Made a short little fic thing cuz I was Having Thoughts. I literally never write so read at your own risk. It’s probably not great but I genuinely dgaf
Basically, Alice Woodward sneaks around her old ass house, this doesn’t end well.
Tw for like, eye and body horror ig. Throw up too.
Alice sneaks through her dad’s at night, planning to grab a snack and sneak out to meet Deb. It’s dark, the middle of the night. Somehow she doesn’t end up in the kitchen or by the front door, but in the guest room. Hard to navigate in the dark. She could’ve sworn she passed the living room just a second ago though.
It used to be her grandmother’s, long before she dropped dead from some complicated heart condition, back when Alice was a little girl. it’s still decorated relatively the same. She couldn’t tell you why- her dad always looks so sad in this room. It’s probably nostalgia, or grief, or some weird respect thing. She doesn’t really care right now. She doesn’t really care about anything but the bone chilling and joint freezing dread that run through her the second she opens the door.
She doesn’t know why. It all looks the same. Lavender bed covers, white curtains, a wooden vanity with little purple porcelain birds facing away from the mirror, creepy painting of a giant purple cat with terrible orange eyes… they aren’t supposed to be orange. They’re supposed to match the bed, tie the room together. Her memaw told her so when she was like, ten.
She stares at the abomination. She doesn’t know why she suddenly thinks so terribly about it. It stares back.
Its eyes are moving, following her. The dread keeps rising till she can’t feel anything but. She wants to throw up. She knows what a panic attack feels like, she’s had them forever. They crush your ribs, tear your lungs with smokey black claws, and grip your brain tightly and throw it in a blender. This is somehow worse. Her eyes feel sore and dry. She hasn’t been blinking. She can’t. Time has passed, too much time. She should probably blink.
She walks back, straight into the vanity, one of the little birds falls to the ground. It was her favorite as a kid. She’d skip to her memaw’s room after school every day just to stare at it as the old woman painted some new sculpture of the week. Its little orange beak is smashed to bits, she finally looks away from the cat at the sound. Poor bird, her memaw put a lot of work into that.
She doesn’t feel the staring anymore. The cat’s eyes aren’t orange anymore. Her’s are.
There’s eyes all over her. On her palms, up her arms, down her legs, around her neck, covering her face. All orange. Except the ones she should have. The two in the center of her face. Those are a sickening violet. Like a bruise. She finally does throw up, in a trashcan thank god. The laughter gets louder. Pounds in her skull. The throw up smells of popcorn, funnel cakes, and so much blood. A scent so sweet it makes her hack up more. She can make out words now, mocking her. Demanding something, an eye. Why? Whatever is doing this already has so many, she knows it does. She can feel it. Nine hundred and ninety nine. Somehow she knows one’s missing.
Alice Woodward, 20 years old come Monday, screams.
When she wakes up to concerned soft brown eyes and a warm hand, she gets it. It was just a nightmare. The same one she’s had all week. She marches to her memaws room to look at her favorite bird. It always calms her down.
Alice Woodward, 11 come Monday, does not realize that the dreams are warnings. Visions of a painful future. And she skips down the halls of her old, creaky house, followed by the gaze of orange eyes.
A woman in white cries.
She can’t help this one, her brother’s grip is too strong. No matter how hard she tries or how young the dreams start. She turns her gaze to a child cloaked in pink instead. Time to try again.
Imagine a mcu x Hatchetfield crossover where Tony is related to someone in Hatchetfield, the Spankoffski’s or Monroe’s, maybe even the Fosters.
Maybe he’s just a friend.
But he brings the other with him to Hatchetfield to visit his friend/relative and all of them are immediately like “What the fuck is going on here. We need to investigate. Should we call Stephan?”
And he’s like “What are you talking about. There’s Nothing Wrong Here. Come on let’s go to Miss Retro’s, you’ll like it. Don’t go in the woods by the way. Guys I’m the genius, I would know if something’s off here. No, we’re not going to Watcher World.”
Basically I just really like crossovers where one of the main cast HEAVILY gaslights the others and these are the only fandoms I can think of that fit
oh wonderful that's good to hear. I finished my yearning for the day though, is it cool if I cherish? would people mind if I started cherishing, would that be weird
like instead of "i've loved you for a thousand lifetimes" and "we've been friends for far longer than we've known each other" we get "of all the people i could run into why you" and "don't think i won't kick your ass this time around too"
I semi-recently I became DM for a group of friends, none of us had ever played dnd before sans one who only has a little experience.
While I’m glad me and my party are all in a similar state of What The Fuck Are We Doing, I would still like to be a better dm because I actually really like it and we’re all having fun. Any advice on how to get better? At least to a point where I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing.
“Write the fic you want to read!” I CAN’T. I HAVE NO SKILLS AND A VERY PARTICULAR TROPE IN MIND THAT I CANNOT DO ANY JUSTICE
Anywho if anyone happens to have any “normal au” fics where the characters get, isekaied, or Lotus Machine-d to cannon then I’d love to see them :)
Just a word that looks at a modern or human au but actually something is wrong and “hey aren’t i an elf magician god or something why do I work at Starbucks?”
Cannon interacting with human au versions of themselves even.
reblog if you believe fanfics are as valid as books that were published and sold by authors who write as their main careers. I'm trying to prove a point
"Why can't the freaks on AO3 just go and make a site for all the gross stuff and leave AO3 alone."
Because AO3 is that site. Because AO3 was that site long before you decided AO3 was better than the sites you bullied us off of before, and I can promise you if someone somehow comes up with a fanfic site you like better specifically for the 'gross stuff' you'll try to bully us off that too so you can benefit from it.
AO3's specific core purpose is to preserve fanfiction, yes, but it was also instigated as a host site for the fanfiction that kept getting yeeted off other platforms like Wattpad. Its designed to preserve all fanfiction, not just the fanfiction you, personally, think is 'allowed' to be written.
AO3 is the site for all the gross stuff the freaks make. We've been there just as long as you. We've been funding it just as long as you have. AO3 has specifically said you have a place here. The timeline was literally:
Wattpad/FF.net/LiveJournal purge fanfics > AO3 is born > The people who's fics got purged moved over to AO3 > AO3 gains popularity as the best functioning site > The people who pushed for the fics to be purged off Wattpad move to AO3 > The same people try to push for AO3 to purge fics.
AO3's source coding is open-access. You go make a polished, strict, rigid site where nothing 'icky' is allowed. You go make a site where you can control what is hosted. We already have our space.
This is very important to me. Ao3 represents to me at least that no human creativity should be caged or restricted. Do I always enjoy what comes from that creativity? Not always. But it’s still beautiful that its allowed to exist and I would never try to keep that from someone.
I’m always going to think you got something screwed on backwards if you try to say someone *can’t* write something. Because that’s bull and not your decision.
