You And Art The Clown Getting Married

Snoring contest

Choose your favorite and sleep well

P.S. Shadowheart doesn't have these sounds, so I guess she's lucky

how to keep people in character: a guide

I have gotten some requests for advice on how to write specific characters, but the underlying principles to keeping characterizations canon-compliant can apply to writing anyone in any series. Better yet, this advice may help you come up with character interpretations that feel both canonical yet original (and distinct from mine!).

You can reduce characterization to three basic principles:

1) Habits and speech patterns

Habits and speech patterns serve as “shortcuts” that immediately connect the character to the canon. The audience recognizes these cues and will associate them to the actual character.

Speech patterns are particularly important to keeping a character recognizable. As soon as the speech pattern of a person deviates from canon with no explanation, the suspension of disbelief will break for an audience. A common issue I see in shipping fics is that people will make a character give the love interest a pet name that just would never leave their mouth in canon-compliant situations.

Habits can be verbal tics (e.g. they say “babe” a lot), bodily motions (e.g. touching their hair or pushing up their glasses), behavioural trends (e.g. eating a lot), or even phrases that come up often. The latter I find is underused but very effective. Here’s the thing about people in real life: they will repeat phrases and stories, sometimes even verbatim, to different people! If you lift a line out of the show or book and re-contextualize it, it’ll immediately feel like the canon.

Habits come with two caveats:

Do not overuse the tics. It can be annoying and intrusive, especially when used more frequently than in canon! 

Do not rely too much on these habits for characterization. Your character may come off as a shallow imitation of canon without “substance” if so. 

The next two tips will help give your characterization substance and originality.

2) Drivers in decision-making and thought patterns

People in real life often have patterns in the decisions they make or the thoughts they have because of some kind of underlying motivation, whether or not they are cognizant of it. The same will apply to well-written characters in fiction. Try to think about any significant decisions the character makes in canon and why they might exist. (Hot tip: If these motivations are not explicitly stated in the canon material, this is where you can come up with some extremely juicy headcanons!)

Understanding the fundamental drivers behind the character’s actions will allow you to extrapolate and write what they’d do in the situations in your fanfic. These non-canon situations can include relationships! It’s a common issue for romantic relationships in fanfic to feel OOC because the characters act inconsistently with their canon decision-making and thought patterns solely for their love interest.

Examples of common drivers in fiction:

Abstract values such as freedom, revenge, survival, self-preservation. (If you’re writing anything political, try to figure out how they value conservatism vs liberalism, anarchy vs authoritarianism, etc).

Baggage and trauma relating to familial issues or past relationships, which can often result in maladaptive trends in behaviour or hard-lined moral codes and ideals.

Significant relationships that affect their needs, goals, etc. Pay attention to platonic, familial, or romantic bonds that are strongly featured in the canon.

All these examples are interrelated. Often our abstract values will arise from baggage, which then influence relationships, which in turn influence our values. Try to think about how each of these types of drivers may relate to one another for your characters.

Stories tend to have the most layered characterizations when the author has identified two drivers that are in conflict with one another, or one that leads to opposing behaviours. This can also be the starting point for character growth, whether it’s a hero’s journey or descent into a villain role.

3) Cultural context

Cultural context is a subcategory of drivers that I often find is overlooked. 

The culture in which someone was raised will often influence their decision-making habits, whether they conform to it or outright reject it. Recognizing the cultural context for a character can be very useful for figuring out cool little headcanons or extrapolating behaviour/opinions in the absence of canon material.

Some examples of how culture contributes to behaviour:

The kind of art and hobbies they enjoy, or at least are on their radar. 

Knowledge they would have about certain topics—even mundane things like musical instruments, certain skill sets, etc.

Their judgments on themselves and other characters, as well as the values they’d project onto their relationships.

The actions they would take when trying to conform to social norms of the time period—or even the set of actions that might occur to them!

It’s a pet peeve of mine when characters behave in a way that ignores their cultural context, simply because it won’t feel realistic! Since I’ve been relating this to shipping, I will make this point: what time period and country (or coded culture) is this character in? What are courtship norms like? And, if we’re going to go the nsfw route, what “interests” (haha) would exist?

Here are some quick examples of this analysis applied to two different characters: Hakuryuu Ren (Magi), Daryl Dixon (TWD). These are characters I’ve gotten requests for—let me know if anyone is interested in others!

Keep reading

Has this been done before? Probably. 😂

Late Night Visit

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt x reader

Warnings: None at all really! Mostly just fluff

Summary: Thomas comes late in the evening to see you.

Now, it’s no secret around these parts, the house that is, that you always struggled with rolling out of bed in the mornings.

It easily took you at least an hour to fully rise to your feet and finally go about your day, it was simply how your body chose to function.

Especially in such… Unique circumstances.

While Hoyt always used it as an excuse to kick your bucket and peel the meat from your bones for dinner, thankfully Miss Luda Mae was much more considerate and just sent her boy Thomas every ten or so minutes to shake the sleep out of your bones.

Quite literally.

You remembered the first time poor Thomas made the trip up the old creaky stairs to the room you were tied up in. The large man didn’t realize you were a sensitive riser at the time, and Luda Mae hadn’t bothered to warn him, which caused the whole ordeal to end with a sprained wrist on your end and a juicy black eye for Thomas. The whimper that came out of him surprised you for certain, he downright sounded like a wounded puppy, not at all in character with the man’s hulking appearance.

Then again, you also hadn’t been expecting an officer of the law to pistol-whip you and drag you to his house for dinner. To BE dinner, mind you.

Granted while it hadn’t ended up going Hoyt’s way, the sentiment was a little hard to shake.

But here you were anyway.

After that little scuffle though, they started tying your legs again, and a certain upset mama bear banned the man from the chore. But of course, after Luda Mae got tired of always making the trip up the stairs, she finally caved and sent her sweet boy on the missions his younger legs could handle once again.

Not before a stern warning not to be difficult to her baby boy, of course.

Thomas only lasted three days before noticing the bright rope burns glowing on your ankles, and the pair of big brown eyes hidden behind wild hair swirled with guilt at the sight.

Your wriggly feet had been free since and you both kept the little secret just between you and him.

It was an easy one to keep too, considering he always made extra sure to tuck the blanket under your feet before bed. You remembered the indistinguishable look in his eyes when you offered a feeble smile at the minor, yet thoughtful action the first time he did it.

Since then, the air in the room had started to shift over time. Whenever he ducked his towering frame through the door every morning and night, you could see his large shoulders droop, the tension seeping out from the core of his bones. At first, you thought it was because there was a wall between him and the noisy bickering that always seemed to be floating through the halls. A good portion of the subjects bein’ about the butcher himself.

Always in a not so kind light, too.

But, eventually, you came to realize it was just your presence that drew out such a thing from him.

You never did really prove that the sentiment was real, the introverted butcher made that sure, but lord be damned if you didn’t hope it was true.

Months passed, and you’d finally come to terms with the fact that you’d never get to leave the Hewitt house. Upon that realization, you found yourself more comfortable with the notion than you’d expected. You had cracked a smile when a certain resident of the home came to mind. Granted they were still a cautious bunch and made certain to chain you to your bed every night. Plus you were damn near positive you’d get early arthritis from all the sewing they were having you do. But, they let you skip out on the more meaty meals they served in favor of the veggies from the garden.

Can’t get any worse you supposed.

If anything, it got just that little bit better when a few cold nights later. You turned your attention from the book nestled in your hands to your door, the familiar sound of heavy footfalls closing in on your room per routine. Though that said routine had been finished over half an hour ago, your toasty tucked-in toes and chained wrist were a testament to that. The oddity caused you to smooth down the corner of your page, saving your spot before reaching over to set it on your nightstand. Hands now resting in front of you with calloused fingers picking at the threads of the blanket, you waited for the telltale whine the door always gave when it opened and gave a curious albeit worried tilt of your head.

Once there was a sizeable crack, that telltale shaggy head of hair slipped it's way in, a pair of big chocolate eyes peering at you in the dim-lit room. The hesitant look in Thomas’ eyes paired with how they struggled to stay locked onto yours drew an amused yet soft chuckle from your lips, the heat of nerves seeping out from your chest.

You can’t remember a time after settling into the home when Thomas didn’t show his southern charm, those polite little manners Luda Mae made sure her boy had. Which, considering his occupation, never lost its charm.

“You can come in, Thomas.”

The gentle murmur encouraged him to gently swing open the door, ducking his head as always while shuffling his way into the room. Your eyebrows furrowed as he hovered around the entrance, though a smile was still present on your lips.

He was so tense, nervous. Noticing this pulled down at the corners of your mouth a tad. Why was he so stiff? One of his hands was picking at the string tying his apron to his body, while his other hovered almost stock-still at his side, clenched into a tight fist. You hadn’t seen him like this since a person Hoyt brought for him to butcher had slipped through his fingers and escaped the basement. Kudos to him though, as he’d chased the woman down with ease and had brought her back in record time, but the verbal and physical lashing he received had him dangling on the edge of a panic attack for a solid two days.

While before, you would’ve mourned for the person who failed to escape what you’d thought was hell, now the memory of how distraught Thomas was the only nasty taste left in your mouth.

When your lips parted to ask the poor man what was wrong, his head was quick to bow down with his jittery gaze following. He looked at his mucked and worn boots for a few beats of his stuttery heart, before they finally flickered up to meet your own. You took the chance to scoot over in your bed, the old mattress creaking before you patted the now free spot next to you with your free hand, the other chained to the metal baseboard.

His Adam's apple bobbed noticeably as he tried to swallow his nerves, before taking the short steps his longer legs needed to reach the now open seat next to you.

The bed groaned even louder as he sat down, his back facing you. The new, larger body caused a dip in the mattress and had you sliding over, your shoulders bumping against his spine. Your hand reached up to press against him out of reflex to catch yourself, and your struggling smile finally fell once you felt the small tremors coming off him.

You pulled up the edge of your nightgown and shuffled towards his side, only barely managing to peek around his wide shoulders before the chain connecting you to the bed grew taught, cutting into the bandages Thomas swaddled around your wrists to protect them.

Another shiver vibrated up his spine as you slid your hand from his back and over to the front of his shoulder, chin barely pressing into him as you gave out a low, thoughtful hum. You’ve learned over time through experience that patience was the way to go with the man. Demands and pressure will only bring his anxiety to a boiling point before it pours out of the soup pot that was Thomas Hewitt.

His tremors slowly eased over the next few minutes, the heavy breathing puffing from behind his muzzle-like mask soothing down into a more relaxed rhythm.

By that point it was your cheek resting against his shoulder, the hand that was there moving onto his shoulder, gliding over the muscle in the usual way you would when wanting to help bring him back down.

It was like there was magic in your fingertips, he could swear.

If you were hoping he’d nudge you awake when you fell asleep on his shoulder, you’d be mistaken. He just couldn’t help it, honest. With you leaning on him so willingly he was scared his heart would burst out of his chest and wake you all on its own anyway. He just couldn’t help letting you drift off leaning on him. You were so small in comparison.

Mesmerizing, to see at times.

And this was one of those times.

Eventually, though, he could feel the object in his fist shift, giving him a reason to finally bring you back to the land of the living.

You’d felt as though you’d dozed off and been sleeping for hours, though you knew it not true as you felt Thomas’ back straighten, his large body shifting slowly to face you.

Sometimes you felt that man could stomp his foot and split the earth in two, he was so large.

The feeling of fingers ever so gently grazing your cheek shook you from your sleep-ridden thoughts and had your eyes struggling to open, blinking away the sleepiness that had started to creep up on your body.

Seeing those eyes easily drug out the last bit of drowsiness that weighed you down.

They were filled with so many different things, all swirling around in his head at once. It was one of the things that had your opinion of him turning what seemed like months ago. The thing that was changing him from being the cold-hearted cannibal to the broken and lonely man, stuck in a twisted house. It was still hard, and you still got scared when you heard the screaming from down in the basement, but you were trying.

And after getting to know the family, you felt Thomas deserved to have someone try for him, for once.

A heavy sigh puffed from behind your lips when his fingers pushed on past your cheeks to run through your hair, and you couldn’t help leaning into the touch. God he was making you sleepy again like this.

He huffed, his thumb rubbing over your cheek to try and brush that sleepiness away, a quirk of a smile tugging at his lips.

Settling with only closing one eye and leaving the other on him, you rose a brow quizzically.

“You feel better?”

The question had him retracting his hand to fiddle with the edge of his apron, moving his other closer towards you. Looking down, you notice he still had it clenched into a fist, must’ve been next to him on the bed the whole time.

It was shaking too, his poor nerves.

He seemed to be offering it out to you, which had you granting him a smile. That seemed to boost his confidence, and his own smile grew just that little bit bigger.

You shuffled back and used the hand on his shoulder to encourage him to follow. The poor man realized and made quick to follow, pausing to shake off his shoes before settling himself in the middle of the bed, one leg extended with the other drawn up closer to his chest. You couldn’t help a breath of relief at the newfound freedom you had when it came to the movement of your chained hand. Turning your attention back to him from your chains, you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled from your throat at seeing him fill up the small twin-sized bed, he was just so…

And without a moment of hesitation, you took the gamble.

The gargled yelp you got from him after getting to your knees and bouncing on the old springy mattress had your giggle blowing up into a clear laugh. His ass didn’t even leave contact with the stupid sheets at all! But judging by the red starting to pool in his ears and the squinted eyes, he wasn’t too amused even though the mischievous glint in his eye said otherwise and was quick to retaliate.

The moment your body left the mattress was the moment he realized he didn’t quite calculate your weight into the equation, and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to keep the childish squeal from waking up the house. The two of you stared wide-eyed at one another the second you made contact with the bed again, your hand reaching out to grab his knee to steady yourself. He was smiling and you were snickering as quietly as you could, pinching his knee as payback. Thomas was quick to cover his teeth with his lips while he smiled, and you pursed your own in turn, folding your hands on his knee before resting your head there. Bad dental genetics or not, you thought his smile was lovely, but that was a battle for another day.

“Alright big guy, back to business. What’d ya have for me?”

Baldur's Gate 3 companions as tumblr textposts

Bonus Volo:

the mosquitos sure are big around here

Sleepin’ e. Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington

How they would sleep with you next to them..

Eddie is probably at your house, in your bed and most definitely in clothes you washed the last time he was over. (A custom Black Sabbath hoodie and boxers) His hands are hooked around your waist, one of your legs between the both of his and your head tucked under his chin, forehead laying in his chest. Your hands are around his waist as well, drawing shapes on his back as you both fall asleep. Eddie mumbles a goodnight, receiving on back from you before you both doze off for the night.

Billy is also the type to be at your house, not because his room is dirty or unorganized like Eddie’s but because of his dad. He sleeps without a shirt and only in some of his basketball shorts he left over at your house a while ago. On your bed he’s on-top of your comforter with you next to him, your back to his chest and his arm around your bicep hugging you. While he starts off as the big spoon, throughout the night you both move a lot and he ends up little spoon by the time he wakes up. Instead of saying goodnight, he likes to kiss your forehead or if that’s not accessible he’d kiss back of your neck.

Steve likes you over at his place, not that he doesn’t like your house or bed but he believes his bed is the most comfiest and will debate with you about it. But Steve is another guy that sleeps without a shirt, but he wears long plaid pants that sit right below his V-line. Steve probably has to drag you to bed after a movie night in his living room. He little spoons..in a way. His back to your chest, one of your arms draped across his bicep and his head laying on the other, both of your hands locked around him. And your leg raised over and above his thigh. He doesn’t know how you sleep like that, but it makes him feel loved and secure so he’s all for it. You kiss his cheek and he mumbles a love you before dozing off.

Blood of A Rose - Guardian (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - A trip to the laundromat turns foul.

Notes - Sorry that this is a shorter one 😔 This was a request for Art to display his strength, but it took a darker turn than I intended 😅

Word Count - 1,279

Warning(s) - Sexual harassment/assault, graphic depictions of violence/gore

(Y/n) and Art sat together on a bench in a nearby laundromat, the hum of the washers and dryers providing a steady rhythm in the background. Her legs were tossed over his lap as his fingers mindlessly tapped against them, her head leaning against the wall as she casually scrolled through her phone. 

She came upon a ‘top 10’ video of the worst roller coaster accidents recorded and she gasped, showing Art her phone enthusiastically. 

“Look at this one.” She leaned in closer to him as he watched patiently. 

He started to silently chuckle in the beginning, but it soon turned into full on laughter as they became more horrifying, slapping at her thigh in the process. (Y/n) began to laugh, herself. Though it was more so in adoration of his happiness than the content they were watching.  

She pulled back once the video was finished and Art shook a finger at her with a wide smile, laughter beginning to die down. He then decided to look at her phone with her, pointing at something every now and then that particularly intrigued him or if he wanted to ask about something which she would gladly answer. 

Once their washer buzzed, signally the cycle had finished, she stood up to switch the clothes over into the dryer. Art stood up after her and patted her lower back, pointing towards the back area of the small building where the bathrooms were. 

(Y/n) nodded and he blew her a kiss, turning around to head in that direction. Just as the bathroom door closed, the chime of the laundromat’s entrance rang and a man walked through with his own bag of laundry. They locked eyes and (Y/n) quickly looked away, not wanting to draw his attention any further.

His footsteps drew closer, stopping not too far away from her and he put his clothes in the washer. She took a deep breath, seeing him face her out of the corner of her eyes as he leaned against the machines. 

She then huffed and crossed her arms, turning towards him after the dryer started. “Can I help you?” 

(Y/n) felt a chill run down her spine, hoping he would move along after her comment. But he didn’t.

Without warning, he stepped closer, the smell of cheap cologne and sweat filling the space between them. His hand brushed her arm. (Y/n) tensed, stepping back, but there was nowhere to go. She was cornered between the row of washers and the wall.

The man slurred, his voice thick and suggestive. “You here all alone, babes?”

(Y/n) swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The man’s hand reached out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer. His grip was firm, too strong for her to break free from, and she could feel his breath on her neck as he pressed her against the cold metal of the washer.

“Don’t be shy. I’m just trying to have a little fun. I’ll be nice, I promise.” he whispered, his free hand trailing down her side.

Panic surged through her as she stood frozen. (Y/n) squirmed, trying to push him away, but his grip only tightened as he pinned her against the machine, his hand beginning to grope her. Tears welled in her eyes, her mind racing. She felt helpless as the man’s fingers dug into her skin.

“Art…” She choked out in a whisper. “Art?” (Y/n) spoke louder, the man growing confused. “Art!” She finally screeched, eyes squeezed shut as his nose brushed against her neck.

Suddenly, she heard the bathroom door swing open, banging against the wall behind it. (Y/n) barely registered it, her mind clouded by fear, but the man didn’t notice either, too focused on the woman in front of him. All of a sudden, in a blur of movement, the pressure on her body vanished.

The man was ripped away from her and (Y/n) gasped for breath. She looked up, her vision blurry with tears, but she could make out the familiar black and white figure of Art, standing over the man like a shadow of death. 

The man looked up at the clown before him, eyes wide with terror as he lay frozen on the floor. Art stepped closer, staring at him a moment longer with his teeth bared. 

The smile he saved for his victims had long since disappeared. His teeth were now bared in pure, unadulterated fury as his shoulders rose and fell with his heavy breathing. 

Art suddenly bent down and snatched up the man’s shirt collar, dragging him effortlessly across the floor before launching him into another wall of machines, denting one in the process. 

The impact drove the air out of the man’s lungs and he coughed, fighting to catch his breath. When he noticed Art start towards him again, he groaned as he tried to crawl away. Two hands grabbed the fabric of his shirt on his back and he was lifted quicker than he could comprehend, then thrown across the floor a second time. His head took the majority of the impact, crashing against the wall behind him. 

As much as the man tried to fight to move, it was useless after the second hit. Every move he made filled him with pain, no doubt bones broken as they stabbed at him through his attempts. 

As much as he knew (Y/n) was traumatized, Art walked past her and dug through his bag as his rage continued to burn, deciding that getting rid of the threat was priority.

He pulled out a scalpel and scissors, slowly walking up to the pathetic figure that was curled up on the floor as he looked up at him, horrified. Art took his time, crouching down beside him as he grinned sadistically and snipped the scissors threateningly, making the man flinch.

“Please,” he whimpered, “I didn’t mean -“ He tried. But Art never gave him the chance.

This time, (Y/n) watched. 

She watched as the skin was peeled and stretched. As blood gushed, exposed muscle and fat molded and sliced through. As hair was pulled and torn off. Bones popping and snapping.

She couldn’t look away. Not after what that man did to her. What he tried to do. Her stomach turned, a lump forming in her throat at the sound of it alone. 

(Y/n) stood frozen, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She didn’t have to say anything. Art already knew. 

Once finished, his piercing green eyes flicked up to meet hers, at last checking to make sure she was okay. The moment they locked gazes, (Y/n) gave a small, shaky nod. 

For a long moment, the laundromat was silent, save for the low rumble of the machines. (Y/n) stood where she was, her hands shaking as she tried to process what had just happened. Art stood and turned to her, his head tilting slightly as if to ask if she was alright.

Without thinking, she rushed towards him, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace despite his bloodied form. His stiff posture relaxed as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. 

For all the darkness that lived in him, (Y/n) felt safe in his arms. He was her protector, her chaos, her partner in the macabre dance of life.

She didn’t say anything, just simply took him in as comfort to ground herself. His grip tightened, and she knew that in his own way, he was telling her she would always be safe with him.

Tag list: @callsignwidow @hoe-for-daddywise

*Running during a mission*

Y/n: Okay, we have three men on our left and two men on our right, let's spread. Remember, we have what we need, we must avoid a figh tat any coast and escape as soon as --

Bucky: *catches a knife before it hurts y/n*

Sam: Oh shit.

Bucky: I'm about to kill them all.

Y/n: Babe...

Bucky: Don't "babe" at me, doll: no one touches you.

You know what, Bucky Barnes is right-handed, but The Winter Soldier is left-handed?