these prompts are so fucking funny and I absolutely MUST know your answers to the following for any of the Core Four (or if another character speaks to you, go for it)....... 13, 16, 22, 24, 29, 34 and 38
@sparrowmoth THANK YOU SPARROW <33 THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN. i threw some twst in the mix for spice, but its mostly various combos of the rotten ot4. i, uh. wrote a bunch of little drabbles. bon apetit
13. Who would smoke weed in a confessionary?
"I mean, does she have a rule against it?" Ruggie asks, wiggling his fingers. His hair is mussed-- artfully, though Riddle is loathe to admit it-- and his clothes are rumpled. Likely from the manhandling Riddle gave him as he dragged him outside by the wrist a few minutes ago. Ruggie's chin is balanced on his palm, elbow leaning on his bent knees, looking for all purposes like the patron saint of not-giving-a-damn.
"Well--" Riddle puffs his chest out, before deflating in defeat. "No. Not that specifically. But--! You got thrown out of a church!"
Ruggie tips his face towards the sky, squinting in thought. His legs are splayed over the church steps, and the stained glass behind him is bathing him all kinds of colors. It's beautiful; it makes him understand the artists of yore, trying to capture their muse. Riddle hates it with a passion.
"Worth it."
"You are such a bad influence!" Riddle cries. "I mean-- drugs! Illicit substances! In a place of worship!"
"I'm s'possed to confess my crimes, right? What better way than by showin' him exactly what I've been doing?"
Riddle shoves at his shoulder. "You're the worst!"
"Yeah, but Queenie," he sways into Riddle's space, filling the air in front of Riddle's face with warmth, with the smell of him. "Which one of us is out here with me?"
Riddle smacks the back of his head. Ruggie just laughs.
16. Who would be best at drag?
Jay poses dramatically in the mirror, the eyeliner and glitter covering his eyes anything but tasteful. He buries a hand in his hair, fluffing the ends up, pursing his lips in a mockery of coyness.
Behind him, Mal cackles like a hyena. Evie is surveying her work with a critical eye, sweeping him over. Stepping closer to him, she grips him by the straps of his remarkably stupidly short dress. When he's standing still enough for her tastes, she sweeps a necklace from her pocket, glittering silver.
It's cold around his neck. He turns to survey himself again, eyeing the way it brings out the warm tones in his skin. "Oh, yeah," he says, cocking a hip. "I look hot!"
Mal buries her face in her pillow to muffle the hysterical screams of mirth she's giving out. But what does she know, anyway?
22. Who lets the intrusive thoughts win constantly?
Evie eyes herself critically in the pitifully small screen of her phone. She has the camera on, pointed at herself, squinting past pixels and smudges to get a good look at her appearance. She curses herself for forgetting her compact; she's in the trenches at this very fancy, very Auradon party without it.
Well, she needs to reapply her lipstick, that much is obvious. And she should probably excuse herself to the little girl's room to re-do her hair. It's starting to look a little... frizzy. And oh, God, is that a pimple--?!
Carlos shouts, with the kind of rage that levels happy little kingdoms like Auradon, "Oh my God, you did not just drop your fucking pickle into my drink!"
Mal laces her hands behind her head, smirking in self-satisfaction. "Well, you said you didn't want to eat it."
"I don't want to drink it either, you little shit--"
"I can always feed it to you like a baby bird?"
Carlos stands, grabs his water glass, and dumps it over Mal's head. She gasps, her perfectly curled and style hair plastered to her skin. Her eyes are flaring, but she's stifling laughter, even as she launches herself over the table with a shout of, "De Vil--!"
Evie sighs into her hands. Well, at least she's not worried about how she looks, anymore.
24. Who goes to a haunted place only to start yelling at the ghosts to try to challenge them?
"Come on out, little ghosties!" Mal shouts. Jay presses a palm over her mouth, trying and failing to quiet her. She merely grips his palm and yanks it away from her face. "The big, mean, evil faerie is here! Come and get me! I'm not scared of you! My mom's the mistress of all evil, bitches! You're nothing!"
"Big?" Jay asks, raising an eyebrow.
Mal whirls on him, jabbing a finger to his chest. "Say that again, and I'll turn you into a ghost."
He holds up his hands in surrender, but his grin gives up the game. "Girl, you like me way too much for that."
"Girl?"
"What, you want me to call you pet names in front of the ghosties? What would you prefer? Baby? Sweetheart?" He slowly wraps his arms around her middle, nosing against her cheek as she hisses putridly at him. "Honey-bunches? Schnookums?"
She guffaws, shoving his face away with her hand. "You're gonna wish you were a ghost by the time I'm done with you, asshole!" She squirms, but he holds steady. When a ghost-- an actor in a morphsuit, as far as he can tell-- jerks out at them, she jumps about a foot in the air with a two-toned, piercing shriek.
She calms, cheeks blazing pink as she stares at the actor in embarrassment. As if it's, like, cringe of her to fall for the whole game of a haunted house?
"Come on, miss evil-faeirie, let's not get thrown out of the haunted house, yeah?"
She snarls at him again, but holds his hand all the way to the end.
29. Who gets arrested the quickest?
Worth it, Evie mouths. She's visible through the window of the cop car, cheek spattered with a splash of dark blood. She looks utterly at home, sighing in lazy contentment. Then, with a start, she sits up, opening the door.
"Puppy? Take my bag, will you?" She says, handing him her blue, sequined purse. He takes it, nearly pitching forward from the sheer unexpected weight. He let's out a loud, annoyed groan, hefting it up. It clinks audibly.
"How many knives?"
"In there? Oh, honey, too many to count."
The cop comes around the corner, slamming the door shut. Evie laughs into her palm, eyes little half-moon circles of mirth. He says, "I don't want to see you again, Grimhilde."
Sickly sweet, Evie drawls, "Of course not, officer."
34. Who’s been accused of murder?
The lunch table goes deathly quiet. Jay meets Evie's eyes first, then Carlos', then Mal's. As one, they turn to face Chad Charming. He's holding his lunch tray defiantly, sticking his chin out with an arrogant swagger.
"Dude. You realize nobody can die on the Isle, right?"
Chad balks at them. "Really? Oh, thank God. So you haven't killed anyone! I was starting to get worried."
"What?" Evie says. "Worried?"
Mal says, "Do you really think a bunch of Villain Kid's wouldn't take advantage of the fact that corpses don't last?"
Chad's starting to go chalky white.
Evie balances her chin on her hand, sighing wistfully. "I miss being able to get kill the creepy men. It was cathartic, you know?"
"One time I threw Harry into the sea," Carlos adds, tapping away at his phone.
Chad's eyes are shuttered with open fear. Swallowing visibly, he manages, "But not you, Jay?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Why do you think Carlos threw Harry into the sea?"
38. Who accidentally ate 400mg worth of edibles?
"I'm fine," Carlos slurs, sinking into the couch. It's a considerable feat, considering that, before, he'd been sunk so far into it that you could barely see him. He's dressed in one of Jay's sweatshirts, hood pulled up over his head and drawstring tight. His cheeks are flushed and his pupils are blown wide, and he keeps blinking, slowly, and then startling up.
"Yeah, I'm gonna be honest, you really don't seem fine." Mal replies. "Why does it smell like weed? Is that why you're like this?"
"Did you know," Carlos says sharply, with the kind of abrupt cadence of someone deeply inconvenienced, "that cannabis can be cooked into baked goods?"
"Uh oh, you're being a smartass." She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he whines. "Very ominous. Never a good sign."
"Shut the fuck up," he mutters, yanking the nearest blanket over his head.
Mal leans over the back of the couch, pitching herself forward. The couch digs into her stomach, her feet hovering off the ground as her face lands in the mess of blankets and pillows on the couch. It's almost nestlike, honestly. She pulls herself up onto her elbows, legs dangling free.
"Did the puppy eat too many pot brownies?" She cooes, reaching out to tap condescendingly at where she thinks his cheek is. He snarls wordlessly. She snorts. "Stay here. I'll get your dumbass some water and food. It'll sober you up."
As she turns toward the kitchen, so weakly she can barely hear it, there's a soft hiss of, "Thanks."
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What are the trends when it comes to writing that you adore? How do you create an OC? What are your steps for developing an OC? What are rare-pairs that you’re passionate about?
@royaletiquette
Questions for the mun. A series of questions for the mun / the person behind the muse(s)
What are the trends when it comes to writing that you adore?
Honestly, none, really? I used to be a sucker for trends whenever I was evolving on other websites, but at some point, I figured that I was mostly following something that I wouldn’t have engaged with if it wasn’t for a matter of “fitting in”. In the end, I sometimes appreciate being in the same mood for memes and such with fellow mutuals, but otherwise, I appreciate following my own path and having fun with my own writing.
I do believe I’m very much happier now!
How do you create an OC?
It’s a spiritual experience for real. I grasp an idea, and then at some point, my OC naturally nests inside my mind (Oliver: I want to make an escort with some health condition, Vex: why not having a psychopath cyborg killing everyone?). I’m sometimes very surprised with how quickly they can pop, it feels like I put some corn in a pan, and BAM there’s something just jumping in the air and I have a new baby. Most of the time, I just experience the urge of exploring either a personality or a topic, I’m thrilled by the potential, and at some point, there’s something finding their own name and appearance just coming there.
And I’m even happier to feel that they just stay.
What are your steps for developing an OC?
I think my OC are never reaching the end of their development, and I’m able to explore more of their various traits and tempers through the plots and writing I have with people. I have their character overall, but they only truly exist when they eventually talk, move, have some actions.
I guess the complexity that I want to explore results in how one person, with a determined personality, can evolve and morph thanks to another being. Toxic people then can have a rather softer side, and gentle muses can develop something utterly mean. Also, I guess those interactions help me exploring their psyche, hence why you see some headcanons popping here and there, even if some of them are truly stupid !
What are rare-pairs that you’re passionate about?
Rare-pairs mmmh... Tough topic! I have been lucky to explore a lot of topics I couldn’t before, such as childhood friends developing a toxic obsession, or a mutual pining that would end up in something more bitter because of terrible actions.
I’d love to explore darker topics sometimes, perhaps how lovers could turn into enemies, how jealousy and toxicity could eventually destroy a good relationship, one side loves, true partner in crimes, manipulation? After all I’m a sucker for mature and complex relationships! In the end, there are so many things I haven’t written yet! I do guess that even a simple pair could become such a canvas of many things!
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