If possible, could you guys critique this? Spelling/grammar errors, things that don’t make sense storwise, etc, please? :3 Anyway, first draft. Some things are vague ‘cause I don’t want the class to realize the fact this is RO… Not like anyone knows about that game lmfao.

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Best way to celebrate a friend’s birthday is by writing them badly written porn lmao.

Figure drawings I did about a month ago with dansmiththeman. You can tell I’m bad at this.
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I need to make some birthday gifts and enter a Halloween contest on iRO too much to doooooo.

Just an idea, wanted to get a general sketch down before I lost it.
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I NEED TO DO A FULL DRAWING ONCE A MONTH.

*looks at a fly lord sketch I have*

:^)

Revision.

Twelve twenty-one twelve. Five twenty-one eleven. Five nineteen ten? I’d always thought those to be random numbers, a combination of uselessness. I often wrote them in obscure locations with blue fire on my claws, curling my tongue out in mock concentration at the meaningless task. Sometimes, if I was truly bored, I would go out amongst the humans who lived on this world and spread around one of those strings of numbers. Just whisper some tantalizing words to a supposed prophet, drip some phrases like liquid gold to a powerful cultist, make them believe these numbers have meaning. The numbers then spread by them to the masses. Those prophets’ mouths released torrents of false info they believed true, their bodies controlled by an unknown puppeteer in rapt motion in their attempts to spread the numbers. “End of the world, end of the world, end of the world.”

So what happened when humans arrived at that number on their meaningless slips of paper called calendars? Nothing happened to them, of course. Only their ignorance made them act as they normally wouldn’t. Of course, it’s always fun when the humans broke their own rules.

They spent their money with no cares, either to prepare for the supposed end, or to dump it all as there would’ve been no use for it. They spoke of things they never would to others normally, make a reckless move against friends and enemies. I watched humans kill their closest ones, sleep with their neighbor’s wife or husband, steal their family’s precious belongings. They act so out of order, everything they do rising in fitting stupidity, their actions raising higher on gilded wings. Then when the day passed, the humans regret everything they said, everything they did. They crashed to the ground on those foolish wings of theirs, gilded wings of deceit. Never would they fly as well as I could on my wings of ice.

Often I heard the humans say, “History repeats itself.” Oh, it’s true, so true! They believed the false numbers again and again, their cycle of greed and lust, murder and pride continuously renewing itself. Humans tried again in their fickle ways whenever the day drew near, believing order to be irrelevant in the supposed end. But then it passed again; the humans crashed and burned. All that regret, all that waste of time and money and blood. Such fun to watch. But the finale was sure to be the best.

Insanity is when one does the same thing over and over and over again in hopes of a new result. Thus, the humans were insane when they continually believed the idiotic numbers that held no purpose from the start. They listened to their emotion, listened to the mad ravings of some shriveled husk of a man once called wise. And when they finally realized that nothing changed, that their precious world wouldn’t end no matter what those hideous things said or did, the humans eventually stopped believing.

And then the world ends.

Oh, but it’s never that simple. Of course, when someone finally discovered the true number for end that I picked through some miraculous discovery, they became ignored. Only few would listen. Every other human was dismissive. After all, the previous numbers proved false. Why was this one any different?
“But the world will end on that day!” Heard it before.

“You’ve got to believe me!” Believed the others, and oh look, he world’s still here.

“This one’s different!” And so were the others, apparently.

“I’m not crazy!” You act like the man before you.

The world did end this day. They should have believed you. This one was different. You weren’t crazy. But weren’t the others before, the ones who act like you act now? So they said, so they said. But nothing changed then.

I am called the Destroyer of Worlds, just a self-proclaimed title. I set in motion the world’s end when I see fit, so I could grow stronger. But before I destroy it, I play with it a little. Tease the foolish, gullible beings into a lying truth. They sing and dance to a small tune I create just for them. Each one is different but the antics are always amusing, the songs boisterous. As their faces melt in the fires of their dying world, brought out by my hand, I laugh at the expressions the skin made as it turns to liquid. Foolish and nothing more. Humans were the funnest so far.

A shame it was their time to fall. Their world just couldn’t hold them any longer, so I freed its suffering by setting it alight. It thanked me by devouring all in its freed, liquid gold. I watched as the light basked my wings in white.

When the world finished its thanks and crumbled before my gaze, I set about to find the next world that would amuse me.

dansmiththeman said: THE DAY OF LAVOS IS UPON US

And the future refused to change.

First draft.

Twelve twenty-one twelve. Five twenty-one eleven. Five nineteen ten? I’d always thought those to be random numbers, a combination of uselessness. I often wrote them in obscure places with blue fire on my claws, curling my tongue out in mock concentration at the meaningless task. Sometimes, if I was truly bored, I would go out amongst the humans and spread a random string of numbers around. Whisper some tantalizing words to a supposed prophet, drip some phrases like liquid gold to a powerful cultist, make them believe these numbers have meaning. The numbers spread by them, their eyes fevered with excitement, their mouths releasing torrents of false info they believe true, their bodies seemingly controlled by an unknown puppeteer in their attempts to spread the number. End of the world, end of the world, end of the world.

So what happens when humans arrive at the number? Nothing happens to them. Only their ignorance making them act as they normally wouldn’t. It’s only fun when humans break their own rules. They spend their money with no cares in preparation for the end. They speak of things they never would to others, make a move against friends and enemies. I’ve watched humans kill their closest friends, sleep with their neighbor’s sister, steal their family’s precious belongings. They act out of order, everything they do rising higher in stupidity, taken up to a peak by their gilded wings. Then the day passes, the humans regret everything they said, everything they did. They crash into the ground on those foolish wings of theirs, gilded wings of deceit. Never would they fly as well as I could on my wings of ice.

I often heard humans say, “History repeats itself.” Oh, it’s true, so true! They believe the false numbers once again and their cycle of greed and lust, murder and pride. Humans try again in their fickle ways, believing order to be irrelevant in the supposed end. But then it passes again, humans crash and burn. All that regret, all that waste of time and money and blood. So fun. But wait until the finale.

Insanity is when one does the same thing over and over and over again in hopes of a new result. Thus, humans are insane when they keep believing these idiotic numbers that held no purpose from the start. They listen to their emotion, listen to the mad ravings of some shriveled husk of a man once called wise. And when they finally realize that nothing will change, that their precious world won’t end no matter what these hideous beings say or do, then finally humans will stop believing that the world will end.

And then the world ends.

Oh, but it’s not that simple. Of course, when someone finally discovers the true number, the true day the world ends, they’re ignored. Only few will listen now. Every other human is dismissive. After all, the previous numbers proved false. Why is this one any different?

“But the world will end on that day!” Heard it before.

“You’ve got to believe me!” Believed the others and oh look, the world’s still here.

“This one’s different!” So were the others, apparently.

“I’m not crazy!” You act like the man before you.

The world will end that day. They should have believed you. This one was different. You weren’t crazy. But weren’t the others before? So they said, so they said. But nothing changed.

I am called the Destroyer of Worlds, just a self-proclaimed title. I set in motion the world’s end when I see fit. But first, I play with it a little. Tease the foolish, gullible beings into the lying truth. They sing and dance to the small tune I create for them. Their antics are amusing, their songs boisterous. As their faces melt in the fires of their dying world, a fire I set myself in its core, I laughed at the expressions the skin made as it turned to liquid. Foolish and nothing more. Humans were the funnest so far.

A shame it was their time to fall. Their world couldn’t hold it anymore, so I freed its suffering by setting it alight. It thanked me by devouring all in its liquid gold. I watched as the light basked my wings in white. Then I set about to find the next world that would amuse me.

Oink oink.
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