#tales from the loop I think it’s called?

[alrightbuckaroo]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Hi Rae! I always think "Rae of Sunshine" when I hear your name ☀️ I hope you've been doing well and taking care of yourself <3 I'm going to tag @bonheur-cafe as she was kind enough to send an ask too <3

love can pull you out of yesterday

The day TK falls through the ice is a day that Carlos doesn't want to remember, but it's one he can't forget. It's the day he's currently stuck living over and over and over again.

summer slipped us underneath her tongue

TK Strand is a freshly heartbroken art history student who's been given the opportunity of a lifetime; studying art in the heart of it all, Paris, France. However, he thinks it's a cruel taunt from the universe. He's studying what he loves so much in the city of love but is stuck thinking there's no one out there who loves him. Carlos Reyes is a career driven culinary student studying at Le Cordon Bleu. He has hard time maintaining relationships, an even harder time of detaching himself from his work and and has an awful habit of doubting everything about himself. After a night out that they end up sharing with each other; they agree to keep any and all things casual. Well, like most things, that's easier said than done.

tender eyes that shine

“No llores, nieto,” Carlos’ abuelo tells him during the wake of his abuela's funeral. His abuelo crouches down, his joints cracking and popping as he stoops to Carlos’ eye level. He raises a calloused thumb and wipes away the tears that are still falling from Carlos’ wide brown eyes. “Men like us,” His abuelo continues, his words casting a wide net. “We don’t let the world pity us, we can’t let them see us as soft.” Carlos nods, wiping away any new tears that are starting to fall. The right sleeve of his charcoal gray suit now comes away colored a staunch black where Carlos’ tears have dampened it. For some reason, the way his abuelo says ‘soft’ ricochets off of Carlos, as if it were stone and Carlos is a thin sheet of glass nestled into a window pane. It’s left a dent, an imprint, an impression, but hasn’t done enough damage to cause a crack. Carlos’ bloodshot eyes shine with hesitation as he asks, voice small and insecure, “Reyes men don’t cry? “Reyes men don’t cry,” His abuelo confirms.

29 Going on 30

During a trip to New York City to celebrate TK turning 30, TK and Carlos stumble upon a list of things TK always wanted to do before he turned 30, all of them being references to romantic comedies he loved so much growing up. While TK is fine with leaving the past in the past, Carlos thinks there's no better time than the present. He thinks that TK deserves to feel the same type of love he loved watching on the silver screen, so he devotes the rest of their trip to just that. Told through a tale filled with everlasting love, a never-ending trek across New York City and the occasional painful reminder of the past, Carlos learns a little more about the city TK once called home and TK learns a little more about himself.

a little taste of love

TK Strand, a florist working for the renowned flower shop, Bloom With a View, can't take his eyes off of Carlos Reyes, a baker working at Cake My Day, the bakery across the street.

I say it all the time now, but if I were to ever just randomly stop writing one day and never published anything again, I'm glad I got the Time Loop AU up. Definitely a new personal favorite (summer slipped us, you still have a special place in my heart) <3

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[zarntrios]

Image dump.

Cope and seethe.

Here is the shirt for a friend mentioned before.

Here are the two shirts for me :)

Here is the finished Castti wig. I had to sew a whole pack of short wefts into an Arda Wigs Caine I had lying around, but for my first ever updo wig, I think it's very good.

Even better since my sister did the actual updo part lol love youuuuuuu

Also when I go to Melbourne super soon, I'm getting there in time for a friend's birthday, so I made him a simple print shirt.

Hmmmm anything else that doesn't include my face? Not really, no, but here's how I laid out the pattern for my second shirt. It was so much easier using fabric than a fucking paper pattern. Still hurt my knees tho.

Thank you for reading. Pet bribe. Luna lookin like some kinda legume. Love her.

[frvnkcastles]

A MAN WITH A BLACK HEART OF GOLD ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: When there’s a death in the neighborhood, you call Frank for comfort and protection.

Warnings: Mentions of death, anxiety, fluff mostly!

Word count: 2.1k

Author’s note: Taking a quick break from requests for this little thing I whipped up after experiencing this very thing myself. A dead body was found in my neighborhood and it freaked me out, but thankfully it was updated on the news that a crime wasn’t involved. Still, I wouldn’t mind if I had Frank next to me tonight!

The last thing you expected coming home from getting the groceries for next week was a bunch of police cars and an ambulance on your street. The sight instantly made you nervous, your grip on the bag of food tightening as you walked through the crowd to get to your door. The police were swarmed by the building across the street, giving you access to your own home, but before you made your way inside, your neighbor caught your eye.

”What’s going on?” you queried with both curiosity and dread. You knew there was plenty of crime in the city — if not through reading the news, then through knowing Frank. You had befriended the Punisher himself a few weeks back, and he had already taught you a lot about staying safe and protected, but even with everything he had shared with you, you felt uneasy that something had happened so close to your doorstep. You were used to hearing about what went down at night from him, but right now, it was barely evening and whatever had happened, it was right across the street from you.

”Apparently they found a dead body in one of the apartments”, your neighbor whispered, and with shock punching you in the gut, you swallowed. ”They won’t say what happened, though. Maybe it was natural causes”, she continued, and weakly, you nodded. Maybe she was right. But you had heard enough from Frank to know that there was some seriously fucked up stuff happening in your city, and it made you sick to think something like that had happened in your neighborhood.

You headed inside, working completely on autopilot as you got in your apartment and started unloading the groceries. You enjoyed every second you spent with Frank, in fact, you had gotten quite attached to him, but right now, you regretted ever listening to his haunting tales of criminals and crooks. All it did was make you overthink, your brain going in evil loops as you wondered if there was a murderer on the loose — maybe a serial killer, even? Maybe he was targeting people in your area. Maybe you were next.

You spent the evening refreshing the website of the local news, waiting for something to pop up. When it finally did, all the article said was that a corpse had been discovered and the police was still investigating whether or not it had been a crime. You gnawed on your nails anxiously. How hard could it be to tell if someone had murdered them? Even you knew there would have to be signs of a break-in or a struggle or something. Or maybe you had just watched too much TV.

Either way, it was driving you mad. And you knew what could make you feel better — calling Frank. You just didn’t know if you were in the stage of your relationship where it would be okay to do. Your encounters tended to be initiated by him, as he would either show up on your doorstep or behind your window unannounced, or you’d run into him at a coffee shop or a diner in a way that you suspected wasn’t random. You knew he was a busy man, and the last thing you wanted was to scare him off by being clingy, or worst case scenario, to endanger his life by calling him at the wrong time.

But it was Frank. Frank, who was always so good to you, Frank, who was way more talented at giving support and comfort than he gave himself credit for, Frank, who never judged or laughed at you if it wasn’t meant to be laughed at. God, it was no wonder you were already falling for him, when he was such a perfect gentleman every time you saw him.

A little embarrassed but hopeful that he’d be understanding, you decided to call him. You paced back and forth in your apartment while the phone rang, your nail between your teeth and your feet shuffling anxiously. It felt kind of awkward, too trivial to actually be worth Frank’s time, but the fear of what had happened beat the shame in you. You were growing more terrified by the minute, and you knew it was something only he could alleviate.

”Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” Frank’s voice hit you through the phone, and gulping at the thickness of his voice, you shook yourself out of the daze you had fallen into while waiting for him to pick up.

”Hi, Frank. This is kinda embarrassing, but, uh… if you have the time—I understand if you don’t, would you maybe mind visiting? And… maybe even spending the night? The police found a dead body across the street and I’m just a little freaked out”, you rambled, your nerves getting the best of you, but Frank listened patiently instead of interrupting you.

For a beat, he was silent, and it was enough time for you to start wondering if you had made a mistake calling him. But finally, he spoke up. ”Yeah, darlin’, I’ll be there. Hang on f’me, yeah?” he answered, and with a weight rolling off of your chest, you sighed.

”Thank you, Frank.” You hung up the phone and threw yourself onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as you groaned. This was very much not what you had expected from your night, but maybe, it was a blessing in disguise. After all, you were officially signed up for some more time in Frank’s company, and the mere thought got you to smile to yourself. He had stolen your heart so effortlessly, it was ridiculous.

You didn’t know when to expect him, as you obviously couldn’t make him drop everything just for you, but when it started to get dark, you grew anxious again. He was taking his sweet time and being alone in the apartment made you uncomfortable, with every sound from outside your little bubble making you alert.

Finally, though, there was a knock on your door, and you jumped with your hand on your chest. You tiptoed to the front door and stole a glimpse through the peephole just to be safe, feeling calmer when you saw Frank standing there with his head hung low and his hands folded in front of him. You opened the door, and despite the worry inside your soul, the sight of him brought a smile on your face. He looked too good to be true, his sleeves rolled up and his dark hair covered in rain droplets.

”Sorry it took me a while. I made a pitstop”, he announced, gesturing at the bag in his hands. He walked inside, gently kicking the door shut behind him, and leaning down to briefly kiss your cheek before making his way to the kitchen. The casual gesture made your face hot and your heart skip a beat, but you followed him to the kitchen without commenting on it.

”What’s all this?” you asked as he began taking things out of the bag — chips, food containers, a bottle of beer for him and your favorite soda for you.

”Figured you ain’t gonna be able to sleep, anyway. We might as well make a night out of it. Watch a movie or somethin’, whatever you want”, he shrugged like it was the most normal thing ever for him to show up with everything thought of. You felt giddy, unable to believe he would do all this for you, and you did the only thing you could think of and stepped in to hug him.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, looking down at your face, painted with all kinds of heavy emotions. ”You must have been real scared, huh?” he muttered, and shyly, you nodded. ”It’s aight. ’M here now and I’mma make sure you’re safe”, Frank reassured you, just his words enough to console you. All it took was his presence to make you feel protected, and you appreciated it deeply.

”If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t heard of anythin’ goin’ down over here and I’m always on top of these things. I’m sure it was just a one-time thing”, he went on, and nodding, you pulled back from him and grabbed the soda can from the counter.

”I hope so. I kind of just wanna think about something else, so… how about that movie?” you suggested, drawing a sip from your drink.

Frank agreed quickly, and you two huddled up on your couch with the food and the snacks. Time passed in a blink of an eye, with midnight rolling around by the time you were finished with the first movie, but as Frank had suspected, you weren’t exactly eager to go to sleep. Sleeping made you vulnerable, and it scared you — so, you watched another movie.

You ended up migrating from your end of the couch to Frank’s arms. Totally platonic, you told yourself. He was sweet with you, surprisingly affectionate too, but you weren’t sure he felt the same way that you did. At least, you didn’t think he was ready to. He hadn’t told you everything, but you had read the news enough to know what he had gone through and what he had lost, so you doubted he was looking for a relationship. It stung, you had to admit that much, but you found a small consolation in the fact that it wasn’t anything personal.

A yawn slipped from you, and Frank noticed, perceptive as always. ”You should get some rest, sweetheart”, he pointed out, and begrudgingly, you supposed he was right.

”I don’t mean to push but… will you stay in the bed with me?” you asked carefully, hoping you weren’t crossing a boundary, but he didn’t seem to have any hesitation regarding the matter.

”Sure thing.”

With that, he helped you up from the couch, and you went ahead with your nightly routine of washing your face, brushing your teeth and changing into your PJs. When you stepped into the bedroom, Frank was already lying on your bed, his arms behind his head as he waited for you. Seeing him like that, it made your chest tighten and your stomach do a backflip. You had imagined this exact situation countless times, though you suspected your daydreams ended very differently than what reality had in store for you.

You settled under the covers, sighing deeply as you rubbed your tired eyes and felt the stress of the day weigh you down. Frank observed you closely, a small smile on his lips, and it made you chuckle nervously.

”What?” you questioned, earning a shrug from him.

”You just look real pretty, ’s all”, he revealed, and with your eyes widening, you stared at him, trying to find any hint of joke on his face. There was none.

”Thanks, Frankie”, you replied sheepishly, tucking your hair behind your ear. ”And thanks for the food and for staying with me. I really appreciate it”, you added, and with a soft nod, he dropped his hands to his lap and shifted deeper into the mattress.

”I know it ain’t a permanent solution, but I want ya to know I’mma keep an eye on this place. I’ll make sure nothin’ happens to you”, he promised, and surprised, you lifted yourself up to rest on your elbow, your gaze meeting his.

”You’d do that?” you spoke in disbelief, and with a completely serious look, he nodded once again.

”Course, I would, sweetheart. I never wanna see you in harm’s way. I know this is still pretty new, but I, uh, I like you”, he confessed, his voice almost nervous. You couldn’t imagine him ever being nervous, but as you both sat in his admission, the air growing hot between you, that was exactly how he felt.

Feeling impulsive, you closed the space between you and kissed him. He melted into it immediately, his big hand reaching up to cradle your face, his lips moving against yours in a way that was thrilling and enchanting. He took your breath away, kissing you with passion but sweetness, and it was even better than you had imagined.

Breathless, you broke the kiss, and he dropped his forehead to yours. ”I like you, too”, you returned the favor, and breaking into a grin, Frank kissed you again, shorter this time but equally delicious.

In hindsight, you were beyond glad you had called him, and he felt the same way. And for you, he was going to get to the bottom of what had happened.

[lovings4turn]

જ⁀➴  𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋  . . .  (𝐆. 𝐑.)

— two things are definite: you like george, and george likes you. unfortunately, you two seem to be the only ones who don't see it.

+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series ! love this song and i was so excited to use it for a george fic, so i hope you enjoy <3

“oh mate, you’re joking.”

“shut up!” george huffed, running the palm of his hand down his face in exasperation. “it was not that bad.”

he could defend himself all he liked, because in spite of that, george knew it really was.

this was possibly the third time this month that george had fumbled his chance to ask you out, and alex was beginning to grow tired of his friend’s constant pining and lingering stares. 

“here’s what you’re gonna do,” alex said, his voice growing more serious as he looked george dead in the eyes. “you’re gonna ring y/n, and you’re gonna tell her you forgot something at her place. a shirt, socks, anything.”

"but i haven't?"

"not the point," alex groaned. "you're gonna tell her that, so you have an excuse to turn up there. this is your chance. don't be a stupid. tell her you think she's cool, that you like her, something to charm her."

george still wasn't convinced. his brows were pinched together as he ran over alex's plan in his mind, able to find a thousand different ways it could go wrong for him.

"right. and what happens when she realises that i haven't actually left anything there, and i just look like a massive twat for showing up?"

alex wasn't sure that he could take any more.

"mate, you can't just sit around and wait for some sort of fairy tale ending to come out of nowhere for you. at some point, you're just going to have to confess to her."

though he was being assertive, alex was still trying to be supportive, laying a hand on george's shoulder and delivering a friendly pat of encouragement.

"i can promise you she's probably thinking the exact same thing right now, anyways."

george scoffed, his answer hanging in the air unspoken. as if.

unbeknownst to george, alex was a lot closer to the truth than even he may have realised.

the events of the afternoon were playing on a loop in your mind as you tried to dissect every last piece of your interaction with george, from how he'd greeted you - a brief side hug and a smile - to how he'd said goodbye - a weak effort to get you to stay and a silly, yet endearing, wave.

was this your life now? driving yourself mad over even the smallest little details, all because of some stupid feelings?

when you'd first started developing somewhat of a crush on the mercedes driver, you made a promise to yourself that it would never become a thing. and you had kept that promise for roughly four months, until you made a huge error: revealing your feelings to someone else.

ever since you had let it slip to a friend that you actually quite liked george in ways that far surpassed the platonic label, you'd been - for lack of a better phrase - absolutely fucked.

now you had people to fuel your delusions, try to convince you that george had to feel the same way, and no, of course he wasn't just being polite when he offered you his jacket, you fool. outside interference and reassurance should have made you more confident in your feelings, maybe even push you to confess, but instead they'd had the opposite effect.

the weight of the word 'hopeless' in hopeless romantic had really started to resonate with you. though you weren't allowed to dwell on your misfortunes for too long.

some may have chalked it up to fate, some may have attributed it to a divine power wanting to laugh at a poor mortal, but whatever the reason, your phone rang with an incoming call from george.

the stupid candid photo you’d taken as a contact picture flashed up on your screen, and the automatic smile that painted your lips made you want to yell in frustration.

"y/n, hi!"

pathetic was the perfect word to describe you, thanks to how utterly gone you were for george, as the mere sound of your name leaving his lips was enough to make your heart jump.

"sorry, know i only saw you a few hours ago, but i just remembered that i think i left one of my mercedes shirts at yours when i was there the other day."

you didn't even think twice about it, why would you? george had left countless items at your place in the past, and he would leave more in the future.

"no problem. y'can always come by and get it, i'll try and grab it for you."

george's chest ached at how ready to help you were.

"yeah? you're a lifesaver, y/n, really. i'll set off now, should be there in about fifteen minutes."

brief 'see you later's were exchanged, and the moment you set your phone down onto the coffee table, your hunt began.

you didn't recall seeing one of george's shirts anywhere around, but previous mishaps had enlightened you to the fact that things could turn up anywhere. you'd thought that the shoes buried right underneath your bed were odd, until a sock turned up in your bread bin a few weeks later.

nothing was off limits anymore.

yet, somehow, no matter where you looked, you couldn't find the fucking shirt. frustration slowly nibbled at your mind, the sound of a knock being the only thing to break you from your frantic search.

an annoyingly attractive george russell greeted you when you swung open the front door.

in all of the years he'd known you, george thought this was the most adorable you'd looked.

your hair was in disarray, the strands unkempt as though you'd been running your hands through it over and over again. your face shone a little, and you were clearly a little out of breath, if the small, panting gasps you took were anything to go by.

your apartment was a mess, and george quickly realised that you'd turned your entire place practically upside down to try and find a shirt that wasn't even there in the first place.

guilt began to bubble up in his throat, and george hoped that, after today, it would all be worth it. he only had one chance, and he wasn't going to fuck it up.

before he could allow doubt to creep into his mind and sow seeds of regret, george lifted a hand to cup your jaw. the feeling of your soft skin against his palm elicited a gasp to slip from his mouth. the parting of his lips provided you with the perfect opportunity to meld your lips together in a chaste, sweet kiss.

feelings went unspoken, for now. time would grant you the chance to properly word every last affection you harboured for one another at a later date.

besides, george was a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words, and this kiss was living proof.

george forced himself to pull back, his forehead resting against your own, and he believed that to die like this would be a blessed fate. because you were definitely going to kill him when you found out the truth.

"i lied, by the way. there was no shirt," he mumbled, blue eyes meeting yours with a wince.

"you fucking dick."

[auncyen]

(this is slightly morbid but nothing bad actually happens. If that makes sense.)

-

"Oh, cruel whimsy," Siffrin whispers right of Odile.

"Oh, cruel whimsy!" Siffrin wails from below as he lies, sprawled dramatically, dying.

Odile's seat vibrates because of how excited Siffrin is next to her. "Now leave me, light--" they continue.

"--let all shade come upon me--"

"--and with this last Change--"

"--I end this sordid tale, and pray my next be humorous enough to remedy."

The Siffrin on stage finally dies several minutes after he should have passed out from blood loss. The curtain falls. The Siffrin next to Odile claps wildly, shouting along with the crowd. "Bravo! Bravo!!!"

Mirabelle, on Odile's left, is still crying from the play's tragedy, but has recovered enough to comment, "that's another liberty they took. We don't all believe in reincarnation. It's mostly the Houses in Brisseau."

"And that's fine?" Odile asks, raising her voice just enough to cut through the applause around them.

Mirabelle shrugs, dabbing at her eyes. "The Change religion doesn't focus too much on what happens after death anyway, so it's not really that big a deal, I guess?"

"I don't think the Poterians are worried about accuracy anyway," Odile says, casting an eye around them before focusing on Siffrin--their Siffrin, not the actor who is back on their feet now that the curtain has risen again and taking a bow.

She cannot believe this is the first play Siffrin wanted to see. They'd loved plays, yes, but then those two strange days in Dormont happened, and the first time Isabeau suggested watching a play as a way to take their minds off things for a bit, Siffrin had gotten the strangest look on his face before saying he wasn't really in the mood and maybe they could just look around the market instead. They'd left the topic there for the day, but slowly, with a joint effort, they'd gotten Siffrin to talk about how he'd come to think of life as a play during the loops. They were supposed to say these things to Isabeau, or Odile, or Mirabelle or Boniface, and then the others would always say the same lines, and sometimes deviating from the script was good and created a better script and sometimes it resulted in something so awful that they immediately messed up the next loop and then spent the next six strictly following the better script and making everyone smile, over and over again, so that that "bad loops" wouldn't count anymore. Which was completely illogical, but Odile had to assume whatever had happened--Siffrin had yet to talk about whatever that was--had been traumatizing enough to make Siffrin cling to the safety of repetition even as it was driving them insane.

Needless to say, plays had been taboo for some time. Mirabelle hadn't even been sure at first if she could talk about her books, if any fiction might make Siffrin uneasy, but Siffrin had taken her not reading books by them as her not having any and had dragged Odile on a Secret Quest to procure some, so books were clearly safe.

The taboo on plays was broken today, when Boniface noticed Siffrin's name on a flier and immediately called it out, making everyone notice it. It hadn't taken very long for awkwardness to settle in as they all read further and realized "Siffrin" was the titular character of a play, but before Isabeau or Mirabelle could find a distraction, Siffrin had lit up. "...My name! I named myself after the hero! I love this--that is--" His cheeks shaded with fluster as he realized just how enthusiastic he'd gotten. "...can we go see it?"

It had been a unanimous yes, of course. If Siffrin was rediscovering an interest the loops had taken from them, good. Of course they'd watch it, both to make sure Siffrin enjoyed themself and because they were all a little curious what Siffrin had seen in this play to name himself after it.

Well.

Well.

"...Wait, where's Bonnie and Nille?" Siffrin was asking. With the play over, he was finally regaining awareness of his surroundings and noticing the other seats in the aisle, already empty. "Isa?"

"...Boniface went out with Petronille because they were uncomfortable with how dark it was getting--we all warned them it was a tragedy, please don't feel guilty, Siffrin," Odile says when Siffrin's face falls. "They knew they might be uncomfortable, they still wanted to try, and they left with their sister when they realized they might get upset. I'm sure Boniface is fine."

"Okay...Isa...?"

Odile is certain Isabeau walked out because he'd overthought the connection between Siffrin naming himself after a character who was from the start of the play almost certain to die at the end of it. She's certain, because she's overthinking it herself. "I'm not sure," she says instead, because he didn't actually tell her that and she'd rather not put words in anyone's mouth with a topic this delicate. "So why did you name yourself after the hero?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Siffrin asks.

She doesn't like the answer that seems obvious. "I'd like to hear your own thought process, though."

Siffrin bounces on their feet. "That monologue in act four--and his banter with Gaston! I can't believe I remember so much of it!"

It is impressive how good their memory is with plays, and Odile wonders if it's because plays, while inspired by the real world, very much take place in their own little worlds, far from memory-erasing islands.

"And, well..." Siffrin sobers. "He loses everything in the play. And I--I guess--I don't really remember if I tried telling people or not, about my past, but I don't think I felt like anyone would have believed me...so...it's not the same, he still remembers, but he felt that sad and everyone feels bad for him, so... it felt like a relief that way?" He shrugs, awkwardly.

"Oh," Mirabelle says, clapping her hands together as she stands up. "Now I get why you like these plays! It's the catharsis!"

Siffrin brightens with a smile at Mirabelle. "That's it! The catharsis."

"I see," Odile says, hoping the relief isn't too obvious in her voice. Yes, she and Isabeau definitely overthought this.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 61

With some Gallifrey at War content because I Make The Rules

The Fesitval of the Timewright, or Anmers-Tonastide, is a Gallifreyan holiday. (Novel: Cat's Cradle: Time's Crucible)

When the Sixth Doctor was forced to work with Davros at a company, he quickly made a nuisance of himself by ruining hours worth of Davros's work and then made Davros his assistant, having him make tea. (Audio: Davros)

The Third Doctor and Sarah Jane Smith once defeated an android maker, and out of revenge, the android maker made an android identical to the Third Doctor. The android had a bomb in its head. The plan was for the android to kill the Doctor, take his place, and then detonate, but it was all for naught because when the Doctor returned, he was in his Fourth incarnation. (Short story: The Android Maker of Calderon IV)

The Sword of Never is a weapon used for execution on Gallifrey. It can completely obliterate living things, rendering all of a Time Lord's regenerations useless. (Novel: Scratchman)

The Ninth Doctor's signature outfit was made of the first clothes he saw after his regeneration, not the result of prolonged rifling through wardrobes as it had sometimes happened in the past. (Short story: A Day to Yourselves)

When time spiders created a time loop, the Eleventh Doctor was bitten, but before he could permanently die, Valarie allowed herself to he bitten instead as time rewound. The time spider would target her. This killed her, which caused the Doctor to decide to blow up both himself and the TARDIS in the resulting grief and rage. Then time rewound again, and everything was eventually resolved. (Audio: The End)

The Third Doctor once developed a time bomb to defeat the Xhinn. It had the effect of aging them past their natural life span (and thus killing them) and destroying their space ship. (Novel: Amorality Tale)

The Mimesis was a theater on Gallifrey in which people could rewrite reality as part of an act. It was created by a cult of Gallifreyans. (Novel: Managra)

During the Last Great Time War, the Time Lords developed a weapon called the Hush - a being of living sound that could steal and eat voices. Later, the Tenth Doctor trapped the Hush in an audio recording, but it eventually escaped. (Audio: Dead Air) The Hush was also voiced by David Tennant.

One time, people began receiving phone calls from lost loved ones due to time distortion. Liv spoke to her father, Helen spoke to her brother, and the Eighth Doctor spoke to someone as well. It is never clarified which lost loved one it was that he spoke to. (Audio: Absent Friends)

When asked what animals they thought they were most like, Fitz said he was probably a golden retriever. The Eighth Doctor, on the other hand, thinks of himself as a unicorn. (Novel: Fear Itself)

Leela calls Jamie "Little Knife." (Audio: Dumb Waiter)

The Brigadier was able to recognize the Sixth Doctor based only on his clothes, the unexpectedness of his arrival, and the manner in which the Doctor greeted him. (Audio: The Spectre of Lanyon Moor)

When the Third Doctor 'resigned' from UNIT after the Brigadier killed the Silurians, he left England for Peru. While running away, he stowed away on an airplane disguised as an air stewardess after placing the original stewardess in a closet. He chose that particular stewardess - Fiona - because she was the tallest and would have a dress that fit him. (Audio: AWOL)

The War Master created several War Seeds - Gallifreyan-TARDIS hybrids - using his own DNA. The Seed could see into the future, can sense their siblings, and can dematerialize on the spot, and they embed themselves into a society and turn the people there into weapons for the Time War. The Seed's face changed between the different incarnations of the Master. Missy encountered the Seed and called him her son, bargaining with the one keeping him to give him the army the Seed created in exchange for his return and then leaving him on a safe planet to rest. (Audio: War Seed)

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[theresattrpgforthat]

The computer game Pacific Drive has the player driving a supernatural station wagon and delving ever deeper into an abandoned exclusion zone in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, dodging anomalies, scavenging for resources, exploring, and seeking answers to what events caused the creation of the zone. The game takes heavy inspiration from the art of Simon Stålenhag, which has its on TTRPG in "Tales from the Loop", but can you recommend any other games that would recreate the experience of Pacific Drive?

THEME: Pacific Drive

Hello friend, so I looked up Pacific Drive and one thing that I found out about it was that it was inspired by media such as Annihilation and Roadside Picnic, so first I’m going to send you to my Fucked Up Settings Rec post, especially to the games titled Trespasser and The Zone.

What I’m getting from Pacific Drive is that it’s focused on travel, exploration, an interesting story, the ability to improve the one thing that you survive with, and experiencing a world that fundamentally doesn’t care about you. So let’s see if we have anything that hits any of those tangents.

The Last Caravan, by Ted Bushman.

In this cozy, melancholy post-apocalypse, the aliens came less than a year ago. The war lasted two months, but nobody won. Now, with an alien army rising from the ashes of war, you will have to make a dangerous journey across a shattered North America in search of a new home.

You are normal people finding heroism in extraordinary circumstances. You will explore transformed landscapes, search abandoned towns, discover otherworldly technology, negotiate with newly-formed factions, outrun alien pursuers, and — and all you’ve got is a car, your fellow travelers, and the road.

The Last Caravan combines the survival-horror genre with the fiction-first ethos of Blades in the Dark and No Dice No Masters. Each character has a list of prompts called triggers that reward you with a narrative resource that can open up abilities as you tell your story. The alien apocalypse has come, but the story isn’t over, as a some kind of threat shows signs of growing as you travel across a cold, frozen highway. If you’re interested in The Last Caravan, but missed the Kickstarter, you can check out the Quickstart while you wait for the final release.

24XX-D: Aftertime, by xiombarg.

As a volunteer for the  private paramilitary group Project Aftertime, your health was altered and your brain preserved so you could be revived after society collapsed. 

You awoke in an unfamiliar base filled with unfamiliar technology, with even stranger ultratech outside. 

The Event the wastelanders describe makes no sense. "The gods left us."

I feel like I’m missing something when I look through my folders because the 24XX system feels perfect for these kinds of ‘exclusion zone” games but Aftertime feels the closest to it, and it’s definitely not perfect. There’s too many people milling about, and there seems to be too much pointing towards some kind of answer about the alien event. However, I think in general, 24XX is a great system to root around in if you want to make something for yourself. A lot of these kinds of games have great roll-tables for events, locations, and missions, and inventory (which seems really important in Pacific Drive) is simple to track but absolutely necessary.

Aftertime is different from other 24XX games in that it uses a pool of resources rather than dice rolls to determine what you can or cannot do. You could stick with that, or mash this game together with some other 24XX games like PREDATORS to incorporate dice rolls, and vehicles. What I like about Aftertime is that it includes a base that you can upgrade over time, similar to how your car in Pacific Drive gets better as you find upgrades for it.

Crush Depth Apparition, by amandalee.

February 1902, somewhere on the North Atlantic. Mountainous waves blot out the horizon, and the wind and thunder roar too loud to tell one from the other. But 200 ft down there’s only still cold darkness and the submarine.  

No one has ever dived this deep before, so far from shore and safety. Maybe no one was ever meant to try. The submarine is 170 feet of dripping pipes and fogged up dials, levers rusting stuck in the damp. It was two weeks into the voyage when things started going wrong.  Little accidents, inexplicable mistakes. Someone heard a noise, like tapping, soft against the hull last night. Bright paint flakes off a torpedo and underneath there is a story scratched into the metal. The Captain turns down a hallway that can’t be there,  into pipes and steel and miles of ocean.

The one thing keeping you safe down here has turned into a labyrinth. 

Crush Depth Apparition is an eerie survival horror stand alone adventure zine for 3-5 players and a GM by Amanda Lee Franck. It  includes rules for running and repairing a state of the art (of 120 years ago) experimental submarine, a map of the ocean, an unnatural labyrinth,  ghostly encounters,  hundreds of things that can go wrong, and a crew that depends on you.

Because you are depending on your submarine for survival, much of the focus of this adventure is going to be on keeping it running. You’ll need to manage your fuel levels, the submarine’s battery, and how deep you go, all while trying to find a way home. The setting is very different from Pacific Drive, and I think the horror amps up a little bit because there are more personal details that will likely worm themselves into this game. You’re also less likely to survive the entirety of this game; but the weirdness that happens the further that you adventure may mirror some of the strangeness of Pacific Drive.

ZONE, by Iron Cutler.

ZONE is a genre-agnostic TTRPG , heavily inspired by Jeff VanderMeer's Southern Reach Trilogy, though adaptable to a wide variety of settings. It is about trespassing in a bizarre and dangerous area—the Zone—and becoming changed by what you find inside.

ZONE is a GM-less ttrpg that uses collaborative worldbuilding to design and deepen the strangeness of the world around you. Each session will contain an expedition of Trespassers, people who enter the Zone without permission, and thus destined to be permanently changed. Your Trespassers will not usually survive from one expedition to the next; this place will change them, and that is why ZONE is described as “un-winnable” by its designer.

Unlike many of the other games on this list, ZONE is very abstract because it doesn’t expect you to succeed. Your characters are destined to fail once they incur too much shock, so managing resources is not really something worth doing in this game. Character creation is also rather simple, and I think that is because the main focus of this game is on the place you are exploring, rather than the character themself. If you want a game about the horror of being changed by something alien and ultimately uncaring about you, I’d recommend ZONE.

RAD, by ¡Hipólita!

We don't know who broke the world, but we know what weapon they used.

In the year 1990, the United States of America fired a nuclear attack on the Soviet Union, immediately killing millions and poisoning the land, air and water for years.

The scarce few survivors were forced into hiding. About 50,000 people fled to the relative safety of the Moscow Metro, with smaller numbers following suit in cities like Novosibirsk, Volgograd, Saint Petersburg, Yekaterinburg, Samara and others.

RAD is a game full of radiation-induced body-horror and all about survival. You have four core stats, and the rest of your character sheet is all about resources and inventory, including three resources called Bedroll, Rations and Battery. The game mechanics are inspired by systems like Mausritter, which means that player creativity and smart item use will take you far. It’s all about a delicate balance of resources, so if that’s what you liked about Pacific Drive, you might want to check out RAD - as well as an adventure for it titled The Technicolor Forest.

Other Games I've Recommended Before

Nibiru, by Araukana Media.

Apocalypse Roadtrip, by Mynar Lenahan.

Roadspire, by Glempy.

[bitterkarella]

Brian Asman: Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this the tale of FUCK THIS HOUSE King: haha oh man! that title! that’s great! King: i’m sold already! Asman: good, cuz it’s kinda all downhill from here Asman: so this family moves into a new house Asman: and by the way the son in this family consumed his unborn twin in the womb Asman: just getting that shit right out there on the first page King: brian! you can’t do that! you gotta pace yourself! Asman: naw

Asman: listen you think living in a haunted house is bad? Asman: you should try it yourself! Asman: that’s right, I’m giving away a FREE haunted house to one lucky winner! Asman: and it could be Asman: YOU

[showing off a haunted house] Asman: now this house, we like to call it a ghostbuster’s dream Barker: yeah right man i’ll be the judge of that Poe: clive let him give his spiel Asman: s-so this house comes equipped with hot and cold running chills...

Barker: what’s that smell? Asman: ooo smells like the infernal fires of hell breaking theough the veil huh? Barker: you were just baking charcoal in the oven to give it that welcoming haunted house smell weren’t you Asman: Barker: c’mon man i know all the tricks Barker: i’ve seen HGTV

Asman: i’m sure you’ll find this house to your liking Asman: check this out Asman: walls continue upright, bricks meet neatly, floors are firm Asman: [thumping door] hear that? Asman: doors sensibly shut Shirley Jackson: [mumbling excitedly] Mary Shelley: yeah yeah i hear ya Mary Shelley: how’s the silence lay here? steadily? Asman: now if you’ll follow me into the master bedroom you’ll find a Asman: oh did you hear that? Poe: hear what? Asman: [knocking on wall] that knocking! oh it must be the ghost! Poe: you just knocked Asman: IT MUST BE THE GHOST!

Barker: gotta be honest here, man Barker: i don’t think this house is really haunted Asman: no no of course it’s haunted [wind blows through eaves] Barker: is that the wind blowing through the eaves? Asman: oh no no no Asman: of course not Asman: it must be the ghost

Asman: any questions about this haunted house? John Wiswell: is it a friendly haunted house? Asman: no, its the bad kind Asman: next question King: how many ghosts are in here? Asman: 999 happy haunts Asman: but there’s room for one more

Barker: if this house is so haunted, then maybe you wouldn’t mind a visit from the world’s foremost ghost hunters Asman: of course not! i would welcome it Arthur Conan Doyle: I’m arthur conan doyle Charles Dickens: and I’m Charles Dickens Dickens: together we are Dickens & Doyle: GHOST CLUB

Dickens: so you say this house is haunted? Asman: uhh yeah totally Doyle: that’s good enough for me! case closed! Dickens: NOT SO FAST

Dickens: if this house is REALLY haunted Dickens: you wouldn’t have to play Dickens: [dramatic reveal sting] THIS record of Walt Disney’s Thrilling Chilling Sounds of the Haunted House on loop! Dickens: and you wouldn’t Dickens: [dramatic reveal sting] need G.E. Woods to hide in the closet to make haunted house sounds! Woods: [holding out peeled grapes] these are the ghosts’ eyeballs Asman: Curses! And would have gotten away with it Asman: if it wasn't for you meddling ghost club! Doyle: Doyle: i still think it’s haunted

[lulublack90]

Prompt 31 - Veritaserum

@wolfstarmicrofic March 31, word count 482

The entire Order had gathered at Grimmauld Place. Most had entered the notorious building fully shielded, expecting a trap. 

Once they were all sitting around the formal dining table, Dumbledore called for Sirius to enter the room. 

Every witch and wizard pointed their wand at him. It was only having Dumbledore standing calmly beside him that saved Sirius from whatever spells had been on the tip of their tongues. 

He took a seat in the chair at the head of the table. Remus had helped him clean himself up a bit so that he didn’t look so much like Sirius Black, escaped mass murderer and more like Lord Black, head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. 

He shuffled uncomfortably in his old tailored robes. They forced him to sit up straight. Something he was no longer used to. He wanted to curl up under the table as Padfoot, but Remus’s reassuring hand settled on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. He met Remus’s eyes and felt braver. As long as he had Remus Lupin beside him, he could do anything. 

“Please lower your wands, dear friends. Mr Black is no threat. He has kindly agreed to take Veritaserum to put you at ease and tell you his tale.” Dumbledore glanced at every person in the room before he continued. “He was framed twelve years ago by a wizard you may all remember.” He paused. “Peter Pettigrew.” The room erupted into shocked murmurs.

The door opened again, causing the room to fall silent. Snape strode in, his black robes billowing around him. He stopped next to Sirius and glared down at him. 

Sirius obediently leaned his head back and opened his mouth when Snape uncorked the small vial he’d produced from the folds in his robes. 

Remus slid his hand down Sirius’s arm to hold his hand as Snape grasped his jaw and poured a few drops onto his tongue. He felt his body relax and his mind still as the potion took effect. 

“Right then, Sirius. Why don’t you start at the beginning, about the plan for Lily and James to go into hiding?” Dumbledore prompted. Sirius swallowed and nodded as he began to tell his story, only stopping once he got to his escape from Hogwarts almost two years previously. He answered every question asked, and they had to believe him because he was unable to lie, not that he wanted to. 

Eventually, they were out of questions, and Sirius felt the effects of the Veritaserum slowly fading away. He looked to Remus, who stood and helped him rise from his chair. 

“Unless you need us. I think Sirius has done enough today.” Remus addressed Dumbledore before looping Sirius’s arm through his and escorting him out of the room and up to their bedroom, where a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of firewhisky waited for them.       

[thecoffeelorian]

Hold My Hand (Crosshair x Reader)

Premise: This is the third installment of...what should have been a one-shot, but here we all are a long while later, so it's probably best to just keep on going down this road to see where it leads. Anyway, Part One was Understanding and Part Two was Red Flags, so if you haven't checked those out yet, feel free to do so now.

Story Notes: One small thing about the tagging system, if I didn't say it already: I hope to make a few more updates for this series, so just in case I am, in fact, keeping the folks who want to read and reblog in the loop, please don't hesitate to do so when you are able. If I'm not...you're welcome to ignore this from here on in, and I'll eventually stop tagging you altogether. Thank you, goodnight, and good luck.

Special Notes: As ever, the header was made by @stars-n-spice. Also, little shout-out to @talesfrommedinastation for inspiring me to use a form of sign language between two characters, one that was originally invented for speaking in deep space when the commlinks didn't work, and also mostly inspired by something similar in "The Expanse".

No-Pressure Tags:

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@tink1221 @ms-grassi @galaxyglittering @ah-prick24 @littlefeatherr

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@lani03sstuff @ttzamara @beezez-blog @myeternalsin @sublimeclodkidcolor

@nish-xiii @ash04w3 @clonereeses @lllllmm @melymigo and anybody else looking for a tale that doesn't end in disaster.

🩶 It's my fault.

🩶 This one simple sentence, this confession, jolts through both you and Omega like a blaster bolt. It's more than enough to make the tears start forming in her eyes, and the questions to build up in yours.

🩶 He doesn't seem to be done talking yet, though, because what spills out of him next speaks volumes.

🩶 "I thought they would--protect us, but they lied. They've been lying this whole time."

🩶 By this point, his hand is shaking so much that you don't think about it, that you don't dare to ask any more questions for fear of making an already painful thing several times worse.

🩶 Rather, you're just moving in to take a gentle hold upon it, if only to offer him whatever comfort that you can.

🩶 To your own comfort, though, he doesn't flinch, pull away, or start telling you off in front of Omega even though you would understand perfectly if he did.

🩶 Instead, whatever's causing all of his ills today eases just a little at the moment of contact with you, because the next thing you both know, his panicked breathing is slowing down and his tense posture starts to loosen up.

🩶 This moment can't last very long, though, because as Omega quietly reminds you, she still has to call home and she thought she heard voices calling in the distance. There is literally no time to lose.

🩶 In turn, you don't mind bringing both of your guests to the old spaceport that used to be your family's business during the war, but since then has had to be converted to a ship repair shop like several more wartime industries have done on your planet. However, there are still a few things you can use here, because you haven't exactly let everything go to rust.

🩶 One of these things is the communication console, a somewhat rusted thing, but still able to access encrypted links like the one on board the Marauder. It's here that Omega hears the voices of her surviving brothers for the first time in what feels like forever, and like any other missing child would do, she's able to let a few relieved sobs out of her system.

🩶 She's also composed herself enough to plan her next few steps, for her next move is to go straight to one of Ryloth's moons for a pick-up...or so she tells the two men on the other end of this line.

🩶 You can only hope that this means she wants to surprise them, guaranteeing two returns of lost family members for the price of one flight, as the old sale slogan goes.

🩶 At this same time, though, Crosshair's got a surprise of his own, for as Omega's busy talking, he's busy signaling to you without saying a word. It's the old spacewalk sign language, the one developed by the first workers within the asteroid belt for when their comms stopped working...and right now, he's telling you that he won't be following Omega down the ramp when the time comes.

🩶 How come, you sign back, a look of confusion upon your face. Don't you want to go with her?

🩶 They'll be looking for two clones traveling together, not separately...and besides, I already know I won't be welcome there.

🩶 Oh...? And where do you plan to go, if not with her?

🩶 I'll improvise. Now...act natural.

🩶 Both of you fall awkwardly silent as Omega finishes her comm; then skips back to you with the most heartbreaking of hopeful grins.

🩶 "They're coming to pick us up," she announces, twirling around in place like a happy little service droid. "We get to go home, home, home!"

🩶  "That's--that's great, Omega," Crosshair manages, forcing out the words as though trying not to choke on them. "Just--don't forget not to leave anything behind, all right?"

🩶  That's your cue to signal to them to go back to the house with you--you definitely have to hide the extra used dishes and utensils until further notice, what decent person wouldn't--but before you do, you're careful to make sure that the shop sign stays upon the word "Closed". The last thing anybody needs right now is some pushy customer demanding service.

🩶  Once you take all of the necessary precautions, though...you have to take just one more look around this little home of yours, if only to reassure yourself that you'll return to it soon, if not eventually.

🩶  After all, just like your mother used to say, the galaxy can be a huge, scary place.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Kitty Elliot AU #6

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: mention of animal death, non con

The box was dark. 

So dark, his eyes could not see through it. The first time, there was light from the keyhole, but then Master fixed it and the light was gone.

It was a strong box too. So strong he could not claw through it. And the punishment after hurt too much to try again. 

It was small, and cramped, and often Pet would sweat and have to breathe through the pressure on his bruises and neck and feet and everything. The box hurt.

But it was not the worst part of the box.

The worst part, in his opinion (which he had lots of time to think about), was that the box could be moved.

He could be taken anywhere while inside. He could be tossed into a fire, or left by the side of a busy road. Or his worst fear, thrown in the river to drown, as if he were a sack of unwanted kittens.

Master loved the box as much as Pet hated it. Convenient, he called it. 

The only thing Master liked more (and which Pet hated more) was the muzzle.

Gods, the muzzle.

It was a horror of a device, leather straps and metal face panels and it hurt hurt hurt.

Tears dripped down his face as Pet sat still, staring at the bundle of steel in his hands. Master loosened the straps, unbuckling them slowly as if to taunt. 

“You’re going to be a good boy, right?”

Pet nodded. He’d been good for years. He didn’t need the muzzle anymore, but Master never played fair.

He whined through gritted teeth as Master fit the metal over his nose and under his jaw.

“Shh,” Master said. “Or I’ll get the bit too. Do you want the bit?” 

The bit was a steel rod that went between his teeth and over his tongue, forcing his mouth open. It made the tight muzzle even tighter, and together they were the most awful thing in the world.

Pet froze and made no sound, which was the correct answer. “I thought so,” said Master.

Master adjusted the leather, the metal cutting into his face and squeezing his jaw shut. Pet screwed his eyes closed, trying not to let anymore tears fall.

If he began to bleed again, the salt would sting, and he didn’t want anymore pain.

“Good boy,” Master said, patting his cheek. Pet leaned into his palm, already miserable.

He could only breathe through his nose now, and it was a struggle not to claw at the thing on his face. The steel noseband cut into the bridge of it, and his scar reopened as it always did. The skin there was already sore.

Blood slowly pooled and dripped down his nose. He whimpered, but it was a mistake.

Master grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking it back. “Quiet,” he hissed. “Not a sound. Understand?”

Pet silenced himself, pain radiating down his spine. Tears welled up in his eyes against his will, Master becoming blurry.

“Stupid animal,” Master said, and he was so angry. Fear buzzed in Pet’s ears, and he hoped Master would be merciful.

“Get up,” he ordered, and hope vanished as quickly as it had come. He stood, Master’s hand still buried in his hair.

Master dragged him upstairs, and shoved him over the bed. Pet gripped the sheets, fur raised in terror.

Master kicked his legs apart, yanking down his underwear, the only clothing he was allowed besides the collar.

Pet heard the tell-tale sound of Master’s belt slipping through the loops, and he shuddered. He could barely breathe, and his heart was rabbit fast.

Master cupped his ass, smoothing his tail up and out of the way. He was always gentle before a punishment, and Pet savored the fleeting kindness.

He pushed a thumb down on an old bruise, and Pet choked on his tears to keep quiet.

“Don’t get any blood on my sheets,” warned Master, and it was an impossible order.

He jolted at the first blow, the sudden sting surprising him. He focused on breathing, but each new strike knocked it out of him.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Soon his tears began to mix with blood, the salt getting into his cut.

His ass burned but Master didn’t stop. Pet buried his face into the bed, screaming closed-mouth into the sheets and praying he wouldn’t be heard.

His legs shook and his fists clenched the blankets so hard he distantly thought they might tear.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Pet cried and cried, until Master finally, finally stopped. His hand stoked over the welts, and Pet couldn’t help but flinch away.

“So cute,” cooed Master. “I like you best when your butt is all red and sore.” 

Pet sniffled, and the metal dug deeper into his skin. 

But it was not over. 

He heard the sound of a zipper, and Pet forced himself to blink away the tears. He tried to relax his muscles, but he was paralyzed with dread.

Master began to stroke himself, and Pet could hear the skin on skin. Master sighed, content, and Pet felt the heavy heat of his cock rest on his ass. 

Pet took in a sharp breath as Master forced himself inside. It burned burned burned, and stung and tore and Pet gritted his teeth and tried not to scream.

It didn’t work.

___________________

“We’re going on a trip,” Master said, packing a trunk with clothes. “Go fetch your box.”

Pet obeyed, dragging it upstairs. He didn’t want to, but there was no choice. Pets didn’t get choices.

“Good boy,” Master said, patting his hair. “Are you going to need your muzzle?”

Pet shook his head. “Let’s keep it that way, hm?” He gently pushed Pet down into the box, and Pet curled up the best he could, heart pounding. It was already hard to keep calm, and the lid wasn’t even shut yet.

Even worse, the inside was dusty and dirty from lack of use. It would take effort not to sneeze.

Pet closed his eyes, and pretended he was just going to take a nap.

He heard the hinges close, the lock snap shut, and he was sealed in.

He gasped for air, and slapped a palm over his mouth. Not a sound, not a sound, not a sound-

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[ofstoriesandstardust]

go gentle into that good night (j.h.s.)

a/n: as always, this is for my dearly beloved @cottagecori for letting me ramble and explain and talk through ever angsty idea i have ever had.

summary: The tale of two parties

second star to the right (and straight on 'til morning)

warnings: rumored cheating, existential crisis, miscommunication, angst, swearing, alcohol mentions

word count: 1.4k

You always forget how much cooler it is out here by the ocean. 

It’ll still be a few more months before anyone outside of seasoned surfers will brave the darkened water crashing onto the shore a ways out, but for now it’s calm and quiet as the cooler temperatures keep tourists away. 

It's something your friends have taken advantage of as you sit around the firepit, hot dogs roasting and music and laughter echoing all around you. The salt in the air is strong and you lean closer into Jake as a strong breeze runs through. 

The shiver that runs down your spine has nothing to do with the bite of the wind. 

They’re all talking about their next steps, what comes after graduation, and your stomach turns at the thought of confessing that you don’t actually know. 

The conversation you’d had with Pete earlier in the day while you’d waited for Bradley to dig through his parent’s garage for beach chairs plays on a loop, drowning out the words of your friends. 

“It’s okay not to know what you’re doing!” Pete says with a laugh. 

You worry at your bottom lip before sighing. “I just… everyone I know has these cool job offers or grad school acceptances they’re flaunting on social media, and I feel like I’m… falling behind.” You admit quietly. “Is this all I’m ever gonna be?” 

Pete’s face falls at that. “Listen to me. You are incredibly intelligent. You have a very bright future ahead of you, even if that might be hard to see that right now. There are so many people in your life who are supporting you and rooting for you. You’ll figure it out, even if it takes you a little bit longer than others.” Pete pauses. “What are Jake’s plans?” 

You shrug. “I think he’s expecting me to come with him wherever he goes.” 

Pete pulls a face, full of emotion you aren’t sure you understand. “What?” 

He hesitates. “It’s probably not my place, you both are my students-” 

“What?” You insist. 

“I just don’t want to see you confine your future for somebody else. I meant it when I said when you were one of the smartest students I have ever taught. You have the whole world at your feet. And I just… don’t want to watch you give that all up for somebody who might not be with you in five years time.” 

A call of your name startles you back into the present and you blink, realizing Bob is asking if you have any plans for after graduation. You groan, covering your face. “Please don’t ask me that.” 

Jake nudges you. “Don’t you want to go to grad school?” 

“Yes, but I also want to take some time off. I guess, I don’t know. Can we please stop asking me about this and talk about something else?”

Javy lets out a little chuckle. “Hey, worst comes to worst, you can always be a wag.” 

You blink. “A what?” 

“A wag! It’s like a slang term for wives and girlfriends of football players.” 

“So like... a trophy wife?” 

“Kind of-” 

“Machado, you say this like she’d want to be stuck with Seresin for that long.” 

Jake’s eyes narrow at Bradley. “Bradshaw-” 

“Okay, I’m tired of this, we’re moving on.” Natasha cuts the boy off with a roll of her eyes. “Who wants another drink?” 

Natasha begins to pass out more cans from the cooler as you tuck yourself further into Jake. Another shiver goes down your spine as you wrap your arms around you. 

“Are you cold?” Jake asks, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Do you want to go?” 

You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine.” 

Jake nods, eyes searching yours before pulling his arm tighter around you as he rejoins the conversation. 

And I just… don’t want to watch you give that all up for somebody who might not be with you in five years time.

-

The knock at your door is quickly followed by a call from Jake. 

His beaming face in his contact photo appears as you hear him knock again. You answer the call with a click, smiling lazily as you turn down the volume of M*A*S*H* on your screen. 

“Hello?” 

“Let me in.” Jake’s words are almost a borderline whine. 

You hum, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know, I’m doing research.” 

He huffs. “You’re just watching M*A*S*H* again, aren’t you?”

“Hey, it’s relevant to my topic.” 

He huffs again. “Please.” 

You roll your eyes and hang up the call before slipping your blanket and laptop off of you and onto the couch. You pad over the front door of your apartment, pulling it open to see Jake. 

His smile blooms at the sight of you as he stumbles forward to give you a hug. You stumble a few feet back with all his weight pressed against you. “Jesus, you’re a clingy drunk.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around him as you try to find your balance. “You’re supposed to be at Bradley’s party.” 

With the conclusion of the baseball season (and his parents out of town), Bradley had thrown a party at his parents. You’d opted out of the evening to stay home and do homework, which had ultimately ended up with your scrolling through social media and doing very little work. 

Jake hums into your shoulder and you can feel the outline of his smile. “But I wanted to see my girl.” 

“You could’ve seen me tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow me will be hungover.” 

“And drunk you thought it would be a good idea to come all the way over here?” 

“Of course I did. I love you.” 

The words Jake uses makes your breath catch in your throat. 

Not that he loves seeing you or that he loves spending time with you, but that he loves you. 

“Jake, I-” You swallow, unsure of what to say to him in response. 

You’re sure that your feelings for Jake had evolved to love, but you weren’t sure if he reciprocated them and certainly had not expected for him to say them first. 

And you certainly hadn’t expected it to be while he was drunk, whiskey scent strong on him. 

Jake, however, does not seem to sense the gravity of his words as he pushes himself off of you and wanders into your apartment. You shut the door behind him, still feeling a bit dumbfounded. 

“Hey, do you have any- Found it!” you follow him into your kitchen, where Jake is triumphantly holding a jar of Nutella. 

“Jake, you don’t even like Nutella.” The blond frowns at the jar, as if he’s trying to remember if that’s true. “Why don’t you just come sit on the couch with me?”

Jake abandons the jar without a second though, plopping himself down on the furniture. You let out a sigh, feeling all kinds of off-kilter before moving your laptop to the coffee table before slipping back underneath the blanket and holding it up for Jake. 

It takes some shifting and adjusting but he ultimately ends up sprawled out on your couch, head resting against your thigh. 

“This is a good episode.” He murmurs and you glance back up at the TV. After watching for a few minutes, you realize it’s the episode where Hawkeye and Trapper are replacing Henry’s desk. 

You let out a chuckle. “It is.” 

Jake hums against your skin. “I love you.” He whispers on a breath out, so quiet you’re sure you aren't meant to catch the words. 

It makes your heart stop again as you wonder if you’re meant to say them back. 

Not like this. Not when he won’t remember come tomorrow. 

-

The volume of the TV is soft, the laugh track quiet as Jake’s breathing slows. He’s fallen asleep against your thigh, you realize, as your fingers gently card through his hair. 

Your phone buzzes from underneath your leg and you’re careful to not disturb Jake as you adjust to pull it out. You smile softly as his features soften as you begin to scratch his scalp. 

That smile fades as you squint at the text preview on the screen in front of you. 

hey, i’m really sorry to be the one to tell you this but i think it’s better if i tell you before you hear about it from someone else

You frown, feeling your fingers slow in Jake’s hair as you quickly unlock the device, opening it to your text thread with Bradley. 

The bubble pops up a few times as the TV goes to commercial before you mute it entirely. 

When you look back at your phone, your stomach drops at what awaits you. 

there’s a rumor going around jake hooked up with another girl at the party tonight

and i think it might be true

i’m really sorry

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Disappointment the Main Maggot

Assorted gentlefolk, may I first introduce to you, @good-usernames-were-taken, the chaotic and iconic maggot Valerie. She is currently enabling me in various endeavours of brainrot, which will be revealed shortly.

But before that, this maggot had the great pleasure of participating in an actual maggot race during a biology practical class. And I absolutely have to share the tale with you because, with all due respect, what the fuck. I am writing this post listening to Katy Perry's Dark Horse on loop which I think is very sexy of me. Now gird your loins because it's story time.

A week or so ago, Valerie walked into her biology practical class. It was a day like any other. She did not know her life would be changed until she spotted a tray of live maggots that had not been there the week before.

It turned out that their assignment that class was to change the conditions that the maggots were in, and see how it affected them physically. But how would the students test it?

They decided on a maggot race. Each of them selected a maggot to represent them.

Valerie was thinking strategically. She picked a promising maggot, and to quote her, "I selected a really ugly one and it was really fat and I thought that would give it the upper hand, cause it would block its opponents from the race course."

Maggot-shaming aside, Valerie had full faith in her maggot. So much so that she bet 20 pence on 'this thing'.

The time for the race drew near, and then it had begun, and all the maggots started to move. EXCEPT HERS.

What followed next is best explained in Valerie's own, traumatised, words:

"This fat creature just sat there, looking at me. The emotions running through my head were just... I was so disappointed. Five minute passed. Nothing. The little shit was just staring at me.

And then it does something.

It starts to move.

It moves backwards.

IT MOVES AWAY FROM THE FINISH. MY FAT MAGGOT LANDED LAST. LAST PLACE.

So I called it Disappointment."

Now, maggots of mine, you know I love you all. I do. But we all have to agree that Disappointment is absolute the Maggot. The Main Fucking Event. A generational icon, acting in defiance of science and logic, a true representative of the human condition.

Please find below a sketch of Disappointment the Main Maggot by Valerie, to be hung in the Maggot Hall of Shame.

For the unaware, maggots actually do not have faces. This is an entirely accurate sketch. Thank you Valerie, and Disappointment.

Now I've been informed that I now need to be aware that I have a lot of people reading my content, and act accordingly. So I'm going to add morals to the story!

Remember: Disappointment the Main Maggot says no to following the crowd. It says a fuck you to hustle culture. It holds up a metaphorical middle finger to the System. Disappointment the Main Maggot is out there living its best fat maggot life. It did not care that it was a prime contender with a bodily advantage and there were monetary stakes involved.

Disappointment is Slaying. Be like Disappointment. I'm the Good Omens Mascot. Disappointment is the Maggot Mascot.

We will end this story time with a bit of poetry by Valerie, a haiku, in fact:

Oh Disappointment I put all my faith in you Fat ugly maggot.

[lancermylove]

Date with Belphie (Scenario)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Belphie x gn!Reader

Warning: None

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Hi! This is my first request, idk if I over did with the million ideas 🐌 hope any of them are good enough! Fandom: Obey me! I'm thinking about an oneshot or scenario of taking belphie to a date with a rich GN!mc, something like clothes shopping for him - going to a theater with a dramatic story and mc crying with the end like: IF IT WERE US I WOULD HAVE SCAPED TO BE WITH YOU!! - going to a big masquerade but preferring the balcony to see the stars - them visiting a festival and belphie buying flowers for them from a walking seller that called them a cute married couple. Or maybe them taking ball dancing lessons together 🥺💕

A/N: Thank you for sending in the request! I am sorry for taking so long to finish it. 🙇🏻‍♀️ There are a lot of ideas for just one date, so I picked a few. Hope you like it!

Word Count: 916

———————————————

The city was alive with the hum of evening chatter, glowing streetlights, and the sweet scent of blooming flowers planted alongside the street. You smiled at Belphegor, who seemed curious and mildly annoyed as he tried on another coat. You had spent the past hour browsing through clothes racks, insisting on finding the perfect outfit for tonight. Belphie, while generally indifferent to fashion, appreciated your enthusiasm and played along.

"Do I really need to try on another one?" Belphie asked in a playful whine.

You grinned, taking a step closer to adjust the lapels of his coat. "Just one more. You'll see, it's worth it. Besides, you look amazing."

A faint blush colored his cheeks, but he rolled his eyes. "If you say so, but you're lucky that I am willing to forgo sleep for you."

The two of you stared at each other before laughing. While the laughter echoed softly in the quiet of the upscale boutique, no one bothered to look at either of you. After a few more minutes of indecisiveness, you finally settled on the midnight blue coat paired with a sleek black shirt. It was perfect for the evening you had planned—a night of theater and a festival under the stars.

As you entered the theater buzzing with anticipation, your arm looped through Belphie's. The venue's grandeur, with its gold trimmings and velvet curtains, only heightened your excitement. The play you had chosen was renowned for its intense storyline and emotional depth. You couldn't wait to see his reaction to the emotional rollercoaster and secretly hoped he wouldn't fall asleep in the middle of the play.

As the play progressed, you were drawn into the story—a tale of love, betrayal, and sacrifice. When the climax approached, you were on the edge of your seat while your heart pounded. By then, you forgot to steal glances at Belphie to see his reaction and ensure he wasn't asleep. The lead characters, caught in a forbidden romance, were forced to make an impossible choice. The tension built until the final act, where the lovers chose to stay bounded to their responsibility instead of escaping and living freely together.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you gripped Belphie's hand tightly. The passion in the characters' voices and the anguish in their expressions were overwhelming.

"If it were us," you whispered, barely audible over the dramatic crescendo of the music, "I would have escaped to be with you."

Belphie turned his head, his gaze softening as he looked at you. His thumb brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing gesture. "I know you would. And I'd do the same for you."

The play ended in a whirlwind of applause, but you remained seated to compose yourself. However, Belphie gently tugged you to your feet, his smile warm and reassuring.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get some fresh air."

The night air was cool, and a gentle breeze carried the sounds of laughter and music from a nearby festival. The lively atmosphere was a welcome change from the heavy emotions you experienced in the theater. Colorful lights twinkled overhead, and the air was filled with the delicious aroma of street food. If Beel were with the two of you, he would have downed every last crumb available in the stall—the thought made you giggle. Belphie also seemed relaxed in the vibrant environment as he scanned the area with a soft smile.

You wandered through the stalls, sampling various treats and admiring the artistry of local vendors. The festival was a beautiful mosaic of cultures and traditions, each corner offering something new and exciting. When the two of you walked past an elderly flower seller, her eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Flowers for the lovely couple?" she asked, her gaze shifting between you and Belphie.

"Yes, please," your boyfriend smoothly said as he selected a small bouquet of white lilies. Handing them to you, he paid and thanked the seller, who was quietly studying your expression.

"Such a cute married couple," she murmured before returning to the other side of her stall. From the smile she gave you, it was evident that the woman was only teasing you, but your cheeks burned red. Belphie also picked up on the mischievous tone in her voice, but his focus was on you. Seeing your flushed face and attempts to hide behind your face behind the bouquet, he chuckled.

Belphie smirked and wrapped an arm around your shoulders before pulling you close to his side. "Should we explore more of the festival, my dear wife/husband?"

Despite your shyness, you laughed and nodded. "There's a lot more to see."

As the night drew on, you found a quiet spot away from the crowd and sat together on a bench beneath a canopy of stars. Belphie leaned back, gazing up at the sky with a content expression.

"Thank you," he said after a while. "For tonight. For everything."

You leaned against him while the lilies rested in your lap. "Thank you for coming with me. I had a wonderful time."

He turned his head to look at you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the festival lights. "I'm glad. Because there's no one else I'd rather be with."

As your heart swelled at his words, you leaned closer to kiss his cheek softly. "Me neither, Belphie."

Under the vast, starry sky, you sat together, enjoying the peaceful silence between you and your boyfriend—a perfect ending to a perfect night.

———————————————

➣ Obey Me Masterlist: [1][2][3][4] ➣ Main Masterlist

[oftenwantedafton]

The Perfect Girl - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 1

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - none for this chapter

Excerpt: Dave Miller sees you hesitate. Perhaps reluctant to stay alone in the dark. Perhaps some sense of self preservation is finally kicking in, making you wary of following a virtual stranger more than two decades older into the recesses of an abandoned restaurant.

No one knows you’re here.

Anything could happen.

Also available on AO3

Fate brings you into the man calling himself Dave Miller’s path on a Monday afternoon.

You’re in line ahead of him at a kiosk at the mall, where a vendor sells bags of artificially colored and flavored popcorn. There are a variety of unusual offerings like chocolate orange and strawberries and cream and peanut butter and jelly, the latter dyed purple and yellow. That was a personal favorite of his.

You’re next. You take a step forward and Dave moves right behind. He hooks a thumb in one of the belt loops of his security guard uniform pants and fiddles with the heavy ring of keys. There are so many. He doesn’t even know what half of them are for, in truth; only concerned with the ones that matter.

He can smell your fragrance from here. Not some cloying perfume that older women seem to favor, but something fruity and vibrant. A body spray of some sort perhaps. He also detects a light floral scent from your shampoo. You’re not long out of the shower, he thinks.

You order Wacky Watermelon. The kernels are colored red and green. You rummage in your purse. A tidy little thing, compact, thin strap, single compartment. It appears you’re a little short on cash.

“I’ve got it,” the security guard says, stepping beside you, reaching for his wallet.

Your cheeks flush. Such a pretty pink hue. “That’s ok, I…”

“It would be my pleasure.” He smiles. It’s a large one, lips stretching over sharp looking teeth. A bit intimidating.

“Oh, okay. Th…thank you,” you stammer.

So now you are indebted to him. At least, that is how he sees it. You collect your bag of popcorn and smile nervously.

“I’ll treat you next time. I just got a job working over there.” You point to a clothing store for young adults. He can hear the music blaring inside from here. The mannequins in the storefront windows are currently wearing distressed denim leggings and cropped hoodies. The fashion of today’s youth is something that eludes Dave, but then again, he supposes every generation has their trends. He’s seen bell bottoms and leg warmers come and go. Earth tones and neon. Now this blatant exposure. A jarring mismatch of wanting to be covered but also exposing tantalizing amounts of flesh. And he was not supposed to look. Well.

You don’t appear to subscribe to that same sense of style. Your clothing is demure. Everything covered. Not too tight. Hinting at nothing. Leaving it to the imagination. He likes to imagine.

He nods and a piece of the dark hair that’s a bit untidy falls over his brow. He sees you swallow thickly. How lovely your throat is.

“So I gotta get back. I’ll see you around.”

Oh, indeed you will, he thinks.

***

It’s Thursday. It’s pouring outside and the mall is crowded, people driven to find activities indoors. The pizzeria would have been very busy on a day like today, if it was still open.

He wanders the dusty rooms. Brushes fingers over the joysticks and buttons on the arcade cabinets. Draws back the stage curtains to view the animatronics frozen in place, waiting patiently for a future peformance. He’ll wake them again, when the time is right. He returns to the security office and surveys the monitors. There are intruders on occasion, but they’re rare, as the restaurant is actually concealed behind a wall, its existence forgotten. Those that do happen to stumble into it, well. They don’t live to tell the tale. So it remains hidden, secret. Like his real identity as the former owner of the establishment, William Afton.

He eases back into the office chair and it creaks loudly in the stillness. He can spare a few more moments before he returns to his actual job patrolling the shopping mall. How tedious it is. Assisting customers when they’ve locked themselves out of their cars. Giving directions, usually to the restroom even though there are mall directories everywhere. The occasional shoplifter. Reuniting lost children with their parents. That last task was especially difficult to keep a straight face during. It’s a waiting game, something to do to fill the in between times, until he can begin the work again. At least it gives him an alibi, an excuse to be near his old restaurant.

He’s thirsty.

The soda vending machines are empty, of course, the supplies of the franchise’s stock long depleted. No more Freddy Fazbear’s Fizzy Cola or Bonnie’s Bodacious Orange Blast. He’ll need to get something from one of the vendors in the food court. Perhaps you’ll go with him, pay him back as it were.

He has found you coming into his mind all week.

He’d seen you a few times during his patrol. Paused to watch you refold sweaters and organize pants hanging on a rack when he thinks you’re unaware. Sometimes he waits for you to notice and he waves and smiles. A softer gesture, no teeth. You wave uncertainly back.

The wheels drag across the floor as Miller pushes back from the desk and rises to his feet. It’s time to leave his beloved pizzeria. For now.

***

You’re in high school. Senior year. Eighteen, an only child. Parents divorced. You’ve just purchased your first car. Want to study Archaeology, specialize in Egyptology.

You’re babbling, alternating between nibbling on a chocolate bar and sipping lemon lime soda. Dave patiently listens to the prattling. He likes the way your glossed lips look wrapped around the straw, the suction you apply. He takes a sample of his own cherry soda and leans back. The metal cafe chairs in the food court aren’t the most comfortable, especially since his legs are so long, his six foot four frame cramped. But he’ll endure it, and gladly. The chatter and the discomfort pale in comparison to what he wants to take from you.

“How long have you worked here?” You ask him, taking another bite of milk chocolate.

“Two years, nearly.”

“What’s the most interesting thing that’s happened? Like, did you ever have to call the police or anything?”

“There are the occasional shoplifters. Nothing dramatic.” The security guard takes another pull from his drink.

You look a little disappointed. “Oh, okay.” The candy wrapper is empty. He can hear the ice rattling around in the nearly empty cup. Your time together seems to be running short. “Well, I gotta get back. It was nice talking to you.”

“Likewise. I appreciate the beverage.” He finishes his drink and dumps it into the trash bin nearby.

Dave accompanies you back to the clothing store. There’s no reason for it. You don’t need an escort or a guide. But it’s an excuse to be by your side a little longer. You’re wearing a different body spray today but this scent is equally as appealing. Vanilla. Warm and sugary.

“Have a good rest of your shift,” you say, stepping back into the store you’re employed at. Dave watches your thread your way between the shelves and the racks and he thinks he’s going to bring you into the darkness of the pizzeria very soon.

***

The following Sunday. Sunny, mild, the perfect spring day. The mall is less crowded, customers seeking the good weather outdoors.

Dave braves the music and enters the clothing store you work at. You’re leaning against the counter. He’s watched you wipe down the same clean space five times in as many minutes. Keep glancing at the clock, eager for the shift to end. You’re clearly bored.

The security guard joins you at the counter and leans. Narrow hips much higher next to your curves. Arms folded over a gray shirt with black epaulets. Long and lean. The heavy ring of keys jangling when he shifts positions.

“Is it me, or is today incredibly dull?”

“Oh my gosh, yes,” you agree immediately.

“What time do you get off?”

“Two.”

“I’ve got something to show you.”

The phrasing throws you off. He can feel you stiffen a bit beside him, your breath catching.

“I’ve found an old arcade walled up at the other end of the mall. Thought maybe you’d like to go explore. It looks pretty interesting.”

“Oh!” You exclaim. He feels the tension ease in your limbs. Back to trusting again. “That’s kind of neat.”

“Don’t tell anyone about it, okay? I don’t want people to find out. It’s just our little secret.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll come back at two to get you.” He pushes off from the counter, raking a hand through the dark locks that are just a touch too long.

“Okay.” You sound a bit uncertain. But the deal has been struck. It doesn’t matter if you’re a bit wary.

He’s got you right where he wants you.

***

Dave Miller doesn’t really need the flashlight.

He knows his restaurant by heart, of course; knows the placement of every machine and table and chair and counter. But he has to illuminate the path, for your sake.

You follow close behind him. He has a habit of stopping abruptly and you collide against his spine more than once. You don’t see his feral grin.

He beams the light around so you can see the remains of the pizzeria’s glory: the claw machines and the pinball cases, the partially stocked prize counters and the arcade cabinets.

“What’s behind the curtains?” He sees you looking curiously at the stage.

“Animatronics.”

“Like Chuck E. Cheese?”

Miller scowls. “A superior version. They copied Freddy Fazbear’s.”

“It’s a shame there’s no electricity. I would totally give some of these games a try.”

“Oh, there is. I just have to hit the switch. It’s way in the back near the offices. Are you going to come with me or stay here?”

He sees you hesitate. Perhaps reluctant to stay alone in the dark. Perhaps some sense of self preservation is finally kicking in, making you wary of following a virtual stranger more than two decades older into the recesses of an abandoned restaurant. No one knows you’re here. Anything could happen.

“I’ll come with you.”

Dave grins. “Follow me.”