#but in mcd its even better

[travis-enthusiast]

HEAR ME OUT GENE AND LUCINDA AS BEST FRIENDS......

[miilkphone]

how would yall feel about mcd rewrite longpost

[chiquitin-o]

i think what bothers me most about the irene dimension is just how quickly time passes there, and it doesn’t make sense. it’s probably just jess’ lousy writing but if 1 minute there really does make 1 year on earth, then 5 seconds in the irene dimension is a month on earth. now it’s been a while since i rewatched past season 1 so forgive me if i’m wrong, but garroth was in the irene dimension for less than a year (on earth time). meaning to him it was less than a minute. and not only that, but what was going on with those dreams aphmau was having? if that was really garroth, then what was happening to him to be in those dreams? how was garroth managing to fight zane and also talking to aphmau in less than a minute

[jeremiahthefroge]

yeah fuck it aphmau's 2015 minecraft roleplay series can get me back into fandom culture. sure. why not. adult life is already so fucking weird.

[emeryleewho]

Saw a fun little conversation on Threads but I don't have a Threads account, so I couldn't reply directly, but I sure can talk about it here!

I've been wanting to get into this for awhile, so here we go! First and foremost, I wanna say that "Emmaskies" here is really hitting the nail on the head despite having "no insider info". I don't want this post to be read as me shitting on trad pub editors or authors because that is fundamentally not what's happening.

Second, I want to say that this reply from Aaron Aceves is also spot on:

There are a lot of reviewers who think "I didn't enjoy this" means "no one edited this because if someone edited it, they would have made it something I like". As I talk about nonstop on this account, that is not a legitimate critique. However, as Aaron also mentions, rushed books are a thing that also happens.

As an author with 2 trad pub novels and 2 trad pub anthologies (all with HarperCollins, the 2nd largest trad publisher in the country), let me tell you that if you think books seem less edited lately, you are not making that up! It's true! Obviously, there are still a sizeable number of books that are being edited well, but something I was talking about before is that you can't really know that from picking it up. Unlike where you can generally tell an indie book will be poorly edited if the cover art is unprofessional or there are typoes all over the cover copy, trad is broken up into different departments, so even if editorial was too overworked to get a decent edit letter churned out, that doesn't mean marketing will be weak.

One person said that some publishers put more money into marketing than editorial and that's why this is happening, but I fundamentally disagree because many of these books that are getting rushed out are not getting a whole lot by way of marketing either! And I will say that I think most authors are afraid to admit if their book was rushed out or poorly edited because they don't want to sabotage their books, but guess what? I'm fucking shameless. Café Con Lychee was a rush job! That book was poorly edited! And it shows! Where Meet Cute Diary got 3 drafts from me and my beta readers, another 2 drafts with me and my agent, and then another 2 drafts with me and my editor, Café Con Lychee got a *single* concrete edit round with my editor after I turned in what was essentially a first draft. I had *three weeks* to rewrite the book before we went to copy edits. And the thing is, this wasn't my fault. I knew the book needed more work, but I wasn't allowed more time with it. My editor was so overworked, she was emailing me my edit letter at 1am. The publisher didn't care if the book was good, and then they were upset that its sales weren't as high at MCD's, but bffr. A book that doesn't live up to its potential is not going to sell at the same rate as one that does!

And this may sound like a fluke, but it's not. I'm not naming names because this is a deeply personal thing to share, but I have heard from *many* authors who were not happy with their second books. Not because they didn't love the story but because they felt so rushed either with their initial drafts or their edits that they didn't feel like it lived up to their potential. I also know of authors who demanded extra time because they knew their books weren't there yet only to face big backlash from their publisher or agent.

I literally cannot stress to you enough that publisher's *do not give a fuck* about how good their products are. If they can trick you into buying a poorly edited book with an AI cover that they undercut the author for, that is *better* than wasting time and money paying authors and editors to put together a quality product. And that's before we get into the blatant abuse that happens at these publishers and why there have been mass exoduses from Big 5 publishers lately.

There's also a problem where publishers do not value their experienced staff. They're laying off so many skilled, dedicated, long-term committed editors like their work never meant anything. And as someone who did freelance sensitivity reading for the Big 5, I can tell you that the way they treat freelancers is *also* abysmal. I was almost always given half the time I asked for and paid at less than *half* of my general going rate. Authors publishing out of their own pockets could afford my rate, but apparently multi-billion dollar corporations couldn't. Copy edits and proofreads are often handled by freelancers, meaning these are people who aren't familiar with the author's voice and often give feedback that doesn't account for that, plus they're not people who are gonna be as invested in the book, even before the bad payment and ridiculous timelines.

So, anyway, 1. go easy on authors and editors when you can. Most of us have 0 say in being in this position and authors who are in breech of their contract by refusing to turn in a book on time can face major legal and financial ramifications. 2. Know that this isn't in your head. If you disagree with the choices a book makes, that's probably just a disagreement, but if you feel like it had so much potential but just *didn't reach it*, that's likely because the author didn't have time to revise it or the editor didn't have time to give the sort of thorough edits it needed. 3. READ INDIE!!! Find the indie authors putting in the work the Big 5's won't do and support them! Stop counting on exploitative mega-corporations to do work they have no intention of doing.

Finally, to all my readers who read Café Con Lychee and loved it, thank you. I love y'all, and I appreciate y'all, and I really wish I'd been given the chance to give y'all the book you deserved. I hope I can make it up to you in 2025.

[kitorin]

sweet dreams.

in which, nanami kento finally goes on a long overdue vacation

contents. nanami kento x gn!reader, 2.965k words, fluff but then heavy angst (mcd and hurt no comfort), mentions of murder (true crime stuff) but no detail of it, reader is a coward and really can't handle horror (sorry that's just me projecting)

"What did you do?"

Guilt makes your lips purse, tongue swiping over them out of habit. You didn't want to call him, to interrupt him during the night shift he ever so loathes, contributing to the things he has to do.

But with demons lurking in the dark and the sense of impending doom beginning to latch onto you, it felt necessary, especially when fear decided to be quite clingy.

"I got scared."

A tired sigh comes from the phone. "How many times do I have to tell you not to watch anything disturbing at night?"

"This documentary got really interesting. I wanted to know what happened next..." Explicit content was fine, with Kento there to cling onto and his never-ending reassurance. Your husband watched these intense shows and documentaries without so much of a flinch, unfazed by quite literally everything displayed on the screen.

You, on the other hand, was a completely different case.

The slightest raise in volume managed to steal a scream from you, and jump scares had you flinching just a bit too hard. The mere build up and suspense of the music had your heart racing, even if nothing happened and it served as a little trick.

"I'm so sorry Ken, I'll hang up so you can focus on work." You're an adult, you shouldn't be so cowardly towards a mere genre of entertainment, and you should know better not to consume it.

Your thumb reaches for the red button, and your emotions hold you back, while rationality argues not to.

"No. Neither of us are going to be hanging up."

One part of you celebrates quietly, while another insists. "But you're working. Overtime nonetheless, and I know you hate those shifts. It's best to get everything done as soon as possible and get out of there."

His voice is raspy, garnished by a sultry tone. "Love, I belong to you, not my job. I do appreciate your thoughts, but you're more important than a mere paycheck."

Fuck. There it is, his eloquent, smooth way with words.

"Still. I can wait." That was a lie, though one you were willing to utter if it meant he'd prioritise his job. "Besides, what about that higher up you mentioned? The irritating one that's childish and overtalkative?"

Kento chuckles. "He's here, but he takes his job seriously and is highly capable. I'm on break anyways. Talk to me. If you can."

"I read about the Sapporo murder case. I still feel like the culprits from the case is going to sneak up on me. Or one of the zombies from Happiness." You adored the show and its cast, but god forbid you sit through another one of its jump scares.

"That's fine, it's normal. The point of this type of media is so scare. A lot of effort is put into making sure they elicit emotion." You cling onto every word he speaks, the world around you still there, only a bit blurry now. "Breathe in through your nose for four second, pause for two. Then breathe out through your mout for another eight."

Have you brushed your teeth?"

Kento hums as a response when you answer yes.

"Where are you right now?"

"In bed, but I need to clean up and turn off some lights before I sleep."

"Ignore it. I'll do it when I'm home."

"Are you sure?" There was no point in asking that, not when you'd rather not move away from the security of the doona. "You're going to be exhausted by the time you're home."

"Doesn't matter to me." Genuine indifference to the matter displays itself in Kento's tone. "I took a nap earlier, had a coffee or two as well. I'm going to be alright—" Something in the background echoes, though you could barely decipher what you were hearing, the furious tone of the voice concerned you.

"Who was that...? Is your boss mad at you? Wait but it doesn't make sense for a boss to give you a nickname—"

For a moment or two, Kento remained silent. "No, just an enthusiastic intern. He's talkative and sometimes loud but he's a good kid."

Your former worry dissipates, so quick that it almost seemed like it was never there in the first place. "Nanamin, was it?"

He sighs, the two of you know damn well that you'll refuse to forget that one.

"It's cute! Nanamin. I like how it sounds."

Voice softening, he replies with a chuckle. "I feel like you'd get along well."

"You should invite him over then. He must adore you if he's calling out to you that much."

"If that's true then I'd say the feeling is quite mutual." All you have is his voice, yet you can say without a doubt that he's beaming, a subtlety only you'll ever know— one of the many which compose the love between the two of you.

"Keep working." You whisper as a yawn claws out of your throat.

"Are you sure? Are you okay now?"

You nod, though he can't see it. "I am. Just listening to you helps a lot."

"I'm glad."

"Do your best at work, okay? And make sure you stay safe on the way home?" You hold back a grin, even though you're alone in your shared bedroom. "I have a surprise for you when you get home."

Kento piques with curiosity. "Really?"

"Yup, I think you'll love it." You stare at your bedside table, where tickets to Malaysia were stored. "I hope you do, at least."

"If it's coming from you of course I'll love it sweetheart." It's miraculous really, how you've been together for so long yet you have to suppress the urge to squeal over his sweet words. "My boss is going to start making me work again, good night darling. Sweet dreams, love."

You fall asleep with ease that night, this time with welcomed thoughts of spending time with Kento on the shore of Kuantan, running around whilst cherishing the cold, salty water licking at your ankles; rather than the intrusive thoughts from earlier.

"You could've kept talking to them. I wouldn't've told anyone even if it took a lot of time."

Fushiguro Megumi is examining the sharpness of his blade when he reassures his teacher Nanami Kento, not looking up from his weapon, seated by the railing of the bridge.

"I appreciate that, but it'd be wrong of you." He moves his shoulders in circles, loosening his tie to wrap it around his knuckles. "I can teach you other methods."

"Pardon?"

Nanami crouches in front of Megumi. "Your breathing changed when I told them how to." The student doesn't respond. "It varies from person to person, I've tested out a lot."

Megumi still doesn't answer, averting his gaze towards the weapon that he held down.

"Fushiguro - kun. Are you scared?"

The younger finally speaks once more. "... I guess." Hesitation presents itself in his words, barely stable and his reluctance to maintain eye contact. "I won't let that stop me from completing my tasks—"

"It's okay. You're merely sixteen, you're not even old enough to drink, nor get your driver's licence."

Megumi returns to silence.

"Look at me." And so Megumi does. "To be a child is not a sin. I'm perfectly fine with withdrawing you from this operation if it's too much."

"Wouldn't that get you in trouble?"

Indeed he would. He'd tolerate plenty of discipline and anger from the higher ups. But Nanami Kento knows too well what it's like to risk you and your peers for a 'greater good', at nonetheless a ridiculously young age too—an age where you're supposed to go to regular school and be regular, stupid kids figuring themselves out; not witnessing the death of the ones dear to your heart with the sight of their corpses forever imprinted into your mind, nor have the stench of blood memorised meticulously instead of historical dates or mathematical formulas.

If it were up to him, he'd prohibit such exploitation of children. None should be performing such tasks, even if born with an advantageous cursed technique.

If the higher ups adopted the same philosophy as him, Haibara would be alive and well, and Nanami wouldn't feel his stomach lurch whenever he sees a bowl of rice, nor flinch whenever he hears the mention of Geto Suguru. 

'I don't mind if it means you'll be at ease. Gojo can protect me, and if I'm unable to extract you from this operation then I'll handle everything."

Megumi takes a deep breath. "I shouldn't run away. I'll do my best. I have Tsumiki I need to return to. We should go find Itadori now."

“If you say so then, but it’s still my duty to protect you.” With a final, strong tug he tightens his tie around his knuckles. “I can't guarantee any results, not in this instable world and career. What I can promise, is that I will protect you with my life."

A determined nod from Megumi is all he needs.

Quick and efficient; that's the plan. Shibuya was already a mess, and all he wanted was the security of your arms within the four walls he calls 'home'.

"Thank you for having us."

Megumi, the one with the messy, black hair speaks coldly, though very politely, his manners were courteous and so was Yuuji. They'd come to your door and introduced themselves as interns at Kento's company. Now, they were seated in your living room, on your couch.

"Don't mention it, Ken's always been fond of the interns." You already miss him, he must've stayed overnight at the company again. "Are you okay with first names?"

Both nod.

You smile. "So, Yuuji, Megumi, what have you come here for?"

Yuuji speaks first. "It's about Nanamin, I mean Nanami—"

Without malicious attempt you cut him off. "Nanamin is fine, I overheard you calling him that last night. He was fond of it, it was quite cute after all." You chuckle to yourself at it. 

The boy swallows, appearing apprehensive. He sounded so enthusiastic last night, perhaps he was the type who needed to warm up towards people first.

"Well, um."

You don't say anything, giving him time to respond comfortably.

"Nanami sensei passed away last night." Megumi finishes what Yuuji couldn't.

Your heart drops.

Temptation to make an accusation of a prank attempts to claw out of your throat, but with how their expressions scream nausea and discomfort, it'd be rude to do so.

That explained why he never kept his promise of finishing up on chores, knowing Kento he would’ve done everything to make sure he made it home to do as he said he would. 

"What happened?" It doesn't feel right— and it isn't at all, but you have to figure out the truth, even if this all doesn't seem real.

"There was a fire." Yuuji whispers, barely loud enough and coherent with the tremble of his voice. "And he didn't make it out in time."

You remain silent, so does Megumi. Yuuji bites his lip, suppressing what seemed to be a sob.

"I see."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If only—" It drowns out in his bawling. "It was my fault. He—"

He completely lacked incoherency now, hiccuping as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"He helped us first." Megumi once again continues Yuuji's words. "But they recovered his body, we brought you his ashes."

He pulls out a package from his shoulder bag, wrapping it to reveal a pale blue funerary urn. Megumi places it onto the table.

"I'm sorry. If I had been capable of protecting myself he wouldn't've died saving me."

Your gaze meets Megumi’s, you're too afraid to properly acknowledge the urn, where your boyfriend was supposedly resting.

Silence permeates the air, Yuuji bites his sleeve to suppress his crying and Megumi breathes shakily.

"Don't apologise. You have no reason to. Neither of you." You've barely known the two, but the way Yuuji was sobbing broke your heart, and how both seemed to genuinely believe they caused Kento's passing. "It's not your fault. I don't think it is, and he would agree with him. He made the choice to help you, because he cared deeply for both of you. You can cry freely, I won't stop you." You muster a smile, hoping it'll be comforting in some sort of way. They're only kids, they can't be blaming themselves for the death of another they didn't cause.

Yuuji's teeth release the sleeve of his hoodie, hiccuping out what sounded like a thank you. You push a tissue box towards him, to which he accepts the offer.

"You idiot…” Megumi sniffles a bit.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be fine.” You pat him on the back, rubbing it too. You give him your phone, opening a new contact. “I’d like to invite you two to the funeral, can I have your contact details? In the meantime I’ll make some tea.”

You earn a nod, and are quick to retreat into the kitchen, hand holding your mouth shut as you slowly cry, pleading for Yuuji and Megumi to be unable to hear. 

"Kento! We're here, at Kuantan!"

After a long flight and travel, you finally arrived at your destination, you had dropped your luggage off at the accommodation, the urn Megumi had given you was held up against your chest.

I've always wanted to go to Kuantan, in Malaysia. One day I'd like to build a house on a secluded beach and live there. Of course with you, if you were okay with it.

You take off your sandals, tossing them away as you approach the shoreline, the coolness of the water catching you off guard. You continue walking, until it reaches halfway up your calves.

Off goes the lid of the urn, and you toss the ashes into the beach, watching the waves swallow Kento whole. It's not long before the urn is empty, you've never had to scatter someone's ashes, yet it felt like something was missing.

In all honesty, you have no idea if Kento wanted to be cremated, you've never touched on the subject of death, probably because the two of you were so young.

But something tells you this is the right decision. Kuantan's beautiful, and he wanted to go when work and money permitted him to do so. He'd loved to read a book under the shade of that large tree over there, and would've wanted to try fishing at the rock ledge nearby. It was just the two of you here, even better.

Fuck.

As you watch him swim into the ocean, you notice the tears threatening to spill. You don't bother trying to avoid it, not that you would've been able to.

"It's not fair!" You yell, out into the ocean. You don't blame Yuuji, or Megumi, or anyone, but you're still livid. "I miss you, I miss you so much that it gets hard to breathe."

The ring box feels heavy in your pocket.

"If you had to leave this world early you could've done it later." Your cry becomes a sob. "Just one month, then I could've fucking proposed. I don't need a honeymoon or marriage, I just want your fucking answer."

In an ideal world, you'd like to think that he would've accepted without hesitation, but that fantasy doesn't compare to the pain of remaining oblivious to his answer forever.

"Who's going to comfort me now? Who am I going to spend the rest of my life with? Who am I going to cook dinner with? What about Yuuji and Megumi? They had to finish their internships without you. Do you know how hard Yuuji cried when he came to tell me you passed away?"

By no means are you mad at Kento, you could never. But anger that slowly accumulated in your heart for the past few months, and had erupted. The empty coldness of your bed stings, and the amount of cutlery required being halved overwhelms you with misery. You can’t even laugh at his high school photos anymore, the amusement from his ridiculous haircut can’t triumph over the fact that he had passed away a mere ten years later. 

You’d much rather store it all away, each and every possession and photo of the man. The sight of his favourite mug serves as a harsh reminder that morning coffee with him will never happen. Listening to old voice mails seemed reassuring and almost lulled you to sleep, until you had to come to terms that he was truly gone once more. 

But at least sound can be captured.

What about his scent? Eventually his clothes would lose their scent, they probably were already on that course, even with your refusal to wash them. Touch can’t be preserved, you can cling onto the memory of your skin against his for as long as you want, but you’ll never truly experience it again.

“Goodbye Kento!” Despite your miserable state you pull yourself together just enough so you can see him off with a smile. “I love you, so so much. More than anything in the world, I always will! Thank you, for being there. Th-thank you for loving me.”

You've lost the energy to yell, throat now hoarse. You venture deeper into the shore, not caring about your clothes getting wet, as your face gets soaked with your own tears.

Who's fault is it? Was it the culprit of the fire (if there was one)? Or perhaps yours, for not proposing earlier. Maybe then he would've been safe and sound in Kuantan, after taking leave. Perchance it was the heavens deciding they’d rather just not authorise him to spend the rest of his name.

Whoever it was, it doesn't matter. Nothing could bring back the warmth of Nanami Kento. 

taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins, @pokkomi, @chigirizzz

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[violetwhisperswolfstar]

The Evolution Of A Wolfstar Girlie

(with my fic recommendations)me aged 10-23: there will never be a book I like more than Harry Potter. I love books and read all the time but Harry Potter is above anything. Reread HP everytime I am feeling down.

me aged 24-30: I lost the ability to read for pleasure. Just read to my kids and A LOT for work.

me at 31: *after a random tiktok video* Sirius and Remus were TOGETHER together?! Never even crossed my mind!!!

But... I get it.

But like... JKR didn't write it. Fanfic is just amateurs writing, right? I have enough of reading as is, I have to read for my job (I'm a translator).

But... They promised it's a HP experience. And I do have an eReader... It costs nothing to try it.

But... What the hell is ao3? What is smut??? Fluff??? HEA? MCD??? Cannon?? AU? Excuse me, is this English?!

The following then happend over 2 months time:

📖 Reading All the Young Dudes

OK, this is really very much like HP. I am getting hooked. This is ACTUALLY what happend, right? Like this is amazingly written. How is this not a real book? (What IS a real book and how do I not know this being a book translator?!) Are Sirius and Remus getting together in this one?

Oh my!

Actually, I've not been this obsessed with a book in like 10+ years.

Reading all through the night (with three kids, mind you, so a very stupid idea)

🎶Love this music!!! Have always loved rock, Queen, Beatles, Bowie, led Zeppelin… You name it. But this makes it better!!!

Finishing ATYD: OMG! OMG! I AM OBSESSED. They need to be together forever. I need to re-read it.

A SEX SCENE in Harry Potter?! EXCUSE YOU! Like… Didn't know I needed that. Thank you.

Of course they had teenage sex at that school. Yes to a giant snake killing people with its sight and no to some friendly petting? Yeah, sure, JKR! Be for real! Never thought about it like that before. And of course they had parties. And smoked (weed) and did drugs. Like… It's a boarding school for heaven's sake! this is much more realistic. Finally know what smut is and I am here for it.

I want a cigarette SO BAD right now (haven't smoked for YEARS)

googling specifics of gay sex because I never thought about it (and I live in a very conservative country) (and like I had QUESTIONS, excuse you, like can you just do butt stuff without prep?!)

finding 📖 explicit one-shots from ATYD

📖 Reading ATYD sirius's POV:

This is ALSO good. So... fanfics on the internet can just... be amazing, right? How has this existed for years and I did not know about it?? Sirius is obsessed LOL. He fell first and he fell harder, the poor boy.

My husband is SO MUCH like Remus. (personality-wise). Guess I know my type, lol.

These fanfics are written better than majority of books I've read. I'm utterly amazed.

📖 Reading Out of the Blue and Bootleg Tapes:

OK, I needed some healing. Happy for Grant and all. But I need wolfstar more.

📖 We could be heroes (finding out what a "fix-it fic" is)

Yes! Wolfstar endgame! A happy ending! Yes!!

Intrusive thoughts: Is ATYD wolfstar like… toxic?

Are they ever happy?

Don't go there, brain!!

Trying to heal with 📖Manacled, then DMATMOOBIL.

Like Dramione. But wolfstar is far superior.

Also have to note that Draco is amazing in bed.

Not a sentence I've ever thought I utter or think. Ever.

Finding 📖 Cadence Of Part-time Poets

sceptical.

How can muggle AU be good? Don't I like all this because of the magic?

Reading it, re-reading it.

Buying an e-cigarette (cause I have to DEAL ffuck's sake and they smoke in like every second scene and ecigarrete is the least of all evil)

Obsessing.

Cannot get enough.

Best. Thing. Ever. Written.

Somehow more magic than magic U.

DOES REGULUS LIKE JAMES?

Seeing the possibilities of Jegulus (is everyone gay in the end? Excuse me, Am I GAY at this point ?)

THE MUSIC OMG THE MUSIC IS MUSICING!!! I am in love with the music! How are Marauders not a band in cannon?! Like that's obviously what they were always supposed to be! Lottie, Simon, Tonya, Tomny… They ARE cannon for me lol. They were there and you cannot convince me otherwise.

Cannot read more, afraid I will lose this Cadence feeling. Just re-reading the best scenes over and over. Stalking motswolo's tumblr. Consuming all there is about Cadence out there. Trying to talk to people about it but noone reads fanfics here!

Can we like start a gofund me for them to get therapy??? I want to see them diagnosed, aware of their traumas and forever together.

Also, why is Remadora a thing? Thank god it wasn't in Cadence (yet) but sometimes i remember it exists and like… vomit internally. Gosh, I rly hate JKR. She just did it to discourage Wolfstar.

getting to read 📖 Black Mass Over Highway 90:

Very sceptical at first.

It's American… and Marauders are essentially English. Remus somewhere in Texas… of all places? Afraid this won't be my cup of tea... Cowboy Remus?! wtf

OMG.

OMG.

This scene basically porn… right? Why do I LOVE THIS?!

Remus is DADDY! Officer Moons!!! He can get it. Like omg. Cowboy Lupin FTW!!

THIS IS the SMUT, RIGHT?! Like do I even want to watch porn at this point? How am I - a cis female in a hetero relationship of 14 years with 3 kids - finding this SO HOT?!

📖 Reading Blends

Also very sceptical.

But... it's so sweet! Is this fluff? Am I discovering fluffy fics? Now, this is comfort reading! Coffe-shop AU? Like, this is where I want to die, my friends! This is so sweet, so incredibly sweet, and I DO NOT miss Voldy and his stupid war one bit, like to hell with him, he can order an Americano and Remus will decaf him at this point!

I am in LOVE!

📖 Reading Names (Blends sequel) because can you do anything else at this point?

Now this is... a whole other thing. It is fluffy, yes. But it goes deeper. And... wider somehow?

It's the first WIP I give a chance.

Cluster headaches are an AMAZING parallel to lycantrophy.

HOW exactly are people this talented just out there publishing fanfics?!

And this "slice of life" thing IS doing it for me. Like really.

📖 Reading Crimson Rivers

Is there anything else besides angst in this?

Wait, James likes... Regulus?!

discovering Jegulus -

wow. I am utterly amazed... cannot put this down at any point of the day. Reading while breastfeeding, reading all through the night. Reading all through the day. Learning how to read and braid my hair at the same time.

I keep thinking - why DO I love gay man/boys stories? How did it come to this? How is this FREE? How do I GIVE BACK to these AMAZING authors that are just doing incredible things for me? Like this is everything I've ever wanted from a book... and they're not even getting paid for this?!

📖 Reading a bunch of short fics inbetween (honorable mentions: Like Real People Do, That's the Art of Getting by, Led by Light of a Star Sweetly Gleaming, Pages of You - discovering Drarry, thinking Drarry is less angst because there's less homophobia in the 90s,

📖 Reading Only the Brave

OK, it's Jegulus, let's give it a chance...

OMG

OMG

OMG

I feel like ever since getting into this fandom, I'm just falling and falling and falling. Falling... In love.

This is so good, you guys. I love JEGULUS!

But as long as WOLFSTAR are together, I can deal (took them half a fic to get together, so please don't do anything stupid!)

I. CANNOT. STOP. READING. WOLFSTAR.

In every universe.

Wolfstar & fanfic taught me not to have any prejudice. And I also discovered that I was quite prejudiced without being aware of it!

I can read anything with those two... just don't break my heart and just let them be together.

Wolfstar made me read again and actually enjoy it. It's been several thousands of pages in a couple of months and I don't regret the lack of sleep…

They are soulmates. In every universe. I don't know what this fetish is called but I need them to be together, see them together, read them together. Love them both. Just need them to be happy.

I am completely amazed at the sheer power the internet has, that an online community has. This is my new obsession and I am utterly devoted to it. It taught me and gave me SO MUCH. I will forever be learning how to give anything back.

Thank you.

[rattotheimperialcheesegod]

aphmaus recent vidcon news is..interesting and yknow what, i know we are most likely getting a mystreet update, and i dont wanna be too harsh here but i fear that its gonna go right back to cocomau videos after she DOES finish mystreet finally, cause..come on

that girl is not gonna try and remake mcd for a THIRD TIME, that poor series ever getting a proper redo died as soon as the pandemic happened and her switching to brainrot content

and..my inner demons?...fuck..girl I don't know...like..did anyone even ask about MID at the last vidcon panel??? like..AT ALL???

(MORE BELOW)

Like truely I'd love it if maybe her finishing mystreet could be a great way to launch her into posting GOOD content again especially if shes showing her newer audience something that isnt colorful sludge, and maybe we could see mcd maybe in a different form one day, like a poorly written novel/j, as she creates even newer roleplays, like god she could maybe bring back void paradox!...but i also have a strange feeling that shes finishing mystreet with season 7 and nothing beyond that, just to wrap it up and get it out of her hair.

But thats just my opinion really, we really could get the good ol classic roleplays again, i just hope season 7 isnt getting rushed or half-assed, as much shit as i may give jess, i still want mystreet to conflude in a good and loving way, aphmau may not be the best writer but her series are exciting and engaging, and it would be sweet genuinely to have this new generation of aphmau fans get to see what aphmau and her team can do when they actually TRY and make entertaining work.

(plus I can't bare to have to witness every character from mystreet or mcd get further flanderized like they do in the cocomau verse, like...the only person who got a better personality was kim but shit everyone else is just assholes or are a pain in the ass to watch...or...is fucking both....COUGH aaron lycan COUGH)

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Untitled Buck/Tommy angst

For @kinardevan 'cause they sent out a general request for angst and I like hurting people with my words...er...I mean, writing angst is fun!

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Werewolf!AU

CW: could be read as MCD, though the ending is ambiguous and we all know the 118 pulls off miracles all the time. Soooo, interpret as you choose.

t wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

The thought echoed uselessly in his head, circling and circling. Like if he just thought it hard enough, God or the universe or something would hear him, and agree. And this would not be happening. Not like this. Not like this.

He checked his phone for the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time, still cursing to himself when a signal had not magically appeared. Closing his eyes, he hit the call button on his radio, opening the channel.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Firefighter Kinard, 217. I am trapped on the south side of the Stewart Street building collapse, at least at the sub-basement level. Firefighter Buckley, 118, is with me with severe injuries. Need immediate medevac. Does anyone copy? Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Firefighter Kinard, 217, does anyone copy?”

Static.

Nothing but static.

“They're not–gonna hear you. Gotta be…forty…feet of debris…signal won't get through.”

Carefully, so, so carefully, Tommy shuffled closer to the figure sprawled inelegantly in a half-sitting position against a slab of what used to be part of a subterranean parking garage ceiling. Evan's head came to rest on his shoulder, and he pressed his lips against his boyfriend's bloodied forehead. His skin was icy cold, pale as a ghost in the dim glow of their emergency lights.

As far as he could tell, Evan had escaped any spinal injuries or broken bones. But none of that mattered. Not when there was six inches of twisted, jagged steel protruding from his boyfriend’s abdomen.

He couldn’t even tell what it had been originally–a support beam, or part of the internal structure of the wall…it didn’t matter. Evan had landed on it or been impaled in the fall, despite Tommy’s best efforts, and even if help arrived soon...

He shut that thought off before it could come to its conclusion.

He’d stabilized the piece of steel as best he could, ripping his undershirt into shreds to pack the wound in a desperate effort to keep Evan from bleeding out before they were found. People were coming for them. Even if everyone else gave up on them as a lost cause, Tommy knew the 118 wouldn’t abandon Evan. Wouldn’t abandon him, either. They were coming, he just had to keep Evan alive until then. He just had to keep Evan alive.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“How you holding up?” he asked, ignoring Evan's–very, very correct–assessment of the likelihood his radio signal was going through. He pressed two fingers beneath Evan's chin, finding his pulse and counting the fast, thready beats silently.

“Been…better,” Evan mumbled. “Finally get to work…together on the ground…and it ends like…this.”

“Probably should’ve expected something to go wrong,” Tommy said, aiming for humor and missing by about three nautical miles. “But hey, now you and Chim can have matching rebar scars.”

“Matching…parking garage stories…w’th Hen too,” Evan replied, his head growing heavier against Tommy's shoulder, his eyes fluttering alarmingly.

“No,” Tommy said firmly, shifting his hand to cup his boyfriend's cheek. “No, none of that. You know the drill, babe. Stay awake.”

“Trying,” Evan whispered, pushing into Tommy's touch like he always did. “What…’bout you? How bad…are you hurt?”

Evan had already asked him that. A couple times, now. Swallowing down the panic that was trying to claw its way through the iron control he'd developed long before he was a soldier or a first responder, he answered anyway.

“I'm fine. Bumps and bruises. I’ll be fine, I'm just worried about you.”

“Liar,” Evan sighed, reaching up weakly to tangle their fingers together.

Tommy was not lying, was the thing. Not technically. He had felt something shatter inside when the floor he and Evan had been trying to clear collapsed beneath them, plunging them two or three sublevels into the basement parking amid a hale of debris. Several somethings, actually. He’d had no time to try and categorize his injuries, too busy frantically wrapping himself around Evan, trying to cushion his fall, trying to protect him, to take as much of the damage as he could.

Evan was strong. Evan was tough. But Evan was so painfully, perfectly human. He couldn’t take the damage Tommy could.

He’d broken and splintered and shattered on the way down, had slammed his head hard enough upon the final impact that even with his helmet, even with all the strength his nature afforded, he’d lost consciousness. He had no idea how long he was down, but it couldn’t have been very long–he’d had bones still knitting back together when he woke up, cuts and lacerations on his exposed skin that hadn’t quite closed.

He’d have taken worse–a hundred, a thousand, a million times worse–as long as Evan was all right.

He’d done his best. He’d done his fucking best.

“How’s the pain?” he asked, resisting the urge to check his phone for a non-existent signal again. Evan swallowed roughly, his fingers twitching in Tommy’s grasp. “Evan?”

“Kinda…fading,” Evan admitted after a long moment, his voice so quiet that even with his enhanced senses, Tommy could barely hear him.

Tommy’s stomach dropped, though he didn’t let any of his fear show on his face. He didn’t need to–he and Evan both knew what it meant when a wound this bad stopped hurting. “Okay. Okay, sweetheart, you just hang on. Hang on for me, okay?”

Evan tried to smile at him, a small dribble of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. It was all Tommy could do not to start howling, his other self clawing, lunging, demanding to be let out, to so something.

To do the only thing that might keep Evan here, keep Evan with him…keep Evan alive.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

His mother had always warned him to be honest with his partners. The instant he started thinking he could see a future with them, it was best to be honest. To reveal himself for what he was and let them decide if it was too much.

He’d known he wanted to share his other self with Evan only a few months in. Wanted to share everything with Evan, for as long as Evan would let him. He’d been startled by the intensity of his wanting, the strength of it. He’d had partners he considered telling his secret to, before. Had actually gone through with it, once.

Only once. The relationship hadn’t survived the reveal.

Maybe that was why he’d been holding back, even as Evan became more and more entrenched in his life, in his heart. He’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted Evan. Never loved anyone the way he loved Evan. He didn’t think he could bear it if he revealed his other self, and those beautiful, beautiful blue eyes filled with fear. If the same words that had poured out of Maddox’s mouth left Evan’s lips.

And yet, he’d known he would have to do it. They were moving in together next month, as soon as Evan’s lease ended. Evan had given him everything, offered up every part of himself with no shame, no inhibition, no regrets. He wanted forever with this man. He wanted it so badly it was like a permanent ache in his heart. But how could he ask for forever when he hadn’t given Evan everything, every part of himself in return?

He’d resolved to tell Evan everything. He’d just been waiting for the right time, waiting for their schedules to line up for some time off so Evan would have time to process, waiting, waiting, waiting.

He’d waited too long.

He hit his radio call switch again, gently wrapping his arm around Evan’s shoulders. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Firefighter Kinard, 217, does anyone copy? I am in need of immediate medevac for an impalement injury on the south side of the Stewart Street building collapse. Does anyone fucking copy?”

Static.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“Gonna be…hours, babe,” Evan said, his voice breathy and hoarse now, another dribble of blood leaking from his lips. “Even if they’re…already digging.”

He was right.

The truth Tommy had been refusing to acknowledge smacked him full in the face, damn near stealing his breath, ice blooming up and down his spine. Even if, even if rescue operations were already in full swing, even if the 118 had any idea they were still alive, even if they’d pinpointed their location and were going full tilt trying to dig them out…it would be hours before help got here.

Evan didn’t have hours.

“Love you,” his boyfriend–his partner, his lover, his fucking everything--murmured, his grip on Tommy’s hand growing weaker. “Never…thought I’d…get this.”

“Shut up,” Tommy said, a growl slipping into his voice as his other self railed against the weakness in Evan’s voice. “Don’t you fucking dare start saying goodbye to me.”

Infuriatingly, Evan just tipped his head forward, resting in the crook of Tommy’s neck with a barely-there smile. “Tommy. I’ve got…like a foot of steel…through my guts and it doesn’t hurt. Just…keep holding…me.”

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Tommy was supposed to ease his boyfriend into it…into the idea that there were other people than humans in the world, that there was a whole world out there that Evan had never seen or interacted with. It was supposed to be slow and gentle, giving Evan plenty of time to process, to consider. And then…and then later…later, when they were sure they both wanted the same things, wanted the future that Tommy craved so badly…when Evan had had time to really think about it. To get to know Tommy’s other self, to become comfortable with it. To decide for himself if he wanted to step into this other world with Tommy. Become a part of it. Become like Tommy.

In his deepest, most private dreams and fantasies, he imagined them going away together somewhere–the mountains maybe, or the beach–where they could have privacy for a few days. He imagined candlelight and roses and music, every romantic cliche he could fathom. Imagined making love slow and sweet, worshiping Evan’s body before tenderly taking his wrist in hand. He’d change just a bit, let his other self out enough for his eyes to glow a rich gold and his teeth to lengthen to fangs. In his dreams, Evan’s breath always caught, his scent growing richer with lust and desire, loving every part of Tommy just the way Tommy loved every part of him. He’d stare into the eyes of the man he loved as he bit down, kiss the bloodied bite apologetically as Evan gasped and shuddered, hold him tightly as the change worked through his body, as Evan’s other self was born out of their love.

It was not supposed to happen like this.

“Evan…do you trust me?” he asked, a leaden sort of dread settling in his gut. This–this was unfair. It was so unfair. Evan was in no condition to make such a life-altering decision for himself. Christ, he didn’t even know what Tommy was. Had no idea that things like werewolves weren’t just stories and legends. And it was dangerous to try and change someone who was this severely injured. The bite was only ever given to people who were mentally prepared for the change, who were healthy and strong and ready.

But God help him, he couldn’t lose Evan. Not here. Not now. Not like this.

“...’course,” Evan sighed, and Tommy almost wanted to cry at the simple conviction in Evan’s voice.

Please, he prayed, not even sure who he was praying to. Please let it be enough.

Evan was strong. He was so strong, one of the strongest people Tommy had ever met, in every way possible. He had to be strong enough to survive what Tommy was about to do.

Because he would surely die if Tommy did nothing.

“I’m going to get you out of this, baby,” he said, carding his fingers through Evan’s hair, clumped with sweat, grime, and blood. He kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, his cheek, his bloodied lips. “You’re not dying here. I love you.”

Then he shifted, let his other self come to the surface enough for his teeth to lengthen, for his eyes to shine with unnatural light in a twisted mirror image of his treasured dreams.

It couldn’t be Evan’s wrist–too small a wound, too far from the heart. With the blood Evan had already lost, with shock setting in hard, the bite would have to take fast to have a chance. The throat. It had to be the throat.

“Trust me,” he said again, asking, pleading, begging as he tilted Evan’s head back, the weight of it already so loose and limp. Evan was slipping away from him.

“Huh…wha’?” Evan gasped, blood bubbling from his lips, frothy, scarlet bubbles, his breath rattling in his chest.

Tommy bit down.

Squeezed his eyes shut as the man he loved more than anything in the world screamed in pain, the sound of it weak and ragged, dying, Evan was dying and he bit down harder, pierced skin and muscle and felt more blood spill into his mouth.

Please let it be enough

He held Evan still when he convulsed in Tommy’s arms, desperately trying to keep him from dislodging any part of the steel bar through his abdomen. Not yet, not yet–Tommy would have to get it out of him when he started changing, but he couldn’t risk pulling it yet, Evan would bleed out in seconds.

He pulled his teeth from Evan’s neck with a ragged cry, pressed his forehead to Evan’s as his boyfriend shook and shuddered. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “It’s all right, it’ll be all right. I’ve got you, I love you, I’ve got you. Just hold on, baby, it’ll be fast.”

Evan’s mouth fell open, his breath coming in short, rattling pants. His fist closed weakly on Tommy’s shoulder, spasming as his whole body seized. Tommy searched Evan’s face frantically, looking for the first signs of the change taking place, waiting for the familiar gold light to start to eclipse the blue of his eyes, waiting for his breathing to become steadier, his pulse to become stronger. The full change would take hours, but the first effects should be enough, should start to heal Evan’s wounds. He just had to be ready to pull out the steel at just the right moment.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” he promised over and over. “Don’t be scared, please don’t be scared…it’s the only way. I love you, I love you so much–I couldn’t let you die.” The words escaped him in a torrent, a flood, and all the while he scanned Evan’s face for the first signs of the change.

They didn’t come.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Evan’s shudders grew weaker and slower, until he slumped against Tommy, his chest barely rising and falling, his pulse a weak, fluttering thing against Tommy’s fingers when he pressed them against Evan’s neck, slick with blood from the ragged bite. Before Tommy’s horrified eyes, the skin around the bite grew inflamed, streaks of scarlet spreading out from it, crawling up and down Evan’s neck to disappear under his turnouts.

“No…no, no, no, no, baby, don’t do this. Hold on, please hold on!”

It didn’t always work right away, Tommy told himself, clutching Evan to him, barely resisting the urge to shake him back to wakefulness. There was still time. Evan was so hurt, it was just taking longer. That had to be it. Had to be it. Sure, his mother had told him that sometimes the bite didn’t take, that a person just couldn’t handle it, that sometimes a bite could turn bad…but that couldn’t be happening. God, please that couldn’t be happening. Evan was strong enough. He had to be.

“Please, Evan. Please don’t do this. Come on, baby, come on! Stay with me–just a little longer, just hang on a little longer. Stay. Stay! Stay, damn it!”

He clawed at his radio again. “Mayday, mayday, FUCKING MAYDAY! Anyone! Anyone copy?!”

Static.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

[vivisectedvitality]

"i don't believe in god, so you're the only one to whom i can pray"

cw: prior mcd, brief suicidal ideation

ghost sits in the front pew of a tiny catholic church in russia. his skin prickles underneath his gear, rifle sat next to him on the bench. he shouldnt be here. he shouldnt be sticking his neck out like this when theyre so close to catching makarov. practically at his front door price had said. or was it gaz. he cant remember very many small details right now.

the church has all the same fittings as the one they held johnny's service at. it's much less ornate though. he thinks johnny might have liked this one better. less frills, much simpler than the drawn out affair they'd had in glasgow. ghost sticks his hand in one of the pockets of his tac vest and figets with the warped bullet fragments in it.

his eyes are drawn to a statue to the side of the altar. its of a woman, eyes looking skyward. she's got swords encircling her, something like a halo over her head. he can't remember her name. something about wounds and sorrow. ghost scoffs, fist tightening in his pocket. the shards of metal dig into his palm.

there's a shift in the constant cloud cover outside, and a solitary beam of sunlight shines through a small window behind the altar. it filters perfectly through the stained glass, casting the pew ghost is on in muted reds and blues. he releases his grip on the metal pieces in his pocket and removes his hand from it, slumping in his seat. blessed sunshine. there's something he could worship. after all these weeks, either holed up inside or underground or living under steel grey skies he felt like some kind of prayer of his had been answered.

it gives him an idea. a bad one, but those seem to be the only kind he can come across these days.

ghost pulls off his gloves, one finger at a time, and sets them on the pew. he flexes his fingers and puts them together like he'd seen people do when they were in church, like he'd seen johnny's mother do after he'd told her that her boy would be coming home in a body bag. he shuffles forward and down until creaky knees make contact with creaky wood, and he waits for the words to come.

but they don't. he sits there for long minutes and nothing comes out. the small beam of sunlight dissappears back into the constant grey, leaving him in the half light of the abandoned church again. he drops down to sit on his calves. the backs of his shoes are digging into his ass and the edge of the pew is jabbing into his vest. he should get up. but he doesn't. he can't. if this is it, the end of makarov, what may be the end of ghost himself, he's going to get through to johnny one way or another, even if he has to sit here on his knees for hours to believe in his god.

another idea occurs to him. it's worse than the first. but he's sick of failing, so he tries anyway.

ghost reaches up and pulls his mask off, tossing it into the seat behind him. he regains his earlier posture, kneeling with his legs straight, hands clasped together, looking up through the window like the statue was.

simon opens his mouth. closes it again. shuts his eyes.

"johnny."

his voice is rough with disuse, breaking on the word. he clears his throat, purses his lips. starts again.

"johnny. dunno if you can hear me. all i know you're just dust in the wind now."

he flexes his interlocked fingers, trying to soothe their urge to pull his mask back on.

"i can't pray for you, can't bring myself to. seems selfish, sure but its facts. cause if theres someone up there watchin' then why the fuck wasn't it me instead'a you. man like me ought to croak before a man like you. bloody fuckin' waste otherwise."

simon knocks his forehead to his knuckles and sighs.

"but now i guess. guess i'll trust you to do that. watch my six. always did johnny, always."

he squeezes his hands together.

"we're going after him, soap, no fuckin about this time. we'll get him. i'll get him for you."

his trigger finger twitches.

"help me get him for you. don't let me fall until he does. don't let me breathe my last until his goddamn skull's caved in. please."

part of the weight he's been carrying since that cold day in november slides off him.

"all the shit i do now is for you johnny. woulda left if price hadn't kept chasing the bastard. woulda gone to meet you off the side of that cliff. everything i do is for you now."

he thinks about the mountains of bodies they've gone through to get this close, the rivers of blood that have stained his shoes so badly he's replaced them twice in four months. he thinks about torture sessions that lasted days, men screaming for their mothers in the pitch blackness of underground cells.

he thinks of fights with price he had to be physically dragged away from, about gaz clocking him across the face after simon had said they didn't care their sergent was gone.

"we'll finish the job. whatever state we're in."

" 'n when i blow his brains out i'll think of you."

he blinks his eyes open to find the whole church bathed in sunlight.

[dilly-dahlia]

when i’m trying to use a more plausible color scheme for everyone in my MCD rewrite (since it’s going to be set in a more underdeveloped time period, a lot of colors are going to be expensive/hard to find) and can’t decide what colors to give certain people 😭

im obviously gonna keep some of the original colors in the beginning (like Lord Burt wearing red because of its significance as a powerful color), but keep everyone’s else’s mostly plain. for example Nana won’t be an explosion of pink (although it will remain her favorite color), Aphmau won’t be wearing purple as often (the most common variation of the color was tyrian purple which took a very extensive amount of labor to make even one gram of the pigment. that, as well as the color being reserved for royalty), and Laurance won’t have as many green articles of clothing in the section of my rewrite portraying season two (the emerald green pigment was made from arsenic, which made it not only extremely toxic to produce but to wear as well as the skin would absorb the poison)

(i’m still debating about Dante and Garroth with their blue tones because it was a more common color amongst the poor people and was made with cheap, low quality dye, but Louis IX and Henry VIII started wearing it with other nobles and it became a color of high standing so…)

now this is also where I also come to a standstill because of these colors and what they used to represent. each Divine Warrior will have a color associated with them, which is where part of their symbolism will come from. however, I’m stuck on what color to give Irene

there’s a very brief clip somewhere I can’t remember when it appeared, but Irene was wearing a black two piece that seemed to be torn. I imagine this being something like her “first” outfit in the world so i’m not too worried about that one, but I’m more concerned about the one she wears when she’s portrayed

we see Irene wearing two cloaks from what I remember (my memory is garbage and I have yet to reach that far in anything). one of her cloaks was royal blue and the other is a lilac purple. the lilac purple would be a more difficult hue to achieve in the time period i’m reaching for, so either way i’m going to make the purple into a deeper shade.

i’m having such a war in my head about which color to choose for her, though. because both colors could signify who she is and i’m honestly debating just having different people give her different colors but I don’t know

on one hand, tyrian purple was a color reserved for royalty. using it could be used to show the high regard in which people in Ru’aun placed her. it could be used to signify their desire to have Irene rule as queen over the region before she diminished the monarchy and developed the Lord system instead. however, this color was made from a tiring process that required extensive amount of labor for barely anything to show the effort, and I feel as though the way to obtain the color doesn’t represent Irene the Matron

on the other hand, I feel as though a deeper blue pigment would be a better match. blue was original worn by peasants but the steady popularity it gained with nobility made it a more expensive and luxurious color for people that could afford it, as I previously said. this color I feel would fit better with her character to show that Irene came from humble beginnings and was put on a pedestal after her efforts for peace and becoming Lord of Scaleswind (which would be equal to blue becoming a color of nobility). the only problem with the blue is that the dye used by the peasants was low quality made from the woad plant that (from what i’ve seen) was dyed much lighter compared to the royal blue i’m talking about. i don’t know, maybe she got an upgrade at some point…

(can you tell i love the history behind colors)

(also if anyone has any other impactful information concerning colors please let me know i also actually love learning about it)

(and greatest apologies guys this is basically a yap post it has very little significance to anything)

[confessmau]

I feel a bit excluded and left out in this fandom. I don't mean to point fingers here, make anyone feel bad. This isn't something anyone in the fandom does wrong it's just how I feel.

Nearly every single person here despises mystreet with all their heart. But I cannot, I like both equally. When I got into the fandom, I always saw mcd being endlessly hyped up. Mystreet sucked and could never compare. Mystreet fans were stupid morons and could never understand. So I watched MCD and honestly, I was let down. It was good, by any means. But as mystreet has its faults, so does minecraft diaries. I couldn't even make it through season 3.

And by no means do I think Mystreet is better than mcd or anything.

But despite the fact that I have been in this fandom for over 5 years. I fear I'll never fully be apart of it because I post about mystreet too.

I see my mcd posts always getting more likes then my mystreet posts, and I get why they do. Really.

I just fear some people may unfollow if I post too much about mystreet. And that people might find me annoying because I also post about mystreet, or might look down on me because I do.

~~

[thebisexualwreckoning]

@jegulus-microfic | Day 9 - Heart | Word count: 739 | tw: vomit, human experimentation, animal death, human death (technically mcd but he gets better), descriptions of surgery on cadavers, life threatening disease, blood, body horror, gore, basically dead dove do not eat

Now, with that out of the way, I am honoured to present to you THE FRANKENSTEIN AU

Fic under the cut

They'd been ready. They'd been prepared. And yet when James finally drew his last breath, Regulus had to run across to room to empty his gut, retching till there was nothing left in him any longer. Sirius was right there by his side, rubbing circles into his back until he could finally breathe again. He'd felt a sharp pang of guilt then. James may have been his other half but if soulmates existed, then James would have been Sirius'.

Regulus manages to pull himself together. They have a short window of time before it's too late to do what they have to. The previous experiments had been successful, but Regulus didn't want to take any chances when it's James' life hanging in the balance.

Remus is there when they reach the lab. He'd been one of their first tries, back when they still didn't know what exactly they were doing or whether it would even work. But despite the scars that litter his body now and the eerie feeling of something not quite right whenever someone looked at him for any extended amount of time, it had worked.

They still don't know the how of it. When they find out about James, Regulus had spent the entire time at his side, unwilling to move even an inch while Sirius had torn up Black manor trying to find a solution, any solution to save his life. That's where he'd found it, tucked away in some long forgotten corner in the family library.

They hadn't believed it at first, wrote it off as a madman's ramblings. But as time passed and James grew worse, they had no choice but to hedge all their bets on the book in a desparate bid to save him. And it had worked. Despite all logic, it had bloody worked.

"It's time," Sirius says, handing Regulus a pair of gloves. Sirius and James might have been the geniuses who figured out how to bring the dead back to live, but no one else but Regulus could do this. He'd practiced, taken apart dead bodies over and over again till he had it down to an art while the two of them were pouring over books.

He takes a breath and lifts the scalpel. The process was simple. Cut a flap into the patient's chest, take out their heart, replace it and shock them back to life. The book said to use lightning but Sirius had figured they could just use electricity. Getting the replacement heart had turned out to be the most difficult part of the process. It had to be hunted and prepared by the receiver. James wasn't yet so weak that he had to stay on bed rest, but he was still in no condition to go hunting. In the end, they found a baby stag seperated from its mother. James' hands had shook as he raised them but they struck true.

It's almost time now. Sirius stands in the corner of the room, tapping his feet on the linoleum. Remus presents him with the open cold box and Regulus takes a deep breath. He picks up the glistening heart and places it in the gaping hole of James' chest. He threads his needle one last time and stitches James back together.

Sirius takes a step forward, stops, and says, "Are you ready?"

Regulus looks at James. He's beautiful, even now, covered in blood and guts and other bodily fluids. He's glad he has Sirius here with him, glad that he has someone who doesn't ask him whether he wants to do this but only asks when.

He nods and Sirius grabs a bunch of cables, going around James and attaching them to his body. James' blood is slick on Regulus' hands and he feels the urge to throw up again.

Sirius takes his place beside him and squeezes his hand before finally hitting the damned switch. There's no big explosions, no electricity arching through the air, only a soft buzz and then its over.

For one heart-wrenching moment, Regulus thinks that it hasn't worked. He lets out a quiet sob. It's not fair. Not after everything they've been through together. They were meant to survive this. Sirius' hands are a vice grip around him, the only thing holding him up. Regulus makes to move for him, kiss him one last time, hold him and refuse to ever let go.

And then...... James moves.

[gomzdrawfr]

[oc x cannon rambles]

OKAY. Continuining from this.

New Au that originates from Royal AU -> Isekai Royal AU

more rambles/lore/fic/explanation/art below (compiled it into one post so i dont spam yall's tl with my bs LMAO:

[wARNING: big sad, MCD(Raven), angst, death, violence, injuries]

In the ending of Royal AU, King!Price married another Queen and had a kid, Royal Guard!Raven got promoted to Commander, they go their separate ways for the sake of the nation

The kid, aka the Princess, has everything Price had, the exact blue eyes and all except she was blonde like her mother.

She was rather fond of Raven, and always sneaked out to find Commander Raven despite Raven warning her not to.

Raven's still a softie though, so in the end, she ended up growing soft for her.

Until it all falls apart.

First it was a scream, and before she could register it she was bolting towards the voice.

It was the lil girl's scream.

She regretted not wearing armour that day, but somehow she managed to escape with the Princess in hand, stumbling down to the deeper part of the woods that was safe for now.

"Shhh...don't cry Princess....you're safe now"

Raven coos the trembling young Princess, her poor face pale from the shock and bruises on her delicate skin.

Lost count of how many arrows were on her back, she knew it was only a matter of time before it will take its full effect.

Poison arrows, the fletching bearing a black greenish gradient.

It was an assassination attempt on the young Princess.

"R-Raven...Raven I'm scared...."

"It's okay, it's okay...don't be scared....help's on their way..."

"Papa...I want Papa!!"

"......"

She sighs quietly, it stings, not from the arrows itself, but...from the weight of it all.

"I want your papa too....Princess"

She mumbled in a dazed, blood loss and her dizziness making it hard for her to decipher if she was thinking, or talking out loud, one thing she is certain was she can no longer hunched forward as she slumps to the ground.

"R-Raven? Raven!"

"....listen to me well...lil one..."

"...your papa....the Emperor...your majesty...is a great man..."

"he was a man who loved with all his heart...."

"your papa loves unconditionally....and the one thing he loves most in the world...is you"

More sniffles were heard from the lil girl, who were shaking worse than before, Raven reaches her hand out in an attempt to calm the young lady, only to smear some of her blood onto her pretty pink dress, she frowns at that...but...she was tired...

So so tired...but she kept going.

"....papa may be scary sometimes...and he scolds you...or punish you...but it's for your own good"

"....papa is also very kind...when he needs to...he bought you the tiara you really wanted...remember, Princess?"

"y-yes...I love it..."

"that's right...and you are a pretty girl...pretty eyes like your papa...yeah?"

Raven smiles, the pain subsiding into a blur

"and you have the brightest smile...don't cry...Princess...because a smile suits you better...please?"

She knows this is all wrong, that the poor princess will be traumatized forever because of this.

But the Princess was obedient, and smiles through the snort and tears.

Raven chuckles quietly, nodding weakly.

She'll be alright.

"...treasure your papa...Princess..."

Her eyes closed once, twice...and it was getting harder and harder to open them, or to hear anything else, not even the sound of horses gallop that was getting closer and closer

"...do it for me..."

And then she was swallowed by darkness

In her last moment, she watched a couple sitting side by side, she knew this scene.

The last time they were allowed to be with each other.

"Maybe in another life..." "I'll look for you in every single one of those lifetime" "yeah...you'd that for me, birdie?" "mhm..." "just remember...I love owls" "pretty vague if you ask me..." "you'll know it when you see me" "....that I can guarantee..."

The scene before her morphs into nothingness when she tried to reach out for it, a blinding light forces her vision to go white as she struggles to move.

When she does open her eyes again, she was heaving, sweating and....grabbing the air?

She blinks a few time, this doesn't feel like dying, wait-

She quickly sat up, and realise she was in a room, dimly lit but there were light at the balcony, she dash towards it, opening the windows only to be greeted with something she wouldn't expect.

She recognise this place...the ocean, the city, the flags, the castle- this castle-

How the hell did she end up in the Umbralis Citadel? [bear with me here i literally cannot come up with names of places LOL]

She quickly strolls back to her room, stopping before a mirror as she glanced at her reflection.

A Princess.

She has reincarnated as the Veil Princess.

=================

anywyas yeah thats sort of the fic SO the premise for the first art itself is moreso Princess Raven who managed to finally see King!Price after some careful planning and such, took the opportunity and meet him.

At first she gaze from afar, because she got emotional seeing him after...after everything they went through (she didn't even get to say good bye to him before she died).

Her attire choices was deliberate, although she was already rocking the modest, simple look since as the Veil Princess, no one really pay attention to her (she's the youngest in the royal family).

So she finally approaches him...AND THE STORY BEGINS-

[forestshadow-wolf]

Apocalypse au

Mcd (ghost)

imagine the sweet pungent horrid smell of rot taking over the world. The decay works slowly but the infection is quick. Zombie are fast, too fast, no longer hindered by the brain. They're disfigured by snapped tendons and ligaments. The sounds they make are near intelligible but now quite. Hoards are easy to avoid if you know where to look for them, but it's even easier to chased into one while escaping a straggler

Imagine ghost getting cornered. Having to stave them off for as long as he can with a quickly dulling knife as he stabs it through skull bone over and over again "killing" them one once they've gone useless, but they never die. Not truely.

Imagine the kind of sick he feels in his stomach when he grips one by the side of the head to stab into it's face, and the flesh gives with only the ease of rotting flesh. He remembers what that's like. Too well. He drops the head and the body falls but it's not dead, he knows it isn't. There's festering rot sticking to his fingers. But they're swarming him now and it's all he can do but give it a passing panicked thought while he tries to survive. The subtle crunch of bones weakened and brittle from rot in a way that rings in his ears and it'll haunt him even in death.

Soap only notified of the incident hours later. Hours too late. But he rushes to the scene anyway. There still a chance that he made it. He's strong. He could make it. But soap wasn't there. He doesn't know how bad it was.

The scene from the heli above is almost poetic. One lone wandering zombie. Trapped in a cell created by the bodies of its now brethren. It wails and cries. Soap swears if he could just listen better he could tell what it was saying. But that's what everyone says. It looks... Almost alive, but it isn't. They always look like that when They're fresh. With time Ghost will rot. He's become the very thing that gave him nightmares. And soap couldn't stop it. Can't stop it.

Imagine years later when the panic has dissipated, zombie are not new anymore, only a mere fact of life. Soap finds himself at an empty beach. Water, sticky with salt and sand, laps at the toe of his boots. The military is back up and running last he heard, but that's a past better left to the younger him. He toes off his footwear and rolled up the cuff of his jeans. He still talks to Price and Gaz.. or- more probably talked. His feet sink into the water-soft sand where he stands. Last he heard they were sent on an OP for some special top secret mission that he wasn't allowed to know about now that he's out, they were supposed to be back weeks ago, Gaz should have contacted him by now. He takes a ddep breath of fresh salt air and starts down the beach at a leisure pace. It's sad but he almost can't make himself feel anything for it. He remembers he'd promised to take Ghost to the beach some day. He wishes he could have. He still could technically. But he doesn't think he can get him all the way here before turning. Not without a bird. Which he's long since lost access to.

[lucky-guess]

do you have any shadowknight headcanons?

So! My second post on shadow knights! I'm not complaining, I freaking love the shadow knights-

Here's the first one: Shadow Knights

Because nothing was specified, I'm going to do both as a species and characters! I'm assuming this was for MCD: Marigold.

Shadow Knights as a species:

-Obsessive. Usually it's focused on revenge, a desire for power, just pure blood lust, and so on. But it affects each person differently, and they all can obsess over separate things. It is controllable and containable. Some shadow knights view letting your obsession take hold of you as weak, while others see it as the only way to live.

-Their eyes are reflective, like an animals. This is both in and out of their shadow knight form.

-Switching between forms is horribly painful, but they usually don't notice, as they are usually blinded by emotion to even process it. The ones in the nether stay in one form all the time, so they never even realize. The more control over when you transform, the more you realize how painful it is.

-Intense sense up grade. Increased hearing, sense of smell, touch, sight, all of it. It's part of the reason Laurance's sight was so easy to restore(even though it wasn't fully fixed). It's important to note that it's even better in shadow knight form.

-The sword and armor does actually just appear on them in that form, and it's impossible to take off. They can put the sword in its sheath, but that's the extent of it.

-Animals and shadow knights usually aren't the best mix, but it depends. Funnily enough, most domestic animals respond well to them. All wild animals, on the other hand... not so much.

-Not a single shadow knight was ever pure of heart. Someone with a pure heart cannot be turned.

Shadow knight character things:

-Gene has been messing with shadow knight recruit memories to make them more willing. For whatever reason(lore reasons I'll get to later), it wouldn't work on Laurance.

-Part of Sasha wanted Aphria to never find out about her being... y'know, dead, so she could live a peaceful life in Phoenix Drop.

-Zenix genuinely cared for Dorian and Aphria, but ended up deeming connections like that weak.

-Zenix never got to know that Dorian wasn't Garroth's real name.

-Gene's obsession is vengeance. Sasha is worried what he'll do with himself once he achieves it...

-Sasha's obession is simply living as she wants, however she wants. It used to be revenge, but she's moved past that.

-Zenix's obsession is power. He'll do anything for it.

-Vylad has disconnected himself from emotion so much that he doesn't have an obsession.

-Laurance refuses to admit he has one, because he isn't a full shadow knight. In truth, it's his humanity, and who is connected to that. His friends, family, and loved ones. What keeps him sane. That's what he'll lose his mind over. Funny, isn't it?