Sometimes I Forget Tumblr Exists And That I Have A Space In This Void For Me To Scream In. 

damn fuck i will spam little nightmares on main you legally cannot stop me

spoilers. 

also i’ve never played either games i just watched the walkthroughs and im hooked goddamn it

1/ oh my god, oh my gfuckkdnnddndg god. the game was so beautiful. the graphics were :Chef’s kiss. i want to see every shiny wet surface from the rain in my head at all times. i want to print the hunter’s forest and make it my wallpaper. i want to cry myself to sleep staring at the purple glow of the doors in the transmission tower. i am going apeshit over the graphics oh my goddd

2/ maybe it was just me but i never really was into into little nightmares before? i mean i watched the first game obvs, and i knew there was a second game, but I didn’t hype myself up or stave of my hunger (hah) by gleaming little details as it developed.  so when Mono rescued the little kid from the hunter’s cabin i was like ‘awww, friend. friend from woods. hold hands with friend. team up with friend. keep friend safe at all costs’ and that was that. then what happens? in the rain? after the school? little friend gets a raincoat? little friend gets a very familiar raincoat? little friend is actually really fucking important to plot?? i lost my goddamn mind.

3/ the monsters all freaked me out. one way or another, they did. for the hunter, it was the way six and mono got rid of him (THE DETAIL OF THE SHOTGUN’S DRAWBACK AHSUAIHSUIHSUIWH WHAT). for the teacher it was her freaky ass neck. for the doctor well, other than the fact he’s practically spiderman, it was the fact that they burnt him alive. oh my god and thin man. Thin Man. oh my god.

4/ the details. the details. the details. like i said earlier, the shotgun draw back. the fact that if you hold a flashlight and six’s hand in the same hand then you can’t really use the flashlight. the fact that if you shine a flashlight in six’s eyes then she lifts a hand up to cover them. just oh my god, they do not rest.

5/ six’s coding. man. she’s a really person isn’t she? where she go after you defeated the living hand and got a power cell? you think she’s just gonna wait for you at the exact same spot?? you think you’re, what, a video game character? you think you have to do everything by yourself and act surprised when six actually knows what to do? what do you think she is, an npc of a video game?? huh??? huh???

6/ i think we reached the ending now. the ending tore my heart out. i was like the greek guy that stole fire for Man but got punished by having eagles eat my liver out every day. that but it’s my heart. what the fuck man. oh my god after all we been true. damn fuck six and mono were friends how could you. let them be friends. let them be friends. they need friends.

7/ obviously when my heart has been broken in such a violent manner the only remedy is fanfiction. oh my god the fanfiction. glorious. amazing. you lot are doing god’s work. i will die for each and every one of you. 

I love those AUs where it’s like, set in a modern/earth setting and everyone has normal-ish jobs and lives. Mandalorians being one massive motorcycle gang and Luke Skywalker being a kindergarten teacher/owning a flower shop/literally anything else AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Most of these usually turn all the less humanoid characters into humans and I totally vibe with that, especially the decision to change Grogu into like a normal human baby to fit in with the whole setting.

But I see your “Grogu is a human baby” and raise you “Grogu is still how he looks like in the show (green, big ears and all) but nobody mentions it”

Some random, pointing to Grogu: “What is that?”

Cara Dune, Officer of the town of Nevarro or Sumn: “That’s Mando’s boy.”

I like how it’s- “Sane Person” and “P.E.A.R” because that’s exactly what it is

friendly reminders with stock photos

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.

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.

if lava no touch, why it look like that?

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Writing Prompt #5

‘Park’

There’s this park across the street where I live.

Looks like your average park; with it’s benches and gravel pathways and trees and bushes. A stone fountain stands in it’s centre, with water spewing out of the gargoyles’ mouth.

A bit gothic, I realise now. But that was it.

It sounded like your average park too. Bird songs in the morning, leaves rustling when it’s windy, kids yelling after school. I could always hear the crunch crunch of the gravel across the usually quiet street, and it comforted me.

Most of the time.

There were other times, of course, when I woke up in cold sweat. Everything quiet and still, except for the crunch crunch of the gravel.

These times, I pulled my covers up to my chin and prayed. Hoped against hope - against the fear that seized me in its claws and refused to let go - that I’d live to see the light of morning day.

You ask me, you ask; ‘what’re you so afraid of? Maybe it’s just someone who went for a late night walk.’ Of course, after daybreak I’ve thought of that. I tried to dismiss my terror as stupid, childish, or even at that slightly overcooked chili I had the night before.

But try as I might, I still could not bring myself to look out the window the nights it happened. I still wrapped myself up in my covers, and shook.

Eventually, they started getting more frequent. I’d spend nights in a row with barely enough sleep and covered in sweat - shaking like I just stepped out in winter with nothing but shorts.

My friends would ask to hang out, and we’d go to the park because it was close. I didn’t use to mind walking through the trees, but the sleepless nights were starting to get to me. I could’ve sworn I saw the gargoyle’s eyes move along as I walked past - could’ve sworn that the rustling of leaves sounded like whispers.

Eventually, it got bad. Really, really bad. I’ve tried filing a police report, but they waved me off and said they had bigger things on their plate than ‘mysterious gravel crunching’.

I was frustrated, but mainly because they were right. I still couldn’t bring myself to even sit up on my bed - much less look out that damned window.

Then it happened.

It was daytime, with the sun shining in and the children playing around on the park across from me. I looked out my window then, a half-smile of my face as I remembered my own childhood days.

Then I froze.

The gargoyle. I could swear that the gargoyle had moved. For the years I’ve spent living across from it, I knew how it looked like the back of my hand now. I knew how the whole damn fountain looked, and could probably draw it from memory alone.

The gargoyle had never been facing me head on like it did now.

That was the last straw for me. I packed my bags and went to live with one of my close friends. I sold the house, though barely just resisted from dropping the price down too steeply - after all, nothing had happened.

Yet.

One day, on my way to work, I passed by a newspaper stand with an eerily familiar picture on its front page. With shaking hands, I unfolded it, and read the article.

A brutal murder, it said, in the house just a street away from a park. The picture was grotesque enough - and I could tell that they’d avoided giving the worst. The details were identifiable enough.

An all too familiar bedroom, half a body on the floor, and the other half presumably missing. Blood that coated every inch of the wall like a fresh coat of paint, and deep deep gouge marks on the window sill.

The article had said that investigating parties assumed that the murder escaped out the window, and had cut through the park to run free. They warned all those who lived in close area to the park to be wary of strangers - never open the door to anyone you don’t know.

They still haven’t found the murderer when I checked months later.

I’d visited the family of those I sold the house to. They welcomed me - albeit a bit shakily - and served me tea.

‘They said they’ve been having sleepless nights,’ one of the mothers had said to me. ‘They-they said-oh god if only we’d listened.’

Her wife wrapped her arms around her shoulders and held her close as I half-murmured comforts from across the coffee table. Her gaze met my own as she silently comforted - the grief in them so deep I nearly fell through.

Eventually, the couple moved out, I heard. Travelled far away, where they cut off from their own family and friends. The investigators still worked to find the assailant, but the case was growing cold and I doubted that they’d actually find who did it.

And me? I bought a new apartment from long nights and extra shifts. One far away from parks and gargoyles and gravel. The close friend that I’d stayed with had helped me move in.

‘Looks good,’ they praised. ‘Hopefully you can actually get some sleep in here this time.’

We’d laughed about it. The whole incident had been months ago - nothing more than a bad memory that we occasionally poke at just for the laughs.

That first night, I woke up to the crunch crunch of gravel.

SWHSIWHUSHKWHSNSMW<NSKWJN THANK YOU (https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761097) this is the fic btw, please read it i spent a whole year on it

We really need more appreciation for like. Novel quality fanfiction. I have read fanfic that is same length & quality as top-notch published works. Put your favorite in the tags

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH YELLOW <33333 YOU TOO. YOU TOO!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

It’s kinda cool how someone can just pop into your life all of a sudden and become so important to you within such a small amount of time. I think that’s what makes life so interesting though. There’s always a reason to be hopeful for the future because you never know what good things will come your way next.