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lipstickghoulie · 2 months

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💝Games of Love and Chance💘

Here’s a story that I wrote for Creative Corner’s Valentine’s Day exchange for the wonderful @carooosa! This was based on their ADHD Tav, which if you haven’t read about before, you can find them HERE! This is SFW for once so no warnings needed. Thanks for letting me walk around in your world for this one, Roo. 💌

(Astarion/gender neutral tiefling Tav, 1756 words, fluff, SFW)

Three months. Three months of what felt like near-bliss since defeating the netherbrain. Without the looming threat of ceremorphosis looming over you both, it felt like you and Astarion could finally breath. Yes, maybe you had been pressured a bit by any of the dukes still left standing into helping restore the city and help clear some of the rubble but you didn’t mind overly much (though Astarion complained grumpily about how your kind nature always led him along with you into these situations since he was your partner). This period of assisting with the rebuilding was relaxing in its own way and gave you both the opportunity to spend time together without the pressures of your adventures weighing you down.

You were already easily distracted enough on the best of days and it was nice to get to know Astarion better as you spent your nights together without the ultimate distraction of death being an ever-present shadow in your mind.

You found out that he was a lot harder to get up from his bed after a trance than he had been on the road, always grabbing at you with demanding fingers that tried to roll you underneath him like the world’s most squawking and squirming body pillow in an attempt to stop you from trying to get him out from under his massive pile of blankets.

You discovered that he was fond of embroidering whimsical designs into your clothing any time that you were apart; sprawling little cats across the collars of your shirts or fluttering moths edging the ankles of your breeches. It was true that he had stolen the thread from some oblivious merchant but you didn’t do much more about it than roll your eyes since you had no interest in changing his ways. Your love for him was true and unwavering even with his more criminal pastimes and at least he wasn’t actively stabbing someone so… you had to be grateful for small favors, at least. It was a sweet gesture on Astarion’s part all the same.

Since this was one of the few occasions that you were able to make your apologetic excuses to those temporarily running the city to get a break from the restoration efforts and have some time to yourselves, somehow you had both arrived on the idea of a nice, peaceful date at the summer street carnival. Astarion had never been able to enjoy one before since it was always a prime time where Cazador would expect his spawn to nab as many drunken victims as possible so this would be fun for him to actually experience it without any expectations, right? Maybe spend some time walking hand in hand, watch some fireworks…

Or it would have been peaceful if the vampire spawn hadn’t spotted a ramshackle display soon upon entering the block cordoned off for the event, the kobold barker perched on crates behind the counter proclaiming in a loud bray, “Come on, come on, don’t be shy, win your sweetheart a prize! Get the ball in the cup one time, couldn’t be easier, right? Three balls for a gold piece! It’s prize time, play now!”

Curious, you peered over to the display of possible rewards, a collection of stuffed animals stacked high behind the employee in a haphazard way that fortunately didn’t take away from their cuteness.

“Oh, adorable! They have one that looks like a cat!” You chirped with enthusiasm, rocking back on your heels as your eyes landed on a round, squishy ball with ears towards the front of the pile that did resemble a feline, if you squinted. Considering that it was probably constructed by the clumsy hands of the kobold running the game, you half expected Astarion to just pull you along and tell you that he’d sew you something better later on at home. But when you glanced over at him, his face was studying yours and there was something soft in his eyes before it darted away like a startled rabbit.

Astarion scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked at you, a confident smirk stretching across his lips and showing a tip of fang that gleamed under the moonlight. His more sarcastic and airy demeanor back like someone yanking a curtain shut. “Easy. I’ll win you that toy in a few moments flat, you can shower me with praise and we can carry on with our quaint night about town.”

…Something else that you soon learned about your beloved was that he was absolutely dogshit at carnival games. You watched with a pained but encouraging smile as Astarion tried to throw the leather wrapped ball into the ceramic cup about ten feet away for about the thirtieth time, the ball bouncing cheerfully off the rim of the cup and spinning off onto the ground. The kobold wisely didn’t comment and didn’t make eye contact as Astarion hurriedly dug through his coin purse and slammed yet another gold piece down on the aged wood, snatching more balls out of the barker’s clawed grip.

“By the Nine Hells, this game is rigged,” Astarion hissed, rolling up the sleeves of his doublet in pure rage and consternation. A few silvery-white curls clung to his forehead where it shone with a damp sweat and his ear tips were pink where they poked out of his hair with both irritation and embarrassment. “I am the best rogue in the Gate, we saved the bloody world and you’re telling me that I can’t get a ball in a cup?! Impossible-“

Astarion paused in his tirade to try again to toss a ball, as if trying to catch the game off-guard in a sneak attack. It went wide and landed about a foot away from the cup, not touching it at all.

Your tail twitched behind you in secondhand embarrassment as the silence stretched on as you, Astarion and the kobold all stared at where it had landed for a few beats.

“…There is something illegal going on here and you will pay for it. I could kill a fly with an arrow with my eyes closed and I can’t make this shot with a hunk of animal skin? I don’t believe it,” Astarion threatened the carnival employee through gritted teeth, the remaining balls rubbing against each other hard enough in his vice grip that they squeaked.

Sighing, you gently put your palm on his forearm and pulled Astarion away, hopefully out of earshot of anyone else.

“I don’t care that much about the silly prize, I’d rather we just go on with our date,” You told him quietly, eyes as beseeching as could be. “I can’t stand seeing you this worked up on my account.”

“I’m not worked up, darling, it’s just…” Astarion hesitated, his tone softened and some of the irritable defensiveness leeched out of the hard set of his shoulders. “You do so much for everyone else, this whole damn city… for me. I wanted to do something for you, even if it was simply making sure that you get the world’s most hideous cat toy if you wanted it.”

Your heart felt like it might burst. Astarion always found some new way to surprise you and this was no exception. It’s not that you didn’t think he cared for you! He did show his love for you in his own way at every opportunity that he could. But rather, sometimes it was enough to make you cry that someone cared enough about what you wanted at all that they would inconvenience themselves to make sure you got it. You were so used to putting others first your whole life that any instance of someone doing the same for you was enough to nearly make you choke up to think about it.

After a few barely concealed sniffles, a thought occurred to you. Perking up, you said, “Wait, so you want me to get the prize but you don’t care how I get it, right? As long as I get what I wanted?”

Raising one of his perfectly manicured eyebrows, Astarion drawled out, “Yes, Tav, though I do think it’s a bit far away to steal without some effort.”

You shook your head at Astarion in fond exasperation, taking the balls out of his cool hands without another word. Stepping over to the counter, your hand as quick and certain as a monk’s fist in an unarmed strike, you lobbed one of the leather orbs towards the cup. It flew in without even touching the sides, as if it was guided in with divine intervention. Astarion started to sputter at your side but you still had one left to throw, landing it with the same easy precision as the first.

The kobold operating the stand let out a deafening sigh of relief, scrambling to grab two of the cat plushes and shoving them into your hands, beyond eager to get rid of you both before Astarion had another volatile outburst in his direction. The scaly creature rattled off at you, “Yes, yes, you won, two balls in cup, two prizes. Take your person out of here! Please and thank you, good bye.”

Taking the cue to leave, you grabbed your rewards cheerfully and pressed one into Astarion’s arms as you cradled your own.

“There! Now both of us should be happy! And look, they match!” You beamed at Astarion as you walked along once more, badly sewn cats in hand.

You saw his still baffled and borderline sore-loser pout still marring his lips so you nudged him playfully with your shoulder, explaining, “When I was a kid, I used to go wild at those games. I’d clear them out of their prizes to the point that they’d have posters up barring me from playing. I guess I still haven’t lost my touch.”

After a few more seconds of broody contemplation, Astarion chuckled and looked down at the plush in his grasp, his formerly bad mood breaking away under the light of your better one. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He murmured as he leaned forward to land a kiss where your jaw curved towards your ear, a spot that never failed to make you shiver. Victorious in accomplishing getting a reaction out of you even if he couldn’t win at a game, Astarion was ready to continue his outing with you.

And if the stuffed cats you won were frequently seen amongst Astarion’s mountain of pillows from then on, well… you were kind enough not to tease him about it.

#my fanfiction #my writing #astarion fanfic #astarion x gender neutral reader #ADHD Tav #gift fic #creative corner #creative corner prompts #astarion fluff #astarion fanfiction #astarion bg3

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mothofmany · 5 months

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Looking for a system friendly discord server for artists? Look no further!

Join Creative Corner! The accepting and friendly adult artists community for artists of any kind! Ran by a disabled, mixed, lgbtq, hcdid system!

We are currently accepting any members that identify as musicians, writers, visual artists, or creative in general as long as they are 18+ and accepting of DID/OSDD systems, furries, poc, lgbtq+, and peopke of different religious, spiritual, and cultural backgrounds.

We have art challenges, art prompts, vent channels, a system category full of system channels and resources including a chat for littles, and a syream room for games and more!

If you want to join, submit a verification through the ticketing system! Our mods will verify you as soon as possible.

We’re a small server, will under 30 people, but we all love art and learning more about each other and supporting each other. If this sounds like a community you’d be interested, join us now!

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unes3creations · 4 months

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children's room creative corner...

Thank you to all the amazing CC creators !

#unes3 #ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 screenshots #unes3creations #children room #toys #creative corner #interior #s4 interior #ts4 interior

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k1ngravensblog · 9 months

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hellooooooo

*if you repost my work credit me PROPERLY (linking MY socials) or perish :3

- you can call me corvid/rav

- blog is conjoined of artworks, random thoughts, infodumps & the sort™️

- my discord server -> Creatives Archive

- my carrd HERE

- asks are open

you can also find me on YT @/k1ngraven AND @/corv1d i'm also on deviantart under k1ngraven :p

my tags

#my art - my general art tag

#corv talks - random chatter and texts (aka infodumps & brainrot)

#dnd - rambles and chatter about dnd/ttrpg

#greenwoods - either artwork, writing or lore about my ocs in my scifi/mystery story the Greenwood Curation

#these embers - either artwork, writing, or lore about my ocs in my fantasy story These Embers

INPRNT SHOP :: in the works 👁️

#corv talks #introductory post #intro #artists on tumblr #artwork #character design #digital art #digital illustration #fanart #queer artist #digital artist #oc artist #artblr #my art #creative corner #dnd #original character

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substituted-shinigami · 1 year

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Writing Update: Creative Corner April 2023

Welcome back to “Writing Updates”, which I’m thinking of renaming to Creative Corner, but uh we’ll see! (I tend to go back and forth on these things😅) My thought process is that instead of doing the “Good News/Bad News” format I’ve done in the past, I’m going to do a “Writing Corner” and an “Art Corner” instead. I’ll try it out and see how I feel about it. Anyway, let’s get on with the news!

TL:DR Version: I’m taking this month off…kind of. Last month was busy, but really fun!😁 This month was busy, but uh, not at all fun…long story.😅 Anyway, so no new one-shots this month. However! I did find some RenRuki fluff drabbles that I think you all might like, so I put them together in their own series. They’re perfect for a rainy day when you just want to feel good!🥰 They should be out later this month!

Read on if you want the long version:

Writing Corner:

*Sighs heavily* Alright, I’m gonna be honest, this month sucked. Between burnout, family stuff, and depression, I barely wrote at all. I have a nearly completed piece that I could try to rush edit and finish in time, and would at least come out okay. But I thought about it, and realized that while I do like the piece, it’s not at all what I felt like reading right now. I don’t read a “hurt/comfort with a bit of angst” piece when I’m sad, I read fluff, lots of fluff. In fact, I had a google doc with a couple of fluff scraps that didn’t fit anywhere else that I would sometimes go back to and read whenever I was sad just because it made me feel good. And then I thought, what if this month was bad for other people too? Would these pieces make them feel good? So I’ve decided to release these instead in a brand new collection I’m going to call “Soft Moments”. Admittedly, they are more like eating a sugary sweet dessert than having a hearty protein filled one-shot meal, but that’s exactly what they are for! They are there for people who need to read something nice on a hard day. Anyway, they aren’t exactly a one-shot, so that’s why I decided to put them in their own collection, rather than adding them to “We Can’t All Be Winners”. In the end, I’ve decided to release the “hurt/comfort” piece another time. This also works out well for my new (ever changing😅) schedule for WCABW, where I am going to do 3 months on, 1 off, 3 on, and so forth!

Art Corner: While I haven’t done much writing this month, I have gone back to my roots on this blog somewhat and started working on comics again. If you saw one of my earlier posts, you will know that I’m taking a crack at human based comics. They…are absolutely not proportional. But um…variety is the spice of life, right?!?! Anyway, hopefully they will at least be funny, but uh, we’ll see! That said, I'm thinking of eventually switching to digital art so that I don’t have to redraw backgrounds and unmoving characters, but that requires me to figure out how to draw with photoshop on my mini touch screen laptop so uh…………..

Bloodlines Corner (because let’s be honest, it gets its own spot at this point):

Me: *glares to some far off corner in my google docs* You do realize it’s been months now, right?

Bloodlines: *shrugs innocently*

So I’ve realized I haven’t actually explained the premise of this story to most people on this blog, so here we go. Originally, Bloodlines was a one-shot in its own series of one-shots based on the idea of “What would happen if Rukia got Hisana’s illness?” However, I realized that I hadn’t really thought it out well enough for an entire series. So then I was going to make it a one off one-shot in a series of one off one shots, thus spawning WCABW. However, it clearly needed more editing, so I decided to release “prestigious school au” instead. Fast forward several months and not only am I still editing it, but that one-shot turned first into a multi-part and eventually a multi-chapter fic, all the while the events of the story still staying within the same time period, and therefore taking place over the course of one day. It is… utterly ridiculous.

So anyway, it’s pretty long now, (well for me anyway, it’s almost 30 pages), which makes it take forever to edit. Unfortunately, I think that has caused the back chapters to suffer a bit, because for some reason I always prefer to edit things in order, so by the time I get to the end I’m pretty mentally exhausted. Therefore, I’ve decided to divide it up by only editing one chapter a day to make it easier on myself. Hopefully this will work out, and I can have it out by like August or something, but we will see! (Not being done until December is unfortunately still probable! 😅)

*Sigh* Welp, this has gotten long, but this month has been even longer so I guess it’s appropriate. In any case, thank you all for reading! The new fluff-filled anthology series should be out by the end of the month. Like I said earlier, it’s more like having dessert than dinner, but sometimes that's just what you need! See you all next month! 😊

#writing update #art update #writing update 2023 #creative corner

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classicallokirose · 1 year

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It Doesn’t Smell Like Gommie’s House Anymore

I wrote this poem a little less than a year ago, and it's about my experience with my first time going into my aunt's house since she had been diagnosed with glioblastoma. It was the first poem I wrote to cope with my grief. My aunt was affectionately called Gommie by me and my sister. It’s also important to note that at one point in the poem I say how Gommie is drifting to the right. This is because my aunt’s tumor was on the right side of her brain, and it affected her vision out of her left eye. She compensated for her partial blindness by drifiting right, so she wouldn’t hit anything she couldn’t see. This poem is very centered around normal grief because of my aunt's diagnosis, as well as anticipatory grief because we knew what to expect (avereage survival time after a diagnosis of glioblastoma is 15 months. At this point it had been 5 months).

I had never really written poetry before, so be kind if it's not very good! Please enjoy, and feel free to like, reblog, add notes, and share with friends, family, or therapists! Please do not post my work on any other sites however, unless it is simply a link back to this post.

It doesn't smell like Gommie's house anymore

I stand behind my cousin As she pushes in the door.

I’d forgotten how tightly that door sealed How heavy it was for my small frame as a child.

We enter the house. I take a deep breath, like I always have the second we enter.

That smell soothes me. It comforts me. It is always the same, steady and unwavering.

It smells like clean soap. Warm hugs. Chicken nuggets by the pool and cinnamon bread for a bedtime snack.

But…

It doesn’t smell like Gommie’s house anymore.

It smells wrong. But everything is wrong anymore.

I look at the mirror, filled with hats… And stories.

This house is a graveyard of stories.

We move to the garage, to let in my mother and Gommie. Gommie moves slowly. She drifts to the right.

It’s a painful reminder of why we’re at the house. At least the garage still smells the same.

Eventually, we make our way to the dining room. We go through the hutch, divying up what we want.

Pulling things out, we realize we’ll need boxes. We’ll go to the attic to get those.

We move on to the computer room next, grabbing some photo albums. Then the guest room, then the master. All for photos.

My sister and I, our smiles frozen in time. I find a picture of myself with braces. That picture goes at the bottom of the pile.

We all laugh, my cousin and I, our mothers. We think back to happier times, when we weren’t sorting through this graveyard.

A graveyard of stories.

There are stories in every room of this house. Childhood summers spent here, playing with Legos in the computer room. Playing house in the guest room.

We move onto the living room and the kitchen. Gommie sits for a bit, too tired to continue.

I look around the chile pepper filled kitchen. I take photos of the peppers on the wall.

Gommie’s hand painted those. The hand that now shakes, weak from chemo and radiation.

I want those peppers on my skin. I should show them to the tattoo artist. I go back and take a picture of the stained glass door. That would be a nice tattoo too.

By now we are laden with dishes and photos. Memories. Stories.

We need boxes.

We take the trek to the attic. I stood at the bottom of those stairs as a child. Who knows how many times I’ve run up and down these stairs My sister close behind.

I take a deep breath.

It smells the same up here. This scent, of musty safeness, remains.

Maybe it can protect me from the hell I will be forced to endure. I wish I could live in this attic forever.

I follow my cousin, gathering boxes. We only find three. We go back downstairs.

As my mom and cousin pack the dishes I look into the backyard.

That pool. It is the essence of my summers here. Waiting for sunscreen to dry. Eating chicken nuggets at the picnic table. Learning to dive. Learning how much a belly flop hurts. Racing from one end to the other. Getting good enough at swimming to go to the deep end.

I used to drop dive sticks in the deep end. Once you get to a certain point under the water, it feels like the pressure is crushing you. You want to go up. It would be so easy to go up. But you have to get that damned dive stick.

That feels like my life now. Being crushed. Wanting to swim up, back to safety. Where I don’t have a sick aunt.

But I keep swimming down. Because no matter what, I want that dive stick. I want my aunt safe. Back with me. I won’t leave her in the deep end alone.

I go help with the dishes.

Once they are done, I look around at the chile pepper stuff. I want some of this for my own house someday.

We pack that up too.

I notice how the knobs on the cabinets have been changed. They no longer have small peppers on them.

Stupid changing knobs. I wish they had stayed the same.

I grab some magnets off the fridge, ones that remind me of my childhood.

We’re almost done now.

We all go back to the computer room, and start looking at pictures. I see photos of my grandfather that I’ve never seen before.

He’s smiling in them. He looks happy. Someday, photos will be all I have left of Gommie.

The battery on her treatment machine starts to die.

It’s time to leave.

Put the ghosts to rest in this graveyard.

We gather up the boxes.

I find espresso cups at the last second. I have to have them, they’re so damn cute.

As we take the last load out, I know I’m leaving this house for good.

I don’t take that one last breath like I always do. The last breath of pool chemicals and sunburns. Sugar and spice. Laughter and love.

Because this house no longer smells like Gommie anymore.

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