I’m trying to get rid of art block by forcing myself to paint but it’s only making it worse x_x rip. Technically I like the sketch more but I spent way too much time trying to colour to not post that version too
Hello! How would you write a dialogue in which a character is freaking out about something? I generally have them word vomit but I don't really like that style. If its too much could you show me an example as well?
You could definitely word vomit – especially if your character is hysterical – but that’s not the only way to do it by any means. I know a few other ways.
1. Calmly. This is strange, considering your character is freaking out, but the freak-out is internal – they’re shutting themselves off due to shock. In this case, they would be quiet, sane, and even if what they’re saying is illogical, it would probably sound reasonable.
“I was right there when she shot him. He dropped like a sack of flour. I figured he was gone as soon as the bullet hit his chest. So now I’ve decided I’m gonna go after her. Right now. And I’m gonna kill her.” “What? You can’t do that!” “Sure I can. She killed him, so I kill her. It’s called justice.” “But- With just your bare hands?” “The way I feel right now, my bare hands are more than enough.”
Notice how the character who just watched their friend die in front of them isn’t yelling, isn’t stuttering, isn’t getting angry or crying – they’re perfectly calm, almost to the point of complete emotional shutdown.
2. Angrily. Some people get angry when they lose control and freak out – it scares them, and the fear manifests itself as anger. This type particularly happens when they’re upset about something and other characters aren’t taking it seriously or are shrugging off their concerns.
“No! It’s happening tonight! We don’t have time to think, or weigh things, we need to fucking leave! Now!” “We can’t. You know that, and you’d remember that, if you were thinking straight-” “I am thinking straight! It’s you who’s fucked in the head. I don’t give a damn what you think we can and can’t do, we need to clear out of here, right this second.”
As you can see, this character is freaking out – their concerns may or may not have a firm foundation, but obviously they are concerned, and that concern is manifesting itself as fury.
3. By stuttering. For some people, it’s hard to talk when they panic, because their minds race forward ahead of their mouths and they get tongue-tied. I typically see/use this with more anxious characters, or with characters who aren’t typically good at speaking anyways (in other words, who are uncomfortable talking).
There are a couple of different ways to stutter: a. Repeat the beginning of each word.
“I tr-tried to s-save him, but he wuh-wouldn’t l-let me … he knew it was g-going to happen. It’s my f-fault!”
(However, keep in mind that this kind of stuttering is more as if your character is crying and trying to talk through sobs and hiccups. Please use it sparingly – it can get old fast.)
b. Repeat words.
“No. No, I don’t know what’s going on, Ricky. Ricky, why would I have any idea? Don’t fucking look at me like that, Ricky. Don’t look at me like I’m lying.”
c. Insert filler sounds: “ah”, “uh”, “um”, and/or curse words.
“I, uh, I- fuck. I, ummm, I think maybe, ah, maybe we should leave?”
For more on stuttering – it can be hard to peg correctly – check out this post.
I hope this helps! If you need anything else, please feel free to ask. - @authors-haven
ahhh some of these aged better than others haha, I was looking through my old art to find five for this and it brought me such a nice feeling I could see myself spiralling down my obsession again, all the style experiments and ideas, and I found I’m really proud of so many drawings, even the ones that look awful to me now because in all of them I tried something new and pushed a bit further and now I’m motivated! I encourage all artist to do this! actually if you are an artist and we are mutuals you are tagged!
One time I saw a post here on tumblr where someone said that every bisexual they’ve ever met does finger-guns and as I truly contemplated that statement, reflecting on myself, I thought “I don’t do finger guns…” then, yesterday, I was washing my hands in the bathroom, thinking about I don’t even know what and I realized that I do the noise that goes with finger guns. I froze, looked up at myself in the mirror and realized I do use finger guns except I only do one and I felt oddly validated in my sexuality. the end.
U guys are so adorable I can't even, what I would do without u I don't even know. Also, have u guys ever been clothes shopping and had to submit urselves to the other forcing u into clothes that really aren't ur style? (Klavier I'm looking at u)
Apollo: I actually like the clothes Klavier usually chooses when we go shopping (not many times, mind you. I’m not really a fan of wasting money on clothes). At first I wouldn’t let him, but then I realized he kinda knows what suits me best.
(Besides, his reactions make it up for any trouble he might cause me.)
What? I was trying to help you out. It was great.
I was talking to my friend about it. I don't think I've ever been speechless in my life since I was born and that was the only moment when I literally had no words.
Do you want to tell everyone what happened?
No, I don't!
Well, I will. So last time you were on, I, as a friend of Kesha, said "Who do you fancy?" and you said "Harry Styles". We know Harry Styles in real life, so I thought I'd get him on, so you and Harry could meet-
On the radio! In front of the whole world! What a nice guy you are!
Just hooking people up.
He was asleep. And sick, if I recall.
Yeah, so how's that going?
Seen him since?
Yeah, we're married.
Have you actually seen him since that happened?
Thank god, no. That was humilating. Horrible.
No, that was funny. Fifi, bring him in! [...] No, I'm joking. He's gonna be in your hotel when you get back. We've tucked him up in bed, he's ready for you, Kesha.
That’s How a Moment Lasts Forever - Post-BatB Oneshot
“Why do you keep
so many tea sets?”
The old man
chuckled, leaning back in his armchair as he watched his littlest
grandchild. While her two older siblings had chosen to play outside
in the snow, she stared at his bookcase, which, instead of being
filled with books, was lined with teapots and teacups made of wood,
porcelain, and china.
“Well, you know
your father’s a potter; he gives me the ones that no one wants.”
“But do you even
use them?” the girl asked. “They’ve got chips and cracks in
them. They wouldn’t make good tea.”
definitely your mother’s daughter,” the old man replied. “I
suppose…I keep them because they deserve a home, a place to
The girl raised her
eyebrows. “You make it sound like they’re alive.”
old man’s voice took on a spooky tone. “Sometimes they talk to me
The girl laughed.
“No they don’t!”
“No, they don’t,”
he agreed, laughing in return. “But can’t an old man have his
hobbies? I like antiques! I’m a collector, always have been! You
see that?” He pointed at a tiny, intricately decorated box on the
mantel above the fireplace. “It plays a lullaby if you open it.
The king’s grandfather made that for me when I was a boy.”
tea sets were momentarily forgotten as the little girl ran over to
the mantel and seized the box in her hands.
man raised a gnarled hand, but there was no need; the girl set the
box down with the utmost care. She lifted open the box, revealing a
tiny, incredibly detailed replica of a rose. The rest of the inside
was gold and cornflower blue, with a castle painted on the inside of
the lid. She located the winding handle on the side, and with a nod
from her grandfather, wound it up and let it play.
At once, a little
melody, strong but sweet, began to emit from the box, causing the
rose to rotate slowly in place. The girl sat, entranced by the box,
while the man closed his eyes and hummed along.
“You won’t find a
box like that anywhere else,” he finally said. “That’s why it’s
The girl waited
until the last notes faded away, then looked up at her grandfather to
ask him a question. But what she saw startled her into concern
rather than curiosity.
Grandfather!” She rushed forward, drawing out her handkerchief to
wipe his tears away. The song was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t a
song that should be cried over!
He smiled and let her wipe away his tears. “You are very kind. My
mother used to sing that song for me.” He didn’t need to say the
“Oh,” the girl
whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know,”
the old man reassured her, smiling. “Besides, I let that old box play every day, and you don’t see me crying all the time, do you?”
“No,” the girl answered, grinning. “You’re very cheerful.”
“Well that’s good,” he exclaimed. “I’m glad I didn’t grow up to be an old grump like my father did.”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes; she admiring the music box, and he gazing at the tea sets in the bookcase that he kept so well polished that the imperfections shone in the light.
“Do you want to know the real reasons behind the tea sets?” he asked suddenly, waking the girl from her short-lived reverie. “Why I look after them like I do? You have to promise not to laugh or walk away.”
The little one shrugged, but sidled up to her grandfather’s armchair. “Okay. Tell me.”
“Do you promise not to laugh?”
“I promise.” Her eyes gazed up at him, wide and trusting.
“It’s because I used to be one myself.”
The girl sat there, eyes wide, lips parted slightly in surprise. She wanted to ask if it was a joke, but the old man looked completely serious. And she was just at that age where she was learning to take care of herself, but still young enough to believe in fairy stories, if they were spun the right way.
The old man’s lips curled into a real, genuine smile, one that only children would understand. “Magic.”
“What happened?” the girl’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Well…sit back a little, and I’ll tell you,” the man replied. “I was your age when this story took place. It started with a spoiled prince, an old enchantress, and a young farm girl who saved us all…”
“You used to work at the castle?” the girl said after he had finished his tale.
“Well, it was mostly my mother; she was the head housekeeper. I followed in the steps of my father, became a potter, and when I had your father, I taught him as well. Hopefully your older siblings will carry on the family business for me.”
“I bet they will.” The girl slumped in her chair. But soon she straightened up again. “Was the queen really an inventor?”
“Best in the world,” he replied. “She’s the reason why you have a fountain behind your house for laundry.”
“Is the Enchantress still alive?”
“I have no idea. Probably.”
“Were the musicians really world-famous?”
“Of course they were. Why would they lie?”
“Maybe to gain favor with the prince.”
“No, they’ve been in the paper before. I have clippings, if you’re really that skeptical.”
“Wow…” For a moment she was lost in her own daydreams of what it would be like living with famous people. But then another thought stole her mind away. “Could Plumette really fly? Like a bird?”
“Even after the curse she could float for a while, if she wanted to.”
“What do you want me to say about him? The man was an eccentric old codger right up until the day he…” The man paused for a moment, lost in the past. “Until he died.”
The girl pondered the word in silence, while the other sat in his armchair, thinking of times and thoughts that his granddaughter would never understand, no matter how much she listened, or how much she learned. She would never learn to appreciate time as he had, especially now, after all these years. And he was the last one, the one given the most time to contemplate what had happened. Everyone else had already passed on.
Sometimes, they would come to him in his dreams, as young as he remembered them that day: newly human and full of happiness. Lumiere would ask him how old age was treating him, Chapeau would clap him on the back and comment on his family, his mother would wrap her arms around him and tell him how proud she was of him. How proud they all were of him.
But Cogsworth always told him the time, how time was running out. Tick-tock, there’s not much time left. And though he always asked what Cogsworth meant, the old majordomo never explained himself, only kept repeating the same thing over and over again. Even now, Cogsworth was still as incessant as a real clock.
And yet…though he had time well-spent…it never seemed like enough. Well, not until now, as his youngest grandchild sat next to him, visions of magic and curses dancing in her head, the very age he was when the curse was cast. Filled with the wonder of a story that would die with him.
“I have a special task for you, little one,” he murmured, and the girl’s eyes lit up.
“What is it?” she asked. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“Don’t forget the story I’ve told you today. Not a single word of it. Write it down somewhere, make it a book. And tell your grandchildren. And have them tell theirs.”
“All right,” the child said. “Is it that important?”
“I don’t want anyone to forget them,” he continued. “They taught me a lesson; I am sure they will teach others too. You’ve probably been told that nothing lasts forever, haven’t you?”
“That’s right,” she said. “Mother told me that.”
“Well…this story only happened in a moment, out of all the time in the world. And when I die, the days I’ve lived will disappear. But now that I’ve told you, you can tell other people, and those people can tell other people, and the story will last longer than any of us.”
He wasn’t much of a storyteller at this age, but he could do this much for his family. He didn’t live his whole life just to die without people really knowing what happened all those years ago. It wasn’t just some curse; lessons were learned, and love was restored to the castle.
“Okay. I promise I’ll do it. And my children will do it too.”
Chip smiled and closed his eyes. He could picture them now, in the castle, carrying out their duties, royalty and service alike. Some would call them ordinary, but to him they were the most important people in the world. They didn’t deserve to be fleeting. They deserved to live on. Through story, through song, through legend.
That’s how a moment lasts forever…when our song lives on.
“Dark’s dragon, Elsa (Yes, he did pick the name), is an ice dragon that keeps his office cold since Wilford keeps shooting the AC. He also uses her to play pranks on the other Egos. But don’t be fooled, the little devious dragon is also his only real friend.” - from an au related ask you can find here.
Inspired by @reverseblackholeofwords’s au (which you can find in 2 parts here and here) in which each of the egos has a dragon. The idea of Darkiplier allowing a little dragon to be his only true companion was too cute for me to pass up. ^^ I only had time for a messy sketch comic tho, eep.
I imagine that Elsa (ohhh yeah, he named her Elsa, closet Disney fan much?) can sense when he’s had a stressful day and likes to offer what comfort she can. Dark ‘begrudgingly’ accepts it after some gentle persuasion.