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Official BF and GF Designs for Desolate Dreamland

They are gonna be used for one of the songs in the mod. Boyfriend is named Lyric and Girlfriend is named Melody btw. Designs are made by me, and I got permission from the Director to share these :D

#fnf gf #fnf girlfriend #fnf boyfriend #fnf bf #fnf #fnf mod #desolate dreamland #fnf girlfriend design #fnf boyfriend design

V O L A T I L E

#Desolate Dreamland #Adrian #Dax

Just doodling while thinking of this story of mine. I love all of them so much y’all

#Desolate Dreamland #Doodle Page

Behold, and excerpt from a story of mine that istg I will actually work on someday.

Aaron ran his hand through his hair, frowning at the feeling a knot, possibly a clump of dirt. He tried to recall when the last time he was able to properly wash up, but nothing came to mind. Perhaps if he laid down the charm thick enough, he’d be able to use whatever Moga had. Side-eyeing the stoick woman with hard eyes and dark circles, Aaron wondered if anyone had enough flattery in their body in order to move a woman like that.

With a deep sigh, he turned to face Ella again. “With a group that small, we shouldn’t have to wait long until ‘The Sick’ pass by.” Moga snorted and turned to face her desk before he could even finish. Bitterness laced her words as she spoke.

“The Sick’ … a name coined by rich uncreative bastards. By doctors who don’t really give a shit as long as it doesn’t affect them in their little raised cities.” Moga never stopped moving her hands as she spoke. Shuffling papers, moving one object to one place to another and back to the place it had been. “You know people ‘round here are terrified to use that word?”

Aaron looked down, guilt coiling in his stomach, had he known the doctor would have gone on a tangent, he wouldn’t have said anything. Wouldn’t have spoke so carelessly because yes, yes he did know. He was well aware of the fact at how things turn at the word “sick” how little phrases like “I don’t feel so well” or admitting to any kind of discomfort or illness could be as good as a death sentence in the wrong company.

“Bet those good old people in their solid houses on a platform so high off the ground, that sometimes you’d have to crane your neck to see them.” Moga’s words were quiet now, in a way the raised the hairs on Aaron’s neck. Beside him Ella shifted in discomfort, feeling the air shift as well. “Bet they don’t even think about that.”

Moga laughed as she finally stilled her hands, leaning her weight onto the desk. “That they don’t have to hide their children at the first sign of a cough or a little sniffle. Bet they don’t sit in terror by their children's bedside pra-” Moga’s voice broke and bent her head forward “-praying to god that the fever will pass and everything will be okay.”

There was no break down, no tears. Just a slight shudder that ran down her back. In one moment Aaron could see that the cold and aloofness was just a front, built and hardened by grief and worn down soul. To his side he could see Ella clutching her shirt tightly, avoiding looking at anyone. He could almost smile at how she always wore her heart on her sleeve, no matter how much she tried to deny it. So opposite of Moga.

Or how he thought Moga was. Not that he knew her. Couldn’t even say why she just said what she did. Unable to hold it in any longer. Worn down by exhaustion. Was she more trusting of strangers than he first figured? It didn’t really matter. Part of Aaron wished she kept it to herself so he didn’t have to feel the sympathy, so he didn’t have to remember how close to his heart loss was. How no one on the grounds was a stranger to grief.