#fuck me i hallucinated that all my drafts were done

[my-grass-is-dead]

send me a link to your ayano x Megami fics on ao3 I need to read them.

There's a 4/33 chance you've hit a oneshot - apparently I looked at my drafts doc instead of my completed doc while I was wandering Tumblr at 3:something am.

[loudclan-clangen]

(I thought of something funny)

Whenever Owlstar comes back to camp from solo walks, there's just this giant banner at the entrance reading "Welcome Back, Cheater."

Slitsplash swears they didn't put it up, but appreciates whoever did it.

Meanwhile, Fiercestripe is smirking in the background. (She did it)

They’re throwing him a party!

(˃̣̣̥▽˂̣̣̥) These asks all flow together so well I genuinely cannot tell if they are multiple people or just one person who is SO PISSED. Made my night to see these all come in at about 2am. If Owlstar has 100 haters im one of them, if Owlstar has 1 hater it's me, if Owlstar has no haters im dead.

I do! It was actually incredibly comical from my perspective because Eklutna showed up, did fuck all for 5 moons, got pregnant, then promptly died giving birth, to which i went "aw, that sucks" clicked on her kits, and SAW THAT THIER DAD WAS THE LEADER, SOMETHING THAT I DID NOT KNOW COULD HAPPEN. Eklutna didn't even have any romantic like for him, to my recollection, and Owlstar had like maybe a single tick for her? It was really just lucky rng I guess. Owl and Silt actually didn't break up in the game at all, in my original draft for the story, when i was just writing notes as i played, Siltsplash was a lot more... okay with it? Like they were pissed but their personality was a lot more demure so they didn't act on anything really. The exact quote from the draft was: "I won’t lie to you. I’m angry. Starclan, I’m more than angry, I’m furious. I have half the mind to tell you to leave and never come back.” They paused, seeing Owlstar deflate and taking some slight, bitter satisfaction in it before continuing, “But that wouldn’t be fair to those kits. They didn’t ask to be born, much less to you. They deserve to have a family, or as much of it as they are able to have, and starclan help me we’re in this together." It certainly fit with what I knew about them then, but given my ability to look forward and see future events, I decided that a break up made more sense.

Don't be sorry! I am not currently in artfight, I'm considering it but I wouldn't be able to be very active due to school, and I don't want to take another break from this blog so soon after my last, so it's not very high up on my list of priorities. I'm kinda casually working on refs for the more popular characters, so there's a chance I'll get those done and join a team, especially if it's something you guys want me to do. If that happens I'll be sure to let you guys know! I am now in art fight! I gave into peer pressure again. (In a good way).

I don't think even Silt knew. Siltsplash was OUT of it after their conversation with Owlstar, (see: the Eklutna hallucination), and they probably didn't even know where they were headed until they reached the nursery. But after setting eyes on the kits, Siltslpash knew that there was only one option. Yes, they "took the kids in the divorce" but truly they weren't thinking about revenge. They just saw kids who needed something that they could provide.

In terms of writing, though, since I have hundreds of moons of foresight, it was a total bait and switch. I needed to make sure that people had a reason to come back after the break and any comic with kittens in it usually gets a lot of attention, so it was a "marketing" decision to split up the moon the way that I did, in order to make sure that there wasn't too bad of a fall off in interaction for the blog.

In game Eklutna had an affair with Owlstar, died giving birth, and the "died giving birth" event overwrote the "reveal affair" event so technically, in game Owlstar didn't reveal the affair... ever? (Though I had written in my notes that he told Siltsplash who took them as their own). Story wise, Owlstar hadn't planned to tell anyone until the kits started asking about who their father was. Then he would tell them, and would probably reveal it to the clan when they earned their names and were able to become deputy. But, when Eklutna died all that went out the window. For all his faults, Owlstar is not a bad dad, and he would never leave his kits orphaned, even if it would get him in a lot of trouble to do so. He really does care for them, and he feels terrible about how much he's screwed up their lives so far.

He did bad, deitycrows, he did bad. He cheated on his mate and then his affair partner died in childbirth so he's not very popular rn, I've got to be honest.

I don't think it helps at all but, Owlstar did really genuinely like Eklutna! Now, was that because she never opposed him on anything and flattered him with adoring compliments at every opportunity? Possibly. But the "Starclan said" thing was honestly just more of an excuse for him. He woulda had an affair anyway, he just wouldn't have intentionally had kits with her.

:) Eklutna liked... the power that Owlstar held. She liked that he was chosen by Starclan to lead the clan, she liked that his kits are meant to inherit the position of leadership, and she liked that as the mother of his kits she would have a lot of control over both him and the leader after him. As far as his personality... he's kinda a clown but she could live with that.

To be frank: The order of inheritance is ABSOLUTELY FUCKED. If Eklutna had lived, it would be easy. She would take over as deputy until one of the kits was old enough to hold the position. But, since she's dead and Owlstar's only heirs are literal infants, as their adoptive parent Siltsplash is still the deputy for now. What happens when the kits reach adulthood is kinda up for debate. As Owlstar's closest descendant, Songkit should be deputy upon earning his warrior name, BUT Siltsplash is very much against that plan, and the kits might not want to go against their most attentive parent. So the very unhelpful answer is: We have to wait and see what the characters decide.

Thank you so much! I love to hear from first time viewers and see what you guys think of the characters! I'm glad that the dialogue worked so well and Eklutna definitely has Sol vibes! You look at both of them and go "in what world would this plan work the way you wanted it to???"

[isa-ghost]

Hi! I was wondering if you have any tips for outlining your story?

I’m trying to work on one, but it doesn’t really want to cooperate with me when I try to outline.

Do you have any tips for what works for you?

I would say don't force it, most importantly. You won't be satisfied and it won't come out great if your heart and mind just aren't in it. Get your inspiration and creative muse going first.

I genuinely don't know how the fuck I got my plot as fleshed out as it is, I got hella lucky it kept going. It was very fuck it we ball.

I will say, I often reread what I already had planned before letting my little brain movie continue.

I can picture things in my head really clearly, so basically my brain gave me a movie of the first 5 chapters and I just let it "yes and" itself until it just kept going. Or I got specific scenes that popped into my head and then wrote from where I left off and pushed things in a direction that could make the scene true in a way that made sense and flowed well.

From there, I knew I needed to resolve conflicts I'd established ("how does Phil get EK out of his body?"), come back to certain plot points I'd planted the seeds of ("so how is Phil doing while the group is planning his rescue?"), or cover "well what's going on with x during this time?" type stuff ("how is Missa taking care of the kids on his own while this is all going on?"). So over time, I'd make sure to either devote a whole chapter or just a scene to cover the thing, whatever length felt right.

As soon as I get a rough idea of what major points I want to cover, the rest comes organically as I'm writing. For example, in Chapter 3, I did not plot the Pissa date thoroughly. My plan said "fluffy distraction date, but hes hallucinating," and eventually "Phil hallucinates an enderman which exposes he's not doing well so he confesses everything to Missa bc he can't bring himself to lie to him." I didn't plan them visiting an event venue, going on a picnic, taking pictures, anything casual they talked about before that point. I let it come out in the moment and allowed the pieces to just fall into place because over-planning something can sometimes choke the life out of it.

Though that could just be what works for me because I'm taking over a decade of roleplaying skills and fitting them to a fic. A lot of the scenes I write come out the same way I'd start a roleplay. You can see it most in the start of a chapter, because both require setting the scene before puppeting the character(s) within it.

And obligatory mention that the process isn't always linear, flowing perfectly, etc. Shit takes time and the first draft is not gonna be your last, even if only a single detail changes later. Don't expect perfection the first time, you'll limit yourself and you won't be satisfied later. It could straight up kill your motivation to write the thing at all. I've deleted whole paragraphs of text in chapter 4 because even though they were written beautifully, it wasn't what I wanted or didn't match my plan.

So basically:

Ride as long as you can on the initial idea. Milk as much Where Does This Go / What Happens Next from it as possible

Play to your strengths when writing. If you're good at describing setting or atmosphere, go nuts. If you're good at writing dialogue, weaponize that. Whatever you're best at writing, lean into that and it'll make your story shine.

Keep the things you need to conclude satisfyingly in mind. Figure out how you want to resolve the conflict(s) you've started, then steer the plot in that direction however you see fit. If you establish certain things, decide if you Need or Want to actually write it out rather than imply it happening/being done/whatever.

Make sure the events that connect two plot points together flow well and make sense, but leave room for improvising because things that unfold organically are important in order to avoid having a plot feel too "mechanical" so to speak. Not to mention things that miraculously fall into place and just fit in perfectly are super rewarding and motivating.

Don't be precious with your ideas. If something doesn't fit, suck it up and delete it (you can always copy/paste it elsewhere to keep it in case it works later on, or you're just so damn proud of what you wrote that you don't want to banish it to the void). Chances are when you rewrite the scene or steer it in a more logical direction, you'll write something you like even more. If you don't, sometimes sacrifices must be made and you can refine the new thing until it's to your liking as many times as you want. OR you can commit to the new thing you wrote, but make sure to make all the changes to your plot and such necessary to have that thing make sense and flow well with the rest of what you're writing.

And very important: If you're writing for something that has a Canon, make sure what you're doing makes sense for the character. Don't have a "he would not fucking say that" / "he does not have the emotional intelligence for that" (HUGE ONE. Modern fandom has a massive problem with bitching about characters not communicating, but if the character would not spill their guts to someone, don't fuckin do it!! Miscommunication sucks, but lack of communication is a device that often benefits plot and creates conflict necessary for an interesting story!!) / etc moment. Dig into the character's brain and understand how they work, take what you know about how they are in situations and in general and apply that. Binge read character analysis for help, your best resources are your fellow fandom mates who are insane about their little guys. Consult them if you can't find any analyses, they'll write you a whole essay often times. Characterization is extremely important and many readers just straight up won't read your thing if you're butchering their special guy. For example, Phil is deeply allergic to sharing his burdens and hates the idea of putting his friends in danger. Obviously I'm not gonna have him venting to anyone who'll listen that he's being possessed by a god they don't even know of and that he needs their help. Even when you're writing an AU, that will rarely ever make the character's canon way of being irrelevant, you just have to think about how those traits would look in your universe/specific situation. There's still even more nuance to this I won't cover, but just keep in mind that writing a character accurately matters!

[teiasviago]

Okay, I want to hear your thoughts j never again, why you hate it, why your love it. Your gifset has me intrigued 👀

Oh, God, what’s not to love? What’s not to hate? It’s cerebral in a way no other episode of the show has been before. It awkwardly charms my pants off, even though there’s an itch at the back of my head that says something’s wrong. I only hated it when I first watched it two years ago. Then I saw what everyone loved about it and loved it, too, although I still had sore spots. (The absolute garbage that is the tattoo scene and back at Ed’s apartment will be separate paragraphs cuz yowza.) Now I love and hate it in equal measure.

I love the idea of it, the actors’ performances, the imagery. Gillian never falters and neither does David. But they can’t carry the entirety of an episode. (They nearly do, though. Somehow.) It’s painfully obvious to me that there were people along the way that didn’t view “Never Again” as a real episode—it shows in the cracks. (The music is also bad and doesn’t quite hit right but I just chalk that up to usual outdated music trends making my ears bleed.)

I feel like I’m one of the shows biggest fans (duh, we all are on here) but also one of its harshest critics. Anyways, the tattoo scene literally has some of the worst camera angles I’ve ever seen. It’s one of the main reasons why I applied to colleges’ directing majors. I would change all of the angles and the shots. I couldn’t help but re-imagine it and before I’d even realized what I was doing, I’d redone the scene in my head in great detail. What we actually got is not just bad but atrocious to me. An injustice done both to Scully and to Gillian. None of the episodes that came before had this issue of bad angles.

I understand trying out angles but for them to be in the final product? That was deliberate—from multiple people. (Probably all men but that’s a different conversation.) And then at Ed’s apartment. I get that it’s supposed to be like he’s consuming her, she’s letting him overtake her and overpower her and isn’t fighting back—snake eating its own tale. But there was something missing from the very first time I watched it. I thought it was just me being weird until we got to see one of the pre-censored drafts where it was way clearer that Scully and Ed fucked—on the floor, no less (IIRC). I was like that Captain Holt meme—VINDICATION! I wasn’t just seeing things. It’s like a special film/TV sixth sense.

It’s an important episode. I don’t hate its existence. But even moreso now that I’m studying film, I see so much of the bad. I see just how much it could’ve been better. It could’ve been so much better, like, you guys don’t even know. If I could remake a single TV episode it would be this one. It has the foundation, but it got so convoluted with trying to make sure Ed’s hallucinations fit into the X-File box that it feels like things got dropped. Why are these doors closing on their own? Why is having a hallucinatory disorder, which onset because of immense stress, an X-File. (Good old ableism. But that’s also a different conversation.)

It just makes me angry, and then sad, and then determined. It accomplishes its goals, brings up what it intended to and follows through with the themes and the messages, but it just... It could’ve been done even better. And it’s only not its best because of misogyny. (Because of course.)

[poohbea]

𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃.

beelzebub | smut, fluff |

𝙒𝙊𝙍𝘿𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏 : 1.6k

— 𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎 : the ingredients to make a darkness of devil cake are as follows: flour, eggs, butter, oral... wait that doesn't sound right.

𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙎 : light biting, food play, oral (f receiving), semi-public oral sex (you're in a shared kitchen so), voyeurism (meaning someone does walk in on you and watches - take a guess who's kinky enough to do something like that), praise, marking, pet names, just beel being beel

𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀 𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈 𝙋𝙊𝙊𝙃 : the way i procrastinated with this fic omfg. idk why this was difficult to write, but i tried, not my proudest work but this one has been sitting in the drafts for a long time and i needed to feed the beel food play agenda. again this is my poor attempt at getting out of my writer's block so forgive me if it's quite mediocre. we were going so well in the beginning and then sorta just fell off...cri

WARNING: this is smut, so please ensure you have your age visible on your account before interacting. Minors (below 18+), ageless and blank blogs will be BLOCKED

Hope you enjoy ♡ reblogs are greatly appreciated

“Is the icing almost done?” Beel asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. He watches you whisk the chocolaty cream in the large bowl, stopping to dip your finger in before raising it to his lips. He moans as his tongue envelops the digit, sucking the sweet treat greedily, teeth lightly nipping at your finger. 

“Is it good?” You chuckle, watching him with a smile. 

“Th’o good.” He mumbles with your finger still in his mouth. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Beel.” Your finger is released with a pop, a string of saliva still connecting the digit to his tongue. 

“Sorry,” A bashful expression takes over his handsome features. “It tastes really good.” 

You watch him examine the expanse of your neck briefly, nose subtly inhaling your sweet aroma. “You okay?” He nods at your question, but his gaze is still focused on the curve of your neck, the way your skin pulsed under the heat of his body that was still pressed flush against your back. 

Absent-mindedly, he licks the juncture where your throat meets your jaw, unable to resist the temptation of the tantalising warmth so close to his taste buds. “Shit.” If he thought the icing was delicious then you were something else entirely. A unique array of flavours that he’d been dying to discover the day you moved into the House of Lamentation. 

“Beel.” You whimper, fingers laced through his apricot locks as he sinks his teeth gently into your skin.

The Avatar of Gluttony heard none of it as he continued his exploratory assault, pathing from your jaw to your shoulder, all the while pressing your hips against the countertop with his own. He couldn’t stop, he wouldn’t. Not when something so delicious melted on his tongue with such allure, when you, his unofficial cooking partner, were moaning his name so delicately he could’ve sworn it was all in his head. That your ass in his palms was some kind of food deprived hallucination, that he was daydreaming like he always did. But the heat of your skin was undeniable, the clawing of your nails against his scalp as he indulged in you, unmistakeable. 

“Fuck.” You sigh, reciprocating the rock of his hips into yours, the growing ache between your thighs making it increasingly difficult to think straight. “Beel.” 

The demon stops to turn you around, immediately delving into your lips, tongue parting them as he tastes you further. “More.” He growls between breaths, fingers digging into your hips. “More.” 

“Beel, we’re supposed to be baking.” Your laugh partially breaks his starved frenzy, hands cupping his face when he finally pulls away.

He rests his forehead against your own, breath heavy and pupils blown as they threaten to break your resolve. “The cake’s fine.” His gaze shifts to the oven behind you, two large cake pans filled with a black batter illuminated by the light above. “They’ve only just started to rise.” 

“That’s not the point, Beel.” You giggle, with the lick of your lips, an action he followed intently. 

“I can’t help it.” His nose brushes yours as he speaks. “You just taste so good.” 

Admittedly you didn’t know how to respond to that. Shyness evident as he trapped you between him and the counter, silent but gaze alight with one clear intention. Eat. It was enough to give you goosebumps.

“Can…Can I try something?” He whispers in a low baritone.

With a bashful nod as permission his hands find purchase on the back of your thighs, wrapping them around his waist before lifting you effortlessly onto the counter top. Then his gaze settles on the icing bowl and your heart lodges itself in your throat. 

“Beel…” You whisper nervously, toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “It’s for the cake.”

“I’ll only use a little.” Those puppy dog eyes he throws you are all too convincing, his pout enough to melt even the coldest of hearts. How could you say no to that face?

He’s silent when you let out a soft sigh, curiously awaiting your response. “Fine.” And almost as if on cue he perks up, his proverbial tail wagging in excitement. “Just try not to make a—” Before you could even finish your thought the sound of tearing fabric echoes through the kitchen. Your gaze lowers to find your skirt in disarray and your underwear now in tatters, its remnants pooled on the apex of your thighs. “Beel!”

Admittedly, he only meant to pull them off you, but the demon obviously didn't know his own strength as he tore right through the flimsy cotton. Why did you even bother to wear something like this if it broke this easily? “What?” He asks innocently, pulling the rest of it from between your thighs. 

“I liked those.” Now it was your turn to pout, palm smacking his muscular shoulder as a weak form of punishment.

“You didn’t need them anyway.” He dips slightly to tuck his hands behind your knees, before proceeding to rise again to make you lay back on the counter. Drawing your thighs to your chest, he spreads you wide to give himself a perfect view of your pussy. “Wow.” He mutters to himself, marvelling at the meal so graciously being offered to him. 

“Don’t just stare at it—!” You yelp at the sudden heat against your clit, his tongue gliding slowly through your folds, savouring the flavour he’d so patiently waited for.

“Mm.” He moans, kissing the crease of your thigh tenderly, all the while observing that pleasured look on your face. “So delicious.” 

“Bee…” Using one hand to mindlessly play with your pussy, the other dips into the chocolate buttercream in the bowl beside your waist. His stomach growls as he spreads the confectionary over your clit, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth when your pussy clenches around nothing as a result. 

He silently offers you the residual icing, fingers grazing your lips, his heart races at the sight of his digits slipping past them, your tongue warm as it swirls around each fingertip. “Taste good?” He mimics you, finally withdrawing from your mouth. 

“Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.” Your lightheartedness makes him smile, those violet eyes admiring you lovingly before retreating between your legs again, returning to the task at hand.

Your hips jerk in his palms, his hot tongue lapping greedily at your clit. “Fuck.” You gasp, tugging his hair in encouragement. Each flick of his tongue lit a new flame in the pit of your stomach, the heavenly sweetness of the frosting mixed with your arousal only making him dive deeper. 

He’d soon become lost in the warmth of your core, every sense overcome by you and you alone. Your moans and pleas, the softness of your skin, your scent and that taste. Fuck, your taste. It was a unique mix of sweet and savoury, one that was growing increasingly addictive the longer he remained there. 

“Shit, Beel!” He can’t help but nip at your skin, thighs the victim of many a hickey, but purple was always a pretty colour against your complexion anyway. 

“S’tho good.” Your gasp bounces off the walls as he dips his tongue into you, nose now flush with your delicate clit, the action making your spine arch.

“Don’t stop, please. Beel, don’t—“ 

“Hey, do you guys smell something burni—oh!?” Your oncoming climax is cut short by Asmo’s sudden intrusion, his voice snapping you out of the pleasured daze Beel had so effortlessly pulled you into. 

“Oh, shit, Asmo it’s— ah!” Unbeknownst to you, Beel was unfazed by his brother’s presence, the new development actually driving him further. “Beel, wait… stop.” It was no use, even as you tried to push him away he just pulled you right back, strength far surpassing yours. 

“No, no, please continue, don’t let me stop your fun.” Asmo giggles, perching himself on the table top beside your head. “My, my, and I was under the impression that our beautiful little human was a prude. Yet here you are, spread so nicely on the kitchen counter no less. Does she taste wonderful, Beel?” 

The glutton mumbles an incoherent response against your clit, the vibration making your thighs shudder. “This isn’t— fuck. This isn’t funny Asmo.” 

“Oh, I agree, my sweet. In fact I’m quite jealous, I wanted to be the first to get a taste of you. But, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” His pout only incited  butterflies in the pit of your stomach, those devilish eyes eating up the scene unfolding before him. “Come on Beel, make her cum already, I’m dying to hear what she sounds like.” 

“Would you… shit, I’m gonna cu—ah!“ You miss the way Asmo smirks when you finally fall over that edge of euphoria, your free hand unintentionally grasping his wrist while the other combs through the ginger locks of the demon between your thighs. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, let it out.” The Avatar of Lust coos through the height of your orgasm, caressing your hair softly. “Breathe, angel.” 

It was forgein, this feeling in your chest. Never before have you experienced such casual voyeurism, and surprisingly you didn’t hate it as much as you thought you would. Maybe it was because you felt so comfortable with them, the power of mutual trust overshadowing your feeble inhibitions. 

A bubbly laugh sounds when you’re finally able to think again, body a puddle on the wooden bench, your muscles finally relaxing. “What?” You ask, out of breath. 

“Nothing, you’re just cute when you make that face. Isn’t she Beel?” 

The man in question finally raises to his feet, lips glossy as he offers you a warm smile. “Of course.” There’s a moment of silence before Beel frowns, nose scrunching with each audible sniff of the air. “What’s that smell?”

“Oh,” Asmo chirps. “You smell it too? It smells like something’s burning. Are you making anything?” 

Both you and Beel lock eyes, expressions morphing into ones of fear. “The cake!” 

tags: @okhotel, @sakinotfound, @xharia, @hoohoohope

© poohbea, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, reupload or modify my work to other accounts and platforms. if you intend to translate any of my works please ask permission first ♡

[dragonheart-swtor]

Sith Inquisitor Storyline: Drunk History Version

Y’all, and by y’all I mean one person (@sith-shenanigans thank you very much), asked for it, and I live to repeat this over and over for others’ amusement, so here it is. Have my summary of the pinball machine that is the Sith Inquisitor storyline, from memory, originally drafted a while back in DMs with a friend who’s never played SWTOR. Spoilers for the Sith Inquisitor storyline, obviously.

Without further ado: Let us begin.

- So your story begins as a recently sort-of-freed slave walking off a ship and onto Hell: The Planet. (The nonhuman Inquisitor immediately experiences 2483947 microaggressions.)

- You have to compete with a bunch of other people! Only one of you is not going to die and the overseer has already picked his favorite, seemingly purely because he happens to have red skin. They will both (the overseer and Teacher’s Pet) proceed to be as annoying as possible for the rest of the Korriban story.

- multiple people try to kill you, but you’re the protagonist, so fuck them

- “Teacher’s Pet, you go to the library and translate these texts. Protagonist, you go to this ancient tomb and figure out how to retrieve an artifact from a lock that no one has been able to open in ten thousand years.” “Libraries are boring anyway. Yawn.”

- You finally get to smackdown with Teacher’s Pet, which is satisfying as hell. Unfortunately the overseer gets pissy about it. Fortunately, the Sith you’ve been competing to be the apprentice of decided she liked you early on and has also been playing favorites, so you don’t die immediately.

- your master is great! much more into positive reinforcement than most Sith.

- at some point you semi-accidentally steal someone else's cult on Nar Shaddaa and now they worship you as a nigh-on god. whoops. you just kind of... leave and let them run their own business. you pay them visits later in the storyline.

- you also become part bug so you can go skinny dipping in radioactive waste. it’s fine, we promise.

- your master is trying to steal your body because turns out she's actually really old and kind of dying so she plans on kicking you out of your body, transplanting her own soul in your place, killing her old body, and assuming your identity after "you" "killed" "your master"! that's not great, better not let her do that.

-  you successfully didn't let her do that! wait, now she's sharing a body with one of your companions, an ancient monster who you kind of forced into submission and who serves you rather unwillingly now. there is apparently nothing that can be done about this so sometimes your eight-foot-tall monster not-friend talks in a high, unnervingly smooth feminine voice and tries to convince you she's on your side now that she's forced by this new body to not harm you. this is also not great but what are you gonna do. he is also Not Pleased about this by the way, and really who can blame him.

- some darth on the dark council named Thanaton decides to get pissy with you for reasons I don't remember and now he's trying to kill you. what the fuck.

-  he actually almost does kill you but your old master's other apprentices, who are now your apprentices, save you from the brink of death.

- (the apprentices, by the way, are very sweet and I love them. they’re murdered by thanaton almost immediately.)

-  your solution to "I need more power, fast", for some godforsaken reason, is "I'm going to learn to walk the line between life and death and EAT GHOSTS" and I wish I were exaggerating this

- you go out and eat a bunch of ghosts of old Sith on various planets

- subpoint to this: on one of these planets, you accomplish this by coercing the ghost's descendant, a Jedi padawan named Ashara, to get the ghost to appear so you can eat him. You end up murdering her masters in the process because one way or another they find out about your plan. She is understandably horrified by this turn of events and, feeling she has no chance of returning to the Jedi, reluctantly joins your crew and either (Light Side Quizzy) learns to balance light and dark sides of the Force and becomes ultimately stronger for it, or (Dark Side Quizzy) lives in abject terror of you for the rest of the storyline. I love her dearly as well. fortunately she is not murdered by thanaton.

- congrats! you ate enough ghosts to have enough power to beat thanaton up!

- unfortunately, you have Ate Too Many Ghosts Disease now and need immediate medical attention.

- your mind kind of just Shatters and you may or may not have hallucinations for a while iirc. either way you need help or you're just gonna disintegrate slowly until the ghosts overwhelm you and take over. you go to Voss and participate in some wild Force ritual they've got to take care of that. it's a fun time

- your body is also having a bad time and that also needs fixing; I don't remember where you go for this (Belsavis, I think?) but you end up checking out a machine made by a long-dead alien civilization and the machine turns out to a) be sentient and b) be responsible for CREATING A GOOD PORTION OF THE GALAXY'S NEAR-HUMAN SPECIES, IF NOT ALL OF THEM, AND DISSEMINATING THEM TO THE GALAXY AS PART OF THE RAKATA'S EXPERIMENTS ON CREATING FORCE-SENSITIVE LIFEFORMS IN HOPES OF KEEPING THEIR OWN SPECIES FROM DYING OUT BECAUSE THEY WERE SUPER RACIST AND EVENTUALLY THAT RACISM KICKED THEM IN THE ASS IN THE FORM OF A MASS REVOLUTION THAT WIPED THEM OUT COMPLETELY BUT THE MACHINE IS STILL HERE

- all right I’m calm sorry I derailed for a moment

- I have a lot of thoughts about things

-  anyway the machine bUILDS YOU A NEW FUCKING BODY and you're good to go now

-  (by the way, depending what species you're playing, it's entirely possible you learn at this point that your entire species only exists because of this machine!)

- (anyway.)

- okay, mind fixed, body fixed, ghosts consumed, we're good to go! time to murder a dark councilor!

- "we do that"

- except you don't because you're on corellia and this dipshit challenges you to a kaggath without really ever explaining in detail what a kaggath is or what the rules (if any) are, we just know it seems to be the ancient and very formal Sith way of saying "meet me in the denny's parking lot at 3am if you want an ass-kicking", and then hE RUNS OFF TO DROMUND KAAS WHICH DEPENDING ON WHAT GALAXY MAP YOU BELIEVE IS UP TO FIVE DAYS' TRAVEL AWAY

- YOU'RE CANONICALLY JUST CHASING THIS LITTLE BITCH THROUGH SPACE FOR FIVE DAYS AFTER HE CHALLENGED YOU

-  he then goes to the Dark Council to try to convince them to help him kill you and you literally have to just go to the Dark Council chambers too and kick in the door and go "HEARD YOU WERE TALKIN SHIT" in front of everyone

- (which to be fair is basically Sith philosophy in a nutshell)

-  Ravage and Marr spend this entire council meeting just exchanging tired glances and going "no, fuck you, why can't you kill them, they're your problem. fight for our entertainment now. fuck you"

- (Darth Baras did this exact same shit earlier the same day, by the way, with the Sith Warrior. and by “earlier the same day” I mean “like fifteen minutes prior to this.”)

- you fight Thanaton. to no one's surprise, because you're the protagonist and because he's being a little bitch about it, you kick his ass and slaughter him in front of everyone

- half the Council stands up and you just kind of go "oh shit I'm gonna die"

- but no

- you're being promoted

- congration you done it you're a dark councilor now

- someone complains because wait, they're not even a darth, you can't be a dark councilor if you're not even a darth

- first person responds with "well fuck you then, we'll make them a darth. hey you. your name is Darth Nox (dark side)/Imperius (light side)/Occulus (neutral) now. take a seat"

- "but - what?"

- "take a fuckin seat, babe"

- "o- okay" 

- "you run the entire Ancient Knowledge sector now, by the way, despite the fact that you may or may not be illiterate due to having been raised a slave, because that was what Thanaton ran and we only have the one job opening since the Warrior just killed Baras"

- (the Warrior, freshly coined the Emperor's Wrath officially, waves from their corner where they're cleaning Baras's blood off their boots)

- "I - okay, I guess"

and that’s the Sith Inquisitor storyline. That’s a wrap, folks, roll credits. if this gets enough notes and/or if literally anyone says they’d like to see it I may also post the Imperial Agent and/or do other class stories, I enjoy these way too much

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme Chapter 26

Thomas X Reader

Word Count: 1303

Summary: She’d do anything to make her father’s world burn for what he’d done. Even stand toe to toe with him in his own territory.

by @adventuresintooblivion

A distillery on the outskirts of Birmingham was where the Rothschilds had gained their first major foothold in the city. Now, years later and despite it still producing alcohol, it served as their headquarters. Every available nook and cranny was stuffed with desks that were overflowing with paperwork or people, crammed so close together there was barely enough room to walk. On any given day, one could barely hear themselves think due to the drum of machinery and voices talking business.

In a room, surrounded by fogged glass that looked over the work floor, Henry “Old Man” Rothschild hunched over his desk. He didn’t appreciate the moniker that his daughter had given him, but that wasn’t on his mind right now. Instead, his thoughts were preoccupied with time.

At 2:30 PM, he sent his most brutal soldiers to nab that Shelby brat. Even if the Lee’s had retracted their contract on the boy's head, he didn’t doubt a certain police man would pay handsomely for him. At 3:20PM, his forces should have tossed him into the back of a carriage and rode off with him towards a safe house outside the city. Given Rowan’s tendencies to beat the shit out of anyone he could get his hands on for the fun of it,  Henry had allotted an extra hour or two to the expected arrival time. Once there they would send a messenger, telling him that they had arrived. He was supposed to be here at 7:30PM. It was running past 8 o’clock and he was beginning to worry.

“Lazy bastards were never late when that little shit ran things.” He muttered to himself as he poured another scotch.

He’d been paying Barryfield Medical Asylum handsomely to get her off his hands for years. Every month he got a letter detailing the treatments she was receiving in light of her paralysis and battle shock. Henry knew what they were actually pushing for, a lobotomy. And he knew the reason, too. 

It would force Y/N into compliance. And it would keep Henry on the hook, paying for room and board for a vegetable. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what they did to women in places like that, honestly he’d been silently hoping that they’d finally break that spirit in her that he never managed to. It's almost a year since the ‘subtle’ suggestions began. As far as Henry was concerned doctors were money hungry leeches, but he would breathe easier if she could never appear on his doorstep ever again.

He returned to penning his reply, his permission to move forward with the operation, when the workfloor grew oddly quiet.he didn’t notice it at first, the drone of machinery preventing total silence. The lack of voices registered first on a subconscious level. Some animal part deep inside him panicking as it detected danger. Goosbumps rose on his flesh as the ghost of fear began to claw at his throat. Then he heard it. 

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. Kerthunk.

“Old Man. Get your ass down here.”

He blinked, sure he was mishearing. THAT voice, but regardless no one causes a ruckus on his workfloor. His footsteps were too loud, the floorboards creaking unevenly under his limp. Henry’s hand hesitated just before the door knob, an odd sense of doom taking over him. Maybe he was hallucinating in his old age. He turned the handle.

〜

Bile lingered on the back of Y/N’s tongue as she stared at that looming door. She silently prayed that the men around her couldn’t see her shaking in her oversized coat, she raised her wrench again. Every man in the room, her friends, her brothers, had their eyes locked on her. Tonight, this show was for them.

Before she could bang on the pipes again, the Old Man stepped onto the thin balcony surrounding his office. His face immediately turned an angry red Y/N had long ago learned to fear, but not tonight. Y/N could not afford to be afraid any longer.

“You. You come into my place of business and demand to see me?! How d-.” 

“Oh, shut up.” A collective gasp rose in the air. “You don’t get to sit up on your high horse acting like I’m an intruder. I’m your daughter.” 

He scoffed. Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat. Her plan depended on two things. One, that Danny got to the values without anyone seeing him. Two, that her father had been lying to his men. About his injury, what he’d done to her or even the fact that he knew them as human beings. Her eyes glanced around quickly, hoping to catch a glimpse of Danny’s progress. But instead her chance began to slip away as the Old Man started to turn. It was now or never.

“What did you tell them about me and why I didn’t come back?” the Old Man froze and she knew she had him. “Did you tell them I was dead, or just that I was indisposed?”

Y/N could hear the whispers start. She already knew the answer. Her closest friend, Denton, had dropped his coffee. His mouth hung open as she grabbed the random pipe. Others had turned pale and hid. 

“You told them I’d died in action didn’t you?” Her voice broke as she continued. “Maybe your loyal followers would like to know where you actually send me, Dad. Or...what you did you get out of the wa-.”

The Old Man spun around spitting mad, “That’s enough! I won’t have a traitor telling lies.” 

“Traitor? I’m not the one who bashed their knee in to get out of getting drafted.” her voice rose, the deep ache in her chest getting the better of her. It made it hard to think, to breathe. Regardless she’d thrown the accusation like a dart and it had hit dead center as the tension in the room shifted.

Almost every person here had been dragged to the frontline kicking and screaming, only to have wives leave them or their friends bleed out in their arms. Not a single soul among them could blame him for not wanting to go, but to be so thoroughly abandoned by the man- the ideal- that they had all given their lives for, stung far worse than most grown men would ever admit. And yet there was no denying the evidence as it stared them down in the form of a cane that the Old Man clutched with white knuckles.

Denton had begun to reach for his things. He knew her well enough to know when she was about to make the world burn. Y/N had once asked what she did that tipped him off every time. He had told her that she’d get this look in her eyes. Something that was a bit too wide, a touch too wild.

Y/N took a shaky breath as she decided to twist the knife, “ Do you know anything about any of us? How many sisters Wyatt has? Or how many children Denton has? Or for fuck’s sake, do you know my mother’s name?” 

“Enough.” The Old Man’s voice boomed across the room. “Someone grab her. I’m tired of this nonsense.”  His order echoed off the walls as no one moved to listen. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N watched a pressure gauge on a nearby tank begin to rise. The tension in her ribs finally loosened. Danny had made it.

It was Y/N’s turn to speak, “If you don’t want to get caught in what is about to happen between me and the Old Man, get out of the building.” She lowered her voice so Denton was the only one who could hear, “Make sure everyone makes it out safe.” 

[meltwonu]

| 🎃 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖍 🎃 |

↪ ✦ bitch ✦

this chapter pairing; warlock!seungkwan x witch!reader

genre&warnings; warlock!seungkwan, witch!reader, enemies!au(not hate fucking tho), hallucinations/tripping, high sex, cockwarming, overstimulation, forced orgasm, the smallest bit of switch!seungkwan, dirty talk 🥴

notes; it’s the way the draft for this chapter was completely different for me 🤪 He was a lot meaner in the draft but my natural thought was like HE WOULDNT BE THAT MEAN 😩😩 lmao fjkhkfh also can we just have a laugh at the fact seungkwan was doing a we remember kpop vlive and todays his monster mash fic day? thank u sir for all the content 🤣💕 As always, thank you for your interest with Monster Mash~ 3 chapters left! Say a prayer that maybe drunk me will post the last three in order!!! Have a great weekend! Be safe!! I love you!!! 💕 👻 🎃 

word count; ~1700

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - x - x - x

we do things a different way;

it’s up to you and it’s up to me

i’m your bitch, you’re my bitch!

boom, boom!

You hurry down the dirt path towards the small home where you knew Seungkwan would be; adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Of course this would happen.

You let out a frustrated noise, hoping that you were right in assuming Seungkwan had taken the spell book from your own home; there was no time to waste if your assumptions were wrong.

“That fucking bastard, I swear when I get my hands on him!” Mumbling angrily, you enter the clearing in front of his small abode; hands balled up into fists at your sides.

In fairness, part of it was probably your fault for leaving the spell book unattended and without a protection spell to keep it safe, but also, you’d only been gone for about ten minutes.

Unfortunately, that’d been enough time for Seungkwan to sneak in and take the book for himself.

You’d known Seungkwan for a while now and you’d even go so far as to say from your early teens. He was always using his magic for silly pranks and while he’d never done anything harmful with his magic yet, there were definitely spells in your spell book that could be used for harm if in the wrong hands.

You march up to his door, forcing it open as you storm in.

“Where the fuck are you, Seungkwan!?”

Scanning the small space, you walk around, no sign of the male anywhere in sight. You head up the small set of stairs to the second floor; noting one of the two doors was cracked open slightly with light coming from inside.

You all but sprint towards it, flinging the door open as you find Seungkwan holding a vial of liquid with the spell book open in front of him on the table. “You son of a bitch, Seungkwan!”

“Hey, wait, don’t----”

You slap the vial out of his hands as it knocks another one off of the table, plumes of purple and red smoke filling the air as the two of you start to cough violently. “Fuck, why did you do that!?” He shouts, trying to cover his mouth and nose from the odd smelling smoke.

“What the hell are you trying to do!?” You scream back, eyes watering as you, too, try to cover your mouth and nose.

“Fuck!” His fingertips wrap around your wrist as he tugs hard, pulling you out of the room and into the one directly across from it. He slams the door once the two of you are inside, coughs and gags filling up the space.

“Seungkwan, what---what the hell!? What was t-that!?” You shoot him an incredulous look, brows furrowed when he starts to look a little weird in your eyes.

Did Seungkwan always have four eyes? Or was it eight?

“Damn it!” Seungkwan mutters, sitting down on the bed in the middle of the room. “It was just one of your stupid illusion spells, okay? And maybe if you didn’t slap the damn vial out of my hands and make it knock off whatever god knows was in that other vial, I wouldn’t be seeing two of you right now!”

“Wait? You’re----You’re seeing t-things too?”

“Well, duh. I mean I don’t think it’s supposed to be quite like this but then again neither of the liquids in those vials were meant to mix on the floor either.”

You stumble over to the bed where Seungkwan sits, mouth hanging open as you stop in front of him. Leaning down, you stop until you’re face to face with him, shaky fingers reaching out to touch his cheeks where his other two eyes seemed to be.

“You have, um, four eyes?” You whisper.

“Oh, god. What did those vials do.” Groaning, he flops back onto the bed. “I don’t know what the hell that mixture is doing but it’s not good.”

You sit on the bed next to him, throat oddly dry.

There’s a weird warmness that floods your senses at the same time the room starts to shift; body swaying slightly as you let out a soft moan.

“Seungkwan, there’s s-something weird h-happening…”

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re feeling it too…”

There’s two things you always promised yourself.

One: Keep the spell book safe.

Two: Don’t fuck Seungkwan. Even if you thought he was really handsome.

“Stop moving, damn it.” Seungkwan growls; hands on your hip as he keeps you in place. You drool slightly in response, head rolling and blown out pupils finding it hard to focus on the male when he had two heads. “M-me? You’re the one who w-won’t stop moving!”

You sit in Seungkwan’s lap, his cock snug inside of your pussy. His lap is exorbitantly covered in your wetness as the two of you stay unmoving; accusing each other of moving every few minutes. Or so what you both thought.

God only knew how much time had already passed.

Blinking slowly, you convince yourself you’re as still as a stone; soft giggles spilling from your lips. “What---what the hell are you laughing at?” Seungkwan mumbles, pupils shaking as he tries to focus on your swaying body.

“I’m---I’m suuuuuper still right now. Can’t you tell?”

“No, you literally w-won’t stop moving. How many times am I going to say i-it?”

Groaning in response, you swivel your hips slightly, “No, see idiot, that was me moving!” Seungkwan’s already overly sensitive; moans spilling from his lips at the simple movement.

“This is the worst, I can’t believe you’re sitting on my cock like this right now. I mean you’re hot, yeah, but fuck.”

“Wow, thanks Seungkwan, that made me feel great.”

The two of you fall into a somewhat comfortable silence and you find yourself slowly leaning down until your head rests against his shoulder. You can’t stop the drool that pools on his skin underneath your mouth; eyes focused on the wall that seems to warp endlessly.

“Seungkwan…”

“Hmm?”

“I think I want to cum.”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“Okay.”

You lift your head from his shoulder, a trail of saliva connecting your mouth to his skin making you laugh. “Oops.”

Seungkwan’s blunt nails dig into the skin of your waist, mouth parted slightly. “Didn’t even have to do anything and you’re already gonna cum, huh?” You reach a hand down between your bodies, a shocked expression on your face when you feel just how wet you really were. “I’m---s-soaking…”

“I can tell.”

Your fingers rub circles on your clit, loud moans and whines falling from your lips at the way your body is already on the edge of an orgasm. “Ngh, ‘m already c-close…” Your eyes clamp shut as you start swiveling your hips; odd patterns dancing behind your eyelids as you start to feel the tension snap.

“Ah, Seungkwan!”

He feels your walls fluttering around him and despite him trying to resist all of his urges, he can’t deny the way he wants to press you into the sheets underneath him.

So much for self control, he thinks.

It only takes a split second before Seungkwan is using all of his strength to reverse your positions as your back meets the bedsheets. You let out a choked sob as the pleasure continues to wash over you and Seungkwan starts to chase his own pleasure as he starts fucking you.

The sound of your wetness makes you blush a little as Seungkwan chuckles under his breath. “Don’t worry, I know this isn’t all my doing. I’m not that big of a jackass.” You open your bleary eyes; attempting to focus on Seungkwan as the ceiling behind him turns into a black hole. “Uh---uh huh…”

The remnants of your orgasm start to ebb away and you honestly can't even tell when your fingers went still on your clit, but you close your eyes, moving your hands to his forearms. “You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, s’just everything’s f-fuzzy and--and it feels like I’m f-falling…”

Seungkwan fucks into you faster, brows furrowed. “Shit, I--I’m already close t-too.”

A weird wave of emotions wash over you and you find yourself oddly wanting to dominate Seungkwan. “Yeah? Gonna cum? You get to fuck my pussy for what, 2 seconds, and you’re already close? You’re so weak, baby boy. But okay, go ahead.”

You laugh deliriously, nails digging into the skin of his forearms as he lets out a choked sob. “Ah, ‘m s-sorry, I just--I can’t help i-it…” He whines, overcome with an odd feeling, himself.

“I know you can’t help it, baby boy. You’re just so easy.”

His moans become breathy and he finds himself mentally trying to fight off the way he wants you to keep talking to him.

Seungkwan bites his lip, growling. “Fuck!” His hips piston into you, cock throbbing as he finally cums. The feeling makes you moan and Seungkwan quickly finds himself annoyed almost as quickly as he felt himself wanting to submit to you.

He places his thumb on your clit as his orgasm washes over him, rubbing harsh circles on the nub as your back bows off the bed and his hips stutter.

“Ah, S-Seungkwan, wa---wait, I--I can’t, I’m t-too sensitive…” You mewl, thighs shaking as the sting of overstimulation starts to bleed into pleasure quicker than you can process.

“Don’t care, you’re gonna cum again. I know you want to.”

And you hate how right he is.

Your choked cries mix with his sultry groans and when your second orgasm hits you, it feels like it lasts forever.

You can only assume that Seungkwan feels exactly what you’re feeling.

It takes a second for your body to finally go slack and your chest heaves in deep breaths. “O-oh my… g-god…” 

Seungkwan groans, pulling out of you as he lays down next to you in bed, completely spent as the room continues to spin. “It feels like I’m falling but I’m--I’m not...” He whispers. Your thighs continue to tremble even when you sit up, slumping forward slightly as you gain some of your senses back.

You turn to Seungkwan, watching as he starts to get overcome with the desire to sleep. 

“Are you tired, Seungkwan?” He only nods once, eyes already closing as he gives in. 

“I jus’ needa s-sleep for--for one minute...” Seungkwan mumbles. 

You had to get the book before he got up. 

Whether or not your body wanted to cooperate.

When Seungkwan wakes up, he doesn’t know how long it’s been.

His head is pounding and he’s naked is all he knows. 

“What... happened?” He whispers to himself; eyes dancing over to the window. 

It was still night time.... 

...Ah, shit! The book!

Seungkwan gets up from the bed, tripping over his own feet as he all but rips the door open to find the door to his study still open. He sighs frustratedly, turning back to get dressed before he assessed the situation.

Clearly, the two of you had experienced something bizarre together. That was for sure. 

Once he gets his clothes back on, he heads over to his study, already noticing that some of the things on his shelves were gone. He groans, knowing you’d taken important ingredients that it’d taken him weeks to collect.

A small note sits on his table, held down by a small dagger and he leans in close to read what it says; rolling his eyes almost immediately.

“An eye for an eye, bitch! x” 

[rataltouille]

BONFIRE, BONFIRE!: A COLLECTION OF FLASH FICTION + POETRY

so i’ve decided to compile all twenty [these will be split into two so that the post isn’t super long] of the writing pieces i’ve done for my random celebration into one post so that it’s easier to read / access share!! you can also find it here, all put into one work, on wattpad, because i feel nostalgic about that website and decided to just post it!!

NOTE: i know that this shouldn't need to be said, but these 20 pieces belong to me so please don’t copy/repurpose it for your writing!! i plan on using these somewhere in my own writing and either way they’re stuff i’ve written so don’t use them!!

1. cooking + destructive + purple from @andiwriteunderthemoon [also i kind of cheated with this prompt and asked my sis @dreamscanbenightmarestoo for ideas and so the base idea’s from her!!]

I didn’t mean to set my house on fire, alright?

Let me set the scene: I’m sitting in my room, watching the infomercials that blur together, and suddenly there’s a bright purple flash on the glitching screen: /grapes/. They’re shiny, plump, and oh? A recipe for fine wine? Don’t mind if I do. So I pop into my kitchen and cut the grapes, dice them up, finally using the knife after years of not cooking— /mother, are you proud of me now?/— and stick the soft, luminescent fluid into a glass bottle. Following each step of the recipe.

The recipe didn’t mention an explosion.

Destruction rained around my house like a meteor shower. The bubbles from the fluid, frisking up at contact with metal, swam across my shoes and into the living room. It touched the TV, which still flashed the recipe, which I was still cursing at. And then, you know, it burnt up. The couch scorched first, I think. So that was fun. I later realised that I’d used my reserve of petroleum, which I’d put in my kitchen cabinet, instead of vinegar. I think I’ve got to move back in with my mother again.

2. running + quiet + sky blue from @kryskakikomi [i have no idea what this is i drafted this in a fever dream state]

Summer crawled up his skin like a worm. He was seated at his dining table, crosswording his way through the sticky morning, when it struck him that the humidity was new. He’d been caught in summer before, of course, but this year was different. His parents had whisked away to their hometown, and he still didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to go. He loved their home— he could have been running on beach sand and waves could have cruised over his feet, and his face would reflect sky blue under palm trees. Instead he sat doodling and scratching at cement walls in a quiet that nagged at his ears, grappling his flesh like a fishing hook, reeling him in. Boredom, him sister told him, before she also left for someone’s home. What would you know? he whispered once the door latched from the outside. Maybe /she’d/ like to sit on the same wooden chair, all the pink paint worn out, and scratch out squares of empty text until the pen poked through the other hand. He scoffed. At least he knew the number of scars on the wood; he could hold that over her when his parents returned.

3. hallucinate + hazy + violet from @chloeswords [i wanted to write something dreamy and ethereal but everytime i look at your url i’m reminded of church mud and indirectly my religious trauma so here we are 🤡]

We hold the book in our arms and chant for God. We don’t know what he looks like. They say that he’s sharp, never pixelating or blurring or showing through, like a hazy image would. No, children, our family says, he will come clothed in gold and velvet— the colour a deep and rich crimson, or chartreuse. And of course, he weaves a violet into his hair. Because he is just that humble. Just that gentle. Loving.

We’ve almost understood now. Pray, clasp our palms together into a transient equinox, and pray. Maybe he will shine down on us. Maybe we will speak so loud and chant so long that our lips will chap. Maybe we’ll simply hallucinate him to salve our bones. Our family says, he will bless you. And so he will.

4. halcyon + pluviophile + beige from anon [i was yearning for cats i am a cat person i love cats]

I remember my life before I moved to London,

Those halcyon days that I spent scooping up cat litter and brushing warm fur,

Being a mother to beige and white and black little felines.

They keep better company than humans.

Now I’m a self-proclaimed businesswoman, artist, influencer, pluviophile,

Even when I’ve barely stepped foot outside during the rain,

[But it needs to be said that when it rains in London, it pours].

I think I’d like to open a cat cafe;

I’m rich enough to pull it off.

5. sing + vulnerable + olive green from @occiidens [this was actually super fun to write because it’s a break from the typically unhinged stories i gravitate towards]

You watch from the highest hill of your town, hand wrapped around the serrated wood of a red oak tree. The bark pokes into your flesh, drawing blood that shouldn’t have been taken from you. You scowl. Just another thing that lives to cause you pain.

Three storeys down is a young man, short and smiling and lovely. He has dark skin and darker hair, walking with the stride of a deer, and he’s smiling; the joy reflects onto your face, even though you can’t hear him. He wears a cotton shirt, the olive green stark against the fire-blue sky. You call out, sing his name, three times in a row.

When he finally looks up, squinting as you silhouette under the sun, the smile widens. A wave. You’re suddenly overcome with embarrassment. Your palm digs into the bark until the wound is freshly dug again, the skin supple and vulnerable. You want to wave, but your hands would look so awkward, and the blood wouldn't help. So you turn on your heel and run— why are you so awkward?— and the grass around you is brighter. This is now a tomorrow issue, you conclude. You’re still smiling.

6. dislocate + ostentatious + blood red from @oasis-of-you [this got really unhinged really fast. TW: body horror]

If you take a turn at Finn Avenue,

Rogue your way down a blood red river,

[It’s not actual blood, do not worry. The colour’s a pigment and it’s saturated enough to give you the texture, the touch, the taste of blood, but I repeat, it isn’t true blood. You might think that it’s ostentatious of us to make you cross a river like that, but you’ll understand why.]

And if can stick your fingers inside the fluid,

You’ll find a bone.

Don’t pull it out fully! Only observe.

[This is a real bone, most likely animal. We may be ominous, but we don’t hurt humans. Not yet.]

So what do you do now? You want passage into a better world.

You came here because you saw the brochure, the flyer,

Radiant Idyll, home for love, but you also saw the jutting anatomy that leads to the city. The pictures were rather clear.

Why do you look so surprised? We’ve put this on the brochure— don’t you ever read the fine print?— to avoid this exact situation. That you would cross a body, a skeleton, pooled over in a fluid that we don’t name, but it’s probably alive.

It’s watching you right now.

So what do you do now?

Hurry up, unhinge your arm, dislocate the elbow, drop it into the blood, forgive me, false blood, and pay for your passage.

Oh! Excellent; that’s record time. We do hope you enjoy your stay!

1. @noteaboy [i’ve interpreted your url as ”note, a boy”]

There’s an orange tree. It’s spring, and there’s an orange tree, and it brims with fruit and citrus perfume. Point your lens flare downwards, and note, a boy. A young man, perhaps, because he combs his hair, uptight and firm, and he wears a tie. A long suit. He doesn’t look up, because his hand holds a book. /He/ holds the book, not the hands— tenderness doesn’t translate through anatomy, I’ve taught you this before. He’s waiting for someone. There’s only the rustle of leaves. He drops the book onto the lap of the tree, crushing the apple that had fallen down. Orange, not apple. Take note better. You only have one chance to get this right.

2. @eatingjupiter [your url is so beautiful omg]

The goddess had said this before she died: you need to watch over him. He needs your sentry to survive. The goddess’ words weren’t heeded. Little baby Jupiter tottered on lava as him parents small-talked with their kingdom. Well, it must have been small talk, because nothing seemed to happen afterwards other than his mother’s face collapsing in agony, anger, annoyance. He knew not to touch them then. He’d fly off into the sun one day, but if his hands were but and charred, he wouldn’t survive even a third of the journey.

The prophecy was simple: the firstborn to the kingdom will metamorph into a celestial, purify themselves so that only stardust remains. Live in the sky forever. The astrologers were baffled; you don’t just become a star. They should have heeded the goddess.

Jupiter was sixteen when he expanded and collapsed all at once. He still lives, they say, and the astrologers /were/ right, in a way: people just don’t become stars. They become almost empty space. Nobody knows if his hands were burnt when they left earth’s orbit forever.

3. @laughtracksonata [your name gave me slight horror vibes idk why!!]

Hahaha. The Horror Movie (don’t ask me for a name, I’m not good with those), with its cymbal crashing and plastic sounds, it’s so loud and scary that it hurts, father. Please turn it off.

Father doesn't listen. I shiver on the couch. The screen flickers like radio static and reflects off our wide eyes. What kind of a home is this anyway? I don’t want to fucking listen to a laugh track or a horror VHS tape or watch the bass crescendo as the serial killer jumpscares the watcher. I don’t think that having hour pupils glued to the same blood-splattered movie, with the same recording looping in his eardrums will help him. He laughs along, sometimes. It’s scary. Father needs a new hobby.

PART TWO COMING SOON!!

anyway this got REALLY long so i’m posting the third prompt group, the one based on songs, as a second part in some time. i hope you enjoy this, and PLEASE do boost!! i spent a lot of time writing these pieces and am pretty proud of them :’)

general taglist: @lovingyou-is @guulabjamuns @andiwriteunderthemoon @coffeeandcalligraphy @melonmilk @silentlylostwriter @charles-joseph-writes @eklavvya @eowynandfaramir @bitterwitchwrites @laughtracksonata @whatwordsdidnttouch @indeliblewrites @thenataliawrites @summersguilt @illimani-gibberish @sarahkelsiwrites @writing-in-delirium @shaelinwrites @sienna-writes @chewingthescenery @jennawritesstories @chloeswords @aelenko @keira-is-writing @cherylinanika @infinitely-empty-pages @jmtwrites @august-iswriting @freedelusionbanana @beetleblue88 @mistercaleb @iwannawritepls @hanwatchingmovies @mortallynuttyqueen @idratherliveinnarnia @maisulli @thegreyboywrites @ahowlinwolf @ravens-and-rivers @oasis-of-you @yanittawrites @chazza-writes-sometimes @skyfirewrites @lovebenders @treybriggsthewriter @themidnxghtwriter @ash-karter @queen-devasena @a-procrastination-addict @gaymityblight @beyondthebracken @madmaxst26 @adielwrites @moonpixxel @hollow-knight-dnd @keep-looking-here @overlap @ashleygarciawrites @ryns-ramblings​ @wordsbynathan @novaemlynlewis​ @sophiewritingstuff​ @howdy-writes​ @occiidens​ @nsanelyawkward​ @viawrites-andacts​

[anamelessfacelessnerd]

Not me rewriting the ending to Mizumono only to have a much better idea halfway through so as soon as I finished the first one I started on the second

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Hannibal (TV)

Relationship: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Abigail Hobbs

Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Smut, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Mild Blood, Rough Sex, Coming Untouched, Not Beta Read, Dark Will Graham

Language: English

Summary: “I need him to know.” Will looked into Hannibal’s eyes then, searching for the desperation he could hear in his words. “If I confessed to Jack Crawford now, you think he would forgive me?”

“I would forgive you.” It’s clear that Hannibal’s not talking about the murder, but the betrayal. He would still forgive Will for conspiring against him. “If Jack were to tell you all is forgiven, Will, would you accept his forgiveness?” The double meaning is apparent. Hannibal was asking Will if he would go with him knowing that Hannibal would forgive him. It’s an invitation. One that Will wasn’t sure he wanted to decline.

“Jack isn't offering forgiveness.” Hannibal wanted to say “I am”, but he didn't. “He wants justice. He wants to see you. See who you are. See who I've become. Know the truth.” Will takes another sip of his wine and Hannibal accepts his defeat. He really hadn’t wanted to hurt Will, but it seemed that it would be the only option.

“Still, I suppose we don’t owe Jack that do we?” Will spoke again.

Notes: Okay, I know I rewrote the ending of Mizumono yesterday, but I had this idea while I wrote it and I couldn't help myself.

“Do you know what an imago is, Will?” Hannibal asked.

“It's a flying insect,” Will replied.

“It's the final stage of a transformation. Maturity.”

“When you become who you will be,” Will said, catching on to the point Hannibal was making.

“It's also a term from the dead religion of psychoanalysis. An imago is an image of a loved one buried in the unconscious, carried with us all our lives.”

“An ideal.”

“The concept of an ideal always searching for an objective reality to match. I have a concept of you just as you have a concept of me.”

“Neither of us are ideal,” Will says after taking a long drink of his wine. Hannibal considered what Will had just said for a moment. He had nearly trusted an ideal. He thought that Will would leave with him until he smelled Freddie Lounds on him. Perhaps Will was right, neither of them were ideal.

“We are both too curious about too many things for any ideals.” Hannibal paused a moment, feeling a twinge of hesitation for what he was about to ask. It was completely out of character for Hannibal to grovel, but in recent weeks he had grown accustomed to the idea of running away with Will, and he wasn’t quite ready to give the fantasy up. “Is it ideal that Jack die?”

Will matched Hannibal’s pause. Most would not even notice the hesitation, but Hannibal did.

“It's necessary. What happens to Jack has been preordained.” Will’s voice was cold, free from any emotion. In any other circumstance Hannibal would be proud of how well he schooled his expression, but now it just frustrated him.

“We could disappear now. Tonight. Feed your dogs. Leave a note for Dr. Bloom, never see her or Jack Crawford again. Almost polite,” Hannibal was nearly begging now and Will knew it. Their eyes locked and at once Will understood. Hannibal knew and he was willing to forgive.

“That'd make this our last supper,” Will said, considering Hannibal’s offer. Now, just days away from the sting that he and Jack had planned, Will still wasn’t sure whose side he was really on. Part of him wanted to be good, he wanted to atone for his sins and clear his name for good, because even though he had been acquitted, there were still those who believed he had actually killed all those people.

The other part of him wanted to become what everyone thought him to be. Though he hated to admit it, he had felt a thrill as he killed and mutilated Randall Tier. Even worse was that now thinking about that feeling didn’t make him feel guilty or sick, only enhanced the adrenaline.

If he was being completely honest, half of the thrill was seeing how Hannibal looked at him when he knew what Will had done. The subtle adoration and pride that he was no doubt allowing Will to see. Hannibal’s gaze made Will feel things, things that he had never felt with anyone before, and he wanted to chase that feeling.

“Of this life. I am serving lamb.”

“Sacrificial? Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.” Will snorted.

“I freely claim my sin. I don't need a sacrifice. Do you?”

“I need him to know.” Will looked into Hannibal’s eyes then, searching for the desperation he could hear in his words. “If I confessed to Jack Crawford now, you think he would forgive me?”

“I would forgive you.” It’s clear that Hannibal’s not talking about the murder, but the betrayal. He would still forgive Will for conspiring against him. “If Jack were to tell you all is forgiven, Will, would you accept his forgiveness?” The double meaning was apparent. Hannibal was asking Will if he would go with him knowing that Hannibal would forgive him. It’s an invitation. One that Will wasn’t sure he wanted to decline.

“Jack isn't offering forgiveness.” Hannibal wanted to say “I am”, but he didn't. “He wants justice. He wants to see you. See who you are. See who I've become. Know the truth.” Will takes another sip of his wine and Hannibal accepts his defeat. He really hadn’t wanted to hurt Will, but it seemed that it would be the only option.

“Still, I suppose we don’t owe Jack that do we?” Will spoke again. Hannibal perked up almost imperceptibly.

“Perhaps a note will be sufficient. I didn’t want to leave the dogs alone, but they’ll be fine for a while. Knowing Jack he’ll send a cruiser to my place within an hour after I don’t show up in the morning.”

“Let us prepare then. I would like to be out of the country before Jack realizes that you are no longer his man on the inside.” Hannibal stood and began gathering plates to bring to the kitchen because of course he would want to leave the house spotless. Will helped him with the dishes and wiping everything down. They caught eyes several times, both revving with the anticipation of what was to come. Will considered apologizing for his conspiracy, but when he looked into Hannibal’s eyes he knew he was already forgiven.

It was a little intoxicating to know that he had this kind of control over hannibal. To know that he made Hannibal beg. He wondered how else he could compel him to beg. That was, once they stopped dancing around the physical aspect of their relationship and finally just fucked like they both wanted to.

Once they were finished they retired to the study to write a note. Hannibal wandered around, collecting particular books and knick knacks that he wanted to bring while Will drafted a note. After much thinking and many balled up pieces of paper, Will finally got it right. When he finished, he handed it to Hannibal to read.

“This will do nicely,” Hannibal said. He slipped the letter into an envelope and sealed it with blood red wax and a stamp that bore his initials.

Will watched as the wax dripped. The flow of the thick liquid was giving him all sorts of dirty thoughts. Thoughts of Hannibal pouring that warm liquid all over his body. Thoughts of being covered in other kinds of red liquid. Will had to take a deep breath to steady himself and bring some blood back up to his head.

When the wax had dried, Hannibal handed the letter to Will, fingers brushing against Will’s skin tenderly.

“I have a surprise for you,” Hannibal said, hand coming to grip Will’s wrist.

“Oh?” Will replied.

“Come with me.” Hannibal led Will upstairs, never letting go of his wrist. Will had only been to the upper floor of Hannibal’s house a few times, and never in the dark, so he didn’t really know where they were going. He had two ideas, one much more enticing than the other, but both equally likely.

As it turned out, neither of his assumptions were correct. Hannibal led him to a closed door at the end of the hallway and knocked.

“May we come in?” He asked. Will didn’t even have time to question who was in there before the door was being opened from the inside. Standing in the doorway was none other than Abigail Hobbs.

“Hi Will,” She said, a small smile playing on her chapped lips.

“Abigail?” Will asked, voice barely audible. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Had Hannibal drugged him? Was he hallucinating?

“How are you here? You’re dead,” Will said.

“Not dead, just misplaced,” Hannibal replied, “they never found a body, well, not a whole body at least. It was merely a charade.”

Abigail tucked her hair back to show Will the flesh where her ear had been. It was healed over by now, but it still brought a wave of bile up in Will’s throat.

“You’ve been here this whole time?” Will asked, choking down the anger that was building in him. There was no sense getting angry now, especially when he was teetering on the edge of a new beginning.

“I’m sorry,” Abigail said, tears welling in her eyes.

“I forgive you,” Will said. Abigail took two big steps forward and wrapped her arms around Will’s middle, burying her tears in his shirt. He brought a hand to her hair and stroked, both soothing her and assuring himself that she was really there and really alive.

“Thank you,” Will whispered to Hannibal. He wasn’t sure what he was thanking him for. Maybe for keeping Abigail alive, maybe for bringing him to her, maybe just because he didn’t know what else to say.

Hannibal’s hand came to rest between Will’s shoulder blades, fingertips shooting electricity down his spine.

“I do not wish to rush you two, but we must be going,” Hannibal said, “there is still much for us to do and little time to do it.”

Abigail pulled back from Will and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, sniffling a few times.

“Will, would you care to help me pack?” Hannibal asked.

“Yeah, sure.” Will cast one last glance at Abigail before following Hannibal to his bedroom.

“Everything in that top drawer must come,” Hannibal said as he set a large suitcase on the bed. Will began transferring the carefully folded garments from the dresser to the suitcase while Hannibal sorted through his suits to find the ones he liked best.

Will and Hannibal's hands brushed for what felt like the 500th time that night as they both attempted to place clothing in the suitcase at the same time. Their eyes met and there was a moment of contemplation before they pounced.

Will dragged Hannibal to the floor and straddled him, hands balling up around fistfulls of Hannibal’s jacket as he pressed their lips together. Hannibal kissed back with equal fervour, hands sliding back to cup Will’s ass. Will moaned into the kiss and rutted his hips against Hannibals. Hannibal bit Will’s lip, not stopping until he drew blood.

They broke away, panting and breathing each other in. Hannibal brought one hand to Will’s cheek and stroked, the pad of his thumb brushing over Will’s parted lips. Will sucked the digit into his mouth, tongue lapping at the sensitive skin.

Will ground his hips down, ass rubbing against Hannibal’s rapidly hardening cock. The older man stared up at him in wonder, lips parted and eyes blown wide. He withdrew his hand, swiping his thumb along the bleeding cut on Will’s lip until the skin was stained red. Then he brought it to his own mouth, his eyes rolling back as he savored the metallic taste of his lover’s blood.

“You taste divine Will,” Hannibal said, deep voice sending tremors through Will’s body. That was it, that was the breaking point for Will.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” He demanded as he scrambled off of Hannibal to remove his own clothes.

“Such crass language,” Hannibal scolded, clicking his tongue disapprovingly, “whatever should I do about that?”

Hannibal was trying his best to regain some of the power he had lost in this exchange. Will would let him believe that he did, if only to sate his ego, but Will knew deep down that he was in control. He had known since before Hannibal had pleaded with him that he was in control here. Hannibal had several layers to his persona. The first was the polite, yet slightly eccentric doctor who loved good food and opera, behind that was the calculating psychopath cold, and emotionless. His true personality was hidden deep within himself, but Will was able to see it, after all, he had not yet met a person he couldn’t read.

The person that Hannibal truly was was driven by his emotions. Anger and hurt bubbled under his skin, suppressed by years of burying everything akin to a feeling deep below the surface. He was intensely narcissistic and hedonistic. Everything he did was to fulfill his desires. He ate to satiate his hunger, he killed to assuage a compulsion. He acted solely in his own self interests, and right now Will was his interest. That gave Will ultimate power over Hannibal. He wanted Will in every sense of the word, and would do nearly everything to have him.

Perhaps what solidified Will’s control was the fact that he was aware of this while Hannibal wasn’t. Hannibal had spent so much effort repressing feelings that he genuinely believed that they were never there in the first place. Will knew about Hannibal’s nature, not from the beginning, no he was fooled like everyone else at first, but certainly longer than he let on. He only raised the issue with Jack when he was in danger.

Will put on the facade of being overly emotional, of being unstable, but deep down he was something different entirely. That’s why he was so good at “faking” the coldness he showed with Hannibal, it was never fake, the emotions were fake, and Hannibal was none the wiser. This was Will’s game and Hannibal was barely aware he was playing.

“Will?” Hannibal asked, pulling Will from his thoughts. He kneeled in front of him, now fully nude, his erection jutting out proudly from a bed of well trimmed blonde curls.

“Fuck me,” Will insisted, trying to pass his momentary spacyness off as fascination with the admittedly impressive cock that hung between Hannibal’s legs.

“As you wish.” Yes, as Will wishes. Hannibal will do exactly as Will wishes.

Will doesn’t wait for any more negotiations. He turns around and sinks to his elbows, thighs spread wide to accommodate Hannibal. He heard the older man’s breath catch as Will displayed himself.

“Oh Will, you truly are exquisite. Beauty incarnate.” Hannibal mused. Will watched between his legs as Hannibal reached into the bedside table for a bottle of lube. Hannibal poured the lube onto his fingers, then pressed them to Will’s hole, tracing the rim to get it nice and wet.

Will buried his face in his crossed arms to stifle a moan. The last thing he needed was for Hannibal to know exactly how sensitive he actually was and to exploit that fact. They didn’t have much time and Will was really just looking to be fucked.

Finally, one finger breached Will. It slid in with little resistance and Hannibal added a second. His thumb came to press against Will’s perineum as he scissored his fingers. Will let out a choked sob when Hannibal’s other hand tangled in his hair and pulled his head up sharply.

“I want to hear you Will. I want to hear exactly how much you like this.”

“God, just fuck me already Hannibal,” Will begged, “I’m ready, just get in me.”

Hannibal withdrew his fingers at once. Will didn’t even have a chance to get a word out before Hannibal was pressing his cock inside.

“There you go sweet boy, taking my cock so well, like you were made for it. Like you were born to take me.”

Will had never heard Hannibal speak so lewdly before, but he liked it more than he would ever care to admit. Not that he even could right now with Hannibal thrusting into him with punishing force, hitting his prostate every time.

Hannibal still had one hand in Will’s hair. The other was gripping his hip so tight he would undoubtedly have finger shaped bruises in the morning. He brought his lips down to Will’s shoulder, placing a few gentle kisses there, and that would simply not do. Will needed him to be rough, he needed to be fucked hard.

“Harder,” Will grunted, “come on Hannibal, you can do better than that. Do it like I know you want to. Hurt me.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Hannibal panted.

“Fuck yes, give it to be Hannibal, fucking ruin me.”

Hannibal complied immediately, using all of the force he could to pound into Will like he was trying to split him clean in half. He bit down hard on Will’s shoulder, just short of drawing blood.

Will rocked back to meet every thrust, letting out a litany of pathetic noises that he probably should have been embarrassed about. Hannibal was groaning now too, grunting like a beast in Will’s ear as he shoved in impossibly deeper.

Will’s orgasm was so sudden, he didn’t even feel it coming. In an instant his body went rigid as white hot pleasure coiled in his abdomen and he came completely untouched.

After coming for what felt like hours, he dropped to the floor, thighs shaking too hard to support himself any longer.

Once he had caught his breath, Will rolled over onto his back and spread his legs.

“Keep going,” he told Hannibal, “I want you to use me to make yourself come.”

Hannibal didn’t need to be told twice before sliding back into Will. He hoisted the younger man’s knees up over his shoulders to get a better angle as he slammed in over and over again.

At last, Hannibal gave a final hard thrust and spilled inside Will, coating his insides with his seed. He pulled out and laid on the floor next to him, breathing hard and trembling.

“I would have run away with you a long time ago if I had known that was in store for me,” Will panted, struggling to sit up.

“If I saw you every day, forever, Will, I would remember this time,” Hannibal said, reaching over to brush a lock of curly hair behind his ear.

Will smiled and kissed Hannibal again. It was softer this time, full of much more affection, especially on Hannibal’s behalf.

“I would sit here with you for eternity Will, but I fear that we must leave soon. We would not want to keep Abigail waiting.” Hannibal said when they pulled away.

“Of course, but first will you promise me something?”

“What is it that you desire?”

“Do that again as soon as we get to wherever we’re going.” Hannibal grinned and cupped Will’s cheek.

“I would gladly have you every day, my dear Will.”

Notes: Listen, we all know who's actually in control and this relationship and it's not Hannibal "Simp" Lecter.

[ofwolvesandbutterflies]

f minor

Pairing: NCT’s Jung Jaehyun x Reader

Genre: steamy fluff ig

Tags: nonidol!au, pianist!jaehyun, lowkeyswimmer!jaehyun

Warnings: m, language, gEttInG MaTURe ConTenT, almOst SmuT

A/N: i uh wrote a little blurby something in an effort to be good at writing lol

Synopsis: in which you have no idea how to play piano and jaehyun has a question 

--

I watched quietly, cheeks pinkening when I realized just how closely I'd been studying the dance of his fingers flitting up and down the black and white keys of the piano. My gaze traveled upwards over the veins of his forearms, the clean cut of his muscles, the broadening of his shoulders, the soft curve of his concentrated smile, the angle of his tightened jawline. He wasn’t perfect, no. But he was attractive. He was attractive, sweet, polite, and charming and he knew it. 

“-is ‘f’, right? I’m not hallucinating, this is ‘f’?” Roughly shaken out of my reverie, my gaze shot from his fingers back up to his face. He turned to look towards me. “This is ‘f’, right?” 

The sound of a chord hit my ears and I glanced back toward his fingers. White, white, white… as someone who hadn’t played the piano extensively, many of the keys really looked the same to me. 

“Uh-” in an effort to keep my eyes and thoughts from wandering too far, I searched my memory for any recollection of piano knowledge. Aside from a couple lessons I had taken in primary school, my ability to understand the piano was limited to the location of the ‘c’ key on the jumbled map of more than eighty keys. “I have no idea. I-I don’t play piano.” 

My body stiffened when he paused. From my standpoint right beside him, I could see all of the guitar chords on the paper… Guitar chords wouldn’t help me in this case. He chuckled good-naturedly, dropping an arm to wrap playfully around my waist in a type of one-armed hug. The layout of his fingers changed. White.. White, black, white. The hum of a different sound rang out in the otherwise emptiness of the room. 

“Ahh… right, that was ‘f’ because this is ‘f minor…” he trailed off, voice blending in with the sound of the chord slowly dying out. Without anything else to do but watch, I smiled. 

“Well, that was helpful. I still gotta practice more.” With a heavy sigh, he dropped his arm to check his watch. “Oh shit… I better pack up, my parents are expecting me within the hour.” 

“So soon?” I asked, feigning nonchalance. The absence of his arm around my waist felt even more prominent when he began to pack up. He shot me a look, eyes rolling. 

“It’s been four hours, dummy. You’re crazy if you still want me here,” a low chuckle rumbled through his throat and he bent down to unplug his electric keyboard from the wall. The blood rushed back to my face as my eyes traced the muscles of his arms, the muscles of his waist torso, thighs… 

“You coming to practice on Tuesday?” I questioned, doing my best not to sound too excited.

“Pfft, yeah,” he snorted. “I’m nervous as hell. This is my first time doing this type of…” he paused to gesture towards his keyboard. “- type of performance.” 

“It’s just a bunch of younger kids,” I offered. “Kinda like a swim meet. Except with clothes.” 

A deep laughed bubbled past his lips and he raised a single eyebrow in my direction. By this time, he was completely packed up, leaned up against the wall of the music room right beside me.

“If I’m being honest, I’m more comfortable at a swim meet with no clothes on.” 

My skin warmed at his proximity, inevitable smile dancing hesitantly along my lips. However, despite the heat trilling through my veins, a chilling draft from the aged ventilation system shot a shiver down my spine. Without hesitation, he shrugged off the jacket he had just put on and placed it over my shoulders. My lips parted in disbelief as he adjusted the heavy, layered cloth around my shivering body. A smile painted itself on his chapped lips. 

“O-oh, wait-” I grabbed his hands on instinct before he could pull away and held him there, right in front of me. “A-aren’t you c-cold, too?” 

The smile on his lips grew larger and his hands slipped out of my icy grasp to slide down my waist slyly. My fingers smoothed over the fabric of his long sleeves, taking note of the sculpted pecs beneath his shirt. I watched, curiously, as his hands danced their way past the opened zipper and found purchase underneath my sweater on the burning hot skin of my hips. He leaned towards me, resting a shoulder on the wall beside me, taller frame dwarfing mine in an instant. 

“I think I can manage.” 

His dazzling smile stopped every coherent thought from my mind and I blinked furiously, tearing my gaze away from his eyes. 

“You-you, I mean - I… Wait-” I stuttered lamely, eager to change the subject in an effort to draw the attention from myself. “You -uhm- you didn’t have an power outlet earlier when we were practicing, I mean. Or, did you? I mean, I couldn’t hear anything-” 

“I didn’t have an outlet earlier, no.” He chuckled, nudging my knees apart with his. Once space was made, he situated himself between my legs. “I was just fingering the keys. But there will be none of that for the performance. I should have an outlet then.” 

On a stroke of newfound confidence, I took my chance. Squaring my shoulders, I batted my eyelashes cheekily and shot him a sneaky smile. 

“Oh no, silly. There can be no fingering during the performance.” 

Immediately his gaze darkened and his eyes shot towards mine. I traced the curve of my bottom lip with my tongue, fingers caressing the skin of his jaw and tugging the strands of his soft hair by the nape of his neck. He leaned closer, breath fanning out over my skin. The overwhelming scent of pine and peppermint in his cologne sent my mind reeling. 

“Well then, princess.” His voice dropped an octave, lips pressed against my jugular. “If not during the performance, why not now?” 

My eyelids fluttered dangerously when he pressed a trail of kisses from my pulse to my lips. At once, his lips closed over mine coaxing the sweetest of breathy whines from my mouth. His hands slid down the curve of my ass, lifting my frame up only to push my body against the wall. A moan fell from my lips and into his awaiting mouth and with him pressed flush against me, I could feel every dip and crevice of the muscles covering his heaving torso. Teeth teased my bottom lip and our tongues danced, fighting for dominance. My hands fell back down his shoulders, only to cup his face closer. 

“Babe,” I gasped, breathless, pulling away when his hips rutted up against mine, showcasing the unfortunate hard-on he sported. “I thought your parents were expecting you home soon.” 

“Mmm…” He growled, bending down to place another hungry kiss over my mouth. One hand rested on the curve of my ass, the other underneath my thigh. “I’ll just tell them…” Another kiss. “- that you needed help-” another kiss. “-with something... urgent. It’ll be fine. They love you.” 

“Is it me that needs help, or you?” I giggled, playfully gyrating my hips to tease him. His hips bucked upwards and his forehead fell against my shoulder. A moan tore itself from his lips. 

“O-oh fuck, princess.” Grabbing me, he spun around to place me on his electric keyboard. His eyes flashed with something dangerous and he chuckled darkly. “Trust me when I say it’s gonna be you. You won’t be able to stand, let alone walk, by the time I’m done with you.” 

[stiles-o-dylan24]

Was it difficult to write IABY? Is there anything you found hard or you struggled with?

I’m loving all these questions! Thank you to everyone for sending them in💛  Shocker I rambled so there’s the answer and SPOILERS to those that are currently reading it below the cut!

hmmm I don’t think it was hard per se, I mean it was definitely challenging only because of the schedule I wanted to keep with updating frequently-- which with my work schedule at the time made for the struggle to get things done as often as I wanted. 

I updated twice a week for a good majority of the series minus January because it was so crazy in my personal life, and that was actually pretty insane looking back on the first few seasons where there weren’t a lot of scenes that Addy wasn’t in so I was basically rewriting the entire episode.

Once I was in a creative writing flow though it was a breeze. There were definitely certain scenes or episodes that I remember really took longer for me to figure out the best way to rework them to fit in Addy and the story I wanted to tell. 

Keeping organized with main points of what I already wrote and ones I needed to pave the way for in future episodes really helped me in keeping that not a struggle for me. I also researched a lot of things I added in with wounds and injuries so I added my own stress with wanting everything to be as accurate as I could make it even then I’m sure I dropped the ball somewhere

Party Guessed was the first episode I really remember face palming at how to have Addy react to the wolfsbane and what to create for her hallucination. I ended up going for more of a shock factor and I’m not sure how I feel about it now.

The Alpha Pact episode and the panic attack kiss was another nail biting induce stressor because of how controversial the kiss is for people who suffer from panic attacks. I chose to ultimately keep the kiss in there because as someone who personally does suffer from panic attacks, something similar to this method has worked for me before. Panic attacks happen to people in a variety of different ways and the type of relationship Staddy has, I wholeheartedly believe that Addy kissing Stiles would have been exactly what he needed to calm down. 

I struggled with the Insatiable episode a lot and figuring out how to make that work with two banshee’s, Void taking one and predicting Allison’s death. I still to this day wonder if I chose the right path because I really wanted Void to take Addy, however how I had Addy in the final draft of that chapter I really loved those scenes she had with Stiles. Also how Meredith helped Addy hear what she needed to hear. I’m still indecisive about it and that was an entire day of my just staring at my computer screen with both ways written out. My sister helped me brainstorm it and we’re both still torn on which one we like the best/which one should have been the final draft.

Dark Moon was one I struggled with for a few days as well. It was the first episode with them as an actual couple so there was that new aspect. It’s also told in an interesting timeline so I had to really think about the best way to rework the episode to flow better since I didn’t have the option of a visual memory like the episode provides with Scott.

Having Theo invade Lydia’s memories over Addy’s was one I didn’t want however Natalie checking Lydia into Eichen was more likely to happen than Melissa checking in Addy-- which is why I did the switcharoo in Eichen with Addy being taken because the Eichen House rescue night HAD to be Addy which how much it was crucial to Stiles and Lydia’s relationship in the show. There’s so much stuff like that that I wasn’t even aware I needed to think about until I was rewatching the episode and even the next few episodes and remembered how crucial certain Stiles/Lydia scenes were and how I had to completely rework those so they weren’t there anymore.

Season 6 was a trying time for sure. There wasn’t a lot of Stiles which meant there wasn’t a lot of interaction from everyone. It really felt like ‘okay I just need to get through these last however many episodes to really end this thing with a bang’. Also why I created the epilogues and I’m so happy that I did because it really felt like the perfect way to say thank you to everyone who stuck with me through it all.

This series was my first ever try at really writing and through all the stress and anxiety to complete it-- I’m so fucking proud of myself for doing it and accomplishing something to this level, no matter how silly that may seem to someone not in our fandom💛

[opheliasbrokenmind]

a love that should have lasted for years - tommy shelby

word count: 2.7K+

a/n : omg i really can’t believe rn i’m finally sharing this one with you. confession: this was my first draft for peaky blinders and i just finished writing. i hope you’ll like that one. i’m always open and waiting for your requests <3

‘what happened had happened, you can’t fix me’ he said, without a sign of emotion on his beautiful face. ‘at least I can try’

Thomas Shelby. You repeated his name in your mind, over and over. You couldn’t help but remember the memories. The memories that once good ones, but now you were afraid of them. Tommy was your best friend. You grew up together, you were living with your father in Small Heath and that’s where you met him. He was three years older than you but the age difference never was an issue between you two. You first saw him at school and it didn’t take much time to you became close friends. He always treated you like you’re his sister, like you’re family.

Well, you can’t know just one Shelby, right? Soon you met with his brothers, Arthur and John. Then he introduced you to his aunt, Polly. She always treated you like you were her daughter, and of course, you already knew Ada. Tommy and you were always together, he often came to your house. Your father didn’t like him at first, he thought he was a silly boy who has bad intentions for his daughter. But after a few times, he realised that he was all wrong. The way Thomas treated you, his kind smiles and gentle gestures for you made your father like him. He saw Thomas as his own son, always made sure that he is alright.

Thomas was quite shocked when your father patted his shoulder proudly, he couldn’t help but the tears were already in his deep blue eyes. You noticed something was wrong. Instantly you held his hand and ran out. Once you arrived at your secret place, he tried to hide his watery eyes but he failed when you hugged him tightly. He was nearly sixteen when this happened, you were thirteen. You asked what was wrong and he told you everything, all the things his cruel father did to him and his siblings. Your breath got caught in your throat while you listened to him. That was the day you promised Tommy, you said that you’ll always be there for him.

You were kids, but life wasn’t that simple and things changed. You didn’t realise you had fallen for him until you were fifteen. It took almost five years to understand what you felt but when you accepted it, it was too late. Your father passed away and when your uncle came to the funeral, he said that you have to move their house in Liverpool. You refused him but he didn’t listen to you. His wife came to your room to pack up your things, you ran from home to find Tommy. When you found him in a pub, he was silent. Then he realised that you were crying and he furrowed. You left the pub and went to his place.

You told what your uncle said to you, said that you don’t want to go but you had to. He didn’t want to make things harder for you but he felt his heart broke. He couldn’t help but yell and you cried more. Once you were both silent, you spoke. ‘I... I don’t want to confess this now but I know that I won’t have a chance later. I love you, Tommy. I understand that you see me as a sister, as a friend but I couldn’t help but feel that way. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ You finally decided to look at him.

His eyes were wide open and you saw the shocked expression on his face. You blushed deeply, already regretting what have you done. Then he lifted up your chin and with his other hand, he wiped the tears away. He brushed your cheek with his thumb and leaned to you. ‘I love you too, y/n.’ was all he said before connecting his lips with yours. It was a soft kiss, a very smooth one. He gently touched your neck and you melted into the kiss. When you broke the kiss you gasped for air, your breaths unsteady. You were both blushed this time and he walked with you to your home. Before leaving, you hugged him tightly, whispered that you love him and promised him that you’ll come back for him. You shared a quick kiss and you didn’t mind your uncle.

You moved to Liverpool and wrote him letters, nearly every day. Tommy never wrote back. One year later you gave up but never spent a day without thinking about him. You still wore the bracelet he gave to you, you still remembered your memories. You studied psychology at college and even worked with some soldiers after the war. With your patients’ words, you couldn’t imagine what people had been through. You never wanted to think that Tommy was dead, a part of you always wanted to believe that he was alive. But you couldn’t go there because you were afraid. What if he forgot you? What if he died in the war?

Someday one of your professors from college called you and said that he had a job for you. You accepted his offer without thinking, but then you realised that you have to move Small Heath for the job. You didn’t want to make the professor disappointed so you packed up your things and took a train. Now you were walking in the streets, the air was thick and it was hard to breathe. It was just like how it was when you were a child. You left your suitcases in a hotel and went to a pub called Garrison.

When you came in there the men looked at you hungrily, you rolled your eyes and continued to walk. You ordered a glass of wine and sat one of the chairs near where the bartender stood. You realised that one of the men was preparing to make an attempt to you, but a voice stopped him. ‘Don’t you fucking dare to touch her.’ It was a woman and her voice was sharp. You turned to her and saw her face, her eyes were so familiar. You knew these eyes, darker than Tommy’s... Ada Shelby.

‘Ada?’ you whispered and her eyes widened, ‘y/n! You came back??’ She screamed and hugged you tightly. ‘Aw, I missed you, too.’ You said and smiled at her. She was looking at you now, ‘Woah, you look sexy as fuck. I can’t believe you came back.’ You smiled softly, a slight shade of pink covering your cheeks because of her compliment. ‘Well, you look stunning. How are you?’ You asked simply and something changed in her expression. She called the man who serves drinks, ‘Harry, can you bring us a bottle of whiskey and two glasses? Thanks.’

The man quickly brought the alcohol for you and Ada poured the drinks. ‘Trust me, love. We will need it.’ she said and after taking a sip from her drink, she told you everything. She explained what happened to her brothers after the war, the Peaky Blinders and what happened to Thomas. ‘After you left Birmingham, he dealt with a broken heart. He never forgot you but he started to make out with random girls and... She liked a girl, her name was Greta and she died. Then the boys went to war, they came back as men. Yeah, the war affected all of them but Tommy...’ She filled the glasses with whiskey again and took a long sip before continue.

‘Thomas was a completely different person, he never is the same since then. The last time I remember him chuckling was the last time I saw you two together. He changed y/n, and not in a good way. He’s just smoking and drinking all day. I don’t think he sleeps, he is a complete mess. He has problems, not simple ones and he is going worse. Believe me. Now his wife is dead and he is all alone in that big fucking house with Charlie. Poor kid doesn’t even know her mother is dead. I hope you won’t regret coming here, love. Maybe...’ She stopped talking and finished her drink, not looking at you. ‘Maybe what, Ada?’

She hesitated before talking, ‘Maybe you can save him, I don’t know. Maybe you’re his last chance? Please help him, please.’ You couldn't respond, just nodded. Ada gave you a little smile, ‘You can come to me whenever you want, now I have to go. I didn’t see Karl for hours.’ Then she left the pub, leaving you all alone. The things you heard were just too much for you. You felt awful about Thomas, not only as a friend. As a psychologist.

You already knew that his childhood was full of traumas. When you left him all alone, things got worse. After the girl’s death, he was probably shocked and then he went to war. The war... You couldn’t imagine what he’d been through, the pain he felt. Peaky Blinders only triggered the violence inside of him. Like these weren’t enough, his wife passed away and he was alone again with a son. There was no doubt that he had mental problems and also drinking and smoking addictions. 

You had no idea about what to do, so you decided to pour yourself another drink. When you finished it, you left the pub. It was afternoon, you went back to the hotel and changed your clothes. You wore a simple dress and your dark coat. You didn’t wear makeup, you didn’t need to. Your hair was shining, you sighed and called a car. You said the address Ada gave you, you were going to Tommy’s house. What were you going to tell him? You felt extremely nervous. The thought of a suffering Thomas made you shiver. He didn’t deserve any of this, you remembered the young boy always made you smile. When the car stopped you paid the money and the man left.

In front of you, there was a big house with a really big garden. The house looked glorious, you slowly walked to the door. When you knocked on the door nobody answered it. ‘Hello?’ you shouted but there was no response. You pushed the door and it swung open, you called again. After closing the door you walked and found a closed door. It could be his office, you took a deep breath and opened the door.

As you entrance to the room a voice stopped you, ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Tommy growled, his voice was deeper than you remembered. You finally looked at him and your breath got caught in your throat. You thought that he recognised you because his face softened for a moment, then he suddenly frowned. ‘I’m seeing hallucinations now, right? Fuck! I didn’t even see her since she left, that’s my imagination. FUCK! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!’ He shouted and you stood there, frozen.

He closed his eyes and you walked slowly, ‘You’re not imagining this. It’s me, y/n.’ You said, not wanting to scare him. ‘What, you’re a new whore who’s offering me to act as my first love? They told me that they could be my dead wife but, that’s new. I’m not willing to fuck now, eh, you can fuck off.’ He spoke and looked at the door, showing you what he wanted. ‘Thomas, it’s me. I’m serious... I’m back, don’t you remember? I promised you that I’ll come back. I came back.’ He snorted, ‘Oh, you came back then? What does that fucking mean actually? You came back to who? To the boy you thought you loved when you were fifteen?’ His cold eyes stood on your small figure and he continued.

‘To the boy you never bothered to write a fucking letter? Was it that hard? You could send me a fucking sentence, but you didn’t. I thought you were dead. The fifteen-year-old girl I once knew is dead to me, just like that stupid boy. So, tell me, why are you here? What do you want?’ You listened to him as your lips parted, shock captured your face. ‘Y-you didn’t get my letters? I wrote to you, of course, I did. Nearly every day, for a year but you never wrote me back. That’s why I stopped writing to you, thought you didn’t want me in your life anymore.’

‘How could you think that I don’t want you in my life? I loved you y/n, I really did. But we are not kids anymore.’ His voice was sharp like it could cut you in half. ‘I didn’t come here to live our feelings again, I came for my job. I didn’t even know you were ...’ You waited for a moment and he interrupted with a question, ‘Didn’t think that I was alive, eh? Why’s that?’ You glanced away, ‘Cause I thought if you were alive, you would do something to find me.’ He lit himself a cigar and smiled, ‘I tried, love. I tried so many times before giving up. You can’t do anything. What happened had happened, you can’t fix me’ He said, without a sign of emotion on his beautiful face. 

‘At least I can try.’ You insisted, ‘I’ll work in the psychology clinic here, come and see me. Maybe we can talk?’ You walked to his desk and left your card on it. ‘You think I’m insane now? Just go, please.’ You didn’t have an answer so you left the house. It was worse than you thought. He watched you leave and once you left the room, he took the card. ‘y/n y/l/n. Psychologist.’ He smiled when he saw your surname, so you didn’t marry anyone. He lit another cigar and let the thoughts confuse his mind.

***

It was nearly eight in the evening, he knew where you’d be. He knew because after you left, the place became his secret. Tommy often found himself there, thinking about you and the chances you two never had. When he arrived you were already there, sitting under the tree you used to sit when you were just kids. ‘I knew you’d come here.’ You said, pointing him your side by your shoulder and he sat next to you, taking his cap off. ‘This place became my escape after you left.’ Your smile faded, ‘I’ll tell you something but first promise me you won’t do anything.’

‘I don’t promise things I can’t keep, y/n. Just say it.’ You sighed, looking down at your hands as he watched you. ‘I went to a pub after leaving your house, ran into Polly there. We... spoke.’ He arched an eyebrow, ‘About what?’ You looked at everything but him, ‘You and... The letters. Looks like they arrived here, but she didn’t want you to know. She said she was sad and afraid for you, she didn’t want to make things harder for you.’ You finally looked at him, finding a cold expression on his face, ‘You’re telling me that she fucking lied to me all these years? She told me that you forgot me, didn’t even care.’

‘I waited for years, Tom. I swear. But after the war, just thought you were dead.’ He rolled his eyes, ‘I sometimes wish I was.’ Worry captured your face, ‘How could you say this? There are people that love you, Tommy. They care about you.’ Thomas looked at you, tried to understand if you were really serious. He cracked a smile, ‘Right, ey? They care about me and in return, I fucking ruin their lives.’ He lit a cigar and inhaled the smoke slowly. ‘You’re wrong. I heard you are making the business legal, working at your hardest.’ He cut you off with his eyes.

‘I don’t know if you know but my life’s hell. I don’t expect you to stay.’ You shake your head, ‘I’m not an angel, you know that. I’ll stay because I’m here for helping people. Because you were once my friend and I loved you, Tommy.’ His face lightened a little bit, ‘Do you really think we can be friends again?’ You smiled, ‘We’ll try and see what happens.’ Thomas looked at you, ‘If only the things were different... We could’ve been happy if we had the chance, y/n.’ You nodded, taking his right hand in your small ones. ‘A love that should have lasted for years.’

Thomas came close to you and pressed his lips to your cheek, his mouth felt warm on your skin. ‘Better stand up now. I hope you have some good drinks in that clinic of yours. There’s a lot to catch up and it won’t be easy.’

[blookmallow]

and now we return to outlast 2, where- 

THINGS KEEP GETTING SO, SO MUCH WORSE

(i have... a LOT im trying to process about this whole section sorry for upcoming text walls. really nasty #blood / #gore in here as well though) (i didnt realize i was This far behind on liveblogs lmao i drafted this. a while ago and didnt get back to it until now) 

---

so i fell off the bridge (shock. horror. who could have predicted this) and right into the scalled village

what.............happened to you 

fuCKING GO D

so it turns out “the scalled” are... some kind of leper colony banned from the town and left to fester and rot out here alone 

most of them are just lying around suffering and dying, i dont know what the fuck happened to them, there’s some mention of like. wildly untreated syphilis/potentially other stds they’re being told is their curse for the sins they’ve committed but does.... syphilis do that to you. it might actually be leprosy i dont know i dont want to research this. all i can think about is when i watched jesus christ superstar in high school and the leper colony song where they’re all crowding around jesus all trying to touch him REALLY freaked me out for a while

i mean its like. probably a combination of disease left horrifically untreated and massively infected given the absolutely appalling conditions these people are living in (everything’s run down and full of blood and shit and who knows what else), starvation, who knows what they’re even finding to eat out here so that’s probably causing even more disease but still jesus christ

at first it just made me really sad, sure these people came from temple gate too so they were. fucked up cultists to begin with but a lot of this is like... result of longterm emotional and mental abuse and manipulation, some of these people might not have started out as depraved evil murderers, and like. nobody deserves to live like this. except knoth lmao throw him down here, but

so i thought maybe it would turn out that you realize they’re human too, they’re just in a fucking LOT of pain and maybe you can’t do anything to help them (i dont think there’s any hope for anyone down here at this point) but maybe they’d turn out to be on my side and do something to help me fight back against the leader who abandoned them, “the most absolutely fucked up looking people are actually the most human” kind of thing but uh. that is not how things went. at all, 

ill get into How Fucking Bad this got in a second lmao but like

most of them dont really do anything to you other than bleed on you and beg you for help, some people lash out but thats like, understandable given the horrifying state they’re in, but

as it turns out, being the “scalled messiah” is a VERY bad thing, they went from occasionally lashing out at me to outright tracking me down to murder me to death which, like, honestly kind of disappointing

bc one of the things i liked the most about the first outlast was how many of the prisoners were clearly just victims too, some of them (lookin at you, naked twin guys,) were just evil and murderous but some of them were just very very mentally unwell (exacerbated by horrible living conditions and the fact that the people who were supposed to be protecting them and helping them recover were actively, intentionally working to make their symptoms worse) and couldn’t really be blamed for acting violently toward you, but

then sometimes there’s people who warn you about dangers ahead, people sitting in corners hiding and scared and wont hurt you unless you give them a reason to think you might be a threat, people just trying to stay alive, people who need help 

but that’s. not the case here, and there’s definitely a particular kind of horror in “absolutely no one in this hell town can be trusted, nobody will help me, everyone here wants to hurt me and every time i think ive made any kind of progress it gets so much worse” (except that ONe guy who tried to protect me. im still sad about him) but. i dont know i feel like there’s a missed opportunity here. im not sure if im supposed to feel like the scalled deserve to be like this because of the kind of people they were before, but i dont. i feel like the “what the fucking shit HAPPENED to these people” horror is heightened by the realization that they’re people, and just kinda using them as attack zombies is. missing something, somehow. i dont know, i cant figure out how to word what i want to say here 

i mean its absolutely fucking horrifying, i was scared out of my mind going through all this, and i still gotta give props to a video game experience that left me legitimately feeling like i needed to go take a shower and crawl under a blanket for a while 

i guess ultimately with outlast im coming here to be scared shitless more than anything else and boy did they ever fucking deliver

ok im gonna stop bc i will keep talking in circles about this forever if i dont, moving on

WHAT EVEN ARE THESE GUYS, APART FROM COMPLETELY TERRIBLE

im guessing theres some kind of... inbreeding birth defect situation going on here but i cant even process what im looking at 

that and its hard to look at them at all considering the only times i see them im getting murdered to death. my panicked screenshots hoping to get a better look later did not help 

PRETTY SURE THEY JUST MADE HIM DRINK THEIR BLOOD, 

how the fuck has my dude not thrown up like 90 times already. im glad he hasnt bc im bad emetophobia but outlast 1 did it so im honestly surprised that hasnt happened unless ive just forgotten it in the blur of nightmares im going through here 

OH

THAT’S... NOT GOOD

THAT IS REALLY, REALLY NOT GOOD

FUCK SHIT MOTHERFUCKING FUCK

i gotta say im impressed with how FAR they GO with this one, i have no idea how much game i have left but considering this isnt even the ending i am HORRIFIED to see what the fuck is gonna happen next 

i mean outlast 1 has you getting your fucking fingers sliced off and whistleblower has. That Scene (even though like. it stops before waylon actually gets cut its REALLY CLOSE)  

this whole time i kept thinking something would happen and they’d get interrupted, I’d escape somehow, they aren’t really going to have the player character get literally fucking crucified from your own perspective,

but then the nails go in 

and you’ve got one hand literally nailed to a cross

and then they start the other one 

and i was like, WOW FUCK, THEY ACTUALLY DID IT, BUT NOW HE’LL ESCAPE... SOMEHOW.... RIGHT ??? 

but they lift it up 

and you’re hanging there 

and for a second i legitimately thought it was gonna end there for him, i thought he was actually just going to die there and the game would continue with lynn or something (which, to be fair, would be a pretty cool twist, but i dont WANT blake to just die here like this) 

ANYWAY!! FUCKING GOD, THAT SURE HAPPENED 

but against all odds HE SOMEHOW DIDNT FUCKING DIE, and managed to find the strength to rIP HIS HANDS OUT OF THE NAILS AND FALL DOWN

i cannot fucking IMAGINE what that would feel like. i dont want to imagine it but i sure the fuck am now 

i dont know if its possible to like. die from bleeding out in this scene if you dont find the bandages fast enough but it sure felt like i was going to 

fucking hell i can practically feel it in my real hands i HATE THIS i HATe it

god. fuck. im gonna be thinking about this scene for the rest of my life i didnt think anything would ever be worse than the finger slicing scene in outlast 1 but this. i think this wins

wHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?!??? THERES SOMETHING CHASING ME IN THE SCHOOL FLASHBACKS NOW IM NOT EVEN SAFE HERE ANYMORE

WHAT *IS* THAT??!??

w OA h

i still have no IDEA whats going on with these flashbacks either, clearly his classmate hung herself and he feels subconsciously responsible for it because he didn’t do anything to stop her (though it doesn’t sound like he Could have done anything, and. they were kids), there’s definitely some buried trauma he never dealt with thats resurfacing now but

i still dont think its just a manifestation of trauma, because like. the recordings are still coming out as fucked up static, if he was just having really intense hallucinations there wouldn’t be any record on the camera, it would just be him filming nothing and talking to himself through a panic attack, it wouldn’t be getting consistently corrupted ONLY during the flashbacks so what the fuck is happening 

COLA

DRINK IT

i m losing it its the cola machines from the first game i diD NOT EXPECT THESE TO BE HERE 

what the fuck is christian salad 

you didn’t think i would see this, outlast devs, you thought you could hide this on the menu board and i wouldnt notice. i did notice and i demand answers

NO!!!! THAT IS THE OPPOSITE OF OKAY THIS IS THE LEAST OKAY I HAVE EVER BEEN IN MY LIFE 

WELL!!!!! OKAY!!!! ALRIGHT!!!! NOW THAT I’VE BEEN LITERALLY FUCKING CRUCIFIED, FELL DOWN A HILL AND STRAIGHT INTO A FENCE OF BARBED WIRE, GOT DRAGGED OUT HERE AND BURIED ALIVE, CRAWLED MY WAY OUT OF MY OWN GRAVE AND NOW HAVE HOARDS OF DISEASED ZOMBIE NIGHTMARE CULTISTS SEARCHING FOR ME SO THEY CAN DEVOUR MY FLESH, LET’S GET GOING, SHALL WE 

THIS IS FINE!!! EVERYTHING IS FINE I CANT SEE SHIT AND THERES NOTHING BUT TREES AND BARBED WIRE EVERYWHERE AND NO INDICATIONS WHATSOEVER OF WHERE I NEED TO GO BUT IT’S F IN E IM DOING GREAT 

[earth-ambassador-jim]

The Place that You Left

It's been over two years since Jim managed to rescue Enrique but was left trapped in the Darklands. Toby has not yet given up hope on finding him.

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

~~~~

“Are you headed over to Dr. Lake’s house?” Claire asked as they cycled home from school.

“Yeah,” Toby replied. He held out the bag he had been balancing precariously on his handlebars. “I got this mousse cake. I’m going to head into Jim’s room and drop it through the fetch there.”

Clare was quiet for a moment.

“Do you really think he’ll find it? It’s been over two years. How do we still know he’s even alive?”

Toby had to clamp down on an angry retort. They’d had this argument before. Despite her doubts Claire was still looking. She was just scared… like he was.

“The amulet hasn’t chosen someone else,” Toby said. “He has to be.”

“Yeah, but half of it is trapped in the Darklands. What if that messed with how it works?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it.” Toby’s jaw clenched and he peddled a little faster. “Besides I’m not giving up on Jim.”

“Sorry,” Claire said quietly after a moment. Out of the corner of his eye Toby could see her shoulders slump a little. “Mom was at me again last night. She keeps telling me that I need to move on.”

She tensed, eyes narrowing as she glared at the road ahead of her.

“NotEnrique tried to come over and she threw him out. Literally. They found out I’ve been letting him sleep under my bed.”

“Oh,” Toby said.

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

After the bridge had been destroyed they had to choice but to tell Barbara the truth about what happened to Jim. There was simply no way to keep up the ruse. She had been shocked, then horrified, then angry, then terrified and furious. Draal had to vacate her house for a week or so while she processed.

After she had finally come to terms with what happened she had told their guardians. Nana had taken it so well. She was proud of Toby. She even called him her “little hero”.

Claire’s parents on the other hand… Not so much.

They had grounded Claire, forbidding her from going to Trollmarket or even seeing Toby. Claire had responded by promptly running away and camping out in Blinky’s library. It had taken a lot of convincing for both sides to compromise. Even now Claire and her parents, mostly her mom, were on shaky ground.

They reached the turn to Claire’s house and stopped.

“So are you coming down to Trollmarket tonight?” Toby asked. “I hear Bagdwella made some salty niblets, to thank us for helping her out last week.”

Claire sighed.

“I wish I could, but I’ve agreed to start taking some running start classes as part of the deal with my parents.”

“It’s cool,” Toby said. “Want me to wish Jim a happy birthday for you?”

“Sure,” She said giving him a sad smile.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” Claire said, squaring her shoulders. “Us Trollhunters stick together. Not even my parents can change that.”

~~~~

Toby unlocked the door to the Lakes’ house and slipped inside.

“Dr. L? Are you home?”

There was no response. She must either be at work or Blinky’s library or sleeping. Toby decided to be as quiet as possible just in case. Dr. Lake’s chronic bad sleeping habits were getting worse. She really needed all the rest she could get.

Toby slipped upstairs and into Jim’s room. He settled onto the bed with a sigh and just lay there for a moment. He couldn’t say the room was just how Jim had left it. The fight with Angor Rot had trashed it a little too thoroughly, but they had tried to make it close. Toby didn’t come here quite as often any more. It hurt too much. Some days he wondered how he was able to keep going.

After several minutes had passed Toby hefted himself upright and fished the fetch out of his backpack along with a periscope. When Dr. L had found out he was sticking his head into another dimension without knowing what was on the other side she had freaked out again. To be fair that was justified.

Really justified.

On his third time using a periscope to peer into the Darklands, it had been promptly eaten by… something… Toby wasn’t sure what. He had just seen a flash of blue before it was pulled out of his hands. He had never mentioned the incident to anyone.

Toby stuck the periscope through and began to look around.

Rocks. Glowing green rocks. More rocks. Something glowing red. More rocks…

Wait…

Heart in his throat, Toby flung the periscope away and stuck his head through the portal instead.

It was Jim.

He looked so different from the last time Toby had seen him. He was pale, deathly pale. Jim had never been tan; he sunburned far too easily for that, but now there was no color in his skin. The sickly green light wasn’t helping. He was still wearing the black and red eclipse armor, but he was now taller and more angular. His exposed face was crisscrossed with scars and his nose was crooked. He stared at Toby like a dying man in the desert seeing water.

“Toby,” He breathed out. His voice was lower, rougher.

Toby found himself lost for words, but nodded shakily.

Jim took a step toward him, hands outstretched and shaking before he froze. His eyes widened then narrowed, jaw tightening. He shook his head.

“No, no, no. I’m not falling for this. This is some stupid magic thing.”

His hand reached toward Eclipse, which was attached to his back and Toby flinched.

“It’s me, I swear!” Toby wished his hands were there so he could hold them out.

Jim made no response, sword in front of him, face cold.

Something moved beyond Jim. A figure detached itself from the shadows behind him. A very familiar figure: an angular pink changeling.

“Look out!” Toby screamed.

He had just found Jim; he couldn’t have him slaughtered in front of him!

Jim turned but not completely, allowing him to see the threat without letting Toby out of his peripherals. Upon making eye contact with the approaching changeling a little bit of tension left Jim’s shoulders.

“Nomura,” He said, sounding relieved.

He turned back toward watching Toby suspiciously.

“Can you see him too? Do you have any idea what this is?” His voice was still taught.

Nomura looked at him and her eyes widened.

“A fetch.”

Jim glanced at her in surprise.

“How can you tell? I thought he might be a hallucination or a trap of some sort.”

“Look at the green glow around his neck.”

He did. Toby didn’t dare say anything.

“So… So He… It’s… That’s… That’s really Toby?” Jim breathed out.

Jim’s sword was slowly drooping to touch the ground.

“Looks like it,” Nomura responded.

Eclipse vanished in a puff of red smoke as Jim threw himself at Toby. In a second Toby’s head was enveloped in his friend’s arms. It was really weird but not a feeling he would have traded for anything.

After a second he felt Jim start to shake. Something warm and hot dripped into his hair. Tears. That was fine, Toby was crying, too. He could hardly believe this was real. After all this time he had finally found his friend.

“I… I thought I’d never see you again,” Jim whispered, voice rough, small and broken. “I’m sorry. So… so sorry. Fuck. I shouldn’t have left you guys.”

Toby’s hands, on the wrong side of the portal, desperately grasped, trying to hold the friend he couldn’t reach. It was frustrating being this close, but so so very far away.

“Hey. It’s…”

He couldn’t say it was okay. It wasn’t. Jim had left them. Hurt them. It was not okay, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t fix it.

“You’re here. I’m here. We can figure something out,” He said at last pushing his face into Jims shoulder.

Jim drew back a little without letting go to look at him. Beyond him Toby could see Nomura looking in the other direction, one of her Khopesh in hand as she surveyed their surroundings.

“How?” Jim asked.

“We can collaborate!” Toby said. “We have the bridge. We can get you out!”

“I… How…”

Jim stopped speaking. He ran a hand through his hair. It was shorter than Toby had ever seen it; cut unevenly, as if Jim had done it himself. He probably had.

“We have to keep moving here,” Jim said finally. “If we stay in one place to long He will find us.”

Toby didn’t have to ask who “He” was. He did have a different question.

“We?”

“The resistance,” Jim said. “Not all Gum-Gums are enamored by Gunmar. I joined the resistance for a little while before I rescued Enrique and then afterward they liberated me, Nomura, and a few other prisoners from Gunmar. They’ve been training me.”

He snorted and then ran a hand across his cheek.

“That’s where most of my scars are from,” He paused, one hand darting up to scratch ruefully at his neck. “Well that’s not quite true… a couple are from trying to shave with Eclipse.”

“Are you almost done?” Nomura interrupted. “Hurry up and exchange contact information. We really need to get going.”

Jim perked up, eyes widening slightly.

“That’s it!”

His left gauntlet disappeared revealing a pale wrist and his watch.

“Is it three o’ five there?” Jim asked.

Toby nodded.

“Perfect, I’m shocked this thing is still accurate,” Jim said. “We can meet again here at the same time tomorrow and figure out a way to communicate.”

“Yeah… Yes!” Toby said. They would make this work.

Jim’s gauntlet reappeared.

“Well, I should be going,” Jim said reluctantly.

There was a distant roar that caused him and Nomura to flinch.

Jim gave Toby’s head one last hug and shoved him back through the portal.

It was not until his breathing calmed down that Toby realized he had never given Jim his cake.

~~~~

~~~~

I've had this sitting in my drafts for quite some time so I figured I might as well post it.

This borrows from the Trollhunters Novel: Into the Darklands

[hide-the-cutlery]

Ugh, I just erased a draft I started. So frustrating.

I guess it’s long sleeves for me for a while. Luckily, there’s a (Florida) cold front coming through tomorrow, so that should help a bit. (Prepare got the 60’s, my pussy friends!) I’ll get back to that momentarily.

Today, I had to go to court on a misdemeanor charge. I wasn’t feeling stressed or worried about it (a drastic deviation from my normal thoughts and behavior) — I thought I knew what was going to happen and what to expect, and was somehow relatively at ease about it. Everything was fine and going as I expected — until it wasn’t. I had decided I wanted an attorney, since it’s my right to at least meet with one, even though I know I’m guilty, but the public defender in the courtroom started talking and made me second-guess myself. He told all that were waiting that, aside from a few situations, all cases could be finalized today. This, of course, went against my decision to meet with an attorney (because, as I stated, it’s my right), and when I went to see if he could help me make gain some clarity, he asked me, point blank, “well did you do something wrong?” I admitted that, yes, I did do something wrong and asked him a couple more questions, which cleared up nothing. I felt like he was trying to get people to plead out so it was less work for him and his colleagues. Regardless, I should have known to drop the whole thing then, but I have a hard time making decisions/changing my mind on the spot, particularly when a lot of information is rapidly being thrown at me. I’m too tired to type it all out, but basically I could have had everything resolved today, except I reverted to my original, which turned out to be poor, decision at the last second. I had even completed the plea form and took it with me when the judge called my name. I had talked to an attorney that I got in touch with through the program a few weeks ago, and even though I couldn’t hire her, she was nice enough to give me an overview of what to expect about proceedings and let me ask a couple of quick questions. I thought she was pointing me in the direction of getting a public defender, so instead of entering a plea and getting sentenced today, I asked the judge for an attorney to be appointed to me, and even though I trusted the woman I spoke with, my gut was telling me to go the other way and decline representation. Turns out, I have too many assets to my name in the form of my car and don’t qualify for a public attorney, and I sure as shit aren’t hiring my own. So, now I still have to pay the fee for the public defender I’m not getting. I also got assigned a new court date in few weeks, and now have the luxury of this all dragging on for an extra month. The attorney I spoke with on the phone said there was an option to be sentenced to take some class related to the offense instead of probation/community service or a fine, which I guess I was hoping for, but forget trying to get that instead. I just want this all over with, and it could have been done today. All over today. But no. I had to get confused and unsure like I always do. I know it’s not the end of days, however, one thing is haunting me. The lawyer I spoke with in the courtroom said there was no way to know if me having an attorney would result in me being offered a different/better sentence OR one not as favorable. So, in all reality, I could get fucked over and get a worse deal than I would have gotten today. Fuck. I can’t be the only one who’s had things turn out like this, right? I was nervous and clueless and wanted to take advantage of my rights, even if my hypothetical defense attorney sat me down and said “look, kid, I don’t think I can get you anything better than what would have initially been offered.” It’s still my right to have them tell me that. But the potential for a harsher sentence for simply trying to exercise my rights? No, fuck that. That would be yet another all-to-common miscarriage of our criminal justice system. Live and learn, heh. The law cares (in “silly” offenses as this, anyway) about time & money. It doesn’t care about me; I’m just one of many.

I lost it in the parking lot. I just cracked. It was a matter of time before I lost control of the “I’m okay” persona I was projecting, and truthfully it’s remarkable I was able to keep it going for as long as I did. Looking back now, everything should be okay, unless I pissed off the judge, which I doubt — they probably see this happen all the time, but knowing how things tend to go for me, this will likely (but I sincerely hope not) result in some avoidable consequence, like my family finding out and throwing me out. Thankfully, a friend had surgery yesterday and invited me over so I could be in a safe place. Sadly, the self destruction had already begun.

What does all this have to do with hiding my arms? If you’re not an idiot, you already know. I am ashamed to admit I self harmed for the first time in probably years while I was having my meltdown this morning. The wound is superficial, but it’s still there. I started trying to split my skin open with a pair of small, sharp scissors I keep with me in my wallet. I ran the blades with pressure up and down across my flesh repeatedly, with minimal results. I even tried to snip little areas open, which barely worked either. I couldn’t draw blood. I really wanted to see some blood, perhaps as a punishment for getting myself arrested in the first place and then fucking up the arraignment. The pain itself didn’t bother me. The part of me that, on occasion, separates itself from my physical/mental autonomy (that seems to have no purpose other than to observe from an objective point of view outside myself and to harshly, ruthlessly criticize me, making me feel like a dullard, a loser, fake, dishonest, pathetic... it’s not a voice I “hear,” such as a hallucination, but something that feeds directly into my mind) was screaming: You’re such a fool. Self mutilation? Really? In your thirties? What the fuck is wrong with you? You attention whore. You can’t even make yourself bleed! Pathetic. The worst ridicule I received, hands down, was: If this is a cry for help or attention, no one cares, and now you’ve got a new scar to ever remind you and represent how desperate you are for someone to give a fuck about you. Again, you’re absolutely, embarrassingly pathetic.

After the scissors weren’t working, I decided to try something else, and found myself in a dollar store — one of the ones where everything is actually a dollar. That brought a little sunshine to my afternoon, and judging by how much candy I bought, tooth decay as well. I bought a mini sewing kit and tried to repeat the process with a safety pin and a needle instead of the scissors. No luck there, either, but the flesh is definitely split and looks like it’s bruised. I even thought about burning myself, but by the time the pins/needles didn’t work, the urge was passing. I’ve been hiding it, so I am not so sure how the third part of me (I don’t know why I call it the “third” part — it’s just what comes to me when I think of it/it shows itself, or maybe that’s what it wants to be known as for whatever reason, perhaps body, mind, and “the third”) is right to say it’s a cry for help and/or attention-seeking behavior, but even if it is “normal”, people don’t tend to do such stupid shit. Or maybe I’m trying to validate my mental illness, because sometimes I don’t think people see it for what it is. (I asked a woman to be my sponsor earlier this week and within 3ish minutes, she told me I seem confused when I talk and attributed it to my medications (and I think she only knew about the antidepressants). Needless to say, that didn’t work out.) How sad, though. How stupid. I am the queen of doing stupid shit, no matter my motives, and I shouldn’t have to mark myself up for people to see and know “that girl’s not right in the brain”.

Now I’m just regretting the scar that I’m sure will form. And for what? There wasn’t even more than a few minuscule droplets of blood that I squeezed out of the laceration. I guess if I was serious about harming myself and tried a little harder, my hand would have been painted red.