#it is kind of wild

[eydilily]

gem n joel the strongest duo (family) that you are

and of course. her

[mmhue]

I might never be over this temporary fictional video game death from 2017 btw

[axoqiii]

its your turn

[madsraa]

I’ve been meaning to paint a gray, cloudy botw/totk piece for so long!

[notacluedo]

jean baby boy

+ lil Andrew

[mmelete]

Pretty sure this happened in Wild’s era, right?

Based on @rebornofstars’ idea!

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived

[vegley]

a tad late to the party, but here’s my entry for @cherrifire’s dtiys ^_^

[the-phantom-peach]

mmmm something something time rift blah blah yada yada ✨links meet au✨

[astrowarr]

on grian's "that's how little that board meant; i was in good favor" line:

i don't think grian forgot about his 0 and frowny face, i think it just didn't matter to him. think about it: he's been sleeping in scar's bed. he spends so much time in the bamboozler's base that it takes a solid 30 seconds after he respawns there for any of them to register his presence as Wrong. he and scar have been taking jabs back and forth, yeah, and he knew about his score on the reputation board, but...

grian also knows that scar's actions will always speak much louder than his silver words. he knows scar, knows how he operates. not just that, but he knows first-hand how baseless and inconsequential every line on that board on monopoly mountain was in the end. scar's words have never meant anything, and grian knows that. you can't trust a thing he says, but his hands and his eyes don't lie; at least not to grian. that's what he was thinking about: the desert and the love it held

[sherlockggrian]

my piece for the Wild Life @trafficzine :). someone get gem some help with these guys

[eydilily]

would you bite the hand that feeds you?

[geekgirles]

Ironically, I feel we, as a Phandom, don't talk about Sam's Friend to All Living Things status enough.

[hibernationfibres]

✨Pattern now live!✨

Thank you all so much for the enthusiasm for this project!! So many people asked if there was a pattern, so I got to work. The pattern is now complete and available for purchase :D

Ravelry: £6

Etsy: £7 (to compensate for fees)

Update: price increased as I realised how far I've been undercharging 😅

[syoddeye]

you get a new neighbor.

he moves into the flat across the courtyard. same floor, same narrow balcony. a smoker with restless, twitchy hands. you catch glimpses of him through the blinds.

you’ve never been one to keep them open—facing another unit all these years, privacy has been a comfort. but now, often without thinking, your fingers find the cord, tilting the cheap plastic slats just enough to peek through.

unlike you, he doesn’t bother with curtains. either unbothered or proud of his sparsely decorated, meticulously kept space. when he’s home, he spends hours in full view of his windows. sinking into his couch with a controller in hand, headset on. sometimes, not as often, a book. pacing, phone pressed to his ear, wearing a track into the floor.

more often than not, though, he’s maintaining his body. that, he clearly takes pride in. push-ups. crunches. weights. he’s fit. almost always shirtless. almost always in joggers or shorts. a thick pelt of hair across his chest, matching the wild, overgrown mess on his head. whatever cut he once had, it’s grown out strangely—a longer ridge along the top of his skull, like the raised hackles of a dog. it connects to an untrimmed tangle of a beard, hiding what must be a sharp jawline if it matches the body.

you know what it looks like—watching someone like this. if you admitted it to anyone, they’d call you a creep. a pervert.

but you can’t stop.

you don’t even know when your new little habit began. the moment the sun sinks, your lights go off. you sit in the dark, barely moving behind the slats. waiting. watching.

your spine goes rigid, every nerve at attention, when he steps onto the balcony for one of his many smokes of the night. saliva pools on your tongue in anticipation.

a cigarette dangles from his lips, moonlight catching every plane and muscle of his torso. he stretches. his big, broad back flexes as he grips the rail. biceps bulging when he pulls one arm over his chest, then the other, thatches of pit hair poking out.

however, it’s his eyes that draw you in.

bright blue. too bright. a glowing, animalic eyeshine. fresnel lenses, catching and refracting the light. as unnatural as they are alluring. unsettling in a way that itches at the back of your skull—but still, it makes you want to wrench the door open and leap across to him.

the same feeling you get standing at the edge of a cliff or rooftop.

then, he lifts his head. tilts it back until his nose juts into the air and sniffs.

you freeze. glance up at the closed, locked glass door. he can’t.

smoke billows from his lips as his gaze sweeps the courtyard. down at the ground, then scanning the floor beneath you. searching.

a shiver slides down your spine. you will yourself smaller, pressing into the shadows. he can’t possibly know you’re watching, let alone smell you through the walls and windows.

but then, just as you think he’ll go back inside, he turns his head slightly, just a fraction, toward you.

the cigarette burns, momentarily forgotten, between his fingers. his gaze fixes on you, direct and unblinking.

but there’s no way. no way he sees you in the dark.

then he smiles. the barest quirk of his lips. a knowing pull at the corner of his mouth.

he turns, steps inside, and yanks his blinds shut.

your breath catches. the slats slap against each other as you jerk back, heart hammering, blood roaring in your ears. you reach for the cord, fumbling, pulling too hard—yanking the entire thread free with a sharp, splintering snap.

not two minutes later, as you’re still panicking, up on your toes, uselessly trying to thread it back into place—an insistent knock rattles your door.

[sometimesrendog]

[Day 172] Uiscefhuaraithe / The feel of coldness only water brings