to be taken seriously or to not be taken seriously

Writing Requests:

Here's the number one rule above all else: You have to have a clear and specific idea. It's a writing request, after all, not a commission. So I can't do something that's too general in scope, like "[media name] but in [country name] and [something else]".

Here's a good example of a request I'd accept:

"Hissabeth and X from Reverse:1999 meeting in a coffee shop".

Brief, but I already have specific characters and a specific setting. You get the gist? Great! The following are more specific rules:

Can:

1. Write fanfiction of any fandom, so long as it has a well-updated wiki and you're willing to yap to me about it. Since you're requesting fanfic about it, I'm assuming you're more than willing to do the latter ;).

(This is primarily because the only fandom I'm super interested in right now is Reverse:1999, but I'm always up to listen to people ramble about fandoms they're a part of.)

2. Write about an original story or original character/s from you. Again, as long as you're willing to yap about it, or you have a document ready :D.

3. If it's a gen fic, I'm doubly more willing write it—there aren't enough of those :]!

Cannot:

1. Write anything NSFW.

2. Intense violence, gore, just anything too traumatic.

***

Art Requests:

Can:

1. Fanart (includes ships)

2. OCs (please provide a reference sheet ^^!)

3. Yumeships

Cannot:

1. NSFW, gore, intense violence, p*dophilia, inc*st, etc.

2. Furries, mecha, and old people (outside of my skillset 💔)

***

He didn't know whether to sigh, snort, or punch the wall. The last was the most appealing; they'd throw him out and he'd be rid of this gods damned courtroom. But then his mother would suffer a bout of hysterics and embarass herself even more, so, Nieven kept his hands in his trousers.

His few friends had had the foresight to manufacture excuses and were nowhere in sight. Instead, they were probably in a comfortable cafe right now enjoying themselves. Not stuck trying to catch a breath of air in a room that was somehow melting him alive in the middle of winter.

There had to be at least a hundred people in there. It was miraculous how House Beigwyn routinely convinced lords and ladies to voluntarily torture themselves in these cramped halls. The constant flash of the crystal furniture threatened to burn one's eyes, the shrill laughter threatened to pierce one's ears, and the perfume from every single body practically held a knife to your nose. Once again, House Beigwyn proved the timeless lesson that social clout was everything.

Nieven tried not to glare at the second young lady who approached him with fluttering eyelashes. It probably wasn't even her own choice. Giving her a quick, polite smile, he excused himself for the washroom and scurried away. Ten to one, Nieven guessed she wouldn't even suffer a lecture, for only the truly desperate bothered to send their female relatives his way. The most common reaction thrown in his direction were contemptuous glances and thrust up chins. Of course, that is if they bothered to acknowledge him at all.

The only saving graces of the famous House Beigwyn parties were two things: the music and the food. The former because the family's craft was musical instruments and the latter was because the Head reportedly had a love for the culinary arts. Nieven could attest. You saw Sylvar Beigwyn before you heard him.

He hummed to the cheery string melody as he neared the tables laden with all manner of delicacies and desserts. This was how one retained one's sanity in these parties. Eating held the smell of perfume bay and with a full mouth, how could one be expected to titter and tattle? Nieven helped himself to a few, while mentally sending pleas to gods to bless the Beigwyn cooks.

SAIGE

Saige wondered if she'd shake all her jewelry off if she continued trembling with joy. Mightn't one, if they were in heaven?

The crystal decor flung kaleidoscopes everywhere, the music swelled like birds taking flight, the press of bodies ensured no one was cold, and the merry laughter couldn't stop eliciting a grin from Saige's face.

Yes, she was in heaven.

She swayed and hummed while watching the dancers glide across the floor, smiles on all of them. Her mother knew best, of course, by keeping a strict dance card but, oh, could she not dance earlier? If Father were there, he would be teasing her by now, then relent to her impatience by allowing a gentleman to invite her onto the floor.

Her mother's firm voice cut through her thoughts. "Do stop fidgeting, child. It is unseemly."

Saige smiled apologetically and stilled. "Of course, mother".

With her regal expression, voluminous green gown, and the intricate way her hair was done up tonight, Saige wouldn't be surprised she were mistaken at a glance for a Naephene. She was always such when they attended a House Breigwyn gathering. Though her mother never divulged her reasons, Saige guessed it had something to do with how the Breigwyns were a well-established musical House, and how their own clan of Rivras crafted woodwind instruments and yet were regarded, for lack of a better word, as upstarts. Saige imagined her mother shivering at the word, as she always did when she heard it.

But Saige determined she wouldn't remain still—if she couldn't dance, she would walk. Informing her mother of this desire and taking her quiet cousin Clanire's arm, she began weaving through the crowds.

Colors all throughout the spectrum shimmered and winked at her as she passed people by in their formal finery.

"Cousin, does this not remind you of a field of flowers?" she wistfully asked Clarine.

Clarine gave her a ginger smile. "Certainly, down to the smell."

That pulled a laugh from Saige. "Too generous?"