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#important writing updates

yvesdot · 1 year

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Some horrifying revelations have caused me to make this poll. Get chatty in the tags, as always! Especially curious if you read generally; if you read a lot and don't use your library I'd love to know why and what you use instead.

#txt #booklr #bookblr #writeblr #I just assumed everybody used the library extensively but I suppose it's me and Max goose-books.#Even my fellow bookshop employees don't really? Is it just because we get books for free..?#Well at any rate you can't say too much to me about this; I'm very curious.#And if you don't read more power to you it's not for everyone.#important writing updates

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pencap · 2 months

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the coward's way out

if the fates conspire that only one of us may live, then lover, it must be you.

i will save you the grand speeches about how you are good and deserving. you are. you are. you are, but in the end, that is not the reason why.

the world may call me brave or strong or selfless but lover, you know the truth don't you?

in the end, i am only more afraid of facing a world without you than i am of facing death of facing anything.

in the end, i am only too weak to be the one left behind to pick up the pieces of a broken life a broken promise a broken heart and keep on bleeding when the blood in your heart is already dry.

i'm sorry. i'm sorry. but will you let me be selfish one last time?

can i ask you to live for me? to face what i feared most so that i might find peace in my eternal sleep with a smile upon my face?

if it is cruel of me to ask, then i beg you to forgive me. or curse my name and hate me if you must, only live.

only live, my lover so that my life and my death and all that came in between may mean something. may mean everything.

#spilled ink #poets on tumblr #poems on tumblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #poetics #sometimes i write like some kind of possession #i had a brief thought of 'sacrifice as a selfish act?'#and then i was just like. speaking this poem to myself #out of the blue #i fixed some things from the first spoken draft obviously but #the rhythm of this feels important to me #and i'm not convinced i did the best job of linebreaking it #but it will do #The coward’s way out #why yes I did update the title a week later #this feels much cleaner #not giving away the thesis in literally the first word #Technically before the poem even starts

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jscwrites · 11 months

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Please Follow this Backup Blog for Vendetta-IF

Hey guys, it's jsc, the author of Vendetta. I'm making this blog to backup all of the stuff I've posted over on the vendetta-if blog because I can't access my main account. Until I can access my account again, this will be the blog I'll use to interact with all of you and post updates. And in the worst case scenario, this will become the main blog.

So, please, follow this blog as I will be posting updates and answering asks like usual here. Also, for those who want to share their fanarts and other fanworks, please tag this blog too so I can see it. I'll also start reblogging some posts and asks from the Vendetta blog here in hopes of preserving them as much as I can. So, be prepared for a little blast from the past as we walk down the nostalgia road, I suppose.

I'm really sad because just earlier today, I checked my followers count and saw that we were 30 followers away from reaching 4K Followers in the main Vendetta blog, and I was thinking about what to do to celebrate it. Plus, there are also so many awesome fanarts and asks that I don't want to just be gone, which is why I'm making this blog to reblog all of them.

For those who are new and wondering what my story is all about, please check out the intro post I've reblogged. I might need to make another intro post in the future if I never get access back to my account, but for now, I hope it'll suffice.

IMPORTANT LINKS

[ORIGINAL INTRO POST]

[VENDETTA BLOG ARCHIVE]

[DEMO | Latest Chapter: 6 Part 1 | 272.8K words total]

[FORUM]

[PATREON] | [KO-FI]

[DISCORD]

CHARACTER RELATED MASTERPOSTS:

[CHARACTERS LIST]

[ARTBREEDER PORTRAITS] [ROs] [Other Pt. 1] [Viktor] [Other Pt. 2]

[CHARACTER PLAYLIST]

ADDITIONAL LINKS

[PUBLIC SIDE STORIES LIST]

[AO3 WRITTEN FANWORK] -> Currently 3 works

For those who are interested in what happened, I'll tell the details under the cut.

So, a few hours ago, I decided to open my iOS Tumblr app to check on notifications and stuff, as I usually do. But instead, I got hit with the Tumblr error messages over and over as it keeps trying to load in.

At first, I just thought it was my cellphone Internet connection, so I tried logging in on the desktop. At first, after I input all of my login credentials, the page loaded, but it brought me to the viewing page of my Vendetta blog as a non-user. I tried again, and this time, it said that my account got terminated. I never got any email from Tumblr about this, and it came as a shock because I just used my Tumblr earlier today to reblog some fanarts with no problem and I have never really used my account for other non-IF related stuff.

So, I scrambled to ask my members in Discord whether my Vendetta blog is still up, and thankfully it still is. But, my main account is somehow gone. The problem is, my Vendetta blog is actually a sideblog to my main account, jsclarissa.

As you can see here, when I tried searching for my main account, it says "Ghost blog! This blog does not exist." despite me having used that account to respond to comments and send asks to other authors before.

I have sent a support ticket to Tumblr support and also tweeted them on Twitter. I really hope they can give me my account back as I'm pretty sure this is some kind of technical issues on their end. I'm just worried about how long it would take them to respond and of course, the worst case scenario that it actually got terminated, so, I'm making this account.

Even if I got my account back, I'll still reblog stuff from the main blog here and maybe I can finally have a more personal blog where I can talk about stuff that is not really related to Vendetta.

#intro post #important announcement #writing update #if: vendetta #if vendetta #vendetta if #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #interactive games #cyoa #cyoa game #choice of games #hosted games

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kineticallyanywhere · 1 month

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Monkey’s Paw pages 137-139 ( START HERE || ao3 || previous || next ) AU after episode 62. The Omega Dads try a more desperate gambit, but careful what you wish for. Our dads find alternate versions of themselves in a strange dreamscape. If you die in the dream, do you die in real life?

straight up made this conversation longer just to fit the Nick Jr House gag

#dndads #fanart #monkeys paw #kineticallyart #i got like the whole post ready and then walked away for like a solid 30+ minutes whoops #anyway one of my favorite things is writing Hen being scary #like 'im not a supervillain! im just an opportunist! and am more important than you!'#more of that for the next SEVERAL updates #also a bit on a glenn subplot that'll be fun for me #and hopefully also fun for glenn enjoyers #though it also kinda goes against one of glenns best ongoing Bits #but it'll be fun no worries

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infamous-if · 7 months

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the seven working together flashback story should be coming tmm! Things will be coming out pretty closely together from now! :)

#I have a G and V Drabble in the drafts since the music scene was too spoiler #tried to write it from different angles and it just Didn’t Work #without spoiling important plot points lol #update

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th3p0rtalmaker · 8 months

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Sad Update Guys

Liberty's campus police finally figured out I was sleeping in one of the pc labs on campus and escorted me off campus (I'm not enrolled in any classes nor do I have some job on campus.) Thankfully because I told them I'm homeless, they offered to drive me out to a local shelter called Miriam's House so I could spend the rest of the night on their "porch".

I recently met with one of the Street Outreach agents from Miriam's House to explain my situation. She's gonna check and see what local programs I qualify for. I also visited the local Salvation Army's Center for Hope and filled out some paperwork as well, but am waiting for them to do an in-person interview with me.

So as of now I don't have a safe place of my own to stay at, and this is my first-ever night on the street. I haven't given up hope, but I am feeling super lonely and cried for a few minutes earlier. I'm gonna start offering commissions to try and get some money while I continuing appling for a job. I also have a Patreon where I offer mentoring in creative writing:

If anybody wants to commission me or send a donation, here's my Venmo and PayPal:

Venmo: kmckenzie22

Paypal: RissaRooKangaQueen

Full Name: Karissa McKenzie

If you live outside the US, PayPal has a branch called 'Xoom' for making international transfers. Message me for details!

(@batata-doce-com-farofa @meechatuck @nerdasaurus1200 @adventuretolkienlover @subject-2-change @majorabbey @fortune-maiden @initforthecache @soreiya )

#important #signal boost #homeless #commissions #personal post #personal update #portal speaks #donations #patreon #creative writing mentor

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stevie-petey · 8 months

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﹂ m ⌑ she/her ⌑ 20

﹂infj-t ⌑ cancer ⌑ writer

﹂ hopeless romantic in nyc

﹂love is so short, forgetting is so long

﹂steve harrington ⌑ peter parker

﹂this blog is 18+

#m’s navigation #about m #important hashtags -#m’s writing #wdtai insight #wtlws insight #nyas #nyas update #nyas sneak peek #nyas insight #ch insight #come home blurb

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bleaksqueak · 2 months

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Woah dang, waking up to 99+ notifs on tumblr almost always means that an old Homestuck piece is going around again... imagine my delighted surprise to see it was all notifs about Soli! That was a great thing to wake up to. Felt an actual flutter in my chest. Thank you so much, everyone! And apologies for how Elias' hair keeps subtly changing. You always kind of figure out exactly how a character looks and how to draw them as you go along with sequential art. It, funny enough, largely comes from figuring out their acting (so lots and lots of different angles and features that need to shift/change slightly to carry the weight of looking like they should feel, for lack of a better way to describe it ) At any rate, glad to see people are excited for chapter 3! next update will be next week, and will be a two page spread.

#solivaga #yackin #it isn't the first time by a long shot that I've woken up to see my inbox full of soli notifs #but that usually only happens when I'm actively updating the comic or have posted a new big fancy illustration #that dies down considerably ofc when we're at a between chapter pause because old fandom work has the power to stay searchably relevant #and it's probably common for comic authors to worry that if they don't get back to updating ASAP they'll come back to no audience #so coming back with the main storyline of chapter 3 and a couple of preview snippets filling my notifs for this project that I love so much #definitely made me happy #there's just a joy in sharing something important to you and introducing characters and their stories to others #ofc I say all of this and have been going through my askbox like an absolute slug lol #if I could choose the world's most niche and specific superpower I would ask to split my creative attention when i'm really deep in it #but my brain demands to Live in the Scene when writing it or drawing very acting-heavy or important scenes #and I become Slug #Rat slug #new animal for the veil

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yvesdot · 7 months

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SOMETHING'S NOT RIGHT IS OUT!

“A quietly fantastical wonderland of creatures, queerness, and possibility.” — Max Franciscovich @goose-books, author of Night Shift

The debut collection returns in a special fifth anniversary edition, repackaged with three new short stories, a new cover, and additional bonus content! A vampire is forced into a compromising situation; a father fears his child's growing plant collection; the undead go to high school; a butcher contemplates whether or not she can be loved. In a captivating debut, yves. opens the door to our world, slightly askew—where the crows work for witches and telephone booths serve as secret channels for prophecy; where a diverse cast of monsters and humans alike are forced to contend with what the world believes is right.

Thank you to everyone who made my weird uncategorizable "Lemony Snicket meets Carmen Maria Machado" speculative fiction an instant bestseller! If you’ve ever felt like a monster, this book is for you.

PRESS: KZSC interview | Santa Cruz Sentinel interview

EXCERPTED SHORT STORIES

BUY NOW!

signed paperback | paperback & ebook (amazon) | ebook (itch.io)

& at all major retailers!

Thank you so much for reading this post about my book. I hope you will share it, and this image of my beautiful black cat, Andy, widely. To queer weird fiction and indie pub! To you, Dear Reader, with love.

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zapernz · 3 months

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nav ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

zap/zapz | about me

↳ 18 | #1 sub ani enthusiast | #keepthefedoraonaj

masterlists

↳ anakin skywalker

↳ sam monroe

inbox info | nonnies <3 | anakin playlist

important

do not request scott barringer or stephen glass in my inbox.

check inbox info for more.

you are responsible for your own media consumption, this is a nsfw blog. that’s your warning.

minors dni | 18+

dont copy and paste my work, if you get inspired, no need to credit me, but tag me if you like, i’d love to read!!

#last updated: 30/1/24 #zapz important stuff #zapz yaps #zapz writes #zapz anakin core #zapz drabbles #zapz answers #zapz thoughts

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vargaslovinghours · 10 months

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Fandom: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (But really Vargas lol) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

What, exactly, did Scriabin take from Edgar when they separated?

My first multichapter fic for Vargas! :D Yay!

(Pls read Ch. 1 first - Ch. 2 is also recommended, but as long as you're caught up on the first, you're good to go!)

-----

Side B

What the fuck.

"It's, it's possible that if, maybe whatever happened earlier, whatever caused all that blood and for us to be knocked unconscious-"

What the fuck.

"-and if I suffered a head injury, then maybe-"

No. That's enough.

Scriabin pushed away from the closet door he'd defensively pressed himself up against and put his hands on Edgar's shoulders, which quieted him. He looked at him expectantly, with eyes that Scriabin somehow only just now realized were casually guarded, curious, uncertain in a way that denoted inexperience. That was so messed up, that was completely wrong. Edgar should've been on guard, absolutely, but only because he knew exactly what Scriabin was capable of. He really didn't want to look at him right now if this was what he was going to be seeing instead.

He spun him quickly and pushed him out the door before he could protest. He got one last look at those wide, confused eyes before he slammed the door behind him, bracing it shut with both hands for good measure.

What. The fuck. His head came forward, making a dull thud as his forehead connected with the door. He doesn't remember me? His fingers curled on the door. What does he mean he doesn't remember me?! How could he not know me?! One hand pushed through his hair; his scalp tingled and that was so weird, he felt it and it was so weird- We literally just- He literally just-! As if pulling him screaming into life wasn't bad enough, now he had decided to play some sick prank!

This can't be true. It's just like him to try and make jokes at the worst possible time, he has no tact.

There was a timid knock on the other side of the door. Scriabin jumped as it resonated through his skull, his elbow, pressed to the door with his hand buried in his hair, set his jaw. Then silence.

If he was really trying to get back in, clear things up, say he was only kidding, he'd actually try.

Nothing.

Scriabin's blood was ice as he went over it again. The way he'd said his name. The vacant look in his eyes as he said it, like his mouth knew its shape but none of the meaning. No fear, no realization, nothing that really felt like Edgar, just sound, just noise.

Maybe he really had-

Oh god. His knees gave out, and his arms had no practice at holding him upright, not yet. His hand slid down the door, his other hand guarding his head as his hair fluffed against the grain.

How could he do this

This is all his fault

Stupid, idiotic

He can't do this to me

I can't believe him

I can't believe this

How dare he leave me alone like this

Thoughts spiralling, and all he could do was hold himself down, press his fingers into the back of his neck, force his chest to his knees and maybe he wouldn't immolate under it all. He was shaking, from tension or fear he couldn't tell, his mind too hazardous and loud to cut through it all. He was shaking, dizzy, and if he moved, letting go would surely kill him.

He can't do this to me.

He breathed. And breathed. And swallowed. Eyes closed, heart pounding, sure. Confusion and dismay, whatever. Pain. Fine. So be it.

This isn't like me. A hand untethered from his vice grip in his hair, and he stayed attached to the floor. It connected with the carpet below him and became a new lifeline. He pushed up and away into a limp sit, arms already burning slightly from holding himself up after all that. He shook his head mildly. This isn't who I'm going to be in life. His body, this fear response be damned, he was in control now.

Regroup. Let's- a mental pause, barely a quarter of a second long as he turned the word in his head. Let's pretend it's all true- what does that mean?

He flopped over, leaned upright with his back against the door, heels of his fists pushed down into the carpet to scootch closer. Moving was so awkward still, very unfitting.

He was acting normal. Well, Edgar's baseline for "normal" had changed considerably, so maybe put an asterisk on that. Not that he was ever normal to begin with, but normal-for-Edgar, -ish. That means he has to have some memory.

Scriabin held out a hand, arm slung over his knee, one finger held out. He had recognized his glasses. One. The apartment. Two. Which key to use. Three. He had said Todd's name. Four.

His stuff can be discounted, he's had all that for a while. Back down to one. The kid is a new fixture. Which means he remembers the last couple months at least. He shook his head and brought his hand up to comb through his hair. Well...it's fuzzy for me, so it probably is for him, too. Scriabin remembered everything in as much clarity as the last couple months allowed, there was no way Edgar would know more even if he had all his memories.

Speaking of which, Scriabin could remember everything. He flipped through; the last two months and bringing Todd in, Edgar's parting words to Johnny, his and Devi's conversation - he grit his teeth - and further back, everything along the way, all the way back. False dreams, shared childhoods, everything that was once Edgar's alone, he still remembered it. Nothing was out of place which made it all the more strange!

This is so fucking weird, if I remember everything, then why would he-

He stopped short. His purported purpose had been to replace Edgar. Take him over completely. If he bought into the conceit for a moment, just to play in the space... He was alive now. That was not as intended; it shouldn't even have been possible.

Did he...give me his memories? Like, all the way? Not just to borrow, to shape him, give him legitimacy - he was alive now. His own person. Separate, embodied, and whole. Was this the price of life?

That's stupid. But possible, he couldn't discount. If this - he brought his hands up and looked down at them, watched himself touch his own chest and felt it beneath his coat, shirt, the nerves firing as his slid his fingers up himself - if this was possible, then...

He continued for a moment, curious and reverant, all of him new and privately exciting, to exist and to touch, to feel, smell, see, all of it clear and fresh and penetrated deeply into his mind, as if a layer of film had been lifted from his senses. The moment passed as the memories, unbidden but important, cluttered in around him again.

There were still a lot of questions, and most of them couldn't be answered without Edgar, ugh. If getting anything out of him before had been like pulling teeth, he was very sobered to think about how it might be now. Depending on how much Edgar remembered, maybe he could start piecing things together.

Did he do it on purpose? Did he know this would happen? There's no way he would have been willing to if he had- But he couldn't ask him things like that. Even if he did remember, admitting something like that...

He was just spinning his wheels at this point. Better to gather what he could from the man himself. He looked up, preparing to stand.

Ah-

The room was still in something of a state.

Edgar would be annoying, or at least distracted by trying to pick up the clothes and uncarefully unpacked items strewn about the floor from Scriabin's very successful excavation of his old glasses. The clutter would have to go if he wanted his full attention.

He grumbled as he pushed off the door to pick up the first few things. First day of life and I'm already his maid. Figures. He's always needed me to clean up after him.

Silence.

Somehow it only just hit him. Thinking alone in the late hours, planning things behind Edgar's back, it was nothing new. But a barb unsunk into his mental flesh was left out in the wide emptiness, poised to stab whoever happened upon it next, and he was the only one here.

He felt very small all of a sudden, and he didn't like it at all.

His eyes blankly scanned the room, looking for nothing, until they settled on the toy at Edgar's bedside. His toy.

He dropped the items he'd bundled into his arms and made his way over. He picked up the small simulacrum, turned it over in his hands once, and stared at it.

He wouldn't know this. Not really. He brushed a thumb up and over the little mouth, the contours of its small face. Retroactively, I've never been this at all.

I'm no one to him.

Does this mean we can start over? The thought struck him like lightning, freezing his heart in his chest. He was fixed solid, staring down at the small figure in his hands.

Before he could even think, he'd already thrown it through the open closet door, landing noisily in the box he'd dug through with a clatter. He grabbed up the fallen clothes and items and stuffed them back in the box, burying the toy in mundane detritus, then closed the cardboard flaps and slammed the door of the closet for good measure.

His breath was laboured and he glared, like wishing it gone would make the closet itself disappear.

Answers. He needed answers, more than anything.

He ripped the door open, and there was Edgar who looked up, staring dumbly back at him and carrying the clothes he'd shed earlier over his arm. Something in his mind clicked over, and he didn't think about it.

"Alright," he caught his breath for half a second, "what do you remember?"

Edgar just kept on staring, mouth open, eyes unconfident behind weak glasses. Scriabin huffed irritably, I don't have time for this, and moved towards him, arm outstretched.

"Come on." Edgar gave a small startled sound behind him as he grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. He threw him across the room, not bothering to watch his arc as he closed the door behind him. The bed was that way, he'd be fine.

When he turned back, Edgar had managed to catch himself, though already halfway on the bed. Scriabin stood with his back to the door, feet planted and he crossed his arms. No more speculating around impossibilities, tangible and present as they might be, it was time for a proper interrogation. It was at least preferable to-

Edgar made a face at him and scooted back, offering a seat next to him on the bed. Equal footing briefly flashed through his mind and while he wouldn't consider it ideal, nothing today was really going his way. He sighed, then made his way over and sat across from Edgar, who was eyeing him with a certain degree of caution. At least the feeling was mutual.

"Spill." He re-crossed his arms and leaned towards Edgar. "What do you know?"

Edgar hesitated, apparently thinking, his hands laced and fingers agitatedly if quietly rubbing the backs of his hands.

"I want to verify some things first."

Scriabin snorted dismissively. Where had Edgar's overly-trusting nature gone? A serial killer, well he's an honoured guest, but Scriabin? He didn't even distrust him for the right reasons.

He gestured with an open hand, Go ahead, then tucked his arm back in.

"Todd's last name?"

Pfsh. At least it was proof enough that anything Edgar knew, Scriabin did as well. As expected.

"Casil. His stupid bear's called Shmee in case you forgot that too." Edgar shook his head. No he hadn't? If only he could just check!

"Do you know our phone number?" Obviously he did, so he rattled it off quickly, Edgar nodding in turn. He flipped his hair in time with the last digit, careful to keep his eyes covered. It was a bit of a timid attempt, being the first in this body, which was a minor blessing he supposed.

Edgar mulled over what he'd given him for a moment, then a moment longer, then a moment even longer. His eyes searched absently, gazing down into his own hand, his other on his chin, lightly thumbing his goatee. He was focused on names and numbers, but those were child's play compared to everything, everything Scriabin still wanted to know. It was frustrating on a visceral level, watching him struggle with such simple innocuous nothings while the most important person in his life was sitting right in front of him.

He was supposed to be the most important.

It was frustrating.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He didn't hide the sneer as it shaped his voice - odd the way his body just did that now, did things without him actively thinking them into being. Even things like the little waver that made its way in that he pushed back down and under. He was frustrated, angry, tired - any emotionality could be attributed to those, nothing else.

Edgar didn't answer, just kept his gaze locked to his face. That was almost worse. Watching him fumble through things, it wasn't fun, but at least he wasn't trying to pry. He could see him try to look past his bangs, and the fact that he didn't know better...

Scriabin looked away for a moment, then thought better of it. Best defense is a good offense.

He reached for Edgar's face, for those damn scars, ever-present reminders. Edgar shied away, not wanting to be touched suddenly by someone he didn't know. As if Scriabin had ever cared about that.

Well, things were different now. Maybe he didn't really want to touch him anyway. Not yet.

"Do you remember these...?" Instead he framed his face with his hands less than an inch from his skin, and even there he could feel the heat coming off him. Edgar reached for his face, looking away from Scriabin as he touched the angry red marks. He winced minutely, then glanced back at Scriabin, searching him, his expression guarded again. Scriabin could hear his own pulse in his ears.

"...Johnny?"

"Fuck." Fuck! "Of course you'd remember him but not me." God damn it! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, just because Johnny came first by a hair's breadth, just because he wasn't in Edgar's head, with Edgar's fucked up little obsession with the murderous stick figure- It limited what he could get away with too, if he remembered that far back. Absolutely nothing was going in his favour.

"I'm sorry..." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and it stuck in his throat. Disgusting. "So you know Johnny, too."

"Unfortunately." Scriabin tucked his chin to his chest, arms crossed again in close proximity. This sucks. Edgar just kept rambling, unaware as ever. His excuses held this time at least, one point in his favour, no points for bringing his annoying habits with him despite everything.

"I don't think I've seen him for a couple months now? Everything's awfully..." He gave a vague gesture and Scriabin uncurled slightly. He was giving him room to contribute. He shook his head.

"You haven't."

"Have you?"

He returned to his tight coil of sulking. Not like he was keen to meet up and chat, but he couldn't explain why he hadn't had the opportunity to either.

"I remember he called, too."

"Ugh," barely above breath. Enough about Johnny! Again, Edgar continued obliviously.

"Although I don't really recall what we talked about, not for a while..."

Of course not. I took over for half of those.

He perked a bit, and Edgar focused more on him, patiently setting his hands in his lap.

"You know."

He could play this to his advantage. Give Johnny some well-deserved karmic justice for fucking him over so many times. It was almost better that Edgar didn't know - Scriabin had been trying to get him away from Johnny all this time, and if he really had forgotten everything, not just the moments when Scriabin took over but every moment they had shared, then that meant it coincided almost perfectly with his first meeting with Johnny. Blank spot after blank spot after blank spot, all lined up immediately after getting his face slashed.

He could work with that.

"It's probably trauma." Edgar startled and his hand shot to his temple, lightly touching his hair.

"Like, head trauma?" Scriabing almost laughed. Yeah, probably that too. But that wouldn't help his case.

"No." He leaned in, taking a more intimate, secretive tone. "Think about it. When did things start getting fuzzy?" If he was right on this - which of course he was, but not being able to verify, not being able to see that he was right, it was disconcerting - but if he was, Edgar's memories of Scriabin should start with that first fateful encounter, give or take. A bit of reframing here, a touch of implication there... It probably wasn't even an outright lie; if Edgar's memory were perfect after experiencing everything Johnny had put them through, that would be some kind of twisted miracle.

His only real concern was their "childhood" - how much had Scriabin pulled with him? Would that throw off his story? But that was so far back, there was no way Scriabin or Johnny could be implicated in that. As long as Edgar didn't bring it up before he thought his way around it...

Edgar stayed quiet for a long while. His eyes raced behind closed eyelids, searching, scanning, retracing - Scriabin could almost see the moments where he hesitated, stopped and went back, then starting recollecting again. He wished he could see it for real, watch him unfold himself, touch those memories again, hold up his own in contrast. Even just hear Edgar's thoughts as they went by, feel the emotions he felt. But he couldn't, so he just stared as unblinkingly as this new body would allow, just watched as Edgar went over everything on his own.

He finally opened his eyes, staring back into Scriabin's though he was sure they were still hidden. He felt naked and awkward and Edgar still hadn't said anything. If he could just see like he was supposed to, or if Edgar would just tell him, he wouldn't have to ask. I have to do everything around here.

"It was after you met him, wasn't it?"

"You think it's...mental trauma?" An unspoken 'yes.' Relief flooded him, and he pushed ahead.

"Edgar. He stabbed you." Edgar gripped his shoulder, his eyes closing again and he looked to be in pain. That was a very effective reminder at least. "Do you even know why?" He shook his head and spoke throught half-grit teeth.

"I must have made him mad, but I don't remember-" Of course not, I did that.

"Your mind is trying to protect you." Not. But one of us has to with your inexhaustable deathwish. Scriabin reached out to touch him properly, but Edgar pulled away. He didn't follow, still not yet. Play up the pity. "He messed you up so bad," with a curl in his tone, an I told you so that barely made it to words even privately; how long had he been holding that in? "Surely you must've felt like you wanted, you needed to get away from him, that he wasn't good for you, that you-" He'd told him so many times, some it must have stuck, some of it had to have-

"Then-!" Edgar's eyes shot open, wide and desperate with an edge of disbelief. A strangled gasp escaped him, half-choking him as he tried to speak. "Then why can't I remember you?!"

He almost began rolling off the cuff, but really, he still didn't know for sure. And it definitely wasn't like he could tell the truth even if he wanted to; who, who hadn't lived it, would believe him? Edgar certainly wouldn't, not with his lack of imagination. He had to dress this up, weave a narrative that was plausible, had the perfect mix of truth and falsehood to stand up to scrutiny.

Huh. Ironic.

"I..." No. Some of this was Edgar's fault too. "We...argued."

"Argued?"

"I... Mng." He wanted to aim for some kind of levity, but his throat had tightened on him. He just wanted to tell this stupid inside joke and not have it affect him, not have it mean anything, and here he was getting emotional? He'd say it and fucking mean it. "It's not like I'm in your head, so-" spat out in a rush, there, he'd said it. Haha, isn't that so funny. He swallowed harshly, pushing down everything he felt into his stomach acid. He was in control. He was fine. This didn't shake him. "I can't know for sure," another humourless laugh inside, "but I was against your relationship with Johnny. Maybe you shut me out so you could keep seeing him with no pushback."

It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibilities of what Edgar would do to avoid taking Scriabin's extremely basic advice about fraternizing with serial killers. How many times had he been ignored up to this point, only to culminate in the ultimate 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pfeh. I bet he wishes he'd thought of this sooner. It did nothing for his painfully stuttered pulse.

"You know, I've been trying to convince you to stop going back to him for a while, but, well..." He waved his hand at Edgar's hand still death gripped into his shoulder, and Edgar averted his eyes guiltily. At least he showed some remorse. Better than his nigh constant apologia.

He stayed quiet a moment longer, and just before Scriabin made to fill the silence again, Edgar struck him with an intense look.

"What are you to me?" Ugh. Of course. There was not a single good answer for that. Even if he told him everything- no, especially if he told him everything, there was no way Edgar would believe him. But coming up with a convincing lie on the spot, when they were so clearly something to each other - even he needed time to come up with something workable. How could he have ever prepared for a situation like this? It was never meant to happen, so many things were never meant to happen!

He continued at Scriabin's silence. "You know Nny," Ugh! Even his awful nickname. "And Todd. And...me." He couldn't refute it, so he nodded tightly. "Do you live here?"

Technically he had, and technically he hadn't. Still, going forward, it would be easier to let Edgar assume that he did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at the moment anyway.

"Yes."

"Are we..." He searched him, looked him over as much as he could and he wasn't subtle about it. If only Scriabin had his proper glasses, he'd let him look as much he wanted, behold his spectacle! As it was, he just felt self-conscious and it was very unbefitting. "...family?"

The baggage on that. He did not feel like opening that particular can of worms in either of their current states. He turned his head and flipped through any number of halfway decent ways to phrase it until he hit on something Edgar would remember. Better not to contradict for now.

"You told Johnny you have no family when you met."

"That's true..." Edgar blinked, processing. "Wait, did I tell you that?" Scriabin startled. Even after he'd accounted for his memory! Of course he had to pick his story apart now, he never knew when to leave well enough alone.

"When you-" No, he had to be involved. "When we bandaged your face."

Edgar mulled on that for a few seconds, taking on a thoughtful pose. "I only remember being alone."

"You don't remember me at all. What do you want from me?" He huffed.

"No, sorry, you're right."

"Thank you." He was right!

Where had Edgar expected him to be? There was something weird about how he'd said it. He filed the thought away for later.

"So, if you've been living here, where..." Edgar looked around the room, then back to Scriabin. "Where have you been sleeping? Todd's already on the couch..."

Scriabin couldn't help as a smile sprung to his face. If he was going to present him with such a perfect opportunity, well, he'd better take it. He even had the decency to look nervous in response! This was too good.

"Would you believe me if I said right here, in bed?" He again tucked his chin, playfully this time, his hair falling further in his eyes. Even through the dark tangles he could make out Edgar's face immediately bristling with heat.

Ooh. That's such a fetching shade on you, my dear.

"But-! I, I haven't been sleeping on the floor!" He was visibly sweating!

"Correct." His smile grew. This was too easy, and he needed an easy win right about now.

"W-" He leaned forward on his legs, though refused to get any closer. When he spoke it was a harsh whisper. "Why...?"

Scriabin shrugged easily, not bothering to reign in his smile in the least. "I mean, where else, right?" He leaned in since Edgar refused to, and oh. He was blushing all the way up to his scalp. Hilarious. "You certainly didn't seem to mind." He couldn't hold back the slightly musical tone or his eyebrows inclination to move on their own. His body knew what he was getting at, and he could see it only increased Edgar's fluster. All the better.

"Well I do now!" Edgar darted up and away, stumbling in his hasty retreat. "If you'll excuse me!" though he was already practically in the hallway by the time he said it. What a display, and Scriabin's laugh was loud and natural.

Finally, something positive. He'd managed to fumble his way through, not his best work in lying or manipulation, but he'd set some important groundwork. He'd gotten some answers, and he could start to shape some more believable stories around them.

The biggest hurdles were Johnny and Devi. As long as Edgar didn't meet with them too soon - or well, at all would be preferable, but he doubted he could just keep him locked up, as much as the idea appealed to him. There were so many things that were possible now, things that he had the ability to do, given the right circumstances... All of that in due time. For now he had a yarn to spin.

He listened as Edgar fumbled in the hall, the sheer sound of cloth being pulled and folded over an arm barely perceptable. Was he really going to try to sleep on what little was left over? Maybe he'd give up once he realized the pickings were thin and beg Scriabin to let him sleep with him. Hah.

While he was out, Scriabin made his way over to the pajamas drawer. They were all old and soft, even just to his hand. They'd do for now, until he could get his own. It wasn't like he hadn't worn all this before anyway.

By the time he'd finished dressing, his clothes discarded on the opposite side of the bed to where Edgar had set up his little nest, Edgar had finally gotten himself a set of pajamas. He wondered for a moment if he'd dress with Scriabin in the room again, though maybe his intense stare drove him off. Who could say. He patted the bed with a wide grin when he returned and was dutifully ignored. He settled down to the side, and Scriabin laid on his arms to look down at him.

"Ugh, lame."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, whatever." He'd heard it all before. At least he could literally look down on him like this. He folded his hands and leaned just a bit further, looking him over. A desire he hadn't realized he had surfaced in the dark and quiet. "Give me your hand."

"Sorry?" Scriabin held out his hand expectantly.

"I used to hear your heart beat every day." Edgar looked at him incredulously, but Scriabin was unperturbed. "Let me hear it again."

He hesitated but eventually slowly offered his arm. "...Okay."

He pulled his arm up and placed his thumb against his wrist. He felt a strange mismatch - where he'd been expecting one heartbeat, there were two. He covered his surprise, near shock at the realization that of course he had his own body now, by pulling harder on Edgar's arm, directing him up to his ear.

"Wh-"

"Shh." Quietly. He had wanted this, wanted this body, this separation, this freedom for so long, and now... He spoke quietly, his voice betraying nothing. "I'm listening."

Edgar's pulse was erratic, but he hardly paid attention to it. His own fingers on Edgar's skin, warm and pliant, and Edgar's fingers twitching in his hair, he could feel it, he was trying not to touch him- This hesitation was killing him, every jerky movement away not from fear of what Scriabin could do to him, just uncertainty, like he was still a stranger- He pressed him harder to his head, and he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. He wanted to just hold him there until all the memories they'd shared poured back through him, into his blood, into his breath.

Where are you?

But he replied in that same uncertain, guarded tone that indicated he didn't know, not really.

"C...can I have my arm back now?"

He pushed him away. "Fine." Edgar curled his hand protectively against his chest, and he noticed he rubbed it slightly, he probably hadn't even realized.

He mumbled out a harried "Good night," and it was almost enough to make Scriabin smile. Almost. He could still affect him but this wasn't enough, it wasn't right.

He laid his head on the pillow, not bothering to pull his arm up over the side of the bed. If he twitched in the night and touched Edgar, well, that could mean anything. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he did it on purpose. Plausible deniability was one of his greatest assets.

As it was, he was just tired. Maybe he didn't pull it back because he hated the thought of sleeping alone, pushed out and forgotten, and hated it more that he was even thinking something like that. How pathetic. He didn't need anyone, especially not Edgar.

But he was tired. Not in his right mind.

Does this mean we can start over...?

The thought echoed and died, and he slept.

#💟#Fanfiction #Blank Slate AU #Edgar #Scriabin #Todd #Shmee #He's technically in there but once again no speaking lines :P Yet anyway lol #It's fanfic time again! I fell into yet another writing fugue and finished Chapters 1 and 2 in like four days lol #If you'll notice tho ♪ Neither of those chapters are featured under the cut :3c Pls do read Ch. 1 at least to get caught up before diving in #This one took a bit longer but that'd be because it's Almost as big as both previous chapters combined lol #I'll update it to the chapter list in a few days! Y'all get a preview here :D It'll be the same there with slightly different formatting #Decided to try something new since tumblr doesn't normally allow underlines but it's very important to Scriabin's syntax #I promise they're all just links to the first chapter lol - you're welcome to check but I promise I didn't put a sneaky link anywhere lol #My one gripe is that it doesn't look as good on-blog :/ Fine on the dash! But I'm not willing to sacrifice the dark colouration on the links #Italics were chosen as the only light feature for a reason ♪#I mean at least it's not Bolded lol I'll take it #These were a lot of fun to write so far ahhh <3 I've been wanting to dig a little deeper for a long while now!#I mentioned this idea offhandedly in the tags of Incoming Outgoing but ahhh it's very rewarding to put to words :D #Fun Fun Fun

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butchsophiewalten · 10 months

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can we hear more about YES? wha happened 👀

There's been a new Findjackwalten update! From what I can tell, this one alters one page (or two depending on how you count it) and adds one new one.

The main page has been updated: https://www.findjackwalten.com/

it strongly resembles the '/copia-de-nueva-pagina' page we discovered back in July, which now, in fact, redirects to it. The old homepage, /cyberfuntech82, is now a completely blank webpage.

Some images have been added to the new landing page that did not exist on the old /copia-de-nueva-pagina page, like the Cyberfun Tech poster we saw Martin post in his community tab is what I believe was May of last year? And three as yet unseen images of Little Bon, Little Bon and Little Sha, and then of the animatronic Bon. There's a fourth image not visible in this screenshot, of the exterior of Bon's Burgers (the same shot of it we seen in TWF1).

Clicking on the "JOB OFFER" image leads to a new webpage, findjackwalten.com/caretakerlibrary.

This page contains a greyed-out version of the banner from the homepage, a large greyed-out version of the mounted buck's head known for being on findjackwalten.com/jackwalten, and a picture of someone we can assume, thanks to later context, is named Richie. It looks like the background illustration of an anthropomorphized family of rabbits is still on this page, it's just mostly hidden by the other page assets. Something interesting to note about this page is that all of its images are actually in regular full color, the page just puts a black & white filter over them. It's thanks to that we can have this regular, full-color image of Richie.

This page claims to be a "Caretaker Audio Archive", which seems to be the same archive Brian mentioned in TWF1, when he mentioned being asked to record himself during his job "for the archives". It contains two pieces of audio attributed to an "R.", who worked for BSI between 1974 and 1975. It refers to him also as the "Night Shift CARETAKER A".

The first piece of audio, titled "richie 1" is dated 05-23-74, or the 23rd of May, 1974. I've transcribed it as follows, but this is pretty rough: Hey there! Its your, uh, it's your coworker Richie from uh, B-Uh, BSI. Uh, Felix probably mentioned me to you before, I-uh-I don't believe we've actually, yknow, met face-to-face before, but I-uh, look forward to working with you! Uh, so, uhm. Yeah, uh! I work the, uh, I work the- I'm working the night shift at the moment. Uh, and, uh, [UNINTELLIGIBLE] uhm, sorry you're not in any, uh, trouble or anything, heh. Uh-m just- saying hi. It's uh, company policy, all employees gotta, like, know each other so we can work more efficiently, I guess. I dunno. Uh, from what I've heard I take it you've been working here quite a while, right? Uh, summer job? Same here! Uh, so uh, where was I? Hmm.. Ah- uh, some notes from last week's shift, uhm, the arcade machines should be on their way by Tuesday, I think? We uh, we made a call with Starleys, uh, now they're going to be doing the installations themselves, so you don't gotta worry about that anymore. Just try and keep [UNINTELLIGIBLE] and plus, you now owe me a favor! Nah, just kidding. Uhh, so! Tech supervisor asked us to present the documentation of the animatronics' state by tomorrow! So, uh, yeah, better get that out of the way soon. And, uh, huh! I guess that's it. Ahh- sorry, and uh, one more thing, uh, I think we'll, uh, yknow, properly meet on, uhm, Thursday! I think. [UNINTELLIGIBLE] a tour of the installations. And, not-not the ones that smell like tobacco. The other one. So, uh, yeah, uh, see you there!

The second audio, titled "richie 2", is dated 06-18-74, or the 18th of June, 1974. This is, very notably, a week after Jack Walten's disappearance. I've transcribed it as follows: Hey, uh, just wanted to update you on everything that's been going on the past few days. So, uhh, for starters I got paid the extra hours for last week, so that's nice. Uhmm, right, uh, right. So, uh, did you get the memo, or whatever? Apparently the lockdown was because of some infestation or something? Yknow, like, bugs? Heh. So just a heads up if you feel kinda- smell chemicals and whatnot. Uhh, what else, what else, what else? Right, uh, right- so here, from next week onward, all animatronics will be cleaned and checked by authorized personnel. Nobody else is allowed- sorry- Nobody else is permitted to go near them until further notice. So, that's one less thing to worry about with our jobs, right? Uhhh, right- ah, oh right, uhm. Don't come to work on Monday. They're doing one more big cleanup to make sure there's no bugs crawling around or whatever. We, uh, we wouldn't really want our customers eating a beetle sandwich, yknow? Haha, sorry- hmm. Uhh, yeah! That's all for tonight. If you see any bugs in the next few days, just like, wack 'em with a newspaper or somethin'. You'll be fine. Anyways, uh, see ya around! Take care! Bye!

A very notable peculiarity with this is that the second audio sounds very... dank? Like it's being recorded in a cave? I have absolutely no idea what this means.

#the walten files #i actually decided im gonna kinda split this post in half and add some of my speculative commentary on thr new update later #because my head is getting cluttered with all thr writing right now #and i want to share most of the Important Info right away

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sanityshorror · 3 months

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IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ!!! All tags are relevant to my content created!

I'm Sanity. Many know me as a creator of a well known creepypasta and formally crp fandom creator. Many of you know me as a splatterpunk author who wrote The Man with the Scarred Neck. Many of you know me for my illustrations. Many for other reasons.

I am in serious need of help raising as much funds for very serious reasons ASAP, due to real life personal and immediate emergencies that were fully unforseen and only happened a few hours ago. Please go to my carrd to find links to all my pages and ways to support.

Commissions can be purchased by clicking the Buymeacoffee or KoFi icon going to the commission page. Monthly memberships with many perks are also available! You can donate there and buy the ebook the man with the scarred neck in the shop. click the tee spring icon to purchase merch. You can directly donate through cash app. Links to purchase physical copies of the men with the scarred neck are also provided on carrd!! I will of course be providing content especially for paying members as much as possible, all commissions and commissions hired will of course be completed in as timely of a manner and quickly as possible!!

unfortunately, to my dismay, The Dressmaker from Hell will likely be postponed until May 27, 2024 (2 year anniversary of Julius's creepypasta) as the emergencies are going to render me incapable of finishing the book as currently scheduled.

I will be doing my best to put out as much content as possible!!! I promise.I'm so so so sorry... I'll update on plans once I figure it out!!

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darkanddirtyknb · 4 months

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Important Notice

I want to give a warm hello to all of my beautiful like-minded freaks, creeps, and horny little toads. We have had quite the journey together. It's hard to believe I started my blog and Patreon so long ago. Sometimes it's painful to reflect on because I was in a much better place when I started my blog. But we learn to live with the hand we receive in life, and that's what I'm doing. Which brings me to the reason I'm posting this today. This has been a long time coming, and I suppose I've been putting it off because I haven't wanted to admit it to myself. I've been in such a period of stasis. But I kept trying to convince myself that I could return to how I used to be—putting out content like the wind, writing commissions, having deep discussions and long conversations with my supporters, and so on. But the truth is, I just can't do it anymore. My body has taken a toll on me, and my fire has burned out. My physical health (and sometimes mental) has taken its course, and this is the path I have no choice but to follow. However, despite the war I'm waging with my body, there is good news. I won my disability claim. I'm not making much, but it's enough that I can support myself monetarily. So, I will be closing my Patreon. I'll also no longer be writing commissions for the foreseeable future. I've been delaying this part of my announcement because I hate letting people down. My Patreon aside, I made a lot of promises to people that I couldn't keep. For that, I'm sorry. I never accepted any money for work I didn't start, so I owe no one anything in a monetary way. But I will be letting people down, and that truly bothers me. If you were in line for a story, I give you my sincerest apologies from the bottom of my heart. If you feel like I let you down in any way, I'm sorry for that too. That said, to be fair, I didn't know this was going to happen to me. I hold no control over the turns my health takes, and if I could change it, I would. I will still post from time to time. I'm not giving up on writing. But what once took me one to two days now takes me weeks, sometimes months to finish. I will still be around, and I will still engage with my followers. I'm not disappearing. My health may have won this round, but I won't let it take me down. I've come too far to give up what I love. I actually have a very detailed story in the works, and come hell or high water, I will finish it. I want to thank everyone who has stuck by my side. To everyone who has supported me, shared talks with me, read my works, liked my stories, and left comments—thank you. These things have helped me through some of my darkest hours. As for my Patrons, hopefully, by closing my account this month, you'll be able to have some extra money after the holidays. I want to give a special thank you to you. You kept me afloat by helping me pay for necessities like my medication, food, gas for medical appointments, and more. Without you, I truly don't know how I would have reached this point in my life. I hope there are no hard feelings. I'm doing what I need to for myself, but also, what I feel is best. If I get a second wind, I might write those stories still jotted down on my whiteboard. You never know. Lastly, I want to share another piece of good news. My parents surprised me with a new friend. I will post pictures of her below. Her name is Luna. (Not after Luna Lovegood, but our Lord and Savior, The Moon.) She has certainly kept me on my toes, and I'm not sure she's been the best thing when it comes to my disabilities, considering I can barely keep up with her. But I'm in love, and I know that ultimately, she'll be well worth the hassle—which she most definitely is right now. She's a right pain in the ass. I'm pretty sure she's a quarter Gremlin, a quarter Audrey 2, and two-quarters Piranha. I'm sending all my love to everyone. I hope you have a wonderful holiday season. If you have any questions or just want to shoot me a message please don't hesitate. Please take care of yourselves. It's dangerous business out there. Much love, Kai