#I may have forgotten things but I also hope it makes sense lol

[micechicken]

you should share some about your hatty time au >:) i think the ppl should know

⚫u⚫ okai

Extended Subcon AU

This AU was inspired by both Shane Frost comics of the original plot, some of the beta content, and even a little moleman with my own interpretations and headcanons. Not any shapeshifter or birds stuff since it has no use in this AU.

The concept is post game and is meant to focus on MANY of the characters not just the subcon ones. Although it does go into The Prince and Vanessa as moon jumper's whole thing is sorrow, however MJ is not born of any subcon character's sadness, he is born of the subconscious and nightmares.

But the idea is. One day a mysterious being comes to loom over subcon and the residents are quiet upset and look to Snatcher who is basically their king anyway. Snatcher is rightfully upset this random spirit is upsetting the dead, but is not certain on what to do seals Moon Jumper in the the horizon so that he can't hurt anyone until something is figured out or understood. ("Not this bitch again")

But over time Moon Jumper gains more and more power as he approaches the moon and overtakes lands leading characters to flee their homes for safety and end up stuck together only making matters worse (Moon Jumper basically feeds off negativity and even ruins good things to get more).

Instead of just being a manifestation/spirit of someone, Moon Jumper is something that exists regardless and latches onto someone and uses them as a power source and takes on their appearance.

In this case Mustache Girl is the one trapped.

We don't actually see Hat Kid for most of the parts about them fleeing as she arrives after they send for her and Bow Kid. And she must get to Mustache Girl in order to defeat Moon Jumper and save the planet.

As to why it's Mustache Girl, this is going down the route of if Hat Kid/Bow Kid doesn't give the Timepiece to Mustache Girl at the end. So Mustache Girl is upset and wants to get her home back and Moon Jumper sorta makes a deal with her but it's not really what she wanted.

Also unlike The Prince or Neth, Mustache Girl goes unharmed thanks to everybody :3

It features my OCs Nicole, Wolfie, and my other unnamed one (ferrywoman). And also some of my sister's cause why not. But they are mostly for comedy and world and are not heavy focus.

I'll also mention some Subcon things cause it's part of it.

Subcon often gets random objects appearing inside it so there's a bunch of random stuff around subcon come say it's just Snatcher taking things from others (with some otherworldly power), but often Snatcher packages them for his Minions as gifts to put in their mail. It's sorta implied they are physical manifestations of things people want or miss that Subcon creates.

In the original plot the ice came from Moon Jumper, and in this case, it sorta does at least indirectly at first. Because Moon Jumper existed behind the scenes and indirectly lead to The Prince's death as he drained Vanessa of joy and instilled fear making her grow cold and cause the ice that killed the children and made her lock The Prince up.

He just funnels the power into Vanessa until he gets Mustache Girl to have a more physical form and to Jump the moon and incasing the planet in ice. Moon Jumper just wants to destroy all good and create only bad.

Since the time keepers don't interfere with this world Moon Jumper was not sealed by them like in the original, instead he didn't manage to get the Prince when he died and took form as Snatcher, so he sulked around waiting for a call of hate in his weakened form.

Any of the moleman influence has to do with the Time Keepers and the Moon children which Hat Kid and Bow Kid are but it's not a big aspect of it.

Also Snatcher is obvious no longer a shadow who was abandoned since this is post game which follows canon, MJ only tried to use the Prince but failed because Snatcher was too strong of a form to overtake.

[castlebyersafterdark]

ok so this is a question that i wish was discussed more in other spicy spaces without getting either too careful or too obviously an expression of people's unrealistic fantasies. what do you think attracts will to mike, both in terms of emotional and physical attraction?

there's lots of discussion about mike's attraction to will because that's thought to be what we need more of in the show, and people are happy to talk about will's physical attributes like his ass. but when will's attraction to mike is discussed, its always in the context of emotion and love and friendship becoming romantic, but never physical. there's not much in the way of will's fantasies or him being allowed to have a purely physical aspect to his love for mike, which is so sad to me because it reflects the thematic castration of will in the show (@therainscene did a great post on this about the lack of posters and sexuality in will's room etc).

i personally think the dnd alter egos give lots of hints about why will is emotionally attracted to mike, but at the same time, physicality and presence is a huge part of medieval/roleplay, so Will MUST have thought about mike's physicality in his fantasies, surely?

i wonder if there's not a lot of spec on this because people find there to be a dissonance between finn/mike's body and what they think mike's character represents in the show to a negative degree? whereas for will, even though his muscle development isnt **exactly** in line with will's character, society considers muscles to be a good thing so the change doesnt upset anyone. (not to say muscular men can't be sensitive, but the duffers probably would have chosen him to remain more delicate if they had a choice)

i personally think that mike's awkwardness due to finn's physicality has always been present and a big part of what makes the show so endearing, esp in s1. its only because there's an expectation for blockbuster scale epic fight scenes now, big music, big action, that people start to think mike needs to be this Baddie. I like the idea of him having a moment, but i dont need him to be wielding a sword like a badass and Looking Cool 24/7. Mike isnt traditionally cool, i need him to stay that a nerd lol.

maybe this is also why i think there would be something so powerful about a byler sex scene, because the more awkward/realistic/nerdier the better? it doesnt need to be traditionally sexy, but it WOULD be sexy just because of the fact that it would be mike and will and them getting together is intrinsically sexy.

i hope this makes sense lol sorry for the essay

EXCELLENT TOPIC! So many good points. You're absolutely correct about all of this - there is a definite line it seems, with more focus given to how Mike views Will, versus what made Will develop feelings and attraction to Mike, beyond the "we're best friends and I want you in my life forever"-ness of it all. I love talking about what Mike loves about Will, but let's hype up the other side of this coin.

This may sound so odd, but I genuinely think sometimes it's forgotten in general spaces that Will is gay? And what that actually means. Like he's a gay guy. Who is attracted to men and ultimately wants to be intimate with men (even if in present time, this want is being internally and externally denied). And Mike is a man (big juicy can of worms re: the gnc debate, save that for another essay, but I think my stance is visible between the lines here) and Will wants him. We all saw how Will looked at Mike in the desert. Dirty, white t-shirt probably transparent in spots from sweat, heaving breath as he did all the work shoveling for his boy bestie. Will doesn't have to lift a finger. Will gets to pretend to move several grains of sand around. Will looks at Mike with lust in his eyes. That is the boy he's grown up with and had been crushing on as a kid, that's the guy he's fallen in love with. And Mike has grown up. Still awkward, but developing into someone that Will not only wants to spend forever with, but wants intimately.

I like to imagine them as kids, maybe around the age they are introduced to us as in s1. What are they, 12? It's been awhile, but I remember being 12. I remember my first crushes, and they happened even earlier. Will has several male friends - each with their own appealing attributes. I think any of the party could be cute to a young, sexually confused nerd. But Will crushes on Mike. His first friend, the face he can imagine perfectly when he closes his eyes, able to draw him from memory because our boy is an artist. Little Will, drawing in sketchbooks from the early years. Why is it so important that he gets the shape of Mike's lips just right? Why are his eyes the best eyes he's ever drawn? Why does he spend so long perfecting a technique to capture the dark swoops of his best friend's hair? He's caught himself staring too long at Mike's mouth on occasion. He's caught himself suppressing a shudder when Mike's arm is so casually thrown around him, holding him close. He smells like a boy. He likes that a lot more than whatever girls douse themselves with. Uh oh.

Mike is not conventionally attractive. Neither is FW, either. Not to say he's bad looking (I find him very very attractive), but honestly - he's different. He's not like the cookie cutter Ken, the action figure, the Hollywood poster boy. He's got unique features and is awkward in his own skin. I don't think girls (and closeted guys) at Mike's school are falling at his feet. "I'm not exactly Mr. Popular." But they still look. As opposed to Jason, the All-American Juxtaposition. Jason - classically and cliche-handsome, the prototype boyfriend for the prototype cheerleader. If Will was at Hawkins High that year, I'm sure he'd give Jason a passing glance. He's an attractive man. Will's heart can belong to one and his eyes can appreciate attractive people in his vicinity. But Mike. Mike. Slightly taller, his protective personality bleeding into his physicality. I can see Will being into the protectiveness as a physical manifestation. Mike can maneuver him, can probably hug him tight and lift him up. He's not some action hero, or a muscled heartthrob but he's not as pathetic as fanon so pretends. I don't think he's gonna be an over powered badass by any means, but he can wield a sword and try and even if he's not that great at it. He's not hesitant. And clearly Will knows this. He painted it. He's into it. Mike, able to lead them into battle. Mike, awkward but endearing and strong. Mike with his big hands and lean muscles and that mouth that Will's eyes are drawn to like magnets and he hopes he's not as guiltily obvious as he feels when he watches his best friend orbit around him.

He may hide his attraction to men, with no posters of them on his walls. Diverting his eyes when he notices an attractive man in public. But he has music and cinema. Albums and magazines and movies. Mike looks more like the men in his favorite bands than the men playing professional sports. Bowie is so much cooler. He's odd, he's different. He's hot. Will likes the unconventional and he likes the familiar things that make him feel good and safe. Mike makes him feel safe. Oh, how he wants Mike to make him feel good.

Will had a crush on his best friend, when he first started being plagued with the realization that boys were cute. Will fell in love and when he re-met his best friend in the airport - his friend has grown up hot. He's pissed off and heartbroken that they haven't reached out to each other more, but he can't keep his eyes off Mike. He's dreamed about him and sketched him from memory so many times before Spring Break - but in the flesh? Everything and more. Will wants him.

[princeanxious]

✨️Moondrop progress update #1✨️

Picture 1 desc/info: knowing that I'd want to make Moondrop once I finished Sundrop, I made sure that(when I remembered to, as I'm learning that i wasn't quite as 100% consistent as I hoped I was) to make traced out references of each finished carved piece so that I wouldn't waste time struggling matching both of their proportions, considering nearly every piece required a duplicate piece to help achieve the eventual 'hollow skeleton' method that I use. Also, this is what I mean when I state that theyre carved from popsicle sticks. If it works, it works. lol

Picture 2 desc/info: here's the full lineup of every carved piece I have ready for Moondrop so far, and roughly how it will fit together. Every arm piece, leg piece, and even knee joint and the head piece have a duplicate(sans for the detail on the head's piece, obviously, though the headpiece is more complex than that as well). To further expand on why I did this, instead of just having one piece each, I need to point out the arm, hand, and ankle joint pieces. They will not be connected in two places, only one, to achieve full range of movement for the limb that they are attached to.

To achieve this, whilst still trying to keep this project's weight light, I'll create a hollowed skeleton. Essentially where the insides of the limbs(and body) are made hollow via smaller pieces of wood/popsickle stick scraps glued in-between the base pieces, but leaving enough empty space on either side to add two things. One side will have a rolled cylinder of a reinforced cardboard/paper mache combo, to provide a hollowed slot for the long joint piece side to slot into, and the other side, two hollowed holes to slot a dowel through with the joint piece inbetween. (If this doesn't make sense, dw, I plan on taking pictures when I get to that stage to show how I do it)

I also just end up stuffing the remaining 'dead-space' between the carved pieces with paper before i add clay, to further sheer off any unnecessary internal weight. Now, what you couldn't see with my Sundrop, is that by the time I finished adding clay and test stringing him together and started looking at reference photos again for color references, I hadn't realized up until that point that I'd entirely forgotten to add the dca standard wire-hook on his back. Not even superficially. So this will be where project Moondrop(whom at least uses the wire far more than sundrop, lol) will deviate from my original Sundrop design. I might use paper and cardboard to flesh out his limb shapes further before adding clay to make his body even lighter than suns, I've reinforced his torso pieces to account for the hole I'll carve into the back for my goal of a Functional wire-hook, I've made adjustments to his thigh shape for better ease of movement/posability(which might coincidentally make him just a smidgen shorter than Sun by design, shhh) because sundrops leg slots and the actual part of the leg that's supposed to slot in ended up quite a bit out of alignment due to the leg shape lacking a taper at the top to allow for a rounder end. Sundrop's legs are just a little janky bc of it.

Picture 3 desc/info: this is a look at the inbetween stage that the hip piece goes through, and you'll find that it's not reinforced with wood anywhere simply because of the completely curved surface. There were attempts made with sundrop to do this but they proved to be way too hard to bother with and less than affective with just popsickle sticks. Hense I use cardboard from a soda can box(aka cardboard that's compact and can carry a heavy capacity if the design is balanced and re-attachment points are reinforced properly) and then have so far gone over certain points with paper and glue(using the papermache method) to base reinforce places and also provide more adhesable texture internally. Because, that round piece(also cardboard) is going to sit in the main juncture of the top of the hips. A hole will be cut into it to maintain the ability to string the limbs and body together, and it will be further reinforced further with paper and glue, and later covered in clay- along with the rest of the hips inside and out, thus entirely made smaller than intended to account for the eventual bulk up of the piece. This cover provides a supportive divot in the hips that the middle torso piece can sit in that will give it the range of movement intended but also aid it in allowing the body to sit up straight otherwise(something that was discovered to be needed when working on finetuning sundrop whilst test-stringing, adding yet more weight due to the fix having been made solidly out of clay. Probably provides more support to Sundrop this way, but Moon needs to be as light as possible to prevent stress cracks/damage/balance issues/ect. If I want him to be able to have a functional hook to be used to be displayed with.

On a less technical note, there isn't much to show in the skeleton stage for the middle torso piece bc it's just a hollow cylinder of cardboard, thin enough to escape the bulk, but wide enough to still be strung through. It's just a lil tube for Sundrops frame anyway lol. Though, tbf, I might bulk Moondrops middle with paper/cardboard/whatever I decide, for the, once again, lightweight intention. I use air dry clay but even still it do be solid af when dry and sealed lol

Off camera just inches out of shot of each picture is sundrop, whom has slowly become disrobed and carefully disassembled in places to give me size references for things, but also one of these updates I'll show you how I made his head/face/ ray settup- why? Because it broke. Cuz my dumbass should've used wire and not a wooden dowel to support it all. (Further more, I'm using it as an opportunity to eventually redo Suns rays, because when I did the first set, I went for accuracy in the ray count, but still wanted them to spin freely. But I realized I HATE the gap that's left anywhere if his rays arent perfectly positioned and honestly this mechanism breaking is my sign and chance to fix it now that the rays aren't locked in anymore lol.)

I've decided to give this progress update log the tag '#projectdcadoll' from now on, so any posts I make abt this in the future will have that tag!

And if anyone has any questions about any specifics of the project, I'll also answer them/respond to them under this tag, so please feel free to ask away! I'm excited to share this process with ya'll!

[the-slasher-files]

[[CALL OF DUTY]]

THESE BOYS - HEADCANONS

Hi friends! Welcome to my new fixation lol. I just wanted to start out with some headcanons just to kind of bulid them how I would like... Hope you enjoy🔪💕

MASTERLIST

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

As he says in the game, Simon has a heart, a very cold one, however to the people he truly loves and holds close you get to see his heart and it is one of gold. He is a man that has seen a lot in life and been through too much bad that he thinks there is no way he could ever be good or meant to find love, however that is completely untrue and sometimes Simon needs that reminder. It may take a solid year before he even smiles at you under the mask or let alone share a deep conversation with you. It takes a long time for him to trust, but when he does, you are his family. No if ands or buts.

Because of this Simon has a very small social circle. Ghost knows many due to work and connections, people he has worked for and favours he'd have favours to return, however Simon only knows a couple people, truly knows them. And when he knows you he reminds all of your subtle mannerisms, your childhood stories, want you like and what you hate. No detail will be forgotten and it is a pleasure to know him.

Ghost watches everything.... absolutely everything. On missions you often see him stepped aside or behind the others but that definitely doesn't mean he will stand there and take it, we all know that well, and at home is no exception. He likes to observe you in all ways from making your coffee in the morning to just watching you get ready for bed. This carries over into the bedroom, that's right, Simon loves to give orders and watch you do so much for him. You're his perfect little baby and he wants to see you a mess.

Also one of his favorite things is to have you sit in front of him and please yourself, watch you struggle to get the feeling only Simon can give you. Normally he doesn't have the patience of a God but for moments like these he will take his time to watch you fall apart for him only because Simon knows the world of pleasure and pain he will give you after.

Surprisingly however, this man is an incredibly giving person behind closed doors, just for you to see. Simon enjoys getting you little gifts after long grueling missions, buying your favorite food, he just doesn't like the kind of gifts that are overly showy like walking around with a bunch of flowers is not his style. Speaking of giving behind closed doors, Ghost loves to push you to your absolute limit in the bedroom, with all his observations of you he takes every little hint and move forward to get the best results so to speak. He simply cannot get off if you haven't at least twice before him.

However, do not let that pleasing and giving nature in the bedroom lull you into a false sense of security because Simon is a big fan of edging you over and over again, making you cry and squeal, hit him and claw at him, he wants to see/hear it all. Ghost is a sadist after all (just not as much as König).

Nights are the hardest for him, even though he will never admit it. Simon has a horrendous time trying to sleep and when he finally does it is very light, waking up if he hears a truck pull up or if you move too much in bed. No matter what you try he will just brush it off and say "Nothing to worry 'bout, love" but it does worry about you. Often times you will try to stay up with Simon and he appreciates it everytime but will always hush you to bed and watch you on his chest.

KÖNIG

He may have severe social anxiety but when he is out in the field he gets so hopped up on adrenaline and stress that he becomes outgoing and more than capable of everything the mission needs, even becoming a leader when he needs to be. The problem comes when he is on the bases and in meetings, he shifts a lot in his seat, bounces his leg and even nibbles on his lips so badly they begin to bleed behind the mask. Even when König is home, the anxiety sets in so he relies on trying to keep constantly busy so he doesn't have to sit with his own thoughts.

With that, he surprisingly has a major caffeine addiction, it keeps him awake, alert and oddly makes him calm when he is on that high. Always the day has to begin with a black coffee then a redbull then whatever else he can get his hands on, even if he is on a mission König will try anything for energy drinks.

Although this man is a mountain, good luck keeping him still and being able to relax for the day. König will try for you to have a relaxing day on the couch and just watching movies, however, he just finds it impossible. If you want a day in bed, he doesn't have an issue but it just means you will be getting busy the whole time.

König is a big boy and that doesn't mean his stamina is low, no, no. It's the absolute opposite. One round is never enough for him, never, ever. When he gets home to see you, there is no way you are getting out of the primal, animalistic urges he has. There is a reason his name is "king", he always gets what he wants in not exactly the softest way. König's energy is more rough and needy, desperate I'm a way as he takes you in anyway possible, even forcing you to take it when you can't any longer. The man loves to use ropes as well, tying your writhing body down to watch you beg and cry with overstimulation as me makes you cum over and over, forcing you and breeding you animalistically. It will be hours before his knife comes out to cut the ropes and lap up any blood that comes from it.

Speaking of knives and blood, König has an honest love for it. He is gross the field, brutal and a 250 pound beast. His passion for knives is unmatched and sees pleasure in the kill when he plunges the blade within a body or when he gets a sniper shot.

König might be a huge mountain with anxiety, a passion for the thrill of the kill, often a stubborn bastard who can be a prick and his the libido of a God but when König finally finds his partner as awkward as he might be at first, he falls hard and is full of fire, feeling deeply and truly just wanting someone to talk with on the nights he can't sleep, although he sleeps like a fucking immovable rock. Now, you won't go out much to bars or movies or restaurants for dates, he just loves the quiet places and long drives.

[whirlwindimagines]

Can you do a vash x reader where the reader is getting overestimed and vash helps them calm down and comforts them?

Me running to write this after my therapy session, In all seriousness lol I did make this being about overstimulated, kinda then it got a little more. I've taken from my own thoughts and feelings for this one, since when I get overstimulated it can spiral out of control for me. No, I didn't just write this about Vash comforting ME shut up. Also, I wrote this a little differently, I wrote this how I feel a panic attack feels. So it may feel a little wild and disjointed, so stick with me <3

‘They see right through, Can you see right through me? I see right through me’

Vash x Reader

You should be celebrating, everyone else was. Why was this so hard, why were you so difficult, why are you so broken? Your mind can’t help but supply that thought to you, and it makes your chest burn it burns hard enough that you can’t even breathe, have you ever been able to breathe? 

It was all too much, sitting here in some dark forgotten corner while everyone celebrated around you. Having fun, existing without a problem. Your rag-tag group of friends managed to save this no-name town from bandits, and well instead of being chased from a town like usual, they were drinking and celebrating in your honor. It was a good change of pace for everyone, they deserved this. Did you? Did you deserve any of this, your friends?

Glancing up briefly, you spot Meryl trying and failing to rein in Wolfwood, Roberto at the bar drinking happily, and Vash…. actually, you don't see Vash at all. For a brief moment, all your own worries and fears are forgotten, you hoped he wasn't getting into trouble…. he had an incredible knack for it. You don't think you’ve met anyone with such bad luck. 

But then you spot him, shyly accepting praise from those around him, a smile that you can tell isn't fake. And for another moment you find peace in that, if anyone deserves to celebrate its him. You let your senses focus on Vash, just being in his presence was enough for you. Maybe you should get up and join them, you decide to, even going as far as to stand from your seat.

And then that familiar feeling, the doubt, the worry, the fear, it's all too much. It's always too fucking much. The lights, the sounds, the people. It's like you can never be. Never exist in the moment, and every fleeting moment of happiness is ruined by the fact. It's too much and you're too little. You can't be here anymore; without a second thought you turn and leave. 

The fresh air is like a Godsend, keep moving, just go, leave it behind. And you do because isn't that the easiest thing you can do for yourself? Gracefully exit the scene, no big productions, a forgotten side character in somebody else's story, because how could the story ever be yours? Your mind is working a mile a minute, it's doesn’t even make sense. You keep walking until you reach the center of town, a lovely fountain sits in the center, it's painfully quiet, and just what you need. 

Sitting on the edge of the fountain, leaning forward to grip your head. Begging for it to stop, for just a moment. Why can’t you enjoy anything? This is ridiculous and pathetic, five….no ten minutes tops and then you’ll force yourself to go back. You just need to breathe. This was fine, you’ll be fine. 

However, the gentle hand on top of your head startles you, sitting up quickly your gaze quickly connects to Vash’s concerned one. Oh, that’s all you can come up with, because why is he here? Shouldn't Vash be with the others, having fun with people who can understand how to? “Are you okay?” Why does he have to speak to you in that gentle way? Why does he always just know? For a second and because you're a fucking idiot, you're angry. Standing quickly Vash removes his hand to stare at you with a question in his eyes, as his arm falls to his side. 

“I’m fine.” Your tone is cold, and straight to the point, his expression shifts, and it's just not fair how can someone possibly look at you like that? Like you hung the stars and the moon? Like your someone to be seen and looked at. “You’re a bad liar did you know that?” his tone is as always kind, but you can sense a hint of something more a plea to be honest with him. 

You are like a wild animal cornered; this is not why you ran out here. You don't want to talk, what was the point? Talking didn't fix what was broken inside of you, nothing could fix that. The sound of your name makes you look up, and you tense. Vash stood closer in front of you, not touching you, but if he reached out his hand he could. It was more the look in his eyes that made you freeze, he looked… tired? No, sad? That wasn't the word for it either… was it longing? 

“You don't have to pretend with me.”

Is that what you do? Pretend to be a person, pretend that you can make it through the day, pretend that your mind isn't a jumbled mess of too much and too little, and pretend that you're happy. Yeah, you guess he's right. The anger leaves you at once, shoulders dropping. “I don't know what to say.” and isn't that the truth, wouldn’t it be easier if you just could figure it out if you just knew? 

Vash’s face lights up, not because you are upset, but because it's the first honest answer he has gotten out of you in weeks. Nervously as if reaching for a wild animal, he reaches a hand out to you palm up. You stare at it, your eyes flickering from his hand to his bright blue eyes. “That’s okay! You don't have to say anything, not right now. Or ever even! I just want you to know…I care… and I get it.” he is rambling in that nervous way he does, his voice cracking a bit at the end you can see the embarrassed blush that sits on his cheeks. 

It makes your eyes soften and smile, his hand touches your face then, holding your cheek, and your breath hitches. His thumb rubs the top of your cheek, right under your eye. He’s smiling now too, and oh no, you think you have a new problem now… but one you don't mind facing. Well, you do mind, it's a little scary, but it makes your heart race in a nice fluttery way not the burn you're used to. “It's…hard to explain, I just… everything feels like too much?” You can’t meet his gaze. “Sorry, that makes no sense.” You say this with a small laugh. 

Your gaze drifts back to his when his other hand comes up to cup your other cheek, the feeling between his mechanical hand and his flesh hand is… nice. “No, it makes sense, you’re doing great.” The praise makes you blush, yeah this is going to be a big problem, future you are going to have to deal with that one. “Vash, thank you.” it's such a simple thing to say, but you hope he understands.

He does, how could he not? When it comes to you, he’ll do whatever it takes to understand, to just listen. You don’t need to talk or explain anything to him, he’s here and he’ll be here as long as you need it, which he hopes is a long time, because God does he need you.Reaching up with shy hands, you grip his wrists, for the first time all night your mind is settled and at peace. He can’t fix you, because rationally you are not broken. But he helps mend the wounds in your soul, in a way you’ve never felt before, you wish you could tell him just how much you appreciate it, his comfort, the endearing way he acts. You squeeze his wrists, giving him a smile. It feels like the start of something, but right now this moment is enough.

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

hi hi i am here because i have not been able to get Dark out of my mind since reading it yesterday as it has ruined my life in the best way possible and i come bearing questions if you don’t mind lol

loved watching the gradual loss of humanity in reader but also, did you have a certain like, way of that happening or was it a bit more up to the readers interpretation? reading it i felt like that feeling you described everytime the reader walked by the woods may be it if not a part of that but just wanted to see what you originally had in mind whilst writing it

it was so interesting seeing all that unfold though, even in the beginning and how it’s already so, dark and then the gradually intensity of it occur. i loved reading it sm, the entire fic really.

also! seokmin! what happens to him now 😭 does hannie still have him under his control or is he just, gone. now that jeonghan has the reader and all

Me just giggling to myself reading the "ruined my life part" hehehe i love chaos and fucking with people

Okay so lemme try to explain this but please have patience because honestly I was just working with vibes and vague ideas throughout the whole writing process so I have not actually ever wrote this down or explained it, and I'm not even sure I really thought it all through properly ngl lol

Right so reader moved to the new place a few months back and it's close enough to the woods that Jeonghan spotted them and instantly decided he wanted to eat them, like literally entirely consume. But Jeonghan can't leave the woods so he had to try to use his monstery mind control type thing to lure reader into the woods. It didn't work.

At least, not at first. Jeonghan kept jumping into reader's mind at every chance he could to wear them down and it worked, though not when reader was awake. Jeonghan could only lure reader when it's the middle of the night (at it's darkest) and his powers are strongest because idk maybe reader was just mentally stronger with instincts that worked well enough to tell them to keep the fuck away from the woods and not even look in that direction. Which was good because the eyecontact makes Jeonghan's powers stronger and almost impossible to ignore his lure.

Anyway, basically(I say knowing I'm about to ramble even more) those scenes about reader being in the dark that seem like dreams, yeah, no, they had just fallen prey to Jeonghan's lure and had climbed out of their window every night which is why it was always open in the morning.

Jeonghan was so intruiged by their strong mind and at first, reader was a challenge he wanted to beat and was determined to lure them during the day when their will is strongest and his powers weakest. And then he just became enamoured and no longer wanted to eat reader but claim them as his own and his companion for all eternity.

Jeonghan had actually lured Seokmin before in order to spy on reader through Seokmin's mind but the poor dude didn't know and had entirely forgotten. Then the day came that Seokmin asked for reader's number and Jeonghan got posessive and so he stole Seokmin away and essentially tortured him for a while and fully took over his will. So now Seokmin is basically Jeonghan's slave and Jeonghan can use him to move in the day and away from the woods, which will help Jeonghan lure people in to eat much easier!

I hope that all made sense and answered your questions! I am very aware I cannot get to the point and just ramble a lot but that's just how my brain works so lol, sorry if it's all a bit of a mess to you

I'm really glad you liked the story so much, though! And to actually send an ask with your thoughts and questions, that really means a lot to me! I appreciate it 💗

[108garys]

Afterimage

Here is what can only presume is the first Du'mark fic, based off the idea of Mark ending up in the blackout room instead and because @unhingedlesbear's Du'mark propaganda gave me the idea. This is the first time I've written for Mark and I'd love to hear how I did, also there's a little Markate in there too

I basically did this in one sitting at whatever o'clock in the morning so I can only hope that it flows well and all that(I may be a Du'lie/Heclie enjoyer but this rare pair demanded at least the one fic lol)

@kassiekolchek22 @delurkr @tatjana-fantasy @qusok @blubary @ctrvpani @kindheartedgummybears @mybrainrotforreal @ivycross I know it's not the weirdest thing I've ever written but I'm almost here like "sorry for inflicting this on you"

And before I forget "Du'met" is Morello and "the stranger" is Du'met because Mark doesn't know any better at this point and consider this a hate letter to Mark's light source

He went through the images he'd captured before dinner as the faint scent of decay stalked him. The floorboards creaked under foot as he walked the hall, echos of past arguments playing over in his mind…

Mark stopped. A door shut down the hallway, further down than their rooms… He turns to investigate and… Crying?

He picked up his pace, a woman? Mr Du'met said his wife had died, a child? Jamie said they left but maybe…

Suddenly the lights go out. He stumbles, putting his hand against the wall, steading himself as his eyes adjust. He breathes slowly, focusing, looking around trying to find the source of the crying. He clutches his camera with a trembling hand, the dim red light reflecting eerily off the paintings and giving him a few feet of visibility. The texture of the wallpaper grounding beneath his finger tips as he takes step after cautious step down the ominous hallway and still… Decay creeps at the edge of his senses. Hounding him, waiting for him to lose his way and-

Another door slams shut back the way he came. He hears the sound of an argument but can't make out who or where… He feels eyes on him. Things moving in the darkness. On impulse he raises his camera and snaps a picture. The flash lighting up the hall, showing him the way and disorienting him in the process. He leans against the wall. Breathe. Breathe… Breathe. Every breath decay enters his lungs, the taste of death on his tongue. A ghost of something long gone invading his senses. What is that?

The sobbing continues. He pushes himself away from the wall willing himself to continue, it was this place that had him on edge, he reminded himself, the dark isn't unnatural and it was just a big old house. He figured if he was smart he could make his way with decent visibility but he couldn't help but envy Jamie and Erin for having flashlights.

After a few more minutes of tense wondering he turned a corner and saw a row of windows letting in moonlight and an open door at the end of the hall. Light emanating from inside…

It was the only place the crying could be coming from. Mark entered the room, it was small and empty. The source of the crying came from a cheap recording device attached to the wall. He stared at it as the crying played over… He couldn't make sense of it, who would do this? Why would someone do this? He was unnerved as he as he reached to deactivate the recording but then-

"Fuck!" that was the third time he'd been scared by one of those fucking HH Holmes mannequins. He stumbled back, falling on his ass in the process, his head snaps to the direction of the only door as it shuts tight behind him and he is again in complete darkness. Breathe. He tries to calm down as he scrambles back against the wall, camera forgotten on the dusty floor in his panic. He keeps his eyes shut, as he slowly stands up, the cool wall pressed against his back, strange noises in the distance. He opened his eyes, letting them adjust what little they could and... And he was not alone. He felt the movement in the dark, the presence of… Someone. He can't quite make out. A small light blinking on his camera just barely illuminates a stranger's hand, gloved and clinical. Offering the return of what was his…

He reaches tentatively for his camera. Trying to make out the man's face but as his fingers brush the edge of the lens the camera dropped. The hand grabbing his wrist. The flash goes off, lighting up the space. Lighting up the stranger's face. Tall, masked and dressed to fit with the rest of this awful place but Mark could only see those eyes. Intense, blazing with unnatural determination. With certainty.

Then darkness consumed him. Blind after the light fades. Pressed against the wall, pain in his wrist, chest to chest… Heart beating rapidly. He stares out unseeing, feeling those eyes, ingrained in his mind. The sharp edge of a blade whispers against his jaw. Warm breath against his lips. The afterimage of decay, the ghost of a long dead devil. Everything screamed at him to fight but cold metal kept him in check.

His hand numb as the vice grip tightens around his wrist, the knife's edge drawn slowly under his chin. Tilting it slightly. His mouth part as he takes slow nervous breaths. Thinking of what to do. If this was the end. Of his family. Of Kate and a life in Brooklyn. Of those eyes staring through him, etched into his psyche and blotting out all else like spilt ink across everything that he is and values. This man had made himself the centre of the universe and he held Mark's breath as the blade jerked, cutting a thin line under his chin. 'I could have killed you, it would have been easy' Mark felt it in every fibre of his being, he knew it was true. He leaned his head back as the stranger got closer-

A knock at the door caught what little of his attention he could spare. "Mark?" he heard Kate's voice as she knocked again. "Are you in there? I heard you and-"

"I-I'm fine, I just-!" he panicked, as he felt the stranger's tongue slide against the small cut. He could explain… How could he explain!? The man let out a soft sigh as if he enjoyed the taste of Mark's warm blood. Was he going to kiss him or kill him or… Or worse. "The door shut behind me and I," he tried to turn his head, to not think about the eyes full of certainty that the man's will would be enforced, he can barely feel his fingers. He didn't want her to freak out. "I… I think it locked behind me."

"O-okay we'll find away to get you out." Kate sighed with relief, Mark heard her call out. Heard Charlie respond and footsteps running down the hall. The stranger leans in as if to kiss or to bite. Mark's nose press against the painted noes of the mask. He could almost see it. That image burnt into his minds eye. He feels the lightest touch of soft lips against his own, seemingly inadvertently. Mark holds his breath as the stranger pauses, as if debating his next move…

He pulls away at the sound of banging at the door. Mark puts an arm and feels… Nothing? Where did he go? How did he get in? What the hell just happened!? His head was spinning and he could barely make sense of what the others were saying. He slid down the wall, even now he felt those eyes on his skin. The uneasiness of not knowing, the ghost of an almost kiss that may have spared his life, of what would follow… What would follow?

His universe was small containing only the banging at the door, the beating of his heart and eyes like black holes drawing him in with certainty. The crushing palpable sense that he had been marked by decay, no longer outside of him… He reached for where his camera had fallen. It's familiar weight comforting in his hands.

He snaps out of it as the door bursts open. The light blinding him momentarily as Kate rushes towards him to see if he's okay. He blinks, disorientated as her face comes into view. Her eyes, full of warmth and uncertainty and life… She helps him to his feet, the scent of decay replaced by her perfume as he steps into the light. Mark pulls her into a tight hug, burying his head in her shoulder as he calms himself.

He loves her. Soon he would have to explain what happened… At least what he thinks happened. Soon the eyes would return and death would stalk the halls again but for now he just held tightly to her.

His love... his life.

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi it’s the Anon from earlier who asked about requests! It’s actually kinda funny because I first read you Mauraders fic and had never seen peaky blinders but after reading all your fics I started watching the show. I think this is the first time I start a show because of the fics and not the other way around lol. But anyways my idea was having a reader who speaks Multiple languages and so whenever she’s at meeting and rivals are trying to talk to each other without letting the Thomas know she just translates what they are saying into Romani. Like maybe one of the rivals are talking about double crossing Thomas but they say it in another language so the reader repeats what they are saying to Thomas. Idk if I’m making sense and don’t worry about how long it takes I know class can be overwhelming

Dear Anon,

I don't know what to say. I simply cannot believe that someone enjoyed my writing that much. Wow, I hope you have enjoyed the show, and thank you for writing in a request! Also thank you for being so considerate! School often leaves me so burnt out that I can barely manage school work. But I had a good time writing this one!

XOXO Jamie

Warnings: fight scene implied, violent themes, reference to past relationship abuse.

People often wondered what your involvement was with the notorious Shelby family. You were a university grad who used to work as a language tutor, from a decent family. It was a common question passed through the mouths of locals who saw you standing next to Thomas. 

What on earth is she doing with that man? 

The things they came up with often ran around the drinking table leading to endless bouts of laughter from you, Polly, Esme, and Ada. But even they didn’t fully understand how you ended up a part of the family. Only that Tommy needed you, and that you were to be trusted. It was enough for you to build close friendships. 

There were only two people that understood the full depth of the situation and that was you and Tommy. He’d told you to keep your involvement in the business secret, and in turn, he kept the reason you initially crossed paths with him a long-forgotten memory. 

You surveyed the men at the opposite side of the table. You wished that they would have chosen a better location. The large abandoned warehouse had little to no insulation and rain was falling through the cracks in the old wooden roof. Tommy pulled out the chair and motioned for you to sit down. You watched as the leader of the Italian gang silently protested your seat at the table. 

“Bold of him” One of the men whispered in Italian causing John's fist to clench. The last time he was involved with such families things didn't go as planned, making you all the more anxious to be out of there. 

“Mr. Shelby, thank you for meeting with us.” The man had seen better, well, younger years. From your research, he’d been retired for quite some time. 

“Pleasure is all mine.” He answered curtly. 

“We are hoping you might be interested in expanding your Gin business.” 

Coming out of retirement to go into the booze trade? Italians don't even drink Gin? 

“Always looking to expand the business,” Tommy responded hoping the man would get to the point. 

“We have certain connections in New York that may be worthwhile to you -” The man was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. You wondered how they even managed electricity in a building like this. He continued to drone on about some elaborate story while your mind was preoccupied with the man in the back. 

“It’s not our fault they showed up an hour late. Freezing our balls off out here.” He said in Italian.

“Yes sir, he seems to be interested in the deal. No, he showed up with his brothers and some chick.” 

“Well, it looks like it's going alright. He said he wanted to expand the business.”

“Look we understand what’s at stake you want him gone just as much as we do.”  

“Bye” 

You touched the tip of your ear then adjusted the pendant on the necklace, and recrossed your legs. 

“Just a moment“ He stated, he grabbed your arm and you were happy that he caught your message. 

You stood up and he placed his arm around your shoulders. You leaned up to him with a coy look on your face, lips upturned slightly as you both moved away from the table. You wanted it to look casual or flirtatious. 

“They want us dead.” You whispered in Romani.

He looked over you at John and gave him a nod. Tommy walked you out of the building and handed you the keys to the car. You didn't need him to tell you what to do. He turned around and joined the loud fight erupting from the barn. 

The adrenaline was moving through your blood and you found it impossible to settle sitting behind the wheel of the car. The rain was pouring down and you found the fogging glass all the more unsettling. 

It wasn't long till you saw the boys emerge from the barn. The old building was erupting into flames just as they reached the car. You slid across the front bench seat allowing Tommy to sit in the driver's seat. You quickly looked each of them over as he tore down the road. 

“Your all okay?!” You asked slightly frantically. 

“What the fuck did they say?” Tommy barked at you. 

“Just that someone was employing them to get to you. That they understood the importance because they also wanted you dead just as badly.” You blurted out, your hand instinctively grabbing his arm. 

“Fuck.” 

“Fucking pricks just won't quit,” Arthur stated crossing his arms. 

“Once we get back I need you to call the family in. I want everyone back at the betting shop till this clears up.” 

“That’s going to be a nightmare,” John mumbled under his breath. 

“You speak Italian?” Arthur said suspiciously.

“She speaks just about everything Arthur, that’s why she’s here,” Tommy said sighing at the obvious. 

“So that’s what you do,” John said absently. 

“What do you mean that’s what she does?” He snapped back 

“Well, I just assumed she was around for other reasons.” John shrugged and Arthur let out a chuckle. 

“She’s a language tutor, she comes with us to deal with foreign business.” He said tensely. “What did you tell them you do?” 

Your face flushed with the attention on you now. 

“-Uh- Well I tell them I do whatever you ask me to do and leave it at that. Thought it was top secret.” 

John and Arthur both started to howl with laughter as Tommy’s face twisted up. 

“That explains a few things.” He said under his breath.

____________________________________________

He’d helped you pack up some necessities before driving you over to the cramped apartment. 

Tommy insisted you stay with the family, especially once finding out that whoever was on the other end of that phone call knew you were present at the meeting. A precaution. 

Polly was sharing her room with Ada and her children. John, Esme, and the little ones in his old room. Arthur shared with Finn and Michale. 

Leaving you to the couch, or at least that’s what you assumed. Tommy passed the small living room and continued up the worn stairs.

“Here we go. You can take the bed, and I’ll stay downstairs.” 

“It’s fine, it’s big enough to share.” You said easily, not thinking it could imply other things. You were tired and well, most business meetings flopped but they had never exploded before. Or left Tommy with such a worrying presence. Being next to him felt safe, and that's what you needed to get to sleep. Win, win. 

You stretched and opened your bag, pulling your nightgown out. You excused yourself to go to the bathroom and quickly changed. Your clothes were still damp, and your skin was covered in goose flesh as you slipped into your nightgown. You quickly pulled your robe around you trying to find some sense of warmth. 

You made it upstairs and saw Tommy laying on the edge of the bed, you climbed over him to the inside. He’d put the fire on and you were grateful for the extra quilt on your side of the bed. Shivering you pressed your cold feet into the side of his leg. 

“Jesus woman!” He jumped slightly but allowed your closeness. 

“Sorry! You're the reason I’ve been shivering all day - the least you could do is - ” 

“The Italians are the reason you’ve been shivering.” He corrected.

“They wouldn't be after me if you had cleaned this up ages ago.” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Is that so?” he asked. 

“Well, best put you in charge then, eh?” He said pulling you against his chest. 

“Things would run much smoother if that was the case.” You said, his proximity having a noticeable effect on the tone of your voice. 

You let out a huff as you felt your body settle against him. Thinking everything through, you wondered why he had you tenderly placed in his arms. Not exactly the usual place of a languages expert. You were just a translator, it was doubtful you even needed to stay with them for protection. 

“Tommy?” You asked softly. 

“Yes?”

“Why am I here?” You struggled to get the words above a whisper. 

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He said easily. 

“Why?” 

“Maybe I want you around for a long while.” 

“For business or for - more?” 

He didn't respond for a long moment and embarrassment set in quickly. 

“More. But we can worry about that in the morning.” 

You didn't trust yourself to speak, your body felt the need to discover what more meant immediately. Your memories flashed back to why you ended up with him in the first place and conflict made its home in your mind. 

“Won’t be like last time. I won’t be like him.” He said softly running a hand down your back. 

“You sure you want more?” You knew he’d seen the damage that had been done. It was painted all over you when you had initially asked him for help. Pink, black, and blue, he’d agreed to help you by offering you employment. But really he’d given you life. A family to replace the one that caused all that pain, money, a way to have your own space. People avoided you, your family too scared to approach you. 

“Very.” 

You took a breath and felt calm in the knowledge that he cared for you just as much as you cared for him. You fell asleep to his fingers running through your hair. 

You fell in love with him more as the days went on. Him making you tea in the morning, the way his family pestered him about the effort he made to make you comfortable. The world was closing in on the family and yet he still had time to pull you onto his lap to teach you how to play his hand at cards. It was a bad situation but Thomas took it for the opportunity that it was. 

[mybg3notebook]

Just wanted to let you know that Gale has several radically different endings depending on the choices you make. The power-mad wizard stereotype that you're concerned about is indeed one possible ending, but it's considered one of the "bad" endings. There are other possible endings that I think you would be happy with. I hope that assuages your concerns enough that you will eventually play the full game and pick up your Gale character analysis series again.

Hello. Thank you for letting me know. Unfortunately, I have a massive disappointment with the game (I finished it already a couple of months ago, but I only felt disdain and playing it to the end was a chore more than fun), specially with act 3, and the several plot holes, lore inconsistencies, and even inconsistencies within the same game (you are told things in Act1 that never are reflected in Act3).

Many of these things removed my intentions in continuing this blog with analysis of lore and characters:

The rush in most quests, specially in Act3

The abandonment of the development of chars except for only one, the favourite of Larian that was never favourite in the community according Larian statistics (during EA and release, it's obvious in the infographics they shared even though they concealed it, lol),

The dumbing down of many quests and stories,

The rewriting of chars in the last moment that, although it makes them better than in EA, they clearly were abandoned mid-way (aka Wyll),

The rewriting of chars and stories that makes them immensely stupid or without sense, like Cazador's (the data mining content around him during EA was several times more interesting and complex than the cartoonish, silly, evil character we had in the final product)

Karlach (amazing char that can't be more rushed in its current state). She also suffers from this “stupidity” oversimplification because having archdruids among our companions (or wizards that may know archwizards) would allow us to deal with her problem in many other ways (but who cares about lore? Larian clearly doesn't),

Halsin, added in the last moment, made resources get split in a char that was not fully developed and feels wasted potential while also taking the place of another that had some kind of work done during EA (Helia) but clearly had to be thrown to the rubbish entirely in order to put Halsin in her place,

The useless and nonsense creation of concepts that were never part of the vast lore of Forgotten Realms and they had no real needs to create them for this plot (aka, the ridiculous crown or the wtf "Karsite" weave),

Mystra herself, presented as a god that can't see the future (who due to her rank she can), so it's very stupid to show her as whimsical as Lolth and command the destruction of one of her Chosen just like that (premature explosion), when she values her Chosen and their utility; after all, her chosen ones have a divine part of herself. She is still a Goddess who sees mortal life in a different lens, but I felt she was presented in the oversimplification of "she is a bitch". All her complexity just thrown to the rubbish, like so many other concepts in this game.

The ridiculous lack of consistency of the character the Emperor with himself by the end of the game in some paths,

The bizarre and unnecessary creation of a lot of lore about Orpheus and a "githyanki resistance" when you always had in the lore the Githzerai,

The lack of any consequences of your character in act 3. For example, drows can be absolutely fine walking around Baldur's Gate, treated as if they were humans, when everyone knows that drows are part of the Absolute lines (even Larian created that piece of lore in Ketheric's room explaining how they were recruiting Drow warriors tired of Lolth). The privileged power that a drow Tav had in the goblin camp in act 1 should have been contrasted with a difficulty to walk through Baldur's Gate. This was even a promised consequence told by Sven in an interview that, clearly, was not implemented.

The general lack of reactivity of the companions to the events in act 3, except for the favourite one.

The cut content (which is immensely richer and more interesting than the oversimplified version of what they left)

The list goes on and on, but you can read the official forums for more details and discussions.

I don't know. Maybe the game should have been "The Dark Urge and The Vampire in Baldur's Gate" alone, and leave it at that, so people who were not interested in those things could buy another game. Honestly, I'm deeply disappointed with the game to the point I decided not to play it again until they do a Definitive Edition, like they had to do with DOS2 (which ALSO had a terrible last act with numberless lose-ends and quests without resolution), and make a decent coherent act3 (hoping they will do it, since in Definitive Edition DOS2 was an improvement but not a fix, truly). Compare Act 1 quality with Act 3, and, at least in my case, I feel a bit scammed.

So far, this blog will remain here, but it will be mostly inactive, since I lost any interest in this game, and now I am playing other things. I feel this game would have been a gem but ended up being too messy for whimsical decisions. The excuse of time and resources are not valid for Larian in this case: after all we were always told that the game was going to be released when it was going to be ready, and we ended up with an EA of a full game, with a lot of valuable cut content, inconsistency lore, inconsistency in characters, and 60% of the act 3 bugged.

I'm sorry for the negativity of this post, I truly wanted to love this game, but felt a deep disappointment that, I hope, a definitive edition of it may fix in the future, eventually.

Thank you again for reading what was done during EA.

@dragonagitator, believe me, part of my disappointment also comes from Larian's deaf ears when it comes to feedback. During EA I sent them a lot of feedback, and it was barely addressed. The only one that I saw was the incorporation of lgbt npcs in the world to see them integrated in Faerun, and not just the isolated (and potential) queer!Tav. Check the official forums and you will see a lot of these feedbacks that were made even in EA, and were not taken care of.

A lot of people warned Larian since EA about making the same mistakes they did in DOS2, of making companions like "beast" (with almost no content), of unbalancing content between Larian's faves and the other companions, and did they care? No. A lot of feedback about Karlach's writing and ending was sent, and what was the solution? None. Karlach stays in her precarious story as usual. The lack of reactivity of companions in act 3 is also a well known feedback. So far, no solutions on that topic either. The list is too long, honestly, and when it comes to lore it's even worse. They sold a game, promoting it to be a thing that is not.

[limbusimagines]

Hi Mod Liqui! I'm so happy to see someone writing for LC. This game is so cool but a bit hard xD

Could you write a platonic! reader(gender neutral) x emil? Reader may or may not be a sinner. As for genre, maybe angst but with a happy ending? Like reader is in danger but our german boi is here to save us. Hope that makes sense lol

Thank you in advance!

p.s. sorry if I said smth dumb. I struggle a lot with english

Of course! Also no worries hehe, you came across perfectly fine! Congratulations on being the first ask!

Sinclair saving civilian Reader

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You just had to have been stupid enough to dart out of your dingy home without checking the time properly. Your adrenaline fueled mind hadn't made the connection to cast a glance at the LED clock on your nightstand after you had realized your cat had bolted out of your apartment through a window you had forgotten to close.

Rushing through the streets in your pajamas like a disheveled madman, you hadn't yet realized the danger that would continue to arise with every call of your cat's name.

It was only once you found the poor thing with paws layered a deep black and fur matted with grime and dirt, fearfully trodden deep within the backstreets, you had realized the situation you were in.

While your adrenaline addled self was too busy coaxing your terrified cat down a rusted apartment fan unit she had somehow leaped to, a hulking figure began to approach you.

The unpleasant grind of metal against metal working in unison to approach you gave way to another presence and you were (unfortunately) able to recognize what this presence was.

Rusted plates, quiet whine of release valves, a stark and stained blade, and piercing amber glow.

It was 3am in the backstreets, and you found yourself in the middle of a sweeper cleanup.

Instincts kicked in, and you bolted.

Despite the frenzied thoughts going through your mind, you had managed to pick out a single coherent one & figured it was better you than your poor cat, who you wish you could've taken better care of.

You weaved corner after corner, ungracefully leaping across some piles of rubbish, nailing a couple of rough landings that your ankles nearly gave way to. You'd hadn't looked back at your pursuers to see if they had gained distance on you, you didn't want to.

You figured that, maybe, by some stroke of luck, if you could bear through the burning of your lungs and ache of your feet long enough, you would be able to run into a fixer office.

However, you approach a dead end.

Perfect. Excellent.

It was over, you had officially taken the reward for Dumbass Of The Year. You didn't even want to bother with a prayer or some grim ovation as a testament to your life as the seconds count down. Your cat was the only one who would've ever really known you were missing.

You let out a derisive snort and, in an act of complete defeat, hunched down. Accepting your gruesome end.

However, what bode for you wasn't exactly as you had thought.

Wet, light steps sounded out, the rhythm of it's approach sounded.. cautious? It was as if they were carefully inspecting the scene of some wreck, the metaphorical wreck being you. You could tell this wasn't a sweeper.

You looked up and, what you saw was a stark contrast to your expectations.

A short, dirty blonde boy, clad in a black coat with red accents and a slightly yellowed from age dress shirt with suspenders and a red tie.

He was carefully holding your cat.

"..Um, I think this is yours?" He delicately called out.

Despite your heart hammering out of your throat, you could tell from your assessment, he did not belong to any fixer association you were aware of, which did set off some internal alarms but he seemed to have no ill-intent and even went out of his way to fetch your cat.

"W..Where's the..-- There are sweepers," Your voice was frail and taught, "Here. There are sweepers out. One was..--"

The boy flinched and looked around, nervously scanning the area.

"Oh, um, I think I got that one that was targeting you..?" He looked back, clearly unsure of how to approach your terrified figure.

He cast a glance at your cat in his arms and delicately smiled.

"I never had a pet when I was young." He seemed unsure of what to say now, as he tentatively outstretched his arms as he lowered himself to the ground, letting your cat comfortably ease out of his hands.

You, on the other hand, leaned against the wall that caved you into this dead end, breathing a sigh of relief as you felt the adrenaline begin to wear off. Your lungs and feet were burning, but that couldn't have been as worse as death.

The boy looked at you with a sympathetic look, seemingly wanting to offer a reply, before your cat had begun to rub herself between his legs.

He let out a small laugh and you straightened back up to call out, "Mimi! Come on! you've caused enough trouble for the fixer tonight, last thing he needs is your dirty ass hair on his work suit!"

Despite your scolding words, there was a mental reassurance behind it. You had been saved, your cat had been saved, you could go home with her. You had known living in the backstreets was not a cakewalk and had heard of all the horror stories, so it was for that, you felt as if you could burst into tears.

"Heheh.. it's no problem, um.." The boy hesitated, you could tell that naturally in his manner of speaking he wanted to roll your name off his tongue but had not much to go by. You noticed this and shared it with him. He repeated it back to you to affirm he had been listening.

"Right, as I was saying," He cautiously reached to pick up your cat once again, who had still been lovingly rubbing her face against his legs, "It's really no problem."

He walked closer towards you, dropping your cat near your side as he took a couple of gentle pets on her head.

"She's a sweetheart." He remarked.

You pondered back on his earlier comment about never having a pet, and wondered why he had even bothered with you in the first place.

Almost as if he read your mind, he continued, "Uhm.. as I said earlier, I never really had a pet. Closest thing was the bugs and worms."

You let out a tiny smile, and gave him a curious stare.

"Bugs and worms?" You would've offered a witty follow-up, if it wasn't for the fact this man had saved you seconds ago, so you held your tongue.

He seemed to nervously recount his earlier sentence, as if he were embarrassed over saying the wrong thing, nonetheless he replied.

"Yeah.. um, I'd feel bad for stepping on them, I had named 'em too, y'know. So, when I heard you earlier, calling out for your cat and all, curiosity got the best of me and.. well, I don't think I could've not intervened."

Silence fell over the both of you, as you cryptically stared back at him.

"T-Thank you.." The light of the moon happened to catch his ID at a perfect angle and, you could make out his name from it.

"Sinclair. Huh.." A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

Mimi grazed her head against your chest, and you reciprocated the attention she craved.

"You're more than welcome to pet her, Sinclair." You follow up, "It seems she's taken a liking towards you."

The boy, now recognized as Sinclair, slightly tenses up. Uncertainty painting his expression as he muses on a thought.

"Well, I can't be here too long but.."

He cradles Mimi's head, hesitation to touch her completely dissolved.

"I think I can go and escort you two back." A gentle look falls over his face as he watches your cat, "Wouldn't want anything to happen to this sweet girl."

Your heart fills up a bit, not in the sense you were infatuated with Sinclair, but you were always appreciative of those that respect and dote on animals.

You had a feeling the walk back wouldn't be short of conversation between you two.

[lizzzylovee]

Eywa’s Vision

Chapter 1: Arrival

Summary : “Born with the ability to receive visions of the future, Kani must choose to abandon what she knows to aid in Navi that she's never met.“

MDNI

Authors note: Hello! Just wanted to start off by saying that this the first thing I have ever wrote before lol. I have fallen in love with the Avatar Movies, and after binge reading I realized I wanted to attempt to do it.

Story starts off with the original characters in Home Tree, the sky people haven't returned yet, and all the characters are aged up by 5 years! I will be going more by Navi standards as best as possible. There will be mature contents, but each chapter will be labeled appropriately as possible. There will be a mix of languages, and I will try my best to be as distinctive as possible lol.

*This will most likely be more slow burn than not, I don’t want to rush the story line as much I really want to lol. Eventual smut*** If you see this on Wattpad I have also posted it there under the same tag.

WK: about 3k ish?

CW: cursing, Neteyam being in love struck awe lol, nothing really in this chapter

Chapter 1: Arrival          Chapter 2: Story Time  

Masterlist

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The jungle hummed with life. Through the tall treetops, light seeps through, basking the ground with a peak from the light above. Even with the peaceful feeling, it traps you into a sense of safety.

Crouching down, he looks through the foliage, eyes tracking it's movement. Taking slow breathes, he maneuvers into position, knee bent while kneeling on the ground. Bow grasped tightly in hand, sure movements notches the arrow. With one last inhale, he draws the bow, clenching his core, and with one final glance, he releases.

As the arrow soars, it meets it's final destination, straight into the eyes of the unknowing Yerik.

"Bullseye!"

With a roll of his eyes, he can't help but smirk at the praise of his companion.

"You know bro, one day you too might have a chance of being as good as me."

Spiders smile falls, only to proceed to roll his eyes, and flip off his friends back as he goes to pray over his kill.

"We both know I would kick your ass if I was Navi. Besides, why go hunting if the hunting party already left?"

Lo'ak proceeds to bind his kill, securing the feet together for easier carrying on the way back.

"Because if I show up empty handed, my parents might actually disown me."

"What did you do this time?"

Biting his lip, Lo'ak spares Spider a glance over his shoulder.

"I may or may not have forgotten to watch Tuk, leading her to paint a family portrait on the tent.."

With a baffled look, Spider could only gawk at his friend, watching as he puts the final ties to together.

"And hopefully with my peace offering, my dad might actually rethink the 'life sentence' and take me off cleaning duty."

"Fat chance, but I hope it actually goes well! Kiri's been holed up in the Tsahik tent, last thing I need is my other friend being punished to death." Spider slides down from his watching post, kicking at the grass.

"Other friend, since when did she replace my spot as the best friend?" Lo'ak looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, hand to his chest with mock hurt over his face.

"Oh shut up, let's go home." Spider rolls his eyes, glancing down at the floor, trying his best to get the heat from his face. Lo'ak can only laugh at his friends' inability to admit the truth of his feelings, even though he knows that nothing can come about it. With the raise of his hand cupping the side of his mouth, he makes the sound to call out to his Ikran.

"You know bro, maybe you should go for one of the older scientist." Lo'ak replied with barely hid mirth.

"You're fucking disgusting."

With a final laugh, Lo'ak drags his kill to his Ikran, anchoring it around onto it, giving a few tugs to test it's security.

"Come on bro, we gotta head back before dinner, I don't want to wake up dead before tomorrow."

"You do realize you can't wake up dead right?" Spider clamors on, smacking Lo'aks attempt to assist.

"You act like you've never met my mother." Swinging his body over, Lo'ak climbs on behind Spider, and after making tsaheylu, the Ikran takes off with a final screech.

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Growing up, Lo'ak always dreamed of the day of owning his own Ikran. Flying through the sky with no care of living up to expectations and having the ability to pretend to be who he wants. After his first failed attempt, which he tries his best not to think on, flying came so naturally that it allowed his mind to blank.

Flying back to Home Tree, first glances at the kill he was hauling for his family, and then to Spider to make sure he was secure, though he would never admit due to knowing how Spider would get if he felt like he couldn't keep up with the 18 year old Navi male.

With the wind hitting his face, he looks far ahead to watch for Home Tree to come into the horizon line, making the appropriate turns needed to avoid floating mountains around. Closing his eyes for a second while leaning his head back, he mentally prepares for this peace to end when he comes back home. With opening eyes, his breath catches in his throat at the sight before him.

8 Ikrans, all in a variety of colors, flies just left above them, flying in a distinct, formation. With an open mouth, Lo'ak gawks at the sight in front of him, having to make a conscious effort to close his mouth, least he wants something fly into it. With a titled head, he he squints at the sight, attempting to make sense of what he was seeing.

After carefully peering at the Ikrans, he realizes that it isn't the Ikrans that is causing his sudden heart spike and confusion, it is the way the riding Navi the Ikrans are dressed. Wraps of colorful fabric cover them, unlike the clothes adorned from his clan.

Without taking his eyes off the unfamiliar flock in his sights, he reaches for the throat comm, pressing two fingers to the button on the side.

"Devil dog, I have my sights on some Ikran riders."

"Send your traffic."

"It looks like Navi, but they aren't dressed like anything I've seen before. And they seem to be heading to Home Tree."

"Copy, do not engage. Get home as soon a possible, no interacting."

"Copy that Sir."

"I mean it boy, no fucking around."

With a roll of his eyes,  Lo'ak urges his Ikran to fly faster,  as the group above seem to have moved expertly through floating rocks, moving as one unit, leaving Lo'ak and his carriage behind. Having set his mind to the task, Lo'ak locks eyes on his unknown enemy, causing Spider to sputter out curses, in the attempt to hold on.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Home Tree has always seemed to have a certain buzz to it, with all it's inhabitants busy with village life, doing what it expected to help aid the clan having a sustainable life. Excusing himself from the hunter's party, leaving his subordinates with the task of cleaning and appropriately readying the day's kill for the cooks, Neteyam seeks out his father to report the day's happenings when a sudden comotion causes the clan to become on uproar.

Attempting to make sense of what was going on, Neteyam frantically looks around, trying his hardest to find the source that started the sudden defenses.

"Outsiders!"

"They're at the check points!"

Wide eyed and erect ears, Neteyam tries in the gentlest of ways to make his way through the crowd. Knowing it was of no use to radio his father, at least with the yells from around, all he could do was make his way to the front of the crowd, knowing where the choas orginated,  his father was already there to contain it.

Swinging his bow over his shoulder, he makes way through the crowd, being internally grateful that being the Olo'eyktan's first son made the clan members aware of just who was bypassing them, almost opening a way for him to make his way through the ground level of Home Tree. After passing by higher level Navi in the clan, the sea of bodies opens up to a sight that instantly puts him on guard.

8 Ikrans. 8 Ikrans that  land side by side in the clearing. The animals are restless, screaming and screeching in their language, shifting   around on the ground, irritated by the warriors that surround them, sharp spears and bows drawn. Warriors cry, with mother's clutching onto children that seem to be overly curious at the sight in front of them.

Keeping his eyes on the sight in front of him, with him slowly circling his way to the front, Neteyam was so focused on the unknown sight that he almost missed the sight of his baby brother hastily landing his Ikran a ways away, only to fall face first into the ground due to his uncoordinated pace of trying to get off the beast. With a minute shake of his head, he refocused on the intruders, catching the sight of his fathers back making way, with his mother only a few paces behind. Following in line with his parents, he swiftly takes his bow off, hand reaching for the arrow on his person, absently mindlessly notching the arrow, muscles tense.

With a raised hand, the clan leader calms the uproar cries of the clan, all falling silent, only for whispers to muttered, in respect of the chief's orders. With a glance to the crowd forming around, the leader makes way around the warriors, stopping in the middle of the odd dressed intruders still perched on their rides. With each step closer, the whispers die down, anticipation rising in the air, almost suffocating.

"State your business!"

With the roar only a seasoned leader possessed, it seamed as if it had gotten impossible quieter, with clan moving restless against one another, intently watching for the intruders next move.

With slow, but sure movement, the rider situated towards the middle made movement to descent off the Ikran. Moving with grace that isn't known in such a tense situation, the small form touches down. Clothed with colorful wraps around head, face, and body, with only the ability the see into the intruders eyes through the riders mask, the unknown figure makes way to the leader, in calm, sure footed steps, raising a hand to take off the riders mask.

With unblocked eyes, Jake Sully allows himself to survey the figure in front of him. Keeping mind of his mates hand on his shoulder, he notices a distinct feature on the figure, that while it may put his clan in an defensive state of mind, only cause curiosity to bloom in his chest. Instead of the normal Navi feature of only having 3 fingers, the Navi in front possess the same amount that him and two of his children have. With gears turning in his head, he comes back to present day with said figure gestures their fingertips from their forehead down, signing 'I see you'.

Straightening their back, the figure locks eyes on the clan lead, and with a voice clear in the Navi Language, "I see you, Jake Sully. I apologize for the intrusion, but there are matters that I must speak with you on."

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With a mind and body that seems on autopilot, almost as if he is having an out of body experience, Neteyam brings up the back of the group of foreigners, watching as the strange Navi follow almost single file after his dad, with a couple of them clustered together, limbs clenched together as much as the cloth around the bodies allow. Doing his best to keep a close eye, he ignores the stares and whispers of the passing clan members. Due to his height, which almost passes his father at this point, Neteyam adjust his eyes to look further, able to spot his father leading the group to the large meeting tent, mostly used to gather warriors and to hold meetings. He spots his mother walking tensely by his father, muscles tight and an aura that would let anyone know of her mood.

Walking in almost a daydream like state, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, ripping him from his inner observations. Turning to look at the offender, Neteyam could only shake his head at the sight of his younger brother.

"Bro what the fuck is going on?!" Lo'ak tried as best as possible to keep his volume under control, he did, but when one of the foreigners ears swiveled their way, Neteyam was aware that their conversation was not a quiet as his brother believed, regardless with it being in English.

"You know as much as I do, and still you ask this question? Learn to watch before you speak and you will understand much sooner baby brother." Neteyam hissed back, only giving a spare glance at the human that tried his best to keep up with the longer legged Navi.

Slipping his hand off his brother's shoulder, Lo'ak resigned himself to walk behind Neteyam, knowing that while he may sound rude, he was right in the lack of knowledge.

Coming up on the Warrior's tent, the flap was opened, with his father gesturing the inside. A fire was lit in the middle, casting a more ominous glow. Looking around, Neteyam noticed a handful of his fathers warriors inside, weapons drawn tight in their hands, outline the edge of the tent, barely noticing the glare his father sent to his brother, with the promise of punishment if he acted out of turn. The flap was then closed, closing off the rest of the village, leaving his parents, Lo'ak, and warriors surrounding them, as the foreigners huddled together, kneeling down on the ground, with what it seemed to have their legs tucked under their body.

The one that had spoke with his father prior sat on the front, the rest nestled behind, all stilled wrapped in clothes, with a few holding tight as if the wrap was a form of protection, instead of privacy. With his father turning to look at the group, absentmindedly paying attention to his mother pacing with agitation behind, he takes a last glance and addresses the group.

"Who are you, and where are you from?" Jake spoke in Navi, voice unwavering despite the tension around. After a passing second from the group, the figure in front makes the move to first remove the wrap around their head, causing the cloth from her nose down to fall, revealing their face. Neteyam's eyes widen, not realizing that the cause of so much commotion in his clan, was actually the most stunning woman he has ever seen. Roaming his eyes, he took in every feature.

She had long dark hair, way longer than the women in his clan kept theirs, with half her hair up, secured by what seemed to be a tie with crystals on it. Looking through the hair that framed her face,  he took in her facial features, noticing bright eyes rimmed with black, down to her nose, with a half crescent object hanging from her nose. Her ears were pierced in a similar fashion to his mothers, with feathers looped through and hanging through them. Her neck was adorned with a neck piece, though it was not in a similar fashion found in his clan. It was adorned with crystals, their reflections bouncing from the light caused by the flickering fire in front. His eyes caught the hair above her eyes, similar in the way he has seen on his dad, brother or sisters face. High cheekbones framed and shaped her face, leading to a relaxed facial expression, as if she was unaffected by today's turn of events.

While lost in his thoughts, he was seemingly broken out of his spell when she opened her mouth.

"While I understand the reason for warriors to be present, I do believe this conversation would be best handled with as much privacy as possible."

Everyone in the room froze.

Not for the words actually spoken, but for the language she replied in.

"How the fuck does she know English?"

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Well there’s part one! Hopefully you guys like it! I will try my best to attempt to keep everything organized, but Imma be honest, idk how to tf to put stuff together when it comes to links lol. Once again, there will be eventual smut, just gotta set the mood lmfao. Thank you so everyone that took the time to read! Also if you ever curious about the OC characters and how the family dynamics works, hopefully this guide helps lol.

***Kani*** 

19

Youngest Daughter

Kekunan Clan

***Heatey***

22

Oldest brother

Mate: Tal'i (22)

Kekunan Clan

***Naya'il***

21

Older sister

Mate: Tsuten (21)

Kekunan Clan

***Zernem***

20

Youngest brother

Kekunan Clan

***Mai***

18

Best friend

Kekunan Clan

***Zute***

13

Mai's younger brother

Kekunan Clan

_____Other Characters____

Neteyam- 19

Lo'ak-18

Kiri-18

Tuk-13

Hopefully that answers everything!

[chevelleneech]

@13moon11

I appreciate your reply, but that’s also not really what I’m trying to say.

All my post is about, is me wondering why they chose different from the other members. It’s not about who is or isn’t doing well, or who might have needed an enlistment partner. Especially because hyung line couldn’t have one anyway, and us knowing RM was/is actually not really doing well.

He’s not spiraling, presumably, but he’s definitely kept us updated on how he feared being forgotten and so on. We also knew before and the literal day of, he was still unhappy. So if I were to lean into fan theories, I certainly think Namjoon would be a member likely to use the buddy system had he been allowed to. And it’s a theory that makes sense to me, because again, he was pretty vocal about his unhappiness.

Jimin and JK weren’t, so to me, it’s more interesting than not that even though we can assume they may have anticipated a difficult transition for themselves, it’s not exactly fact. Of course none of them want to be there, I assume, but I hope what I’m saying makes sense. From an outside pov, RM was the most unwilling. Maybe with Jimin coming in second, simply because of how reluctant he was to show his shaved head. But if I continue to fan-theory this, we know JM and Joon couldn’t go together, but that doesn’t mean JK had to go with JM because he might have needed help and Tae hypothetically said no.

Could he have? Yes, but we don’t know that. And that is purely why I am emphasizing the fact that my post isn’t me looking for an actual answer. It’s just me wondering about something the two of them do not owe us an answer to. Yes, we can use the fact that only maknae line had the option. And yes, we can add to that fact, Tae being seemingly fine with getting his service over and done with. But neither of those things answer why Jimin and Jungkook chose the buddy system. They didn’t have to no matter their mental health, because they obviously knew other members didn’t have the option.

So I’m just like, what made them think they needed each other during this time? Did they think they wouldn’t be able to handle it, even if the others could? If so, why? Was the buddy system the only option to ensure they got out at the same time, since they went in last? Was there some other reason? A threat? A deadline they gotta meet after being discharged? So many questions I know I’m not getting an answer to, so again, it’s not really a matter of anyone giving me an explanation of their thoughts. Including those who support the idea of Jikook.

Because at the end of the day, them dating is possible, but still just a fandom based theory. Them needing each other isn’t a fact, it’s an assumption. A fine assumption, don’t get me wrong, but is more or less irrelevant when fan theories aren’t the point of my curiosity. And the point of my curiosity is honestly just useless questions, lol. Something that crossed my mind every so often, but not in need of anything definitive. Unless they gave us an answer someday, but I doubt they will.

[velvetineblue]

GET TO KNOW THE MUN //

NAME?: winter~

PRONOUNS?: any! agender hoes rise up

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION?: telepathy ( but seriously: i'm really bad replying sometimes, but i do appreciate im's whether on tumblr or discord ajdjj. my discord is open to any mutuals!! )

MOST ACTIVE MUSE(S)?: overall, this gremlin, by far. i have periods where i'll write a different character a lot for a couple days/weeks (mostly on discord) but tai-muse always eventually demands that the bulk of the attention be back on him u . u

EXPERIENCE / HOW MANY YEARS?: i've been roleplaying on tumblr since like....... 2011ish??? (DO NOT @ ME, I KNOW THAT'S INSANE) and i was roleplaying elsewhere even before that...

BEST EXPERIENCE?: I'm seconding what ferre said and screaming: PLOTTED GROUP VERSES !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but rly, anytime we do in-depth plotting that you get really engrossed into, and go crazy world-building & expanding the lore and plotline.... that's the besttt.

RP PET PEEVES?: hmmmm........... tbh nothing is really coming to mind at this moment, probably because my dash is so small & curated to only blogs who i really like seeing on my dash, so i think i've temporarily forgotten about the annoying parts of rp??? LOL. check back with me next time i go out looking for blogs to follow; then i'm sure i'll have much to say kjhkjh

FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT?: I like all of them !! angst is prob my fav of those genres, but if i wrote too much of it, i think it would get tiring for me because it may feel less impactful/geuine?? IDK. but fluff is definitely needed sometimes. and smut can also be fun, in moderate doses! fluffy smut and/or smutty fluff tho... 👌that's good shit, LMAO

PLOTS OR MEMES?: again, both are fun! i think a balance ( maybe not 50-50, but a balanced amount ) is ideal. as much as i do love plotting, it does require a lot of energy and social battery. so meme's are perfect for times when you are running low on that, but still want to rp~ ( and i'm going to do the ones in my inbox soon I PROMISE )

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES?: my replies usually end up being long. but for starters or meme's, short sometimes makes the most sense... I know the fact I often write novels might seem intimidating to people who aren't novella, but I don't mind short replies . . . lengthy replies is just more of my personal 'writing style', but I don't require partners to adapt to it?? yOU DO YOU

TIME TO WRITE?: NEVER, APPARANTLY. ( jk i have time but i spend most of it rotting and watching 5 hour long video essays about pointless shit ajsjaj )

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S)?: hmm... I don't know! but compared to my other muses, I'd say, I guess Tai is one of my characters who is more 'similar' to me in some ways. I think because he's one of my oldest; his very first incarnation as a character I wrote goes back to when I was like 12. so he does have a lot of personal touches-- things that are probably quite specific to mE & my personal tastes. as I got older, I started to make a wide variety of characters, some of which I have nothinggg in common with... but Tai isn't one of those ajsja. we're not extremely similar, but we're not complete opposites either ? I think I partially fear saying that because I don't want anyone to think he's a 'self-insert', but... meh. I would hope it's pretty obvious that he's not :sob:

tagged by: @stillresolved thank you for tagging me and thinking of me, ferre!! 🥹 tagging: UMM whoever wants it tbh, i don't know whose done it while i've been MIA !!!

[missgryffin]

Hi missgryffin! Firstly I’m such a huge fan and avid reader of your works, especially ES which is an absolutely beautiful story! I know you’re taking some time rewriting etc to update to your current style and I obsess over every snippet haha. My question is, after publishing work how do you feel like a story is finished to your liking? I know I struggle with feeling like things I produce are ever properly finished and I can only assume rewrites on ES is such a massive undertaking, what prompted you to revisit the older chapters? Secondary to that, would you ever consider putting the old version up along with the new one? Obviously it’s your artistic choice and you’re rewriting for a reason but I personally would be so interested to read and compare the two, especially because I adore your snippets and it’s crazy to think you could upgrade a story I already love so much haha. I hope that’s not overstepping! I wouldn’t want to offend! Anyway, I love you’re writing and I hope you have a great day!

Hey! Ahh thank you so much!! 🥰 Under the cut for length 🫶

Oh this is such a good question and honestly there's no easy answer. In the short term, whether a chapter/story feels finished really is just a feeling. I've become more of a plotter over the years, so I am better about knowing what needs to happen to close the arcs of the story and have it feel resolved. (Or, if it's just a chapter, have it feel like it's propelling the story forwards.) Also, when I'm first starting a fic, I have a pretty good idea of the mood and imagery I'm wanting to evoke with that story. (And I love making moodboards for myself for this purpose.) So something I look for when I'm rereading what I've written is whether what I see when I read matches what I'd imagined in my head.

In the long term, I think a sense of completion comes from time. The wonderful thing about fic is that you can always update works if you catch a mistake or spot something you want to fix. (I usually find at least one small thing I could change every time I reread something of mine, lol.) But whether it's "finished to your liking" is really a measure of, when you reread it a year or two later, are you still happy with it? And where you're at in your writing journey (/how much your writing may have improved or changed over time) will bear on that.

For example, when I reread for the hope of it all earlier this summer, I found some typo mistakes and edited some phrasing here and there, but it really did feel like I was just doing a proofread with fresh eyes. The story itself felt complete; I didn't want to change a thing, and I was so proud reading it.

By contrast, when I reread Eternal Summer earlier this year, the document became unrecognizable from how much I marked it up. Once, that draft felt complete to me, but this time (two years later), I felt like I was reading an early draft I'd outgrown. For one, ES was written in past tense, and I've now been writing almost exclusively in present tense. For another, I felt like I'd crammed too much into my chapters, resulting in scenes feeling rushed or overlooked simply from the sheer volume of stuff happening. I wanted to tease certain things out more and pace things differently so that everything got its ~moment~. In the first go-around, I had veered significantly off my original outline as a reaction to reader feedback/pressure at the time, which resulted in me getting myself very, very stuck. This time, the experience of writing these characters for 2+ straight years allowed me to think about the plot and the character development more holistically. I have a better understanding of how to "show not tell" in terms of relevant backstory and Jily's respective head spaces. I took prior times where readers were confused into account, and I knew how I could address/resolve them in the new narrative. I still very much loved the ES world and the plot I'd created—and there were so many scenes I felt so proud of (and many I'd forgotten that I loved!) —but the overall feeling was, I can elevate this story. I can tell this better. Knowing I wanted to continue ES into the rest of their seventh year and beyond, I simply couldn't continue writing without addressing all these thoughts I had about it. (And believe me, I tried 😅)

As for whether I'd put up the old version with the new one…I haven't thought about it much, but my initial reaction is leaning no. Idk, I'm open to hearing thoughts on it, and it's a ways away anyway. I just don't want people getting confused by what's "true" and what's not anymore if they're looking at the old version.

[bitch-butter]

11 for the kiss prompt if you're feeling it?

babe, thank you for your patience! I started this prompt as something Completely different, but me and my gf have been watching Fargo all the way through, so it's been heavy on the dome and one of my greatest joys in life is to put these babes in Absurd situations.

so, here is a scene from a fargo!au to the tune of: when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more

also, sorry this is so long lol i can't hide who i am

This is a true story. The events depicted took place in Minnesota in 2022.

At the request of the survivors, names have been changed.

Out of respect for the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred.

* * *

The Kid drove them through the twilight, though Joe was sure his hands were probably slick against the steering wheel on account of all the blood, not to mention the fact that they were going on 48 hours since Joe snatched him and he had to be dead tired.

Not that Joe was in much position to point any of this out, shot as he was, even if it was only in one of his body's many useless patches of meat. Whatever they were using to train those boys down in Kansas City he hoped they stuck with it if they all made such lousy shots. Anybody can shoot anybody in the neck, it takes a real motherfucker to come at you with a knife and all, what with the questions it begged about mortality and the like. And those Kansas City boys were nothing to write home about with a knife, if a measly college kid could take one of them out with just a few superficials to his hands.

Joe would tell the Kid he was proud of him if it would have made any sense to do so. If it would have been less of an odd thing to say, all kidnapping considered. 

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon the Kid pulled into the lot of the first motel he saw, parking as cockeyed as anybody had ever seen, looking over his shoulder to where Joe was sprawled out like an idiot. He was sweating, pale, and looked entirely ill in a way that made his eyes look like moonstones, like alien radioactivity, like the pitcher where his mom used to keep cherry juice.

He might be concussed as well as just shot. 

“We should stop here,” the Kid said nervously, glancing between Joe and whatever he could see out the window. “I mean, we should stop here, right?”

Joe licked at his chapped lips, grimacing at the texture. “Where are we?”

The Kid squinted through the growing darkness, mouth pursed up in thought and making Joe’s swimming head make the sound of a failing ECG. 

“Some place called Bemidji,” he answered, and Joe sighed, nodded.

“Far enough for the night,” he allowed, twisting haphazardly until he could sit up in the backseat, allowing the past hour of his convalescence to slide away like afterbirth onto a dirty floor. Much good may it do him, with nothing but a water bottle and a scarf to patch himself up with. “We need to see about a room, there’s shit for your hands in the glove.”

The Kid blinked at him for a moment, the words taking their time to catch up with him, before he was taking one shaking, bleeding hand off of the steering wheel and reaching for the glove compartment of the car. Joe rolled his eyes at him, having almost forgotten the novelty of the first time a guy won a knife fight, how it made you feel all contained and strong for maybe an hour after the fact but ultimately turned you loose, jittery, feeling all the hurts your head hadn’t wanted you to feel. He busied himself with folding the dark scarf at his side over to its cleaner edge, using his own less than stable appendages to fix it about his neck, covering up at least the worst of the damage. Almost certainly there was still blood somewhere on his person, but the good thing about this part of the Midwest was that nobody wanted to seem impolite when they told a guy he was covered in blood.

Never wanted to make any assumptions, these folk.

“I…” the Kid began, voice sounding weak and fraught. “I don’t think I can use this, is the thing.”

Scowling, Joe looked back at him as he fumbled his cold fingers at doing up the buttons of his coat, nearly releasing a hard, derisive laugh at the sight. The Kid held his gun between two fingers, like he was ready to drop it directly into an Evidence bag, looking almost nauseous at the concept. If he wasn’t so damn annoyed by him Joe would have reminded the Kid that not three hours past he had stabbed a guy through the hand, chest, and face. 

“Not the - Jesus Christ,” Joe shook his head, leaning up jerkily to reach past the Kid, who flinched away from him as though Joe could still manage to hurt him somehow. “There’s gloves, you moron,” he bit out, reaching into the open compartment and grasping at the dark, canvassy fabric and yanking them out, tossing them in the Kid’s lap with a sneer. “Put the fucking piece back before somebody sees you.”

The Kid swallowed heavily, seeming all too thankful to put the gun back where it came from, fumbling at the gloves with his sticky hands, nose bunching up at the feeling of the thick coverings swallowing up his wounds, no doubt sticking to the deep indentations. “What are you going to say?” he managed, looking at him with wide eyes, appearing younger than Joe gave him credit for.

He had to snap the fuck out of this if they were going to make it through the night.

“Not going to say anything,” he brushed off, feeling through his pockets for the wallet he’d picked up at the Minneapolis post office, his fake ID, fake SSN, and real money all lying in wait. “Just ask for a room, is all. Keep your hands close to you,” he ordered brusquely, feeling grimy with stress, with blood washed away by nothing but Chippewa Spring water.

The Kid could only nod at him, his now gloved hands set before him awkwardly, comically, like a doctor about to go into surgery.

Thoughts of doctors made him remind himself to grab his bag from the trunk, and thoughts of the bag made him linger on thoughts of Babe and the Doc. Hopefully they’d made it to…wherever they were going. If Babe had any sense he’d be trying to hoof it back to Fargo by now with the Doc dropped through some thin ice, but Joe’s estimation of his partner's intelligence was not the most flattering right now. Not since he’d fucked up the whole goddamn thing by taking the guy with them in the first place.

They could have been in and out with a fat stack of cash waiting for them in three days, a little lie-low time at the cabin, the Kid incapacitated and ready for the ransom to be paid, but no. Fucking Babe. 

Nothing had turned out as it should.

Huffing, he gave himself a final once-over in the shadows of the car, judging himself at the very least presentable so long as that lodge just beyond wasn’t using overhead lighting. He cast his eyes back to the Kid, who watched him apprehensively, but it was not like the other ways that he’d been looked at over the past few days. At first the Kid had been afraid of him, as he should have been, but he’d soon come to look at Joe with something like disdain. That had been before the barrage, though, and now it appeared that the world had tilted itself to the other side; the Kid was still fearful, but now it seemed his fear was somehow beyond the two of them, outside the car and miles behind in their chase.

“No funny stuff, alright?” Joe threatened meagerly, hoping his face did the talking for him as he glared through the dark at him. 

The Kid tilted his head, looking unimpressed but certainly trepidatious. “I couldn’t try something if I wanted to right now,” he spat out, looking down towards his gloved hands, his eyes blinking quickly. By now it was probably setting in that even if he did go to the cops he was liable to get asked why his prints were on a knife recovered from a crime scene in Brainerd.

Joe almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“Don’t talk back to me,” he warned, voice a low growl as he reached for the handle of the door, cracking it open and letting a sheet of cold air rush into the car. “Not afraid to smack you again.”

“You barely touched me,” the Kid drawled, glaring back at Joe as he pushed out of the car. “What, afraid to break a nail?”

He hummed a bit with rage as he slammed the door shut behind him, taking a pause beside the door just to let the icy air waft over his face, his breath a trailing comet. It was hard to remember that the Kid was still his hostage and Joe was still awaiting his ransom, Kansas City waging war be damned, and that meant Joe was not to entertain the thought of liking him even the tiniest bit. There was a little bit of slack to be cut for himself, given the fact this job had been more FUBAR than any other job he’d done before, including those haphazard hits he did in his early days. But he had to hold fast to his senses, keep moving, keep the Kid alive for the next three days, collect the ransom, make the ransom money trade to the Kid’s guy before making the trade for the Kid himself, then get his ass back to Fargo to rendezvous with the rest of the guys to fight this war with Kansas City.

The quiet, treacherous part of his mind allowed himself to consider the fact that neither one of them might make it to the end of the next three days.

Sighing, he shook his head into the cold, crossing behind to the trunk and grabbing his bag. He needed sleep, and food, and to clean his wound properly, and this melancholy would lift. Or so he hoped.

The Kid exited the car after him, the jingling of the keys falling away into the depths of his pocket, his face looking drawn and tense as he folded his arms before his chest and looked over the hood of the car expectantly at Joe. Joe looked back at him with a raised brow, rolling his eyes before beginning to make his way across the icy parking lot, feeling stiff and foolish in his attempt not to jostle his scarf against his bleeding neck too badly, the sound of the other man following after him scraping coldly over his ears. 

He should be counting his blessings that Kansas City was after them, honestly, because if they weren’t the Kid would probably be trying to run away from him again. Unfortunately for him the only thing that stood between the Kid and a whole horde of trained killers was Joe Liebgott, who thankfully knew what he was doing. And now that one of their own was dead on the floor of a cabin in Brainerd they could best bet that the Kid’s face was right next to Joe’s in the scope of every gun their rivals had in the Midwest.

There would be no escaping now, save they fight their way out. But that was a thought for the morning.

The door of the lodge jingled open cheerily, but the sound stood in stark contrast to the woman seated behind the desk, her face lined with unpleasantness and her hair piled up in a severe beehive. She looked them both up and down, but thankfully the room itself was only lit by a lamp beside the door and the yellow glow of another lamp upon the desk beside the woman, so she would hopefully miss the dried blood caked up along his neck and the cuffs of the Kid’s jacket.

“We need a room,” Joe said decidedly, stopping at the desk before the unrelenting figure of the woman as she peered behind him towards the Kid, who shuffled anxiously and kept his arms folded close against his chest.

“Two?” she chirped, her voice a shrill, tweety thing.

Joe frowned. “Huh?”

“Just the two or you got more?”

Impatiently, Joe narrowed his eyes at her, the sound of her voice like an icepick in his already spasming head. “Just me and my pet,” he jerked his head back towards the Kid, who scowled at him like the spoiled brat Joe suspected he was. “So give me the reduced rate.”

The woman wasn’t in on the joke as she blinked blankly at him, clearly thinking that Joe was the stupid one in this situation. “So you got pets with you?”

He barely reigned in a noisy sigh. “No.”        

“Sir, if you got pets with you that’s gonna change your rate so I gotta know now if you got pets,” the woman said, abrasive and annoyed, her voice like an evil hotdish come to life.

The Kid ran out of patience before he did, stepping forward to knock hard into Joe’s shoulder. “Two men, one room, one night, flat rate,” he spoke rapidly, his words cutting and quick in the way that Joe could tell his hands were probably giving him the worst kind of grief. “He’s paying,” he finished, giving Joe a dark look before stepping to the side, all but tapping his foot as Joe signed them into the register and the woman, who had obviously had enough of their nonsense, rang it up.

“Little antsy aren’t we, baby?” Joe muttered lowly as they made their way back out the door into the cold, crossing the ice of the lot towards their room. 

“Don’t piss me off,” the Kid snapped, doing his best to walk faster than Joe and giving a sharp slip to the side that had him coughing out a disturbed yelp and had Joe chucking sadistically at him. “I fucking hate Minnesota,” he burst, childish and clearly fraying along the seams as he kept walking, this time decidedly more heavy footed as Joe beat him to the door of their room, unlocking it and opening it for him with a placid, parodic smile. “Fuck off,” he groaned as he passed through the door, leaving Joe to follow after him with a wry grin.

The room was the same as every motel he’d stayed in over the past decade of being a hired gun, but somehow worse because everything north of the cities seemed to just get worse and worse in his estimation. Perhaps it was his neck, which was beginning to smart against the touch of his scarf.

He allowed the kid to snap the lamps on, and he only just remembered to yank their curtains shut before he pulled the scarf from his neck, its woolen membrane sticking to the hot surface of the wound and tugging at it, making him hiss with the pain that roared over his skin.

“Motherfucker,” he cursed, throwing the fabric down before shoving clumsily out of his coat. “Alright, baby, this is where I’m going to need your help,” he called towards the Kid, who had paused in a sort of daze before the thermostat, appearing to forget how it worked, before blinking towards Joe with a look like a man who had just been awoken from a deep sleep. “You with me?”

Swallowing, the Kid paused before giving him a jerky nod. “I don’t know if I can…” he hesitated, watching as Joe unzipped his bag from where he plopped it heavily atop the bed, the ugly brown flowers of the duvet pressed down with its weight.   

“You’re not performing open heart surgery, kid, you’re just going to be my assistant,” Joe said brusquely, methodically unpacking his med kit, even if it only consisted of peroxide, bandages, and a mediocre sewing kit.             

The Kid shook his head, looking green around the gills. “But - my hands,” he excused, holding up his still gloved hands, appearing just as silly as he had in the car, though the Kid clearly saw this as the worst injury that there had ever been.       

Rolling his eyes, Joe gathered up his shit in the crook of his arm. “You know, once back in the late nineties I knew a guy. This was in ‘99,” he went on, crossing past the still dumbstruck figure of the Kid and into the bathroom, hitting the light switch with his elbow. “Guy was almost too stupid for words, didn’t have the sense God gave a clam. Well, as one figures this was also the sort of man who collected authentic Japanese katanas.”

He spoke almost to himself as he set out his materials on the sink, observing the mess of his face in the mirror for the first time. “What a man wants to do with a collection of swords is beyond me, but this guy was pretty dim,” he continued, leaning forward over the sink to get a closer look in the mirror and finding himself looking exhausted but otherwise passably normal. “Anyway, one day he’s showing me his collection, blabbing on about how much this one cost, and that one cost,” he said dryly as the Kid appeared behind him in the mirror, watching Joe curiously. “And I admit I wasn’t impressed, so my challenging him to show off his skills was probably not in the spirit of human kindness, if you catch my drift.”

Behind him, the Kid sagged against the doorframe, blinking slowly as he watched Joe examine his neck, dirty fingers prodding at the area around the redness of the wound, which he thankfully saw was little more than a deep graze. “Not bad at all,” Joe remarked offhandedly, reaching for the pre-packaged bar of soap at the side of the sink. “But as I was saying, the guy didn’t feel like letting me show him up, so he grabs a sword and starts swinging it around samurai-like, you know? Making fucking sounds and everything. But the guy clearly has no skills, no training, so you can guess what happens next.”

“What happens next?” the Kid asked with all the grace of being told a bedtime story.

Joe turned the knob on the sink, hot water pouring from the faucet, and set to washing his hands clean finally. “Guy slices his own cock off,” he shrugged, watching the Kid’s face fall slack with surprise in the mirror. “Well, half off. But you’d think it was all the way off with the way this guy was hollering, screaming and the like. There was blood all over the floor, he’d cut clean through his pants, and I told him, you know, that I’d drive him to the hospital,” he went on, judging his hands adequately washed and turning the water off, reaching for a tan towel hanging next to the mirror. “But before I can get my keys the guy is running over to this candle he has on his kitchen table, and faster than you can blink he’s pouring hot candle wax straight over his half cut off cock."                                                                                                              

The Kid looked somehow even more nauseated, his mouth a fat grimace of disgust as Joe dried his hands and reached for the peroxide. “I don’t know what he was trying to do. Maybe cauterize the wound, maybe stop the bleeding, but I guess nothing you do makes much sense when you have half a cock hanging off you,” he reasoned, opening the bottle and instantaneously squirting a stream of the liquid onto the wound at his neck, making a tight, pained sound as it burned. “They patched it up, to be sure, but I’m positive that thing has never worked right again.”

His story was met with silence as the Kid simply stood with his mouth open, eyes wide over Joe’s hands as they moved at patting the rivulets of peroxide that ran down from his neck dry. After a long moment he nodded, stepping into the bathroom appearing somehow chastened, eyes down and filled with fear, even as Joe remained consumed with the routine of cleaning the graze.

“Would you…” the Kid began, his voice low, and the syrupy drip of it in the quiet of the room, in the sense of safety that was drifting across his warming skin, made Joe feel hot at the back of his neck. “I can help, I just need…” he faltered, waiting until Joe turned to him before he offered up his gloved hand with a tight look over his face.

Joe understood, and that same pitying feeling swept over him. Poor kid, he should have been safe in his own home right now if it weren’t for Joe. Well, if it weren’t for his boyfriend hiring Joe. All the same.

He reached for the Kid’s hand, pulling him closer as gently as he could with just a tug of his wrist, meeting his eyes briefly as he pinched the fat tip of the glove’s finger in his own. The Kid looked back at him apprehensively, eyes big and blue as a daydream, and Joe again reminded himself he wasn’t permitted to get butterflies in his stomach. 

Gritting his teeth, he pulled the glove off with a fast, clean jerk.

The Kid gasped, sucking down a sharp breath as his mangled hand was brought into the light, and even Joe had the grace to flinch back at the copious amount of dried blood there was. But he had seen far, far worse, and so composure returned to him swiftly as he turned the hot water back on, the Kid barely recovering before Joe was easing his injured hand beneath the steady stream. Wincing, the Kid looked at him openly, painfully, and Joe found himself giving him a small, comforting smile before he could stop himself. 

“Not bad,” he shook his head softly, watching as the water washed the first layer of blood from the other man’s hand, mesmerized by the way the water appeared white as it flowed from the tap and ran red from the fleshly barricade of the Kid’s hand. “Not bad at all,” he assured, watching as slowly the Kid’s wounds came to light, shallow and long against his palms, nothing that a good binding wouldn’t fix. Probably not even deep enough to scar badly.

Teeth worrying at his lower lip, the Kid averted his eyes from his bared hand and looked down to his still covered one. “The other one, too, please,” he requested, his voice a rasp of pain, and Joe moved towards the pull of it mindlessly, seizing the fingertip just as he had the first and pulling it free to reveal wounds of a similar nature, the bleeding slowed but still looking ugly, brazen in the manner of knife fights.

“You’re just fine,” Joe shook his head, giving him another bracing smile as he brought the Kid’s hands together under the water, massaging them gently to ease away the thickest of the bloody patches. He glanced to the Kid once more, finding him looking down in his hands with a tense jaw, with cold, clinical eyes that seemed to be actively fighting off his revulsion.

It was different from the wild-eyed look he’d had when he had flown at the guy from Kansas City, but it made Joe’s mouth water just the same.

“You’re a pretty tough kid, aren’t you?” Joe said softly, feeling himself start slightly as blue eyes met his own once more, inscrutable and vague like making shapes out of clouds in the sky.

“I don’t think I am,” the Kid said quietly, head shaking.

Joe huffed out an amused sound, shutting the water off before reaching for the discarded towel. “Well, I do,” he reiterated, leaving the other man’s hands in the bowl of the sink as he began to pat them down, the skin still residually red and irritated with both the heat of the water and the size of the cuts. “I think you’re going to be just fine.”

The Kid let him work, making a short, pained sound as Joe released the peroxide over his cuts. “Has this happened to you a lot of times?”

“Has what happened to me a lot of times?”

“You know, men trying to shoot you.”

Joe sighed, looking at him tiredly. “It ain’t exactly unfamiliar, if you catch my drift,” he said lowly, cleansing the other hand before setting the bottle down against the countertop. “If this is going to happen to you it’s probably best that it’s happening while you’re with me.”

Scoffing, the Kid gave him a dark look. “If I wasn’t with you this wouldn’t be happening to me at all,” he pointed out, watching carefully as Joe gathered up a handful of gauze. “Are you going to tell me who hired you now?”

“Nope,” Joe shook his head, pressing the gauze down against the open cuts of the other man’s right hand.

“Don’t you think I deserve to know why I’m going to die?” the Kid asked sharply, brow furrowed, his hand loose in Joe’s hold.

“You’re not going to die,” Joe shot down, pausing just to give him an irritated glare. “If you die I don’t get paid, and believe me not getting paid is worse than death,” he said easily, returning to his concentration with a stern look down to the bandage, beginning to wind it around the other man’s palm. “So you’re going to be fine.”

The Kid looked at him dubiously. “I don’t trust you,” he said, as though the fact was going to hurt Joe in some way.

“Good to know you aren’t as stupid as you look,” Joe teased, looking at him a millisecond before the Kid was leaning into his space and kissing him.

Woah daddy, his brain supplied uselessly as he was kissed messily, certainly not as plainly as Joe would have expected the Kid to be. He was struck dumb for a moment before he found himself moving into its promise, kissing him back with just as much pent up feeling as it seemed the Kid had in his own end of the confusing display of catharsis. It wouldn’t be the first time he had a confusing sexual experience after a job, why not, why not, why not - 

Because he’s your hostage and you’re supposed to be smarter than this, he supplied, like a hammer coming down on the moment.

He pulled away with no small degree of reluctance, lips pulling in as though to trap the feeling of the kiss between his lips as long as possible. The Kid looked back at him, eyes cracking open from where he had allowed them to close in the heat of their connection, and Joe found himself smiling at him again like an idiot, almost laughing with how ridiculous they both were.

“I’m sorry,” Joe coughed out, unsure what exactly he was apologizing for even among the hundreds of options he had. “I’m sorry, are you sure you -”

The Kid kissed him again, this time with his half bandaged hand cupping the curve of Joe’s neck, the long tail of the bandage trailing down in its wake like a shooting star. Joe released another shocked breath into the press of the other man’s mouth, but didn’t have the strength to stop it as it came at him again, the heat of a mouth on his own an aphrodisiac too strong to resist. And the Kid was beautiful, he’d known it from the start, from the time that he’d trailed him through the Uptown streets, snowflakes getting caught in his hair, and maybe he’d wanted him even then. 

But Joe was a professional, he knew better, he knew better than to be doing this -

“Kiss me back,” the Kid urged against his lips.

He needed no more prodding than that to wrap his arms around the Kid’s shoulders and kiss him for all he was worth (which Joe knew to be $214,865.49). Dipping the Kid against the sink he sank his tongue down into his mouth, sweeping through and gathering up the taste of him, almost moaning at the relief of being alive to kiss someone, as the fear of knowing that just beyond this room there were men after them, who even now might be right next door.

“I don’t want to die,” the Kid managed to say between kissed, his mouth red with their contact, looking gorgeous and debauched and very, very afraid.

Joe shook his head, dipping down to kiss his hair, the corner of his swelling lips. “You’re not going to die,” he brushed aside, diving in to kiss him again before he could allow the thought to linger even further, before the cold outside managed to creep into the room and envelope them both in its grasp, in the certainty of its danger. 

[drinkinboilingcoffee]

Part 2 of I found an old thing in my notes and wanted to post it (young William centric FNAF fic) (Also I have NOT used this format, hope it’s not weird lol. It totally will be lol.) (TW: Graphic depictions of animal death)

Great Britain, 1949

The first vivid memory the killer (though they didn’t call him that at the time) had was one of warmth. He’d been laying in a field a short walk from his home with his mother and little sister (his brothers may have been there as well, but memory had a funny way of ignoring certain details). He’d lain curled up on a blanket, nibbling on a slice of apple while his mother laughed at some pointless joke his 5 year old brain had come up with. He had watched with interest as dragonflies zipped through the hot air, counting each one, giving it a name (though he realistically probably named the same one 3 or 4 times) and making up stories of their adventures. It was a simplicity and contentment he had no idea he’d grow to miss. He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up on his own- maybe he’d run off on his own, maybe his mother had let him run free, maybe David and Alex (his brothers, if they really had been there) had offered to watch him. It didn’t matter much; all he knew was that he’d wandered down to the shallow stream that cut through the grass in search of more insects to chase and inevitably crush in his childish absentmindedness.

Instead he found a dying rabbit. The thing had a deep gash running down its body and one of its legs was so mangled the foot was nearly detached. Its ragged breathing had quickened as the boy drew nearer. It tried to right itself, to scamper off, but only managed to scramble its paws around madly until the pain became too great and it curled up into a ball, panting. Its blood stained the rocks a deep crimson hue, making them glisten brightly in the noon sun. The boy was too young to know about death in any detailed sense, but he hadn’t forgotten how not a week prior his father had ran over a fox on the way into town.

He’d watched as his father pulled the creature out from under his truck, inspected it, then walked back to the house and returned with his shotgun. Scarlet droplets had splattered across the road, dotting the dirt around its head like scattered petals. “Don’t cry,” Papa had comforted the sniffling child as he stroked the fox’s torn pelt. “It was in pain. You know pain, don’t you? We had to make it go away, that’s all.” He understood that much. He knew he had to do the same thing his father did. He was helping it, surely. Of that, he was certain.

So he took the heaviest stone he could lift, raised it above his head, and brought it down over and over again until his arms gave out. His mother had found him there, curled up next to the crushed animal, staring at the red caking his skin. She’d grabbed him by the arm, yanking him upright and pulling him away from the scene. She’d shouted at him, “What the (he’d later learn this was a curse) were you doing!? Put that down! William, look at me while I’m talking to you!” He tried to retrieve the rock (had he seen it move? Or was that just a breeze? Maybe he should bash its skull a few more times just to be sure.), but she dragged him back to the house where she’d shown his still blood-caked hands to his father, who’d simply shaken his head and muttered something under his breath. All the while William had stood there, mouth agape, asking over and over again, “What did I do? Mommy, what did I do?”

He was promptly sent up to his room where he sat in quiet contemplation for a few hours (in other words, he spent 3 hours scribbling in an empty notebook and trying to find something to wipe his hands on) while his parents discussed. It was ultimately decided that surely the boy knew no better, that it was just a lapse in a child’s judgment (surely, they weren’t raising a psychopath or anything- they pushed that thought as far to the back of their minds as possible.), so punishment was forgone in favor of a stern talking to. In the end, the only thing he’d really gotten in trouble for was staining the bed sheets.

But what he would always remember most about the day was the odd feeling of satisfaction when the poor thing had stopped breathing. He’d taken the miserable creature out of this world; that was the right thing, wasn’t it? A good thing, even. Surely it wasn’t because he enjoyed it. No, he wasn’t sorry. If you asked him again- today, tomorrow and every day after- he’d still do it again. Regret wasn’t a common feeling for William Afton.