#campfire-stories

[mimorobo]

Hi again!

(Flowey ate the marshmallow)

...

This is kinda late, and I missed it, but another bunch of people are here now!! Like, a lot of people. (hello everyone!!) :D

So in celebration, and as a thank you, I did another one of these! A bunch of random animations and pictures of Sans getting pestered by annoying children.

(guess this is becoming a thing now...)

(specifically from a really cool comic called Knock Knock where Sans and Flowey are basically buddies!)

(Frisk ain't buying it...)

...

Thank you!!! You guys are all super duper cool!!!

;D

[vor-leser]

"AM provided punk and we burned it, sitting huddled around the wan and pathetic fire, telling stories to keep Benny from crying in his permanent night."

[sleepysmore]

Agere moodboard for myself... ꒱˚‧｡⋆𓍢ִ໋

I've never really tried this before so I hope it looks ok!!! I kinda just picked stuff that reminded me of my regression so there's not much of a theme hehe ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

[courtana]

games played in 2024 [part 1 / part 2]

[insomniac-dot-ink]

I can’t go home. There are only a few places open this late and I am walking. I leave a trail of footprints in the powdery snow. The music hall in the middle of town is playing a local band no one has heard of and a single popup store sits outside. I go to the window. The clerk is on her phone in the small cramped cart. Her screen goes dark and she looks up. Her hair is deep brown and tied back so neat and boxy you’d think it was a nun’s habit.

“Hot chocolate,” I say.

The clerk is nonplussed. She takes my money. Her habit-like-hair is stiff and doesn’t shift as she nods and counts my ones. She moves from one end of the little cart to the other with a Styrofoam cup. 

She carries the sugar-thick hot chocolate in one hand and it lets out a thick steam. I am sure she made it too hot. She stops. Her gaze draws up and over my shoulder. Her pupils expand and shoulders rise almost to her ears.

She glances at my face and then away again. Her lips are thin and uncolored. She mouths the words like an unskilled ventriloquist, “do you need me to call someone?”

I shake my head and take the cup and the texture is squeaky and flakes off in my grip. I walk. My footprints mark the powder-white snow and my city only has a few places open at this time of night. My legs are numb with cold and my eyes ache from lack of sleep. I am grateful for the street lights which are all a pale blue color that is supposed to help the birds. I am a bird person, I think, if I was going to be anything.

Cars pass and I am grateful for those too. I reach the street of little cramped stores, one after the next. A fabric store. A second-hand book store. Florists and boutique shoe shops. All too charming to be supportive. The Walmart is just outside our small town limits and I can’t go home.

Across the street, the pub has lowlights on and voices rumble like a thunderstorm from within. I don’t think the rest of the town likes the pub. The bar has one long window made up of colored glass in muted reds and blues and yellows. It reminds me of church windows and leaves the impression of making up for it. Making up for being what it is.

I square my shoulders and push my way in. The air is warm and floor a good type of dark wood. The tables are full enough to be considered a party–or, what I imagine a party to be like. I hadn’t noticed the dusting of snow on my hoodie, and shook it off like dandruff.

The man behind the counter gives me a cursory look. He is a big man with a large mouth and wears frowns like he’s making up for something too. “Mark isn’t here,” he says in a further cursory manner. I shake my head and make my way to the counter. I hadn’t finished my hot chocolate and clutch the Styrofoam cup in both hands.

“Warm up?” I ask but Steven Plyer, the barkeep, is looking over my shoulder. He mouths to himself silently like he’s working out a math problem under his breath.

Two men, big and strapping, move away from the bar’s church-like window. They take seats at the end of the bar and Steven Plyer, the barkeep, leans over the counter. His pupils are ink-dipped coins. I fiddle with the ends of my sleeves. He looks over my shoulder just as I push my hot chocolate closer over the counter.

“There’s a whole world out there,” he says.

I close my eyes. “I know.”

“You don’t have to go.”

I shake my head and Steven Plyer takes my hot chocolate and disappears behind the swinging doors to the back. The rest of the men have moved away from the window and sit on either side of me. They murmur in voices too low to hear.

The oldest of them, a man that smells like leather, stands. His voice has a vibrating quality, unsmooth, dragging out the “a’s” like a regal sheep. “Do your parents know?”

Steven Plyer returns with my hot chocolate steaming and passes it to me with both hands. I get up because the old man needs my seat, I think. The first two men huddle by the front door, coats on and heads bent together like prayer, and I leave without them. The snow is no longer powder but inch-thick fluff. I kick up the fluff with each step and the silver hangs about me like fairy lights, I imagine. I take a sip of hot chocolate and it is too hot and too sweet and you can be grateful for that too.

The sidewalk ends and I walk alongside the side of the road just on the edge of the white line. I think I can see the lights of the Walmart beyond the lights of the city. Trees gather on either side and I miss the blue glow of the street lights and the concerned gaze of the clerk in her tiny cart. I wish she had come with me. I wish Steven Plyer had called me by name.

A solitary car passes and its stark white headlights blare against the night, more violent than kind, and I have to shield my eyes. The car is red and large and pulls to stop on the other side of the road. The window rolls down and a curly-haired woman sticks her head out. Her face is small and elfish and mouth pinches together at the corners. She wears a tight shirt buttoned up all the way to her throat like it might hold her in.

The head beams glow perpendicular to me and I regard the woman as she regards me. She is slow to speak. Slower than the men at the bar had been.

“Get in,” she says, buttoned-up to the throat and with eyes more tired than sad.

“No,” I say and take a sip from the hot chocolate. It’s cold.

Her windshields wipe away the snow and she looks over her dashboard. Her voice is breathy in the way of a Hollywood actress from a bygone era. “I’m worried.”

I nod. They all are. “That can be enough.”

Her mouth zips together into an angry line. She sticks her head out the window, close to a snarl, looking past me, and honks her horn in one long blast. I shy away from the noise and the too-brightness of her head beams. She drives with her head out the window, honking her horn over and over again as loud as she can.

I walk and there are no more cars. The snow settles over my shoulders and I don’t bother to dust off my hood or warm my hands. I leave the white line and walk in the middle of the road. The lights of the Walmart warm the night just outside of town and I can make out the outline of parked cars in the distance. They’re aren’t that many places open this late at night. 

I slow to a stop and sway a bit, like I'm drunk, I think, if this is what that's like. A second pair of footprints mark the snow in front of me. When had that happened? I tilt my head all the way back. The clouds are bright like daylight and snow growing heavy. I think it will all be glittering when the morning comes.

FIN

My book! 🐈 Newsletter

[demonicseries]

Ao3 is down so people on tiktok live are reading fanfic aloud

[vintagecamping]

Mom and Dad show their kids how to fly-fish on Story Lake

Ontario

1951

[phoenixcatch7]

The One Fact Pact

I want to see a fic where the chain is rigorously keeping their secrets and stories hidden, but they've all learned to trust one another. Like, it's past time they should probably be sharing things because it's beginning to get annoying, they all agree, but it's sorta become a habit by now? They kept those secrets and now no one really wants to share first?

So, to keep things interesting and get some momentum going, they make a deal.

Whenever they come across something that reminds them of their travels, their quest - be it an item, a familiar name, a location - they've got to share ONE fact or story about it.

But only! When they're in other people's time, because otherwise it'll just be a staged tour and one person infodumping and that's exactly what they're trying to avoid (and it won't be a fun competition they can make bets about).

And then either they go through worlds slowly building trust and understanding of each other through a long drawn out and incidental series of tidbits....

Or they immediately get stuck in wild's hyrule for ages.

Everyone's arguing over who the latest ruin belongs to. Time and wind are getting into an argument about the kokiri. No one can agree on the zonai. Wars is taking immense pleasure in pointing out anything someone else might have missed. Legend is resolutely ignoring eventide. Twilight claims the entire faron woods until they step into the hot and humid jungle for the first time.

Wild thinks he's immune because it's his world so he legally can't answer questions, but everywhere they visit there's a piece of his own story in the rubble or on the wind.

Wild: *happily making tea and checking his slate with the other hand* okay, looks like tomorrow we can reach the breach of demise and to new serenne stable. Just past that- Sky: *choking on his drink* the what?? Wild: the breach? Sky, weakly: Why's it uh, called that? Wild: oh, it's an old story. Apparently eons ago it's where a demon godking came up from underground to the surface world... *suspiciously* Why? Sky: gimme the slate. *squinting at the shape on the map*... I can neither confirm nor deny. Wild:... What do you mean? Sky, remembering the One Fact Pact: I can neither confirm nor deny. What's important is that I killed him. The entire chain, variously: YOU KILLED A DEMON GOD?!!? Sky *recalling the hardest fight of his life*: what, like it's hard?

And then he just refuses to elaborate.

[arthursfuckinghat]

There's thousands of details in rdr2 that I really love, and I say it all the time, but if I had to pick one as my favourite? It would be the campfire interactions.

From chapter one to even the epilogues, there's always something going on around a campfire.

It's always touched me in an emotional way, but the vulnerability, honesty and silliness that comes out of gang members during late night/early hour campfire conversations? It's truly a beautifully written and well executed feature that I spend a lot of time paying attention to.

The campfire is almost like the gang's communal safe space. They're free to talk, vent, sing or play instruments, and the others around will simply sit and listen or sing along. They bond over sharing these funny stories and tall tales, you have the opportunity to learn so much from the gang members by just listening around the campfire.

Lenny will talk about his father and their hardships, Hosea will talk about how much he misses Bessie or how special Dutch is to him, Reverend Swanson will be open about his addiction and the relationship he has with religion, Abigail will voice her frustrations about John, Bill will talk about how he got discharged from the army, John will talk about his worries regarding Dutch's leadership, Micah will talk about damnation and being prepared for hell, and Javier will be open about Mexico or his mother passing away and not being able to bury her.

There's plenty more, there's hundreds of different campfire interactions, but on a rare occasion - Arthur will talk. He'll sit down and begin apologising for how things have turned out, he'll admit how he's struggling to find a way forward for everyone and that he doesn't want to die but is willing to, then he'll ask for their forgiveness and excuse himself shortly after.

I find it hard to describe how despite gang members having differing options of each other, there's an unspoken mutual closeness that they share whilst talking around the fire. They'll jest and laugh and quip, but they'll also simply listen when they need to.

It's so wonderful.

[shitpostingkats]

Thinking a lot about how Ignis is given a prophetic vision and then immediately after loses his eyesight.

He sees himself, ten years from now, scars down his face, vision clearly gone, and still, still he doesn't hesitate to put on the ring. He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that his eyesight won't come back, because he's seen it, seen himself, but he still tries to play it off for a while, give the others hope that his disability isn't permanent. How this makes his comment near the end of the game that he can sense light suspect, because we the player know he is 100% willing to lie about these things to make the people around him feel better.

And just. The fact that he also knows without question that their king will return. He has Seen it. The idea of him reassuring the others, burdened as he is with the knowledge of what will come after, that Noctis is coming back, he just Knows it. And he knows it's going to take a long time. Of course, he could use his vision to guess when it starts getting close, could know it by the length of Gladio's hair or Prompto adopting a goatee. But those details are a lot harder to keep track of when one's blind.

And of course, the fact that he doesn't need to see when they open up the door to the throne room, because he already knows what's going to be in there.

[tmnt-reticent]

I was rereading Chapter 10 of Ret (through @starlaindisguise ‘s beta reading notes because that is the superior way to read ret chapters 🔥🔥🔥) and I went WAIT HOLD ON I CAN USE THIS 😈😈🔥🔥🔥

Setting up stuff for Season 5 in Season 1 has short term benefits too because now Mikey can talk about Big Mama to Prodigy Donnie HELL YEAH‼️‼️🗣️🗣️💯💯🔥🔥‼️‼️ He is yapping so much bro isn’t even giving Prodigy a chance to get a word in 😭😭

I HOPE I DID UR BOY JUSTICE @koolaidashley RAHHHH I LOVE HIM SM 🥺🥺💖💖💖💖 I WILL DRAW HIM MORE SOON 😈😈🔥🔥🔥

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion

Silly little script for the second image below the cut because I knew if I hand wrote this without a plan before hand it would not go well WHAJBSJAND

The Venus slander was uncalled for fr 😞💔

[tinkerbitch69]

Looks like it’s gonna be an Anders romance run, girls. Give me strength 🙏

[charmac]

Rob McElhenney and Charlie Day in Campfire Stories

They didn't physically interact in this movie, but they did to me, spiritually

[sleepysmore]

Another agere board for myself ꒱⋆｡‧˚

I had soooo much fun making the last one that I made another one too ૮ ˆﻌˆ ა It may or may not be very loosely based on Wyll.... But it's mostly just stuff I like ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

[mispelled]

I've been a big fan of @haysgrove 's ocs @thecampfirestory for years now and never drew them so here they are