one (1) sentence until I made THAT a habit, too.

Step Two-point-Five

DO NOT REWRITE. If you are creating a first draft, don't back up or restart. Continous forward motion. Second drafts and editors exist. Firsts are for ripping the fucking thing out of your brain.

If you're working on revisions after an editor or beta readers or whoever has given you feedback, then you can rewrite that's OK (and it counts as your writing for the day!)

Step the Third

Now that you've found a comfortable way to write and are doing it every day, don't stop. Keep doing it. Remember, just one sentence is all you need. You can always do more, but if one lousy sentence is all you can manage then you're still successfully writing.

Remember: this is what worked for me. Try things until you find what works for you.

You can do it. I believe in you.

[worldsfromhoney]

i hate this weird trend in fandom where subtext is seen as a Bad Thing and is only done if the creators are too cowardly to commit to showing something. i hate to break it to you but nuance and layers are what make stories interesting, if you have no subtext then you have a very flat story

[worldsfromhoney]

Arm

A doll takes off its arm and hand it to its witch.  Its witch holds its arm and stares at it with a confused look as it leaves the room.

It returns and its witch casts her spell to reattach its arm.  It takes off its arm again and hands it to its witch.  Its witch is even more perplexed than before.

This repeats several more time before its witch asks it why it is doing it, eyes still full of confusion.  It tells her it wants to be with its witch even as it goes about its tasks.  It can feel her warmth through its detached arm!

Its witch nods with understanding.  She accepts its arm and spends the rest of the day cuddling it as it wanders all around the house.

[worldsfromhoney]

Trial

A witch sits on trial.  The judge reads her crime - violation of the “Consent Before Life Act”.  A doll sits in the courtroom, the witch’s victim.

Long ago, in the dark ages, witches brought others into this world without their consent.  Baby witches, dolls, other creatures, all forcibly brought to life.

A century ago, a new spell was discovered.  Witches could now communicate with souls in Eternity, asking if they wished to experience the painful jolt into her world.  What they found there astonished most witches.  Nearly all souls preferred to remain in Eternity.  Very few considered the sparse joys of this world to outweigh the immense suffering tied to existence.

Witches started discussing the ethical implications of these findings.  Within a year, most witches held the belief that no being should be born or created without their consent.  This sentiment slowly meanered its way into law.

A doll sits in tears knowing how easily its suffering could have been avoided.  Its witch looks down, understanding the catastrophic nature of her mistake, prepared to receive her punishment.

[worldsfromhoney]

Hey! I've read a lot of Villain-Hero pairings where the Villain betrays the Hero. What about one where the Hero betrays the Villain? Love your stuff!

"It feels good, doesn't it?" the villain asked. Their voice was soft. Too soft, really.

The hero's shoulders tensed.

The villain smiled at them. It looked like such a lovely guileless smile; the hero couldn't believe it for a second. Not when the villain was gazing up at them from the floor of a prison cell.

"Winning?"

The villain's smile grew. Their eyes crinkled at the corners. "Betrayal."

The hero swallowed hard. Their heart gave a lurching little stutter. They should have turned away right there and then, abandoned the villain to their fate, but the even more terrible truth of it rooted their feet to the spot.

The villain craned up on their knees, unable to go much further with their hands chained to the ground behind their back. It still put them at nearly the hero's diminutive height, a head below, neck craned up and offered like a sacrifice to meet the hero's eyes.

The villain wet their lips. "Powerful. In control. Cunning, even."

"Maybe that's what it feels like for you."

"Oh?" The villain's head tilted. "Are you bleeding out on the inside for me, then?"

The hero had done what was necessary. They had won. They didn't know if it made them a good hero and a bad person that it did feel good, that they weren't bleeding out and aching for the person who they had pretended to love. All they felt was triumph.

The villain's smile finally turned into the vicious gorgeous thing that the hero knew. "You'll go out there and you'll act sad, stalwart in the face of your duty perhaps. You'll pretend to still be the sweet little thing you were, but you've had a taste now, haven't you? It is better to hurt then to be hurt."

"Oh?" The hero folded their arms and swaggered a step closer, towering, because there was no one else around to see them except the one person who already knew their worst. Their monster. They leaned down, so that their lips nearly brushed. "Are you bleeding out on the inside for me?"

"Yes."

The hero's heart gave another lurching little stutter. Less shocked now, less frozen, more of a guilty squirming thrill. Awful. Enticing. Sick to the soul. They wanted to hear how the villain, after everything, was in agony. How they were second guessing everything, every second, every kiss. How they would be haunted by the wounds the hero had left upon them, never able to forget exactly which of them had come out on top in the end.

They hadn't used to be like that. They hadn't used to feel like that.

"It hurts exquisitely," the villain breathed, holding their gaze. "My, my, how far you've come. I always said you'd make a beautiful monster. I did teach you well, didn't I?"

The hero pulled back. "I did what I did because I had to. You do it for fun."

"Everyone starts out betraying people because they have to, love." The villain settled back down again on the floor in turn. "That's the gateway drug."

They stared at each for a long moment.

"Rot in hell," the hero said, and their voice was a little too soft too really. As if the softness they had for each other was anything but a honey-coated poison. "You had it coming."

The villain blew a kiss at their retreating back. "See you there, with all the other traitors."

#now that was delicious #absolutely mwah #i love me some heroes like that

[worldsfromhoney]

i must ask you reblog this so said beast, you know. actually has attributes

#teeth #NOM NOM NOM NOM

[worldsfromhoney]

pokémon trainer!deku and his shiny primeape

[worldsfromhoney]

Fire tornado soap bubble