#i just got a burst of inspiration

[scoliosisgoblin]

okay well I'm off to write some yb fluff now

[none-ofthisnonsense]

something for our baby? maybe johnathan having a nice little nap. or getting absolutely demolished by the horrors. or maybe both.

Jonathan dreams.

He sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning, unable to get some true rest.

He dreams that as he sleeps, a mysterious figure slips through the door which he's forgotten to lock and creeps into his room, making no sound as it approaches his bed, revealing a pale white nightdress on an even paler frame, crowned by an eerily white face with bloodshot eyes. The figure - who appears to be vaguely female - advances one step at a time, still not quite near him.

Suddenly, a strong hand reaches out from the shadows and seemingly tears the apparition brusquely from the room and leaves as fast as it came, leaving the door open.

White, sharp teeth glint.

Jonathan wakes up.

The clock strikes ten.

The door isn't locked.

[whumpy-wyrms]

so scared and helpless

[naffeclipse]

I really need to revamp my aliens au because I stole so many concepts from that AU and shoved them into CS as I had written the initial Aliens post a bit before CS was created. Now I want to make it fresh but still creature-feature with the boys—just Alien Edition™

Just to list off a few things I originally envisioned for this AU:

Sun and Moon can hear heartbeats. Specifically hear, unlike the cryptid boys who have a whole sense for it, but nonetheless, the whole heart awareness started here. I'm thinking of maybe changing this to Alien!Sun/Moon picking up on Y/N's breathing or scrapping it entirely.

Y/N is enthusiastic and wants to study the boys. I think Scientist Y/N can bypass the whole fear thing pretty easily and go straight to nerding out, whereas CS!Y/N is very much in denial about their excitement, and rationalizes it as 'for the hunt'. I think I can make it interesting via scientist Y/N for the Aliens AU even if it's still a concept of 'wants to learn about an intriguing subject that now involves the boys'. Just different flavors.

Sun/Moon eating very unpleasant things. Of course, cryptid boys eat hearts, but the alien boys are just hungry for any kind of meat, and hey, with a desolate and dark ship filled with recently slaughtered humans, it's kind of an all-you-can-eat buffet.

That's the summary of concept similarities, but I do want to focus on the difference, such as, of course:

there being two alien creatures.

how different everything will function in a setting within space/spaceship.

a language barrier between scientist Y/N, and Sun and Moon.

a focus on Y/N's physical trauma with their blown-off arm. They're going to want to make the journey through the desolate spaceship to retrieve said arm that has been preserved and then need to get to the medical bay (think protective cylinder) to hopefully have the ship's installed medical AI and tools perform surgery to reattach it, which is a big risk when there's something else roaming the gray halls that even intimidating and powerful aliens Sun and Moon would rather Y/N doesn't encounter.

Sun and Moon also have their own designs and special abilities relating to their celestial themes as well as indulging in freaky monster details, like Moon's 'nightcap'. It is extremely long and acts as a sensitive feeler for things in the air and is somewhat prehensile. Sun's sun rays have more purpose than just being pointy and armor-plate-like, as well as having those same plates on his spine, and he almost seems to be on the brink of being too hot, sometimes radiating heatwaves like an oven.

their alien design is a mix of translucent, starry, and colored flesh, almost like jelly but smooth and slightly cool and moist to the touch, coating the bones of Fazco brand endoskeletons.

their legs are digitigrade.

their mouths are wide and look like they're smiling all the time, but their mouths can get bigger and open even wider, especially when they're eating/attacking—it's as if their entire face is going to split in half but nope, that's just to let out their other teeth.

That's all I have for now. I want to think about it some more.

[immortallylightbird]

Prompt #12

(SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME)

Three different pairs of eyes snap open in tandem, each during different points in time. But all equally confused on what was going on.

————

Danny Fenton awoke with a gasp, phantom pains shooting up his arm. The halfa looked around frantically before sighing in relief at the sight of his room. He grabbed his phone to see what ungodly hour he woke up at, only to stare in bewilderment at the date that was displayed on the screen.

'That couldn't be right.' He thought to himself, frowning. Last he checked it was not 20XX. Nor was it two months before the portal accident. After a bit of contemplating he groaned, getting out of bed and starting to get ready for the day while internally cursing Clockwork. He couldn't even visit the time ghost to yell at him! Danny then spluttered as a bright green sticky note was slapped onto his face.

'Have fun living.'

————

Jason Todd didn't immediately open his eyes, that'd be stupid and would against any and all training he got from Bruce. He could just tell that something was *off* though. He felt different, he couldn't place exactly what was different but it was definitely something. He carefully listened to his surroundings, trying to see what kinda place he was being kept in. After assessing the room for any potential threats he slowly opened his eyes. His brow furrowed as he looked around what seemed to be his room as a teen when he was living in the manor. Jason slowly sat up and got off the bed. He quickly gauged that his height was immensely different as he walked over to a mirror, he immediately stared in shock. A good description of his reaction would be 'what the actual fuck'. He was a teen again. Like, around the age he stole the batmobile tires. How the hell was that possible? Did Flash fuck up the timeline again?? His gaze drifted to a bright green sticky note.

'Enjoy your time living.'

————

As Peter Parker woke up sitting upright while gasping for air, his first thought was: 'I should be dead.'

But no, he was in his and May's apartment, very much not dust floating through space. He looked around at the many Star Wars Legos and other very distinct things that made up his room. Nothing was changed, and his spidey-sense wasn't going off, but there was definitely something wrong here. Peter looked down at himself, trying to find any evidence that was dusted away before grabbing his phone off his nightstand and looking at the date, 3 months before the snap. How was that possible? He should be dead- no, he WAS dead. He got up and walked around his room slowly, trying to look for anything that signaled that he was dreaming. There was nothing. It wasn't a hallucination either. Just as he turned around to walk out the door, he spotted a strange bright green sticky note stuck to the door.

'Use your time wisely.'

————

In another realm during a different moment in time, a deity smiled, shifting between forms. He would probably be getting in trouble for this later, but it would be worth it in the end. Afterall, he knew these kids would make the best of the time they had now that they knew of future events.

Well, hopefully. Nothing ever goes according to plan with time.

[stevethehairington]

eddie 100% buys those like logs of raw cookie dough and then walks around the house eating it like a burrito

[moonchild-in-blue]

"To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once." O. Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

So I was reading this the other day and forgot to post it. This line stood out to me as applicable to how I see Vessel and Sleep's relationship:

[cw: mentions of toxic relationships / abuse / domestic violence / ptsd]

There is a quality of both parent and enemy, of protection and danger in how They interact with Vessel. "I'm hurting you because I love you; Stay away from me; Don't you dare stray from my guidance; This will end badly for you".

In the context of the book, the narrator is referring to his mother, how her years of abuse were largely caused by war ptsd. How she was supposed to be mother, and was stranger instead. How monsters are maybe not so bad, not so evil.

There is this amalgamation of complicated feelings and conflicting traits in who she [the mother] is, that can definitely be applied to Sleep. They are never truly evil; but They are not good either. "With all that you believe, you still refuse to shelter me // And no matter the cost of the rain, you still shelter me all the same". And much like our narrator, it's interesting to see Vessel go through that whole cycle of "I hate you / I love you / I never want to see you again / Please don't leave me".

If you have some experience with abusive relationships, you know how messed up that cycle of thinking is, and how impossible it is to come to a single conclusion when it comes to that person's character - especially if the abuse itself is caused by a traumatic past, or unresolved mental issues.

It makes me think of how Vessel often alludes to Sleep have been belonging to a higher place, a "Heaven" of sorts, and how They have seem to be since cast away. Is Sleep going through all the stages of grief and trauma something like that brings? Were they also in a war of their own? Is there a reason behind all of the malice and manipulation, aside from the fickle whims of an ancient god?

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Alternate AU: Awake

Mark is alive. Despite everything. So why does he feel...different?

TW: death, suicide themes/implications, blood, body horror

Notes: this is a little over 3000 words long. I wrote something about every other turned alt so. Why not the main man himself?

-----

September 16th, 1992. 3:33 AM

 The silence was deafening.

The cold nipping at his fingers and face like a cold, dead winter night.

It was nothing but darkness for miles and miles.

Was he dead? Was this the Hell he had heard of from all the bible stories he read?

Was this purgatory? Nothing at all?

He hated it. The cold inside his bones.

He wanted to scream. His voice never reached his ears. Muted.

He wanted to cry. Tears never streamed down his face.

He wanted to feel the warmth of his families embrace, but no one came.

He didn’t want to be dead. He didn’t like the silence. The cold. The darkness. He hated it. He hated it more than he’s hated anything in life. He needed out. He needed to get out of this hell he found himself in. He needed out. He needed out. He needed out. HE NEEDED OUT. HE NEEDED—

Mark awoke to the sound of faint laughter and ringing in his ears. He couldn’t move, with even his eyelids feeling heavier than elephants. He couldn’t speak, his mind feeling blank aside from the unimaginable, throbbing pain reverberating in his skull. He could see the ceiling of his bedroom, with the faint moonlight pouring in through the second story window. His eyes twitched, Mark finally being able to process his position.

He was laid across the bed, with something in his right hand, feeling something warm spritzed on his hand. He was on top of a puddle of some sort of liquid, which stained his bed sheets. He was still wearing his light grey sweatshirt and pale pink sweatpants, along with the gold cross necklace lying against his chest. His chestnut brown hair was a mess, somewhat covering his left eye and forehead. He turned his head, slowly, towards his right arm, feeling dread building up in his gut when he saw what he was holding; a pistol. The liquid he felt running down his fingers was blood.

It wasn’t a nightmare.

He was supposed to be dead.

Mark watched as his stiff joints finally began to move, shaking off the rigor mortis and twitching to a sitting position, his head held low. He dropped the gun, it clattering against the floor as he rose to his feet, feeling his legs creak and wane as his weight was put on them. He felt so heavy, yet as light as a feather. He stumbled towards the door, his body moving like a porcelain doll with stiff joints trying to walk.

He reached for the doorknob, pausing when he finally processed that blood was streaming down his face from the hole in his head. He still felt the bitter cold within him, no longer able to feel the beating of his heart. He lifted his hand towards his face, lightly touching the right side of his face. His skin was as cold as ice, feeling as if he had slept in the snow. Where did his warmth go?

A sharp pain hit his face, causing him to snap out of his shock for a moment. A large “crack” stretched from the hole in his head towards his right eye, simultaneously causing the eye to go blind. Mark pressed his hand against his head, feeling more cracks forming from both sides of his head, seeing chips of his skin falling to the ground next to his feet. He used his other hand to grab the doorknob, throwing the door open despite his hesitation and sudden fear.

He stumbled around the hallway, slamming against the walls as he attempted to stand up straight, unable to do so. He watched as his right eye fell out of its now broken socket, falling to the wooden floor. He was falling apart, like a broken piece of ceramic. He walked towards the stairway, all while wanting to scream in fear and anguish, but being unable to find his voice. He tripped over his own feet, falling forward and tumbling down the stairs. His body cracked and broke, his top teeth falling out of his head like a strange dream he once had. He fell hard onto the carpeted floor, lying still as he felt the pain rushing over his now hollow body.

Was this the true Hell he was supposed to be in? Where was his friend? Where was his family? Was he all alone in this hellscape?

Mark slowly and shakily held himself up, looking down to see the new splotch of blood staining the carpet under his head. “…H…Hello?” Mark squeaked, looking around the living room and seeing no more than the furniture inside. Mark pushed himself to his feet, wincing when he once again felt his legs cry out. He wandered around the room, unable to see anything but darkness through his right eye, and feeling a burning, stabbing pain in his head.

He entered the bathroom, supporting himself on the sink. His fingers were turning purple and black, feeling as if he dipped them into ice water. Was he rotting? He wasn’t dead yet. He looked up through his messy bangs, staring into the mirror in front of him. If he could’ve felt his heart, he knew it would’ve felt like it was sinking through his torso. He stared through his tear filled, bloodshot left eye at what stared back at him.

He didn’t have a face anymore. A large hole consumed the right side of his face, breaking through his porcelain-like skin. He no longer had a mouth, or a nose, or even a right eye anymore. He could only see his bottom jaw and teeth through the cold, dark, endless void that was inside of his hollow body. Cracks spread out from the hole, seeping crimson from every crevice.

He backed away from his reflection, refusing to believe it was him he was looking at. He held his hand up to the hole in his head, seeing that even his arm had faint cracks in it from the fall down the stairs. He could feel it; the void inside his form. It wasn’t an illusion after all. He grabbed his head, feeling his headache slowly become unbearable. He shook his head, hitting his hands against it as he hunched over. The lights were flickering, the mirror cracking slightly as Mark felt as if his head would explode from the pain he was in. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He needed to scream.

He let out a loud, ear-splitting screech, hearing that his voice was split between multiple unrecognizable voices. The light bulbs exploded, and the mirror cracked, its shards falling from its base. Outside, even the bulbs from the streetlights began to flicker, shaking slightly. He continued to scream, feeling blood run down from his eye and pour from the holes in his head. He screamed until the lights all went out, the homes around his losing power and even the entire block being plunged into darkness. Mark abruptly stopped yelling, hunching over and holding his head low.  

He slowly turned towards the doorway, shambling out of the room and into the living room once again. He felt something within him; a burning feeling that pierced through the pain and soreness his body was in. He felt immense hatred; the want to kill. But he never wanted to hurt anyone right? He didn’t need to hurt anyone, did he? No matter how much he didn’t want to kill, the feeling bubbled up inside like lava. He looked forward, his pitch black iris focusing on something in the darkness.

A tall figure stood in the corner, wearing a shirt and shorts. He was tall and thin, but vaguely recognizable, even despite the missing mouth and the shadow covering the right side of his face; Cesar. The alternate that trapped him in his room. The one that all but forced Mark to pull the trigger. The one that mocked him, laughing at his futile attempts at escape. However, something was different with it. Through its one visible eye, Mark sensed something emanating from it.

“Why...are...you...here?” It asked. 

Mark continued to stare at it, his one eye wide and full of hatred. He didn’t even notice that he was slowly rising into the air, lifting the weight off of his fragile legs. That…thing was the reason he was like this. He hated it. He hated it more than the frigid cold inside of him. Forgive me, Lord, for I will do what I must.

Cesar’s alternate disappeared through the front door, running out into the night. However, as it moved on, it saw something pass its field of vision; a figure. It glanced to its side, seeing Mark hovering around ten feet in the air outside of his home, his harsh, piercing glare fixed on it. The alternate returned the glare, but couldn’t understand the feeling it felt deep inside. It shifted its face as Mark watched, seeing it turn into the real Cesar’s face. It smiled wide before speaking.

“I’m surprised I put up with you as long as I did.” It stated. “You’re nothing. Nothing but a scared boy with a gun. A coward.”

Mark didn’t give it a response, only inching closer, blood dripping onto the pavement and grass below. Cesar’s alternate felt its smile begin to fade when it felt itself slowly being pulled up into the air, all while Mark’s glare stared deep into its “soul”. Mark approached it, feeling only more rage when he saw it was the real Cesar’s face.

It went to speak before its smile was ripped from its face, feeling something deep inside of it; a sharp, burning pain. It looked into Mark’s eye as it fell to the ground, looking at its bony, misshapen hands to see that they were turning black and falling apart. It scrambled around, feeling its form breaking, his face shifting between Cesar, and its true alternate form without its input. It felt as if it was being torn apart from the inside out, thick, dark blood pouring out of its eyes, mouth, and nose. Its stolen voices echoed through the air, screaming in unison. Its body was turning into nothing but torn flesh, blood, and dust before its very eyes, its atoms and very being torn apart as if it was nothing. It looked at Mark as it finally realized what it was feeling; an emotion it never felt before that very moment:

Fear.

“Help! Please!” It called, as if it mattered. “I-I’m your friend! I’ve always be-en your friend! Mark please! I thought we were best friends!”

Mark only responded with distain-filled silence as he watched it writhe in pain and anguish, screaming discordantly and begging for mercy as if it didn’t ignore Mark’s similar pleas. Mark listened to its screams fade, its convulsing body growing still, leaving nothing but a half rotten flesh covered skeleton in its place, its distorted face stuck as a look of pure horror. Mark continued to stare at it, feeling nothing other than the pure hatred inside himself, realizing killing the alternate had done nothing to satiate it. He looked out into the night, raising himself into the air before looking out into town. He still felt he had unfinished business, unknowing of what it was before his eye widened.

Cesar.

The real Cesar was the one that brought him to his fate.

He knew there was an alternate in his home; the cameras were nothing but a ploy to get him there.

Cesar never really cared, did he? He only wanted Mark to die, alone, scared, and by a monster he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Cesar was still out there, living in blissful ignorance as Mark suffered. Cesar deserved to suffer, just like he did.

When Mark felt his headache spike once again, he grasped his skull, slowly falling to the ground before slamming against the pavement, lucky that his legs didn’t shatter from the impact. He hated Cesar; his only “friend” that decided he was too good for him. Decided Mark would be better off dead if it meant he didn’t have to deal with him. The alternate was the easiest way to do it, with no blood on Cesar’s hands. He was a traitor, and a coward. He abandoned Mark the second he was no longer useful, ignoring his cries for help. Cesar deserved to die, just like Mark did.

Mark looked up, lightly rubbing his cross necklace with his thumb. He wanted to feel warmth inside of him again. He wanted to feel his heartbeat, and wanted to feel whole again. If killing Cesar would bring him anything close to how he used to be, Mark was willing to take the chance.

Cesar would pay for what he did.

All of Mandela will know of Mark’s betrayal.

The officers who refused to answer his cries, his friends and family who decided he wasn’t worth saving; all of them will feel his pain and suffering.

He no longer cared if God would turn away from him, for Mark had turned from God already.

All that was left was him.

 Mark hovered above the gravel road, almost dropping out of the air multiple times as he attempted to figure out how to properly move while midair. He continued moving until he saw something in the distance; a house, sitting in an opening in the trees. It was Cesar’s house, being the very same one Mark went to three days prior to turn on the useless cameras. His brow furrowed, his right hand curling into a fist as he approached the home.

 Cesar sat on the couch, wearing a plain white shirt and red shorts as he stared at the TV in front of him, hearing his mother in the kitchen. He furrowed his brows before sighing deeply, getting the attention of Ms. Torres.

“I just…don’t get it.” He stated.

“Don’t get what?” His mother asked from the archway in between the living room and kitchen. “Is everything alright?”

“…I…I don’t know.” Cesar muttered as he rubbed his eyes with his hands.  

“Do you need anything?” She offered, her brows tilting upwards as she watched Cesar sit up straight.

           Cesar sighed slightly before crossing his arms. “…I…maybe I should go check on him.” Cesar muttered, standing up quickly before grabbing his car keys from the side table. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

           “Check on who?”

           “Mark.” Cesar responded. “He hasn’t called me in over three days. I…I’m afraid something might’ve happened.”

As Cesar stormed towards the door, his mother called from the living room. “But what about the curfew?”

           “To hell with the curfew.” Cesar responded before slamming the front door shut behind him. Ms. Torres sighed deeply, crossing her arms as she heard Cesar’s car back out of the driveway. From the back hallway however, the noise of the glass doors in the guest room opening was heard.

Mark entered the room, his feet a few inches off the ground as he stared through the darkness, being silent before he heard Ms. Torres in the other room. “Hello?” She called, the fear in her voice evident. Mark froze for a second, realizing the car leaving wasn’t who he thought it was. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do, but his anger didn’t let him have any second thoughts. 

Ms. Torres grabbed a knife from the block on the kitchen counter, inching towards the back hallway with it in hand, almost holding her breath as she did so. She continued to walk down the hallway before lightly pushing open the door to the guest bedroom, freezing when she saw Mark’s body, barely visible from the limited light coming into the room. “…Oh…Mark?” She asked, chuckling nervously. “You…could’ve just told me or Cesar you were coming. He’s…going to your house now, actually, he’s been…worried…about you.”

Mark didn’t respond, not even moving an inch. It was as if he was a statue. Ms. Torres swallowed hard, her eyes widening when she saw the blood on Mark’s right shoulder. “O-Oh, are…are you…alright?”

Mark took a step forward, causing Ms. Torres’s heart to drop before she held out her knife, realizing it wasn’t Mark she was looking at. “G-Get away from me!” She yelled as Mark continued to float towards her. “N-NO!”

She ran down the hall, back towards the kitchen before grasping the home phone on the wall, shakily dialing 911 before holding the phone up to her ear. She looked back down the hallway, seeing Mark barely peeking out from the darkness behind the doorway. Ms. Torres felt her blood run cold when the line didn’t connect, hanging up before dialing more numbers; Cesar had his cell phone on him, meaning he could still be warned about Mark.

Ms. Torres spoke a small Spanish prayer under her breath and through her tears as Mark continued to approach her from behind. She held the knife tight in her hand as she waited for the line to connect, but never heard anything before she felt a hand grab her knife wielding arm. She fought against it, feeling it push the knife towards her neck before she dropped it, shoving Mark away before stumbling into the living room. The phone fell, its cord letting it dangle from its base as the line finally connected. Ms. Torres watched as Mark looked at the knife, it floating into the air before being pointed towards her.

“H-llo?” The distorted voice of Cesar came from the phone, its reception being broken by Mark’s presence alone. He couldn’t hear anything from the other side, not even the screams of his mother as Mark slit her throat.

“-ell-o?”

The phone continued to dangle before Mark stiffly walked towards it, grasping it before holding it up to his ear. The phone reception glitched, screams being heard before disconnecting. Mark calmly placed the phone back onto the hook, blood being smeared on the cream colored plastic. He looked towards Ms. Torres’s body, which laid on the living room carpet, a look of familiar horror on her face. Mark used his newfound telekinetic abilities to drag her body away, a trail of blood from her torn throat following her.

Two bodies. Mark had the blood of both himself, and two other bodies staining his clothes and skin. Yet it still didn’t feel like it was enough. He still had one more he needed to add. Perhaps then he’d feel peace again.

             Mark had everything in place. Cesar was almost home; he could feel it. He sat on Cesar’s roof, his eye watching as two headlights grew closer from the gravel street. He watched as Cesar hastily parked his car in the driveway, not noticing Mark at all as he ran into the home. Of course he didn’t. It turned out he never cared about Mark anyway, so why would he start now?

           Mark sat still, hearing nothing but silence as Cesar walked around the home. His blank expression remained unmoving when he heard Cesar’s bloodcurdling scream.

[jeonqkooks]

[notetaeker]

October 25, 2022 - Tuesday | Fall challenges 14/30 + 10/30

Only one class today! I sketched some grapes yesterday and spent a big chunk of today painting them I was so excited abt it I rlly got up at 7 AM to start on it. Today I also: showered, listened to lectures, wrote review sheets for two classes, and compiled an exam. A solid 9/10 day: MUCH better than yesterday. Alhamdullillah 💓

When did you make the blog, what were its goals and did you achieve them? I made it in 2016! I was a sophomore in college and was posting a lot of studying pics on my insta and a friend was like I love ur posts u should start a studyblr! And i was like !!! Yeah !! b/c i was alr on tumblr posting kpop gifs since like. 2012 🤡 I made the blog to document my studying and it has been a diary of sorts. I never felt any pressure to get likes n rbs on here because I was doing it more to keep record, so it was stress-free and less chaotic than my other 300 blogs. And more stable! My other blogs I always delete and remake and change the url and go on hiatus but this one has always been there with the same url lol honestly it has helped me thru a lot of times when I hit a wall and it was soooo hard to study / get things done. I’ve always used it mainly as a tool for me to keep myself accountable whenever I need a push. Only recently after doing a few productivity challenges have I started actually posting here regularly =]

[meatmensch]

Jamie: I'm gonna buy the whole team PS5s. They'll fucking love me. Ted: Yeah, but, you know, some folks might also consider that buying affection. Jamie: Exactly. Yeah, what better thing to spend money on than love?

This exchange from S2E03 is really depressing. This is a learned behavior. His dad is scum of the Earth. We know from S3E06 that, when Jamie was in his teens, his dad was trying to act like a super-dad, and buying him stuff, like trips to Amsterdam, and tickets to matches, and sex. He thinks money equals love dawggg 😭

[danidoesathing]

I agonized over which to pick because I just want to ask about all your fics in progress!! I narrowed it down to two and that's just going to have to be ok

the world is staged and the script is set (you cannot change the ending)

Jukeboxes and Maple Syrup

its very funny you pick those two because those like. two of the only three on that list that ISNT lord huron related lmao. those are both hatchetfield fics ive started in secret. regardless those are the main ones im working on right now SO

the world is staged and the script is set (you cannot change the ending) is a fic based on the ending of TGWDLM where like. you know how in the credits where Emma starts begging the audience for help? and like. you know how in TTO how the audience is also referred to by Bliklotep's title? soooo the fic is the ending but i throw him in the mix and ramp the already existing horror of "begging for help and being ignored a cheering crowd" by going "realizing said crowd has been treating your suffering and death as a source of amusement right before you die". only fun times in hatchetfield

"She stumbles to the edge of the stage. The stitches in her leg have come undone and there’s blood seeping through the bandage. That is real. Emma is real, and she needs to help right now."

Jukeboxes and Maple Syrup is a fic that takes place directly after the end of Yellow Jacket that focuses on Daniel and Sophia like. right after the ending. we dont really see them after the Otho fight and we still have no clue is Sophia is even ALIVE and also i miss them dearly. the fic mostly focuses on Daniel trying not to have a panic attack in Miss Retros because one friend is missing after almost dying and the other is in the hospital after also almost maybe dying and he doesn't really know what to do. Not a whole lot of plot it's mostly him trying to deal with that whole. mess. luckily he's got Miss Holloway and Duke to make things a bit easier (responsible adults? in MY hatchetfield? its honestly only these two but its better than nothing)

"He feels so stupid. Sophia is in the hospital and she might never wake up. Hannah is missing and could be kidnapped or dead or worse. And he’s just sitting here in a cozy diner with pancakes and orange juice, and Hannah’s Jacket but not Hannah and not Sophia."

[exagides]

carrd released my undead cowboy from carrd jail, but now looking at the formatting on mobile it's all so tiny

[warlordfelwinter]

trying to make sense of a sketch i made nine months ago and haven't touched since like what the FUCK do any of these lines mean

[belladonnafleur]

💌

[llumimoon]

Catch me writing an AU of and AU <3 Dot is strange in every universe, even in one where they’re not The Doodler levels of eldritch there’s still a little something off about them…