#has lived in the drafts for a while

[monomorphilogical]

Not another lone wolf

when my body's see-through in the light of the moon

I'm trying to hide away in every corner of my room

all those mean men were only the wolf to a man

their teeth in my arm when I gave them my hand

devoted to acting crazy in the middle of a lonely night

voice above me said they're all in love with the fight

my soul's not the believer but I've seen the signs

and my mama has told me it's all in their eyes

(burning in the dark like some torch song

glowing some shade of horribly wrong)

so I'm only trying to keep you from the door

I learned sharp teeth are the edge to fear for

that mouth full of knives will bite right through me

cut out my heart and set the damned thing free

cupid-bowed and stain-cheeked it'll go to my head

it'll bleed out of me until my clothes show red

I need time but I'm so bad with the waiting

I’m standing in your doorway forever hesitating

and there's howling coming through the white noise

but what's echoing back to me is my own voice

when at night I cry wolf when you've gone away

ask me any question and I'll don't know what to say

but there comes a day I'll cut out loose

and sleep next to you through this night's blues

‘cause your body hasn't worn the sheep's skin

moon high and you're the same you've always been

I guess the sudden bark is worse than your bite

you were never a wolf to man but you're such a sight

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

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[finalgirlsamwinchester]

13.21 "Beat the Devil"

[svnflowermoon]

"brunette girls" this, "blonde girls" that...

GIRLS. JUST GIRLS. ANY GIRLS. GIRLS. OBSESSED WITH WOMEN.

[leescheyenne]

Janeford + Marriage

[spaceslayer]

Do that, and he will be begging for death within a century, I assure you.

[ganondoodle]

so with echoes of wisdom .. i havent watched any of the trailers beyond the very first one and the thumbnails/screenshots and what others have said about it-

but with the world inside the rift being called "Welt des Nichts" aka "world of nothing/void" in german ('still' in english, for some reason) and demises title in french being "avatar of nothing" ... yeah my anxiety is shooting through the roof again

(hopefully you can be a little more forgiving for me being anxious/weird about it bc demise is my blorbo)

i had similar worries with totk, that werent proven true thankfully, but the darn book is making it all worse again with all those weird lore things the game doesnt even so much as hint at AND potential retcons- im in for a really rough time huh, not just stress in real life (more in tags.. its alot) but now about my specific hyperfixation from two things even (AND artblock still..)

weird as it may sound, i dont want demise to get more lore, partly bc i dont believe theyd do anything with him that i would like (given their track record) but much more importantly- the fact that he has this little lore about him is precisely one of the reasons why i fell in love with him, i tend to like characters that are neglected by the narrative, and his story being both so flat and already done meant i can be very creative with what i come up with for him without necessarily contradicting anything in canon (which is ... or was a big point of how i wrote destiny's story and lore, working with canon in a way that reframes it all without straight up ignoring it ... but i suppose i urgently need to let go of that and accept i spend alot of time working things that will go to waste :( ) AND not having to worry that there will be more stuff with him that would massively change not only what im writing but also potentially how i feel about him since the game he was briefly in was the oldest chronologically and ended with his death- i didnt expect them to mess with anything that far back and thought theyd just go forward and leave the timeline behind and wouldnt mess with it again, given how botw seemed to be a sort of 'fresh start' that seemingly regarded the past as the past that needs to rest and that the timeline was finally no longer a discussion if everythings unified through botw and one thing going forward

but i suppose i was very wrong with that .__.

right now the only thing that motivates me still is the left over determination and spite to work on my zelda comic, since i have never gotten this far and really want to get something done for once, but i cant lie that im feeling like i should pause all work on it too to wait and see waht the book and the new game will do .. either to determine if i still have the will to keep working on it after those things are out (my love for tloz has been taking alot of hits lately ..) or if i have to change stuff (mostly bc of my lore problem trying to not ignore it ..)

[btggf-ale]

.🖤

[emily-mooon]

Jonathan in my Itakiss AU:

[s-lycopersicum]

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

apocalypse au. cannibalism. corpses. Offscreen loss of loved ones

-

“Some leather armour,” Bad notes, tugging curiously at the straps of the corpse’s armour. “Euagh, almost broken, though.” The armour gets tossed to the side. “A granola bar? Okay, we’ll take that.”

Cellbit twitches at that. He wants to ask, “Do we have to?” but there’s several reasons why he doesn’t. Protesting a backup food supply is never a good idea, for one. It’s not worth it to risk starvation just because he’s worried that the backup food supply will become their primary. He tightens his hold on the bloody sword and insists again. It’s not worth it. Instead, he says, voice rasping, “There’s too many. It’s all going to rot.”

“You think so?” Bad looks up at him, then runs a critical eye over the little encampment. Ten bodies, some larger, but all fat deposits slimmed by lasting hunger. Bad licks at the blood left on his hand from looting the corpse, considering their haul thoughtfully. “I don’t think things rot that fast, Cellbit.”

He twitches again when Bad says his name. It wasn’t an admonishment- it was barely even an opinion Cellbit should validate, knowing how long it takes Bad to consider something rotten -but there is something yearning and grieving and desperate slinking between the muscle fibers of his heart that squirms to hear that disagreement. He’s shaking. He hasn’t stopped shaking. He wants to bite the edge of his sword hard enough that his teeth will crack into sharpened splinters. He wouldn’t need the sword, then. “I don’t- we should cook it,” he says. “Some.”

Bad snaps his fingers triumphantly, as though he’d remembered something. “Pre-digestion!” he exclaims so loudly that Cellbit flinches. No birds fly away- they’ve already been scared off. “Oh! You want to save some for later? Yeah, sure, we can do that. But we should eat what doesn’t fit in the car.” Cellbit doesn’t know how to explain that he can’t eat as much as much as Bad. Not even cooked. It fills him with- it’s not envy but it isn’t not envy, either. Some dissatisfaction.

Back in the— when he was small Cellbit had always assumed that it was Bad’s size that lead him to take the larger portion of their meals. It made sense, and he always got his fill so he was happy with it. Then, when he was grown, it was frustrating. Bad could eat an entire corpse in one sitting; Cell couldn’t even get through an entire leg. He’d realized then, gnawing at bone and just waiting to be done, that Bad couldn’t have possibly eaten an entire corpse. It was childish dreams made memory, morphed by the horror and the trauma and the things he didn’t think about. And now they’ve met up again, and these are their first corpses but Cellbit knows that despite their looting Bad’s share of the resources are always depleted, even when they come across a feast and- The clever part of him is wondering how much he’s really misremembered after all.

Bad seems oblivious to Cellbit’s thoughts. “We can smoke some of this and it’ll last you a bit longer,” he suggests thoughtfully, starting to dig through the corpse’s clothes again. “It might take us some extra time, but this place is safe enough that they set up camp, and we don’t know when we’ll get the chance again. Good idea. Do you want to carve the meat or set up the smoker?”

The thing in Cellbit’s heart writhes almost giddily at the praise. He thinks that he hates it. He misses when he could fool himself into thinking he deserved it. “The meat,” rasps its way out of his throat, proving him right.

Bad lights up. Cellbit can immediately tell that he’s up to something. “In that case- I have something for you that might make it… a little bit easier.”

“What is it?”

“Close your eyes!” The bleeding part of him wails at the thought of the vulnerability, but this is Bad. He’s only alive because of him. Fitting to die because of him, too. Cellbit closes his eyes and continues to shake. The back of his teeth are dry. There’s the sound of rustling as Bad does whatever, and then a triumphant, “Ta-da~!” Cellbit gratefully takes this as his cue to open his eyes again.

Badboyhalo is holding a knife.

Badboyhalo is holding a kitchen knife. Thumb and fingers pinching either side of the blade, handle out, an offering. It’s clean, except where Bad’s hands have stained it red.

Cellbit had been calm, before, the way you are when you’re doing what you were made for. Then he had been satisfied, and excited, and then jittery and bad and happy and satisfied and dreadful. Longing and hatred and benediction and fulfillment. The sight of the knife fades all of that out. When he grabs it, those feelings turn to static. Still there, still hunting him, but forced to back away in the face of its armed prey. The world smooths out a little and hurts a bit less.

Badboyhalo has given him a knife.

“Bad-“ he says, and doesn’t choke up about it.

Bad smiles at him. Bad beams at him. “I was waiting for a good time to give it to you. I know you’ve got your sword, but I remember you telling me that knives are your favourite. Is that still true?”

Overwhelmed, Cellbit nods a little. “Thank- thank you. Obrigado, Bad.”

“De nada!” Bad chirps, cheerful as anything. He pats Cellbit on the shoulder, gently, as his tone shifts. “The sky is still blue, Cellbit. Remember that.”

He wanders away before Cellbit can bring himself to mutter, “Mas às vezes está nublado.” But it’s just Cellbit now, and his knife, and the bodies, and no one living can hear him.

He’s already dropped the sword, he realizes abruptly, clinging to his knife with both hands. He needs to pick it up and clean it before the blood coagulates. There is meat in front of him, still warm and waiting to be processed. Still, he manages to pick up the sword and wipe it in the vicinity of cleanliness on the body’s clothes, his other hand still clinging to his knife. He cuts the clothes, and drops the sword to the side.

When the knife cuts flesh, he starts to grin again. The world turns into a loving red, and he gets to work.

-

Bad feels bad.

He doesn’t dwell on it. Guilt or grief- they both started with g. It’s probably even better, even, feeling guiltier than griefier! Take away the question of accountability entirely, hold control, do what he has to do. And he has to do this.

The log in Bad’s hands cracks. He giggles at it, then takes several quick breaths as tears rapidly pool in his eyes. He doesn’t wipe them, just carefully lays the log down into his makeshift fireplace.

Bad doesn’t like hurting his friends. It’s like a bad prank that leaves lasting damage; it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. But it’s not really all that bad, all things considered. Bad isn’t hurting him or putting him in more danger. If anything, Cellbit is safer with him. They’ve done this before- anything Cellbit can’t eat, Bad can, and they know Cellbit can eat Bad. It’s better. It’s what needs to be done.

There’s a loud lowing in the distance. Bad stills as he listens to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Cellbit still carving. They found someone else tonight. Bad feels some tension leak from between his shoulderblades. They’ll be fed and full, and slow in the morning. Cellbit and Bad will have more than enough time to get packed up after a rest.

Cellbit has someone left. Bad is giving him a gift, but he can’t give it yet. Bad knew exactly what he would do if it turned out his own loved ones were still around, and he knows what Cellbit would do, too.

If Cellbit knew that Roier was still alive, he’d leave.

[kandicon]

Actually I really wanna write a role reversal gerrymichael au and let me be so, so transparent when I say it is literally just bc I wanna fantasize about the tall, gangly blond man beating monsters to death

Everyone else has the same roles. Mary Keay is still Mary Keay in all her abusive and obsessive glory; Gertrude is still the Archivist.

Vaguely spiral aligned Michael who Does Not Like It. Pretends his connection is a hell of a lot looser than it is.

The only benefit (that Michael thinks of the Spiral) is how he can move around the Institute with relatively little interference and watch, after all, it is hard to behold something that is both nothing and everything and never was all at the same time.

Gerry ran away from home really young and actually succeeded. Spent a few years fucking around and learning what kind of benches are best to sleep on before applying to the Magnus Institute because that's what his dad did. He lied to hell and back on the application, but was hired quickly because of how thoroughly touched by the entities he was (thanks Mary) and Gertrude was running low on assistants. Gerry also felt completely justified in faking stuff and that he was perfectly qualified bc he grew up in a bookshop and how much different could it be (very different, as it turns out).

They first meet each other when Michael is prowling through artefact storage like it was a shopping mall, and pocketing everything he saw that didn't immediately mesmerize him. He was nervous and jumpy as all hell, even though this was not the first time he's done something similar and he's fairly certain Gertrude doesn't care, so when Gerry first spotted him from behind, he was immediately suspicious even before he saw Michael try to shove a lamp into his jacket pocket. This led to an altercation that eventually led to the lamp being accidentally turned on, Michael smashing it to pieces with a hammer Gerry had not realized Michael had, and Gerry suddenly being a lot more consciously aware of the supernatural than he was.

Gerry's mother was still obsessive over Lighteners, and she didn't make an effort to hide what she did, but she didn't actively try to educate Gerry on anything to do with the Fears. So he is fairly knowledgeable on the supernatural, but he doesn't know anything concrete about the Fears themselves and their categorization. The role of a stand by sacrifice instead of an errand boy and heir.

Michael still trusts Gertrude, but this time he knows he shouldn't and hates himself for it. Gerry wants to trust Gertrude, and she does hide him from anything Fears related and behaves around him like she did Michael in cannon, but he just feels something off about her and doesn't like it. She's just a bit too much like his mother for him to let his guard down.

Michael gets referred to by "it/its" pronouns once by Gerry as a teasing joke before Gerry fully knows what he is and is absolutely terrified by how happy the pronouns make his feel. (He thinks, maybe, that the Michael of his childhood liked something similar, too, but everything too far back is all twisted and he doesn't know what has been touched by the Spiral and what hasn't, so he doesn't trust any of it). He/it Michael ftw

At one point Michael just started putting black lipstick on himself because some of Gerry's always stuck to him when they kissed anyways n this gave them plausible deniability. Michael will never admit to the little spiral thrill it gives him when people do a double take upon seeing his face, the black lipstick contrasting literally everything else about his style.

Gabriel attempted to track Michael down exactly once, a few years before he joined the institute. He had heard about Michael's unsavory... Hobby... (<- reckless destruction of artefacts and throwing himself at all monsters and avatars he sees with a murderous rage regardless of their affiliation) but spiral avatars capable of holding a conversation are so few and far between and the Great Twisting was almost prepared, so he thought a meeting would be worth it. He showed up at a cafe Michael frequented one day expecting lovely, but tense, conversation, only to promptly lit on fire (mostly) in the back alley behind the cafe after he introduced himself. Gabriel survived, but some of his clay body still hardens unexpectedly or shows signs of firing from time to time.

Occasionally Michael's eyes will change colors and shapes, so he likes to put contacts in (he used to just use tinted glasses, but after one time of Gerry getting lost in his eyes in the far too literal, not at all romantic, sense, he decided to invest in smth a bit harder to take off and forget about). Unfortunately, this sometimes means other, very much not his original eyes will pop up around his body and in his hair as protest when he puts them in. It's not very fun to have to chase off eyes at 6am, but he does it regardless and complains the whole time about how he shouldn't have to deal with eyes when he very clearly isn't of The Eye.

Gerry: Oh hey you were running pretty late. I was starting to get worried.

Michael, not about to admit he spent an extra thirty minutes to get ready yelling and brandishing a lighter at a door that was following him around like a lost puppy: Ummmmmm I forgot my wallet. :((

[moregraceful]

I name all of my snake plants after Baltimore Orioles players because...I don't know why I do that.....anyway Adley (she/her pronouns according to my parents) and Adam Jones are making the trip with me but Chris Davis is TOO BIG FOR THE CAR and I'm so sad now. That was my emotional support snake plant through my FMLA leave. He has seen the worst of me (mental illness, forgot to water him for a month) and survived. Now he's like four feet tall and I have to leave him behind because he is so big that he takes up more than a third of my luggage space in the car 🥲 I took such good care of him that now he has to live independent of me. Goodbye Chris Davis I will think of you fondly as I encourage Adley to grow big and strong.

[peonyblossom]

thinking about trans!TE!mc and how instead of seeing a version of their reflection in the mirror when they see Atlas, they would see an aged-up pre-transition version of themself :(

[wildstar25]

I2 or A1 for that pose meme? Whichever one you wanna do more.

polyam pose meme

For the first few moons of their being together, Arsay was often hesitant to ask of both Y'shtola and G'raha's time. They were still settling into a dynamic and she was worried it would put unnecessary stress on the budding relationship. However, not a single soul in The Crystarium, not even she herself, could deny how much joy it brought the Warrior of Light to simply stroll about The Rotunda hand in hand with her beloveds.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

No matter how many times it happens, I'm always shocked by how reliably all my problems with any given story are solved by making it shorter. If I go into a story with the idea that it'll be long, that I should use as much detail as I want to craft a full-length and fully-fleshed-out story instead of a short one, it always turns into this rambling, meandering, soulless thing that's no fun to read, and I get tangled up in so many flimsy, sprawling layers of character and worldbuilding that the plot becomes unworkable.

The minute I tell myself, "Let's make this as short as possible," the problems fall away, I find the heart of the story again, the pacing is brisk, scenes get multiple purposes, the world feels deeper because I'm implying things that spark the reader's imagination rather than trying to put every threadbare, boring detail on the page. Every time. You'd think I'd have learned by now.