Writing Prompt #2

Just a constant stream of what am i doing? what was i doing? i was doing something. where’s my thought train? am i faster than a train? how fast does a train go? where am i going? i was doing something. what am i doing?

Do any other neurodivergent ppl, especially adhd ppl, walk around and basically chant things to remember them? This morning I was walking around my house saying "what am I doing? What am I doing what am I doing? Im making coffee I'm making coffee I'm making coffee I'm making coffee! I'm making coffee." and continued to chant so I didn't get distracted AAND SHIT I JUST GOT DISTRACTED BY MAKING THIS POST FUCK GODDAMN IT

Little Nightmares 2 Spoilers

Okay so I’ve seen takes where it’s like “Six is a traitor. She dropped Mono and Mono grew up with the hate and it twisted him to become Thin Man,” and boy lemme tell you that breaks my heart and I love it.

But you know what I think does worse?

Is that if Mono told Six to let go. I’m not gonna delve into the proof of why this is possible, just the implications if it was. Imagine Mono and Six running out of the crumbling transmission tower. Imagine Six is still reeling from her time as a fucking monster. Imagine she snaps out of it all and moves through the familiar motion of catching her friend. Imagine she starts to pull him up like usual, but Mono refuses.

Imagine Mono keeps being drawn to the hallway from the TV scenes because that’s just him. When Thin Man first comes out of the TV, Mono reaches out to the Thin Man (before it all went to shit, that is). Imagine Mono desperately running through the rain, jumping from TV to TV, clawing his way through the streets trying to save his friend. Imagine him defeating the Thin Man. Imagine him running through the transmission tower. Imagine he knows. He knows that he is the Thin Man. He knows that he will grow to become that monster. Imagine Mono knows and - kind, sweet, heart of gold Mono - firmly decides to not let Six face the Thin Man ever again.

To not face him ever again.

So he tells her to let go.

And she does.

ni

We live closer to 2050 than 1990

Writing Prompt #4

‘Bartender.’

To be frank, the only reason I was here was because the pay was good.

Almost too good, for such an easy job in my opinion. All I had to do was serve drinks - that were in labelled bottles, mind you - and to know when a person was red-faced enough to cut them off.

I didn’t even have to deal with the drunkards that often, they rarely came over to this particular establishment.

I guess I was just lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time. A poster on a lamp post, a chilly Wednesday morning, and a wallet that was only getting emptier. Then it was just a hop, skip and a twirl away to the club.

Well, they say club. It looks more like a cafe to me. Admittedly, most cafes don’t sell alcohol, but most clubs were loud and rowdy and wholly annoying.

Whoever designed this club had comfort in their mind; with large and lush armchairs, warm and rustic colours, and low-hanging dim lanterns. The atmosphere was almost always cozy - except of course for the times someone got too rowdy with the bottles.

There I was, minding my own business. Cleaning the glasses with a rag and nodding my head along to the tunes that floated out of the speakers.

Then she walked in.

I won’t be cliche. I won’t say that heads turned when she walked through the door. I won’t say that the speakers stuttered to a stop thanks to some magically timed malfunction. I won’t say her presence was magnetic, and that she’d be forever imprinted in the minds of the other people in the cafe.

Mostly because all that didn’t happen. Also because I’m not one for cliches.

But then she walked over to my counter. 

Ordered a drink.

Took out her phone.

I mean, all normal things, right? I thought so too. I paid her no mind.

I served her drink, talked about how it looked like it was going to rain, then went back to work.

Eventually, she finished her drink, left her pay - along with a tip that I appreciated - on the counter,  and walked out.

And that was it.

She didn’t even leave her number on the counter, so I filed that memory as insignificant and continued on with my life.

That was it.

It was, honest.

Though, while we’re on the subject of honesty-

I lied, she did leave her number on the counter.

Though, I’d dealt with lots of these before. I wasn’t exactly unattractive, if you’d catch my drift.

Most of the time, I’d ignore them. Throw them in the recycling, never look back.

This time though, I thought, what’s the worst that could happen?

Oh boy.

WHEEZE

it aint wrong-

i made a generator for yall to see what ur genders are

GARYYYYYYYYYYY

read cucumber quest

Gary. Just Gary.

a special shoutout to this turtle who was absolutely vibing on my wheat crops the other day 

I didn’t plan on being a wanted fugitive.

Of course not. That’s not a thing you ever plan on doing. You don’t wake up on a fine Sunday morning, look up at your ceiling and say to yourself; ‘Today, I’m going to become a criminal.”

You don’t. You don’t do that. Please, don’t do that.

For the Official Record in case anyone is taking notes, I was not the mastermind behind the whole operation. I wasn’t the main character - I still am not, actually. I’m not even the love interest.

I’m just the guy who ended up being very, very unlucky. Enough to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

For me, that was eleven a.m. in the playground next to my apartment.

Oh, who was I kidding? I was practically inviting trouble on my doorstep, what with being up at such a godforsaken hour as that.

The morning air was crisp and cold against my skin. My dull grey and ratty jacket was like a teaspoon of sugar against a tablespoon of coffee - not enough to ward off the bitterness.

Goodness, I could so go for a coffee right about now. Not even with any cream or sugar - just the pure black bitterness to maybe send me back a day before this all even happened. Wouldn’t that be grand - I wonder if it were possible.

You might be wondering about now; “Hey, what’re you doing standing in the playground near your apartment at eleven a.m in the morning if you don’t like being awake that early? You don’t even have proper attire against the chill.”

Now that is an excellent question. I had no little kid to watch over - I didn’t have a partner, and I didn’t really plan on having for the next few years or so. I didn’t even have like, a pet or something that I had to take out for a walk. I lived alone.

Oh no, I wasn’t standing there because I had to watch over someone. I was standing there because I was looking for someone. Or rather, something.

I was looking for the magical arrowhead that I’d been forced to buy on the internet that morning.

I didn’t even know what an arrowhead was before that morning.

Thanks to quarantine, I might actually be motivated to do something productive

I started this like, months ago because my brain decided ‘oh let’s make a writing blog’

obviously, i’d forgotten all about it and instead only used this address to watch youtube

but!! i’m here now!! and that’s what matters, right?

Everyone who’s been talking to me knows i’ve been working on this comic about wlws and cats for a while and i’m so so happy it’s finally here!!! :D

idea stolen from this post :’3