Sorry for taggin ya two times a few days, doodledrawsthings, but I couldn’t stop picturing Bendy in your Hell’s Studio AU actually acting like Gordon Ramsay with all the salty insults and whatnot haha! XD
As night falls on Devils Tower National Monument, it transforms from a place of darkness into a place of wonder. Thousands of twinkling, glittering stars dot the night sky over an astounding geologic feature that protrudes out of the rolling prairie surrounding the Black Hills. Stay for nature’s night show at Wyoming’s Devils Tower – it’s worth it! Photo by National Park Service.
the joke is that a Lumberjack can also be called a Whistle Punk, and there are at least two separate axes that we’ve seen in this studio so far, and Bendy whistles at the end of CH2 in that one walking-backwards-into-the-ink Easter Egg, and
I figured I might as well whip up an entry for that Chapter 2 fanart contest. Seriously, though, why are there so many axes in this studio?
(please don’t reproduce this art without my express permission, folks)
you've been asked about "@ god why" but what's the premise behind "The Devil Went Down On Georgia" because i just read that title aloud to my roommate (both of us having lived in georgia for at least the last ten years) and they laughed their ass off
pannyexpress also said: Ok but am I the only one curious about ‘the devil went down on georgia’ ???
Judging by the comments, no, no you are not.
The Devil Went Down On Georgia is actually a sequel idea for the contemporary Scottish RomCom I am writing called The Devil’s Sporran, also inspired by a tumblr post where the Romance genre was summed up as “shirtless Satan in a kilt” and I went off on a mad tangent and basically brain stormed an entire novel in the span of three reblogs. The basic summary and following excerpt goes as follows:
I’m thinking a modern setting. Young woman is the maid of honor to her bff’s wedding to be held in Scotland where both her and her beau are from, and as the maid of honor she gets introduced to all kinds of quaint traditions she’s never before encountered. Like trying to find a real silver sixpence, taking the bride out around the town on her Taking Out, the whole kerfuffle with trying to find matching dresses for three vastly different shaped women, and realizing at the last minute she’s expected to pick out a tea set for the bride despite being a coffee drinker her whole life, and what the fuck is the difference between Wedgwood and Denby.
And then there’s the groom’s best man…she feels someone should have warned her about him.
“What are you doing in here?” she demanded, scrabbling to cover herself with the ugly tartan shawl even though she was fully dressed.
“I was next door,” Donnie informed her, eyes darting over the length of her, “looking at scabbards. Are you all right? You sounded upset.”
“I’m fine!” but even to her own ears it sounded panicked and shrill. Her shoulders slumped, defeated. “I can’t get out of this stupid dress. There’s too many buttons and the assistant has run off.”
Donnie chuckled easily, the sound curling straight down to Kate’s bare toes hidden under the length of her skirt. It was offensive how charming this particular Scotsman could be, especially given how effortless he made it seem. She was almost certain she’d have hated it in anyone else.
“She’s helping a bride, I heard crying so you’re on you’re own. Let me?”
The question was so unexpected and softly spoken it threw her off guard, and Kate found herself compelled to turn as he stepped further into the changing room, pulling the curtain closed behind him. She’d half expected to be manhandled by rough hands, surprised when he began freeing her from the confines of the bodice with the utmost gentleness.
“There now,” Donnie intoned soothingly, as the dress began to slip away from her shoulders. “All better.”
“Thank you,” Kate murmured, the ghost of his fingertips still hot against her spine.
“You look lovely, by the way, very” he smiled tightly, catching her eye in the mirror, “honorable.“
Kate snorted, and moved to hold the bodice in place against her chest, aware that a good portion of her naked back was now exposed to him. “I’m supposed to look like the bride. Some tradition about keeping the Devil away.”
“Hmm,“ Donnie hummed, the silk of her skirt trailing through his fingers as he leant in, smile broadening into a roguish grin. “Tell me, do you think it’s working?”