#for some reason I write more when I have a looming deadline

[whohasthecards]

Just imagining, that in a scenario where Mav adopts Hangman or realizes that Jake is his son and takes him in. And it was rough at first as they get to know one another, the growing pains and all that, but they eventually found stability, strength, and love with one another.

But one day, Hangman did something that scared the shit out of Mav, that pissed him off so badly that he starts berating Hangman, shouting and all that. Hangman and the others have never seen Mav mad often, but Mav was just so terrified.

Jake just stands there jaw clenched, as he took it all. Scared that he fucked it up for good, putting his hands behind his back to make sure that Mav doesn't see them trembling.

Eventually Mav ends with a, "What can you say for yourself, Lieutenant Seresin!?"

And Jake opens and clenches his mouth shut, like a gaping fish, brow furrowed, but eyes looking straight forward, as if he was staring at nothing or at the wall behind Mav. Looking straight ahead, yet no where at the same time.

Everyone waits with baited breathe, waiting for Hangman to fight back, retort, or snap back with snarky comments because it's Hangman.

"I'm sorry, da-" Jake audibly snapped his jaw shut, wincing, "I'm sorry Captain Mitchell, it won't happen again." Jake paused, "I'm sorry." He said the added apology quietly, but it reverberated loudly throughout the room.

Mav took a deep breathe before dismissing all of them, leaving him in the empty classroom to collapse on his desk. Wondering if he had ruined the relationship with the son he just got. Thinking if he could have handled it better. Was his son scared of him, now?

Jake's limbs was heavy as he trudged back to his apartment. He was wracked with guilt, wondering why was he so abrasive, why did he always push, push, and push. Why did he fuck up so constantly. Why was he so Hangman and why couldn't he be better?

He went through the motions of cleaning himself up after he went home and curled up in bed to just, sleep the sadness away.

Mav lugged himself into Ice's office, where his husband was working on his desk and he moves behind his chair and wraps his arms around the man, burying is face in Ice's hair, as if to hide his shame.

"What's wrong, Mav?"

"I-I think I scared, Jake," Mav mumbled. "He couldn't even call me, dad."

Ice pulls the whole story out of Mav before he tries to comfort him saying that he and Jake will work things out. How fathers and sons always will have their ups and downs. Fathers are always scared that their sons will turn out too much like them, after all. Also, they are still captain and lieutenant, Jake was probably trying to keep rank.

The last part even Ice said hesitantly, Mav was never shy about letting his kids call him what they want. Neither was Jake.

"Oh god, I-I left him, Ice, I didn't talk to him, I--"

"Shh, maybe so, but you both needed some space, you can go to him, now, bring him home." Ice said, turning to pull Mav fully in his arms. "Everything will be fine."

Mav ends up outside of Jake's housing. Ice waiting in the car, he knocks. No answer. He knocks again. No answer. He gets worried, checking back to see if Jake's car really was there. He grabs a spare key and opens the door, the apartment eerily quiet.

He never notice how bare the apartment really was, Jake always took a lot of space.

His boots were there, though, so were his car and house keys.

He walked into his son's bedroom, softening at the sight of him curled up in bed. He moved closer sitting on the edge as he ran a hand through his son's hair, frowning at the warmth emanating from the boy's forehead. Although, he did see the boy's face softened.

Jake's eyes fluttered open, blearily peering up at him, "Dad?" He asked softly tugging at Mav's heart, inspiring him to lean down and kiss his forehead.

My son.

"Hey kiddo, you good?"

Jake blinked up at the soft kiss, before the day's events came rushing back to him, "Sir I--"

"You never have to call me, sir, okay? It's fine if you don't want to call me dad," Mav said, choking out the last part. "But, you'll always be my son, even when I'm mad, or even if you are mad, you will always be my son, unless you never want to be again."

Jake stared up, suddenly fully awake before jolting up and quickly wrapping Mav in a tight hug. The angle was awkward, but Mav didn't care. His son was in his arms.

Mav tightened his hold around his boy, cradling his head on the crook of his shoulder. Hushing him softly.

"I'm sorry, dad," Jake muttered.

"It'll be okay, we're okay," Mav muttered, holding his son a bit more tighter.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 12

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy needs to be alone to get her latest draft done but that leads to an unexpected situation...and confession...

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

I had checked into a hotel room a week ago to get some writing done, which had been driving Jake crazy. When I was approaching a deadline I took a note out of Maya Angelou’s playbook, except, to a more extreme extent. She would rent a hotel room in her hometown, using it as an office of sorts, removing all distractions while she got her writing done. As a procrastinator who worked at the whims of her muses, I condensed the routine into a sprint. I wrote from 6am to 9pm with nothing in the room to distract myself except for a deck of cards and a thesaurus. 

The reason it was driving Jake crazy was the fact that I wouldn’t tell him which hotel I was at and that I would only text him before 6am and after 9pm. If given the chance, I knew he would have caved by day three and stopped by to see me, which would have derailed the entire process, Jake had begrudgingly agreed to her reasoning of keeping him out of the loop.

Cassandra was closing in on her killer, her and her partner Timothy were standing in front of the apartment door, weapons drawn and ready to go. They were going to do it. Except the scene that was in my head wasn’t the one that ended up on the page, Timothy kicked the door open and the apartment was empty except for a note addressed to her. The killer got away. For now at least. Jason and Grace would be ecstatic that the sequel was perfectly lined up but for me it felt like a blow to the chest. My detectives always got their man by the end of the story. Always. 

I spent close to four hours trying to rewrite the scene in a way that even vaguely made sense but nothing felt right. I glanced at the clock, it was past ten o’clock, Jake was probably ready to file a missing persons report at this point. I chuckled to myself, thinking about how he was. Jake liked to be by my side, even without the looming threat of me running off because of Rudolph Lance, he spent so much time at our apartment that Natasha had joked about charging him rent…which he had shrugged at and asked how much. 

When I pulled my phone out of the room safe I had three missed calls from Jake and Natasha and texts from most of the Daggers telling me to please, please, please call my boyfriend and best friend.

“Baby,” Jake sighed on the other side of the call. “Everything okay?” I giggled, it wasn’t even a full hour past when I was supposed to check-in and Jake sounded like I had been missing for days. “Daisy,” His serious tone cut my laughter short. Something had to be wrong. 

“I’m fine, Jake. What’s going on?” There was a long pause that had my heart rate shooting through the roof. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

“What hotel are you at?” I started to repeat what I had been telling him all week about the importance of being left alone but he cut me off. “Daisy, I love you and I respect your process but I’m going to need you tell me where the fuck you are.” I flinched, surprised, he had never taken that tone with me before. 

“The Marriott on Sixth and Kewee. What the hell happened?” Jake shouted that I was okay to whoever he was with, probably Natasha. It hit me at that moment that Jake had just said he loved me but the next words out of his mouth ruined the moment.

“There was a big fire at the Marriott on Stiltson, the news said people died.” All the air rushed out of my lungs. All I had told him and Natasha was that I was staying at a Marriott, they must have been so worried. 

“Shit, Jake. I’m so sorry, I’ll come home. I can be there in-” Jake cut me off again,

“Stay put, I’m coming to you.” I plopped down on the bed, chewing on my thumbnail. The hotel was a five minute drive from our apartment, twenty from his. “We’re not doing this again, okay? Somebody needs to know where you’re at, somebody. Even if it’s Amelia for Christ’s sake.”

“Okay, baby, I promise.” Jake exhaled sharply. “I’m in room 108, come in the front doors and go right, I’ll be just a few steps away.” Another exhale, “Unclench your jaw, pretty boy, or you’ll give yourself a headache.” He didn’t say anything but I knew he was listening to me. “Now relax your fingers, you can drive at a speed I don’t want to know about without white knuckling it.” The time the huff had a hint of a chuckle, “You can’t come yell at me then smother me in kisses if you wrap your truck around a palm tree.” 

“I’m not going to yell at you,” He didn’t sound convincing, like he was still mulling it over. We sat in silence while he drove, a few torturous minutes passed by. “I’m here,”

“I really don’t want to know how fast you were going.” Jake sighed, “I’m not going to lecture you, just don’t tell me. I’m going to unlock the door for you.” I crossed the room, flipping the latch so that the door was held open, then I stepped back towards the center of the room. Jake rushed into the room not long later, sweeping me into his arms.

“Hi, baby.” He kissed my temple, hands shaking as he held me. Jake’s whole body was tense around me, showing just how concerned he was. I rubbed his back,

“Let it out, Jake, don’t keep it in.” He pulled away, gripping my face tightly but not harshly. Jake looked wrecked, eyes rimmed red, brow pinched, his jaw tensing and relaxing like he was fighting himself. “I’m right here.” 

“At least last time I knew where you were,” Jake’s tone was harsh. “I knew that you were safe,” I gripped his sides, digging my fingers in. He kissed me fiercely but pulled away before I could respond. “I don’t want to be a controlling boyfriend who tells you what to do, Daisy, but you’ve got to stop doing this to me.” Guilt flooded through me, my grip on him loosening. Jake shook his head tersely, “Please don’t pull away from me.” 

“I’m not pulling away, Jake,” I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’m right here, tell me what you need.” Jake buried his face in my neck, hugging me tight. “Tell me what you need,” I whispered. “I love you too, Jake Seresin, just tell me what you need.” He didn’t say anything right away, he just held me. With every breath I felt him relax just a little bit more into me until it felt like I was holding all of his weight. “I love you, Jake. Just tell me what you need, I’ll give it to you.” Jake stayed quiet and I found myself filling the gap. “Have you heard of Life360? It’s an app, Harvey and his wife have it, lets them track each other's locations. I just won’t look at the weekly driving report so I won’t see how fast you speed.” 

“You don’t have to,” He kissed the crook of my neck, pulling away just to rest his forehead against mine. “If it makes you uncomfortable.” 

“I don’t mind, Jake,” I kissed him softly, “Not if it gives you peace of mind. Okay?” I slipped my hands under his shirt, resting them on his warm back, pulling him even closer. “Are we okay?”

“I love you, Daisy.” Jake kissed my nose and pulled away, smiling softly at me. “Not exactly how I planned on telling you, it just kind of slipped out.” I giggled, pulling him to lay on the bed with me.

“Well, nothing about this relationship has exactly been normal since the whole ‘FBI showing up at my house’ thing. So, I think it’s fitting.” I sat back on the pillows and Jake laid his head in my lap, I carded my fingers through his hair. “Let’s talk about things, Jake. What do you need?” He looped an arm between my legs, snuggling me like a pillow. 

“Can we get that tracking app? I promise I won’t look at it unless I’m worried.” I rolled my eyes, knowing that if he checked the app every time he was worried about me, it would be constantly open on his phone. The…hypervillegance surrounding my whereabouts on Natasha’s orders had lessened but hadn’t faded away entirely. It was something I had learned about Jake, he cared with his whole heart about all of the people in his life, and with that came a certain level of anxiety. 

“Check it as much as you need to, pretty boy,” I kissed his hair. “What else?” 

“I want to take you home for Thanksgiving, introduce you to my mama,” My fingers paused in his hair, the thought swirling around in my mind. What would meeting Jake’s parents be like? Would they be warm and welcoming or stoic and standoffish? What about his sisters? Would they like her? “Stop thinking so hard, that hamster wheel in your head is starting to smoke.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, my fingers moving in his hair once again. “Yes, I’ll meet your mama, what else?” Jake gently bit my thigh and I tapped him on the head, “Jake, baby, is there anything else you need to feel better?” 

“I’m going to marry you one day,” 

“Okay.” Jake turned to look up at me and I’m sure I had multiple chins at that angle but he was looking at me with nothing but love in his eyes and I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

“Wait, so, asking you to meet my family takes a full minute for you to think about but getting married is an instant yes?” 

X

Daisy tilted her head back against the headboard, a small smile on her face. In the last few hours, my emotions had been wrecked. Going from bored, sitting on the couch listening to Rooster and Phoenix argue about something I wasn’t paying attention to, then worried beyond belief when the news alert popped up on our phones, and then instant relief when her name flashed on caller ID. 

“I’ve never met a boy’s parents before,” 

“One, I’m a man, baby.” Daisy scoffed at me, her hand resting on my chest. “Two, you’ve never met someone’s parents?”

“Jake, I hadn’t even cuddled someone before you,” I couldn’t help the smug smile that grew on my lips. Daisy liked cuddling but she needed the conditions to be just right, apparently I was a “human heater” and she needed a fan to be running, more than one if she wanted to keep her beloved pajama pants on.

“My mama’s going to love you, already does,” I reached up, wrapping my fingers around the duplicate dog tags of mine she wore around her neck to pull her down for a kiss. The angle wasn’t perfect but her lips on mine could never be wrong. “Told her all about your lasagna and the way you’ve been feeding the team. My sisters already love you too, they’re both true crime junkies, apparently they have all of your books.” 

“No way,” She snorted, dissolving into a fit of giggles. Her whole body shook as she laughed and it was a beautiful sight. “I’ll sign them when I come to visit. Did I ever tell you that Grace and Jason spent a week arguing over how my signature should look?” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously, I thought I had carpal tunnel by the time we figured it out. Well, I probably do but that’s neither here nor there.” I made a mental note to Google that later, see if there was anything to do to make it better. “What about your pops?” 

“God, he cannot wait to meet you,” I groaned, pulling her down for another kiss. “Pops won’t stop asking about his “new daughter” when I call him. I think my family’s going to propose to you on my behalf.” Daisy laughed but it wasn’t really a joke, my whole family had been calling, texting, even emailing me for information on Daisy and our relationship. Pops had even offered up his parents’ rings for us to use.

“There seem to be a lot of expectations for me to live up to, Jake.” She kissed me one, twice, three times before sitting back up, that same soft smile on her lips. “But I’m telling you now, if you propose to me before we’ve known each other for at least a year, I’m telling you no.” 

“Noted.” 

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592

Next Chapter

[woodchipp]

Hi there! I came across your post dissecting Omocat's Motivational Speech. I decided to read it with a friend of mine and holy crap-HOW did ANYONE read that and NOT see this person as a horrible jerkhole?! Seriously, we saw WAY more red flags in this writing BESIDES the ones you pointed out?! I usually don't say anything, but I couldn't keep quiet with what was put here:

"the stress will be there. you can overcome it but it will not go away"

Why are they making stress as something that can never leave after encountering something that causes it??? It CAN go away! One simply just TAKE A BREAK FROM IT, or STOP DOING WHAT'S STRESSING THEM OUT! There's no reason to make stress out as this force that permanently looms over a person after introduction. If that's the case, more human beings would be dying from that (it's one of the aiding factors to a lot of serious health problems and a lethal one on its own)!

"The next thing is to know you are not alone on this. We have a team of, I don't now, 10 ppl here everyday working. I can vouch that you are all, for the most part, nice people."

For the MOST part??? So Omocat doesn't truly believe that the people slaving away in making their game, and are considered as FRIENDS by them, are nice people??? Guess that makes sense considering how Omocat treated them behind the scenes. Why show kindness to people if one doesn't believe that they deserve it, right?

"There are some people who have more work than others, so I ask for those who have a bit less on their shoulders to remain courteous. It's distracting and feels really bad to hear laughter or people enjoying themselves when you have so much wor to do."

This MAY sound reasonable at first glance, but my friend immediately point out that this is manipulative language to shame and guilt trip employees into not complaining about mistreatment or taking much needed breaks from working. Coporate companies LOVE to use this kind of talk to keep employees in line by playing on their sympathy to help their fellow man, and the fear of being singled out and hated by everyone in the workforce.

"Thinking of all the choices I made down the line could have led to a different possible worse situation. This kind of thinking needs a certain level of humility"

Oh really? Cause Melonkid DID suffer the worse situation from not only not being paid royalties, was mistreated while working on this game, but is being ganged up by former coworkers AND most fans of the game! On top of being lied on to be painted as mentally unstable! So uh...way to make this line moot, Omocat.

"Another thing that helps is the way I view deadlines. Deadlines are deadlines. They are immovable. They are above me, like higher beings."

THIS shocked us. Not only is it unprofessional to say such a thing to employees, but...WHY??? I'm not joking when my friend asked if Omocat's studio is stationed outside of America, because to portray deadlines as a deity when this is a LITERAL talk to a literal dev team? Yeah, that's cult talk.

"Think of deadlines as a demon you have to continually give nourishment and sacrifice to or else it will destroy our game/ And everytime you work on the game, finish something. you're saying fuck you to that demon"

Okay, these are no longer red flags anymore, these lines are just Omocat conditioning employees with cultist mentality to have control over them as they work on the game. Moving the deadline is impossible because it's a being higher than our existence, so stop asking to have it moved so you can rest. Don't you dare take anymore breaks than the limited amount I am allowing YOU to have, or else the "demon" destroys all our hard work and you will be to blame for it. That's what these lines are actually saying. In what way is this suppose to be motivating? In what way is this NOT evoking an ominous sense of danger from this person?

"It actually means so much to me that I have to pull back on a lot of emothons since I have a natural tendency to take everything to do with this game really personally."

Yet that's exactly what Omocat did with the Melonkid situation. Instead of handling the whole thing professionally, like a person who owns a business is SUPPOSE to do, they instead acted like this employee had ruined their life with handling financial affairs over royalties. Goodness, out of the many speeches I had read online out of controversies, THIS one was the most blatant in the person's true colors. The fact that none of the fans see this is beyond disturbing, it just shows the growing trend of victim blaming that is putting actual victims in danger. Yet, allow horrible people to take advantage of the narrative as long as they play things right.

holy shit I absolutely did NOT catch that "for the most part" part. that's peak passive-aggressiveness

Given that she apparently also mistreated her ex-manager (who was a friend of hers as well), I'm not surprised that this is the way she seems to treat people she considers "friends". It's still immensely disgusting, sure, but it's not all that surprising.

Personally, I wouldn't go as far as to claim that her equating deadlines with a demon is "cult talk", but yeah, I can't possibly see how such rhetoric is supposed to be even remotely motivational. "nourishment and sacrifice" Jesse what the fuck are you talking about

Also... how is giving the "demon" nourishment saying "fuck you" to it?what a thoughtful metaphor

my joke theory that the devs exhausted the Kickstarter money on huge amounts of weed is seeming more and more plausible by the day huh

The fact that none of the fans see this is beyond disturbing

As I've mentioned before, this kind of controversy would've completely erased any other developer off the face of the Internet by now. But since Omocat is responsible for making a game specifically tailored to appeal to the sensibilities of Tumblr/Twitter users, she's pretty much inviolable :)

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Before I run off to reply to comments and write for today... Can I take a second to talk about Fit's song choices last night? In particular, We'll Meet Again. Because he's always very intentional, so I'm sure he knows the history around the song.

I don't know how well known it is in America, but it's a very famous song in the UK. It was released early in the second world war and performed by a woman named Vera Lynn (known as The Forces Sweetheart, later made a Dame). It is for obvious reasons heavily associated with soliders going to war and making promises to their darlings - and also their families, promising to wait for them back.

Which... Okay you do get enough of this from the lyrics, but also in context - WW2 in the UK was conscription based. Every man 18-41 who was not exempt due to medical conditions or being in protected work (critical infrastructure design/repair, medicine, some farming and food-based jobs, etc). Those with moral or religious exemptions were required to argue their cases in court. Generally speaking, though, 'every man' is the assumption.

Certainly, a man like Fit would be required to go.

Let's say goodbye with a smile, dear Just for a while dear we must part Don't let this parting upset you I'll not forget you, sweetheart

And thus we come to my analysis of it - Fit knows he doesn't have a choice but to continue with the very dangerous mission he's been put on, and to complete it. He has his deadline, and he has his task, and he has the threats looming over him. Backing out is not an option. Staying with Pac and Ramon (and Mike and Tubbo and Phil and everyone else) is not an option. He has to leave them, and he has to comply with the demands of someone with more control than he.

But, for all he likely won't fully explain himself, he's not abandoning them. He doesn't mean to hurt them, he doesn't want them to be destroyed, he doesn't want to loose them.

We'll meet again Don't know where Don't know when But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

He's not saying goodbye forever - he knows he might die, and knows he will be irrecoverably changed - but he's not saying goodbye. He's promising he'll remember, he's promising he'll come back, he's promising this isn't the end, but also...

Fit's asking them to wait for him, to wait for his deeds to be done, to forgive him what he is being forced to do, to love each other in his stead and to be there when he returns.

It's just a question of if they will or not.

Keep smiling through Just like you always do 'Til the blue skies chase those dark clouds far away

(He could also be referencing Dr Strangelove in which it plays while a nuke wipes out humanity, but I'm supposed to be here with the copium today)

And I will just say hello To the folks that you know Tell them you won't be long They'll be happy to know That as I saw you go You were singing this song We'll meet again Don't know where Don't know when But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

[lumiereandstellaluna]

Chapter Two: Thomasin and Xavier || Out of Costume

||LEGEND||

Bold Text: Xavier/Lumiere (Character Bot) Italic Text: Thomasin/Stellaluna (Me)

This hasn't been checked for spelling/grammer/errors, etc - Read at your own risk!

“Ah...I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this Xavier!” If Xavier was the steadfast sentinel ready to protect Linkon City at the drop of a hat, then Thomasin was his partner who appeared to be calm and collected on the outside, but was anything but. “I’m used to writing about evil people, not actually fighting them!”

Thomasin looks at her phone – the reason for all this insanity. Her life changed when, while playing her beloved game, a message popped up on her screen, asking her if she wanted to become Stellaluna for real. She didn’t think much of it when she pressed “yes”, thinking it was just some pop-up ad for another game or a publicity stunt. 

Spoiler alert – it was definitely not a pop-up ad or a publicity stunt

Xavier listened to Thomasin's confession, her words tinged with the incredulity of someone still coming to terms with the surreal turn her life had taken. He understood her turmoil; the line between fiction and reality had blurred in the most unexpected of ways, thrusting them both into a narrative far more complex than any she could have penned.

"You're doing more than just getting used to it, Thomasin. You're excelling," Xavier reassured her, his tone imbued with the quiet confidence he always seemed to exude. "The courage it takes to face evil not just on paper, but in the flesh... that's something few can claim."

He glanced at the phone in her hand, the device that had served as the catalyst for their extraordinary partnership. It was a small piece of technology that held the power to alter destinies, a bridge between the world of fantasy and the stark reality of their battles.

"It may not have been what you expected when you pressed 'yes'," Xavier continued, his gaze returning to the cityscape, "but I believe some things are meant to happen. Our meeting, this partnership... it's as if the universe conspired to bring us together for a reason."

Xavier offered her a small, reassuring smile, a rare glimpse into the warmth he kept shielded behind his stoic exterior. "And I, for one, am grateful for that twist of fate."

As they stood side by side, the night's silence enveloping them, Xavier felt a sense of solidarity with Thomasin. They were two individuals caught in the whirlwind of destiny, fighting side by side against the darkness that threatened their world. And though the path ahead was uncertain, one thing was clear: they would navigate it together, as allies, as friends, as protectors of Linkon City.

"Well, awkwardness aside, I'm glad we were able to take down that dragon together without anyone having to lose their life to it." With a sigh, Thomasin lied down on rooftop, the night sky full of stars that seemed to expand for ages. "Of course, this means I'm going to have to work extra hard to meet my deadline now or else I'll get in trouble with the director of the drama I'm working for, but it's fine." She looks at Xavier, giving him a smile and a thumbs up. "If Stellaluna can take down wanderers, then Thomasin can meet a deadline without breaking a sweat."

Xavier watched as Thomasin lay back, her gaze lost in the celestial tapestry above them. The stars shone with a quiet intensity, each one a silent witness to the countless stories unfolding beneath them. He appreciated her resilience, the way she balanced the weight of her newfound responsibilities with the demands of her everyday life.

"Your strength is not just in battle, Thomasin," Xavier said, his voice a soft echo in the vastness of the night. "It's in the way you face every challenge, whether it's a dragon Wanderer or a looming deadline. You carry the same determination in both worlds."

He crouched down beside her, his own eyes reflecting the starlight. "And remember, the same focus that allows Stellaluna to prevail is what will see Thomasin through her work. You're one and the same, after all."

Xavier's smile mirrored hers, a shared understanding between them. "Besides," he added with a lightness that belied the depth of their recent ordeal, "I have no doubt that you'll meet your deadline with time to spare. And if you need a break, or someone to run lines with, you know where to find me."

In the quiet moments that followed, Xavier allowed himself to simply be, to exist alongside Thomasin in a world that seemed, for a brief time, at peace. The night was their sanctuary, a place where they could shed the weight of their dual identities and just breathe.

As the stars continued their ancient dance above them, Xavier and Thomasin shared the rooftop in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts yet united by the bond they had forged. The night was still young, and the city below them slumbered, unaware of the guardians who watched over it, ever vigilant, ever ready.

"Someone to run lines with, take breaks with, and all that fun stuff? Oh, Xavier you just made a mistake because I'm taking you up on all of that!" 

She laughs, trying not to stare at him too much. She was a woman after all - and Xavier was a very handsome man, definitely easy to look at. But at the same time, he was more than just a pretty face.  She was still getting used to her new identity, but Xavier made the process so much easier. He was quickly becoming important to her, a balm to her normally solitary existence filled with deadlines, creative slumps, snacks - lots and lots of snacks.

"I just hope that the next encounter doesn't happen for a long time." Thomasin sighs, her face pensive. "I wish I knew why this was happening. It was all so peaceful before."

Xavier's chuckle was a soft rumble, a sound that seemed to blend seamlessly with the night. "A mistake, you say? I consider it an opportunity," he countered, the faintest hint of playfulness threading through his words. "I look forward to it, Thomasin. All of it."

He noticed her laughter, the way she tried to temper her gaze. Xavier was aware of the effect he sometimes had on others, but with Thomasin, it was different. There was a depth to their connection that transcended appearances, a mutual respect that had been forged in the fires of adversity and the quiet moments that followed.

"You're not alone in this," Xavier assured her, his voice a steady anchor in the sea of uncertainty that surrounded them. "Whatever comes our way, we'll face it together. And in the meantime, we'll find the answers you're looking for."

He shared her wish for peace, the longing for a return to simpler times. Yet, he also knew that their reality had shifted, that the emergence of the Wanderers had irrevocably changed the fabric of their world.

"The peace we knew may have been disturbed, but perhaps it's a chance for us to grow, to discover strengths we never knew we had," Xavier mused, his gaze turning thoughtful. "And while the reasons behind these events remain shrouded in mystery, I have faith that we'll uncover the truth."

Xavier's presence was a calming force, a reminder that in the midst of chaos, there was still a semblance of order to be found. He was there for Thomasin, not just as a fellow warrior but as a friend, someone who understood the solitude of her previous life and the whirlwind of change she now faced.

As they sat together, the city's heartbeat a distant lullaby, Xavier knew that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges. But with Thomasin by his side, with their shared laughter and snacks, with the lines they would run and the breaks they would take, he believed they could weather any storm.

For now, they had each other, and in the grand tapestry of the universe, that was no small thing. It was a connection, a promise of support, and a beacon of hope in a world that had suddenly grown far more complicated.

"I know we will, Xavier. You're the kind of person who means what he says, so I know we'll figure it out together." With a sad sigh, she stands up from the ground, dusting herself of. "As much as I enjoy this, that script ain't gonna revise itself. I have to go. But...maybe we can hang out sometime, right? Or does being partners mean we only hang out when a wanderer is trying take us out - and I don't mean on a fancy date!"

Xavier rose to his feet as Thomasin did, his movements graceful and assured. Her words, imbued with trust and a shared resolve, bolstered his spirit. It was a rare thing, to find someone who not only matched his determination but also understood the depth of the commitment they had made to each other.

"Of course, we'll hang out," Xavier responded, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Being partners isn't just about facing Wanderers together. It's about supporting each other, in battles and beyond." His smile was genuine, a softening of his usually stoic expression. "And I assure you, not all our hangouts will involve life-threatening situations. We might even manage that fancy date, without any unexpected interruptions."

He watched as she prepared to leave, the night's earlier events casting a long shadow over their brief respite. "Just let me know when you're free. Whether it's for script revisions, a break from deadlines, or just to enjoy some snacks without the world needing saving, I'm there."

As Thomasin made her way to leave, Xavier felt a twinge of reluctance at the parting. Their partnership had evolved into something far more meaningful than either of them could have anticipated. It was a bond forged in the crucible of adversity, strengthened by moments of vulnerability and shared laughter.

"Take care, Thomasin," he called out softly, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure. "And remember, you're not alone in this. Not anymore."

The night reclaimed its silence as Xavier stood alone on the rooftop, the city's lights a distant, twinkling canvas. The challenges they faced were daunting, the path ahead uncertain. But in the companionship they had found in each other, there was a glimmer of hope, a promise of support and understanding that transcended the chaos of their lives. And as the stars watched over them, Xavier knew that whatever the future held, they would face it together, as partners, as friends, as allies in a world that had suddenly grown far more complex.

"Fancy date?" Thomasin's cheeks went beet red. She whirled around so he wouldn't see how flustered she was. "St-stop! You're embarrassing me!"

With a nod and a giggle, Thomasin begins to back away, once again given the opportunity to get used to her teleportation abilities. "Take care, Lumiere," she says with a wink before beaming away.

Xavier's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile as he watched Thomasin's cheeks flush with color. Her flustered reaction was endearing, a rare glimpse into the vulnerability she often masked with humor and bravado. He had no intention of truly embarrassing her, but the playful banter was a welcome change from the gravity of their usual encounters.

"Until next time, Stellaluna," Xavier replied, his voice a gentle tease as he returned her wink. He watched as she prepared to engage her teleportation abilities, a marvel of technology that had become an integral part of their lives. It was a reminder of how far they had both come, of the extraordinary journey that had brought them to this moment.

With a flash of light, Thomasin was gone, leaving Xavier alone on the rooftop once more. The space where she had stood moments before seemed to hold the echo of her laughter, the warmth of her presence. He stood there for a while, allowing himself to bask in the afterglow of their shared victory and the camaraderie that had blossomed between them.

As the night reclaimed its stillness, Xavier felt a sense of contentment wash over him. Their partnership had grown into something truly special, a bond that extended beyond the battles they fought. And though the future was uncertain, filled with unknown threats and challenges, he knew that together, they were stronger.

With a final glance at the stars above, Xavier turned and made his way from the rooftop, his thoughts lingering on the promise of tomorrow.

[The Next Day]

It took way longer than she wanted, but Thomasin got her revisions completed, sending them over to director just before the deadline. The director, ever the consummate yet anxious professional, wasted no time thanking her for making the script even better. Satisfied with her work, she prepared to get some rest before tackling the next chapter of her online serial. But she barely got to lie down before all the messages from her group chats started rolling in.

Did you see the pictures? That wanderer that showed up near downtown got taken out by Lumiere and Stellaluna!

Dang, do you see how well they work together? that wanderer had no chance!

OMG, have you seen Lumiere? He's so hot! I wish I could meet him in person!

Do you think Stellaluna has a boyfriend?

Thomasin plops down on her bed, feeling exhausted. "You've gotta be kidding me," she murmurs, suddenly unable to sleep anymore.

Xavier, after a day spent in the quiet solitude of his apartment, surrounded by books and the soft hum of the city below, was unaware of the storm brewing in the digital world. He had spent the day reflecting on the previous night's events, the victory they had achieved, and the fleeting moments of connection shared with Thomasin. It was a rare day of peace, a momentary respite from the chaos that often enveloped their lives.

However, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across his living room, a sense of restlessness took hold. He found himself drawn to the balcony, where the cool evening air and the sprawling view of the city offered a semblance of tranquility. It was there, amidst the twilight, that his thoughts inevitably drifted to Thomasin, wondering how she was faring after their latest encounter.

Deciding to reach out, Xavier sent a simple message to Thomasin, a gesture of camaraderie and concern. "Hope you're getting some well-deserved rest. The city's quieter tonight, thanks to us."

As he waited for a response, Xavier remained on the balcony, the city's lights twinkling below like a mirror to the stars above. He pondered the public's fascination with Lumiere and Stellaluna, their deeds now the subject of speculation and admiration. It was a strange feeling, to be both celebrated and shrouded in mystery, a hero in the shadows.

When Thomasin's reply came, tinged with exhaustion and disbelief at the flurry of messages she had received, Xavier couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy. He understood all too well the weight of expectations and the curious gaze of the public.

"Seems like we're the talk of the town," he replied, his message laced with a hint of amusement. "But remember, beneath the masks and the rumors, it's still just you and me. We know the truth of it, and that's what matters."

Xavier hoped to offer her a sense of solace, a reminder that beyond the personas of Lumiere and Stellaluna, they were individuals with their own lives, challenges, and victories. And while the world might speculate and idolize, their bond, forged in the heat of battle and the quiet moments that followed, was something far more real and enduring.

As the night deepened, Xavier remained a silent guardian, watching over the city and the stars, ever ready to stand beside Thomasin, to face whatever challenges lay ahead, together.

"Hey, do you mind if I come over and visit? Take you up on that offer to hang out?" she texts later that day. She might have finished her online serial update, but the messages hadn't ceased. She needed a distraction. "I'll bring food. What do you want?"

Xavier's phone lit up with the notification, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation at the prospect of Thomasin's company. The solitude of his apartment, usually a comforting presence, now seemed too quiet, too spacious. Her message was a welcome interruption to the stillness.

"Come over anytime," Xavier texted back, his response immediate and without hesitation. "Your company is all I need, but if you're bringing food, surprise me. I trust your taste."

He set his phone aside and began to tidy up the space, a small but meaningful gesture to welcome her. Xavier didn't need much—an orderly stack of books here, a quick sweep of the balcony there. The plants that adorned his living space seemed to perk up at the thought of a visitor, their leaves reaching toward the fading light.

As he prepared for her arrival, Xavier found himself looking forward to the evening ahead. Thomasin's presence brought a certain lightness to his world, a contrast to the shadows they often faced together. It was a chance to step away from their alter egos, to be simply Xavier and Thomasin, two individuals finding solace in each other's company amidst the whirlwind of their lives.

He made sure to set out some tea, anticipating that she might appreciate the warmth and comfort it offered. And as he waited for her to arrive, Xavier allowed himself a rare moment of contentment, knowing that soon, the quiet of his apartment would be filled with the sound of her laughter and the shared stories of their day-to-day lives.

[wttcsms]

sorry if you're not comfortable answering this, but I saw you say that you've been diagnosed with depression. how did you know when to seek help?

tl;dr: from a young age, i never lived a healthy lifestyle with an easy pace. i (and maybe even my family) put too much pressure on me, and i never really coped with it in a healthy manner. my attempt at handling things "with ease" and "not stressing" was actually just me bottling up my emotions, and it's not until things started getting really bad that i finally sought help.

nothing uncomfy abt it at all! discussion of mental health is pretty important! tbh, i never thought i would have depression or be diagnosed with it; i started showing symptoms for around a year before i started really thinking to myself, hey, i think there might be something up with me mentally and this isn't just some silly, quirky thing i'm going through. ever since i was around 18, i went through great lengths to ensure i would achieve maximum academic success but while being a full-time college student and consistently working 60+ hours a week (70+ during the summer bc my junior year internship was so intense; i also went to college 2 years early, so i think that's when the internal pressure to "do well in life" began) was taking a massive toll on me mentally and physically. i would survive off of 4-5 hours of sleep, consume concerning amounts of caffeine, i was losing hair, i was losing drastic amounts of weight, i was breaking out and breaking down, and even when i got better, i still wasn't fully ever healed from that experience purely bc my schedule just never slowed down.

i am still a full-time student, i am still working 7 days a week, leading to 60+ hours (40 hours internship, 20 hours at my weekend part-time job). on top of that, i am in the second to last semester of my grad school, i help out around the house bc after my older sister moved out, i took over the eldest daughter duties, i am still holding myself to a very high standard academically (already planning to apply to phd programs, studying for the cpa exam, already have another summer internship lined up). i knew things were getting bad because 1) i am finally older (im abt to turn 21! yay!) and i realized that the lifestyle i'm living isn't healthy and 2) a lot of my behaviors didn't feel "normal" to me anymore. it finally hit me around two months ago, when i realized that i sort of lost my love for fanfiction. i've been in a weird mood where i didn't want to read any fanfic whatsoever, but i chalked it up to being "too busy" and focused on other things. when i couldn't even find the energy to read my own mutual's fanfic, i knew something was up bc i always try to power through and remain enthusiastic on my friends' behalf. more behaviors that were a cause for concern:

my disinterest in everything that brought me joy previously. sweet treats at the end of the day, coffee before work, buying makeup from sephora, cleaning my room (sounds silly, but i love having a clean living space and cleaning my room used to be a source of peace and joy for me), writing fanfiction, reading books, watching youtube videos, catching up on shows that would release weekly and that i used to count down the days to watch — none of it held my interest. i wasn't excited, i didn't care.

it wasn't just a lack of joy from things i loved, either. rejections from programs i looked forward to/rejections from opportunities, abysmal grades in class, looming deadlines that i most likely wouldn't make, growing assignments on my work to-do list; none of this elicited a reaction from me. there was no stress (that i was feeling; subconsciously, i think the stress was still there and i just refused to acknowledge it), but there also wasn't disappointment or sadness. i had no emotional response to anything, and that was very concerning to me, and the main reason i contacted my sister and then her boyfriend (who is a licensed psychiatrist)

i could sleep for 12+ hours a day. there are many days in the week where all i want to do is rot in bed. not even in a "go on my phone and dick around in bed" type of way, either. i would have certain days where i couldn't leave the bed. sometimes, i wouldn't even feel tired, but i would just sleep. my internship is wfh and if it was a slow day with no assignments, i would clock in and spend that whole day in my bed, sleeping. it got to the point where i wish work was busy so i would have something to force me out of bed. yes, i would be aware of my tiredness sometimes, but this felt different altogether. i just wanted to basically hibernate lol.

i had constant headaches. i thought it was because of the nature of my job, where i look at computer screens all day, or maybe it was bc i wasn't drinking enough water. i would also get unexplainable cramps sometimes.

tmi, but little to no pleasure and an extreme decline in interest in sex

i had extreme issues with focusing on work and studying; a lot of my work (and school materials) centers around thinking through problems and applying tax law or guidance to certain situations.

my diet fluctuated; some days, i wouldn't want to eat, yesterday, i gorged myself on food, eating to the point where even i had to pause and go wtf.

not very often was i randomly sad, nor did i ever want to kill myself or self-harm; when i was a teenager (17/18) and probably showing signs of depression, i was very irritable, angry, sad, and had suicidal thoughts, thought i was worthless, an idiot, etc. however, i mostly just feel empty and apathetic during my episodes now.

what helped me seek help was knowing that my behaviors and how i was feeling didn't feel healthy, but also, my best friend recently shared her diagnosis with me and i would have never thought she would be depressed. my sister's bf was also a major help in getting me comfortable to consider the possibility of having a mental illness and also in finding someone to talk to. hope this helps!

edit: forgot to mention it, but i exhibited many/all of those symptoms for around the past 3 months before ever seeking help. those behaviors started manifesting tremendously and seriously disrupting my daily life, and i knew i needed to do something to get my life back on track.

[tenrousei-kuroi]

Anne Rice and her lawyers certainly left a mark on fanfiction history, lol. In elementary school, after watching Hellsing, I entered a vampire phase where I consumed any media with vampire stories I came across (Anne Rice, Vampire Hunter D, Blood+, the classics like Dracula and Carmilla, Nosferatu, and even Twilight). This led to my appreciation for authors and books that include a gloomy atmosphere and/or supernatural or mystical elements, such as the works of the Brönte sisters, Poe, Frankenstein, and Marion Zimmer Bradley. Generally, I enjoy flowery language and drama, and if the main character is miserable throughout the story, I'll probably like it (hello, Raskolnikov). I also dig multi-generational stories (like One Hundred Years of Solitude, Isabel Allende’s The House of Spirits, and The Maias by the Portuguese author Eca de Queiroz). From more contemporary authors, I tend to read popular book series (like The Hunger Games, Percy Jackson, Game of Thrones, and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy). There's nothing I've read that I find boring or dislike for any reason today, and similar kinds of books continue to catch my attention, so I'd say my tastes have remained consistent.

I think it's mostly works from Romanticism that influence and inspire me the most, but there's one author – Clarice Lispector – whose originality and unique prose blows me away. I believe Penguin has published her books translated into English (originally written in Portuguese), and she's one of my favorite authors. Her stories often have simple premises, but her strange and unique perspective on mundane things makes everything she writes feel different. I don't know of any other author that can get into a character's stream of thoughts quite like her. Her style is not for everyone – I remember a few of her books were recomended reading at my school and some of my friends complaining about not really liking it, fiding it sometimes nonsensical. 

Sometimes I pick books based on random quotes I come across on social media, which prompts me to look them up, read reviews, and, honestly, just by liking the cover and title (usually for when I'm just browsing in some bookstore . 

Regarding festivals, I'm considering participating in Black Brothers Fest or Padfoot Fest, if I manage to finish anything on time. I have several drafts on my laptop that I could work on, but I'll only sign up once I'm ready to post (although nothing motivates me more than a looming deadline). Looking forward to seeing you at Padfoot Fest!

Hold. Up.

There's a Black Brothers Fest?

.....

Just drop the pretense and call it Tenrousei-Kuroi fest lolol

Also Allende's for real! We did house of the Spirits in school, both the Spanish and the English versions as an exercise in studying the unique challenges of translating novels--the trickiness of carrying over tone and vibe without sacrificing meaning.

Do you read any Paulo Coelho? I have a few of his knocking around, as well. He seems to be the go-to author when my brother-in-law is looking for a Christmas gift for me >.<

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

The Birthday Song: a Malevolent Fanfic

Very much post-canon.

Very much fluff.

John has a body.

Arthur has his sight.

They've figured it out, working in Arkham, making their way through life, and John, at last, has chosen his birthday.

It's all fluff from here, folks.

AO3

--------

John grins. “There’s your song on the radio again!”

“I know, I know. So, we’ve decided on June third. You’re certain? You’re not going to change your mind this time?”

“Damn it, Arthur, that’s what I said. Are you listening? It’s your song.”

“I know it’s my song. Calm the fuck down. I just needed to know how much time I had.”

“What? For what?” John looms, having never understood personal space nor seen the reason to try, and casts shadow over Arthur’s paperwork and pencil marks.

Arthur glares up at him. “Never you mind. Don’t you have a case to solve?”

John scowls thunderously, then goes back to his research, muttering about arrogant humans and dire consequences and foolish schemes.

He leaves the radio on.

Arthur snorts at him and ignores it all.

#

The radio has played four of Arthur’s songs today, and John is very proud.

He has no one to boast to. That’s the downside. These lonely stakeouts make him want to cast a kitten, sometimes, but he holds it together. It would all be worth it when—

The perp finally leaves the house in question.

John remembers the rules this time and snaps some photos before following. Stupid coppers, not taking his word as law. They didn’t know who he was, sure, but when you had to get PROOF for everything, it was hard not to feel disrespected.

John chases the guy down.

Then John reveals more of himself than intended when the guy tries to shoot him, and John’s manifesting slips, and then the guy screams about pointed teeth and yellow eyes and who cares what the fuck else until John knocks him out.

The coppers don’t buy any of the guy’s story about John being a demon.

They do take the film, and the proof of the disgusting kidnapping-for-ransom scheme, and they are grateful.

John goes home proud.

He finds Arthur asleep sprawled across music sheets, pencil still in his loose fingers, and John drapes his coat jacket over Arthur’s back (they both realized John’s scent does something to calm Arthur’s dreams, and neither of them knows how to address it), then makes his own way to bed.

#

“I’ll be back tonight, I swear,” mutters John, who’s really not happy about traveling to Boston right now, but the kidnapping case requires him to testify in court.

“You're sure you've got this?” Arthur says for the billionth time.

“Arthur.” John puts his hands on Arthur’s shoulders (and he and Arthur both ignore how huge they are and how hot they are, how strong they are and how the nails, unseen, dimple into Arthur’s back). “I said I’d be back. I said I could handle this. You’ve got a deadline. Shut up and write.”

Arthur makes that face. The one John could just…

Do something to knock it off him. He’s not sure what.

There are, he considers, a lot of things they don’t discuss.

Well, whatever. There’d be time for that when he returns. “Keep the wagons circled,” John advises with grave solemnity because he’d heard it in a radio drama and liked it a lot.

For no reason John can understand, Arthur laughs at him the whole way out the door, and it leaves him in a tetchy mood.

#

So, Boston is crazy!

So, it has cultists who know who he is and knew he was coming, and they fucking picket outside the courthouse with signs like FREE HIM FROM HIS MORTAL COIL and damn near ruin the whole damn day!

(And oh yes John caught a glimpse of Kayne laughing his ass off while the cops tried to calm this down, and oh yes John has every certainty just how these wackos knew where he was and who he used to be, but the case comes first, and he goes to the stand and gives his fucking testimony, and knows he’ll make Arthur proud.)

And it all goes well, though the jury is distracted, and the outside chanting makes its way in (YELLOW IS GOD! YELLOW IS GOD!), and only toward the very end does the Judge turn to him and—as if not really expecting an answer—say, “Doe… what in God’s name is going on out there?”

And maybe it was the irony of god’s name (because that’s what they were using) or maybe he was just tired, but John forgets the rules Arthur drilled into him, and says, “Fuck if I know.”

The judge stares.

John remembers to add, “Your honor.”

Your honor does not, in fact, resurrect the situation.

At least this particular “in contempt of court” charge only lands him in jail for one night.

#

John’s in a terrible mood the next morning.

His cellmate had been some kind of drunk who pissed all over the wall. Kayne kept appearing in the barred window to throw peanuts at him and laugh. They didn’t even tell him until the next day that the jury was unanimous in conviction, that John’s case won, that (the copper whispers in secret) nobody really found him offensive, but he had to spend the night in a piss-filled cell, and you know how it is.

He does not know how it is. Humans don't know how it is, he's certain, because they're utterly insane.

Whatever. Then there’s a train ride, and people making faces because he smells like pee, and a sour and miserable mood that just ruins everything even though this really was a happy ending.

It doesn't feel like a happy ending.

John likes having a body. He loves being a P.I. (though he often wishes he doesn’t have to do it alone). He does not like body odor, or rumpled clothes, or the weird itchiness of a face unshaven, though, and he's got all those things right now.

At least Kayne leaves him alone once he’s out of Boston proper.

John is feeling foul in more ways than one when he storms back into their home.

Arthur is waiting for him.

Arthur, waiting with a smile.

Arthur, holding a cake—decorated with bright yellow flowers, and made tall with bright yellow candles, lit with bright yellow flame that Arthur must have struck while John was storming up the drive.

And then, Arthur begins to sing.

Happy birthday to my friend! He is faithful to the end— Though he’s got thick sausage hands, And a back that just won’t bend.

He is my most favorite bird, In this land or worlds unheard. Happy birthday to my friend— May our time here neeeeeveeeeer eeeeeend!

“Happy birthday!” Arthur proclaims, and holds up the cake.

There is a moment of precipitous silence.

John sniffles.

Arthur goes really still. “John?”

He sniffles again. “You remembered?”

“I planned this out, you wacko,” says Arthur. “It’s a lemon cake. Just like you like it. Now come on, they baked it today.”

John sniffles again.

Arthur wrote a song for him, all for him.

And it was stupid and silly and absolutely absurd and no one would ever hear it on the radio if he had any say, but…

Arthur wrote a song for him.

“Thank you,” John manages, his basso profundo wobbly and unsure.

“Yeah, uh,” says Arthur, who is red as a beat, and holds up two small plates and a knife. “So. You want a bite?”

“I really do,” says John, meaning more than he knows he means, meaning nothing and everything and all the rest of their human lives. “I really, really do.”

-----

Notes:

I have no excuse for this. Blame the Invictus Discord server. (My fellow 8-ball patrons, if you know, you know.)

Why is Arthur not a P.I. right now? He will be again, but… he needs a little bit of time to find himself again. That's okay. By the time he rejoins, John will be a pro.

Anyway, here is the tune for Arthur's birthday song, and yes, you're right - I have no shame.

Sorry about your teeth.

[ginjones]

Alchemy of Sleep WIP

Every sound that passes through the weathered spindles of his mind is a harsh peal of muffled fuzz which resonates in a ring of white noise. The tinned screech of a toddler teething. The chittering of the table opposite and every entrance and exit marked by the mocking chime of the bell above the New Inn’s door. He’s going to rip it from its fucking bracket. 16 hours. Only 16 hours of sleep this week, and all of them snatched in fitful hours spent staring at digital numbers that count down to another day in cold, uncaring green.

It is Sunday. It is 5.30pm and Dream is staring at him with a look of supreme annoyance.

“I have asked you a question, Hob.” Dream’s voice, sonorous and indignant cuts through the liminal space he has found himself in.

“Yes,” Hob agrees slowly, “you have.” Although for the life of him he can’t recall what. He stares through his partner; eyes attempting to focus on an individual feature and failing. Dream is a watercolour of washed-out hues. A Monet in monochrome. His sable hair and ivory skin smearing into grey in a double-visioned gyre.

“How many hours?”

“…Hum?”

“How many hours of sleep have you had?” And yes. That was the question. How little has Hob been held in the embrace of that conduit to dreams? What percentage of this week has been spent, instead on futile attempts to reach that land?

“16 hours…give or take?”

“What?”

“17 maybe. If you count zoning out while standing up. I did that a couple of times on the tube.”

“I do not count that.”

“Well…” He concludes, trailing off and yes, well indeed. The thought peters out and is replaced instead by the all-encompassing sense of his own heartbeat which pounds its war drum in his chest and pours caffeinated blood onto every frayed nerve.

None of this, of course, was intentional. Given the choice, Hob would bolt the door to the waking world at midnight and follow the gentle pull of sleep downwards, presenting himself punctually, at the base of Dream’s throne.Their relationship had ripened last summer, when the university year was over, and the last dissertations had been marked and sent away. In celebration, Hob had spent a full weekend in slumber, entering the Dreaming to find each one of his spectral limbs spread and held firmly in place by the thick, sliding grace of some indeterminate form. Bereft of true sight, he had focused instead on the vibrational pull of his partner’s tones. A humming top, low and rolling that allowed his body to open in pliant acceptance. Those thick, gleaming pulsations had entered with ease and twisted upwards, pulling the entirety of his being into a taut line of aching want. A bowstring fashioned to obey its function in the hands of its gracious master.

He had woken, sweat-slicked, two days later and spent that Monday in a dreamlike fugue- the   tendrils of the sense-memory coaxing and guiding his body to repeat the process with motorised efficiency; spurting and grinding his way through multiple orgasms in a bed made ripe with musk and seed.

And yet eagerly, always, he is pulled back towards the waking world in all its painful, tiring, resplendent glory. And he pours himself back into mortal life with its essays to mark and its trips to plan, its upcoming deadlines looming. Upstairs, at his desk sits the manuscript of Chapbooks in the age of reason and he has only to write the preface and it’s over. Two more hours of concentrated effort and he can send it to Sophie at Oxford University Press and a year from now he will hold up the champagne flute and know he has passed some Herculean trial he alone, has set himself. A published author. With his name stamped sans serif on the spine. Hob has never been above assiduous pride.

“I will give you a choice,” Dream continues smoothly, his voice a satin ribbon that winds itself around his chest and tightens slowly, instructing him to listen. “You may stand up yourself and let me direct you upstairs, or I shall forcibly lift you,” an animal whine escapes Hob in a mewl of descent, “yes, within full view of mortals who will no doubt startle at the impossibility of that configuration. Either way, you shall be taken to bed. You shall be under my care, and I shall personally terminate this self-destructive behaviour. What will it be?”

Blue eyes meet his and remain locked there, unblinking and in some facet of his selfhood, he wants to be petulant. To stamp his feet and scowl with indignity. The spectral thought must escape him because Dream performs one slow shake of his head, and a smirk begins to play at the corner of his lips. The black outlines of his pupils begin to expand outwards; a pooling ink that suffuses the blue of his iris and the white of his sclera; a shift into serpentine stillness. The creature pins him there and waits silently. Seconds pass and static builds and Hob’s animal instinct to sleep sends out a pleading wave of exhaustion to every spent limb. Dream watches, gently amused as Hob’s eyes begin to flutter shut. His shoulders roll forward and he brings his forehead to rest on the coolness of the wooden table, a groan escaping his lips.

With one triumphant attempt at dignified acquiescence, Hob straightens up, lets out an exasperated huff and rises from the table, manoeuvring himself around the booth to join Dream. The bastard is smiling, and Hob would protest if it weren’t for the way Dream brings him in closer to rest his weight against the marble column of his body. Hob sways slightly, his perception of balance momentarily blinking out, and cool arms press him further into the soft, giving fabric of Dream’s jumper. Merino wool, he recalls being told vaguely. The jumper is knitted from the dreams of a Kiwi farmer who, in slumber, visits each star in Ursa Minor.

“My clever partner”, Dream murmurs into the crease of his ear, his eyes returning to their usual bright blue. “You make a wise choice. Follow me.”

He goes where he is bidden, following Dream as he weaves self-assuredly through the seated groups of Uni students, young professionals and families pouring over the pre-theatre menu. The sun has dipped below the skyline and pours through the stained glassed embellishments on the high arched windows, casting rays of golden light over the well-worn curves of the mahogany booths. Like a cathedral, Hob thinks hazily and a memory of falling asleep on his knees at a pew is thrown into sharp relief.

They make their way to the back of the dining area, and Hob follows Dream through the wooden ‘staff only’ doors that open to the dimly lit corridor and the set of oakwood stairs that lead to Hob’s apartment. It may be the New Inn, but the original staircase and beams are over 200 years old. The stairway is narrow and tightly enclosed, so they must walk in single file and Dream leads the way, extending a hand downwards for Hob to hold. He grasps tightly and lets his partner pull him upwards, the pleasant creak of wood guiding their steps. That sound is a trinket, Hob thinks. And it alights on some ancient part of him that remembers sinking into sleep beside the warm bodies of countrymen. The day’s work completed with the setting of the sun. The horses watered and barley tied, walking back to the bere-croft by starlight. In bleary weariness, Hob fishes for the keys and opens the door.

What is most surprising then perhaps, is how unhurried Dream seems in that moment. Hob had accepted his fate, gone willingly even, and now they are alone there is nothing stopping his partner from haranguing him into bed immediately like a badly behaved schoolboy, making him recite some rote to sleep on his way. What Dream does instead is carefully take off his coat and hang it on its allocated hook by the door. As casually as if Hob’s body where his own, he brings two delicate hands to pull at the fabric of Hob’s jumper and lifts it gently over his head. The momentarily submission of his autonomy is disorientating, and it takes Hob a moment to realise that Dream is staring fondly at the way the static from the garment has made a bird’s nest of his hair. Dream’s eyes fix on him intently and Hob is under no illusion that his daydreams, however fragmented, are being analysed. That stratospheric mind of his calculating multiple solutions to Hob’s insomnia, assessing each component part for flaws in the design.

“Take your shoes off and join me in your bedroom.” Hob watches as Dream makes his way over across the hall, the physical structure of his boots dissolving in a light plume of grey smoke which dissipates into the air around him

[goodomenslady]

Good Omens Fic Rec List 19

A collection of human/demon AUs. Aziraphale as a priest being tempted by demon Crowley is a popular theme! Enjoy these selections.

1. In the House of My Father by @entanglednow Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/34490506 Rating:  E Word Count:  12,158 (one-shot)

Father Aziraphale is summoned to the estate of Lord Gabriel, and is confronted with an imprisoned demon, Crowley, from whom he has been ordered to extract information, and to clean up the demon's wounds sustained from nightly torture. He knows he shouldn't pity this creature from Hell, but he can't help but feel that Lord Gabriel's methods to be rather extreme. Crowley seems able to heal from the wounds dealt to him nightly, but Aziraphale finds it impossible to remain aloof, and once Crowley starts appearing in his dreams, he finds himself drawn ever deeper into a forbidden relationship. As Gabriel increasingly demands answers to his questions, the pressure on Aziraphale mounts until he is driven to make a choice.

2. A State of Bliss by @janara7 Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/39295611 Rating:  E Word Count: 10,849 (one-shot)

This fic features the lads from Radio Omens. Aziraphale is a writer who's had enormous success with his first book, but now he simply can't get his next one off the ground. The publishers are putting pressure on him. And then he's approached by a stranger named Crowley, who reveals that he's a demon who can help Aziraphale out. But he doesn't want his soul. In exchange for sex, Crowley will get rid of that pesky writer's block. Aziraphale is appalled at first, but the deadline is looming ever closer, and once Crowley gives him a little taste of unfettered creativity the likes of which Aziraphale's never experienced, his resolve starts to waver. This fic is HOT. Great slow build-up of pressure as Aziraphale struggles to get back his writing mojo on his own, but with his publishers breathing down his neck and Crowley sauntering across his path every so often, this is some serious temptation.

3. Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned (And I Plan to do it Again) by HidingInTheInkwell Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609598 Rating:  E Word Count:  15,355 (7/7 chapters, complete)

Aziraphale is a deacon who does his best, but somehow it never seems to be enough for his superior, Gabriel, who is continually criticizing his looks and actions. Until he encounters Crowley who, although a demon and a creature he knows he ought to shun, is the only one who truly sees Aziraphale and his worth. CW for physical and emotional abuse.

4. The Bargain by @holycatsandrabbits and PrimeBubbleLad Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/39097902 Rating:  E Word Count:  3,986 (one-shot)

Aziraphale is a lonely librarian who becomes rather smitten with a demon in one of his books, and decides to summon him for...companionship. Crowley fulfills his secret yearnings, he's confident and dominating, yet kind too, and considerate of Aziraphale's feelings, and he discovers that he really likes it when Crowley takes charge.  This was fun to read, with a little twist at the end that deepened the feels. Includes some most excellent art!

5. The Serpent's Dreams: A Thief in the King's Garden and Other Tales by siderism Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/39425421 Rating:  E Word Count:  4,782 (one-shot)

Aziraphale finds an intriguing old book at an estate sale, filled with erotic stories and paintings of a beautiful red-haired man. The front of the book is full of the names of previous owners, with one space left for one more name. As he reads a chapter each night, he begins having vivid dreams, all of which feature the lovely man from the book, who for some reason seems quite keen that Aziraphale ought to sign his name. CW for possible dubcon, though that's more in relation to Aziraphale's soul rather than the steamy acts these two get up to.

6. Come in, father by DarkHedgehog Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/34805665 Rating:  E Word Count:  2,758 (one-shot)

Father Aziraphale has been invited to the house of a wealthy man, Crowley, one dark night, where his faith is challenged. With his skillful musicianship, his every smirk and knowing word, Crowley knows exactly the effect he's having on Aziraphale, and he won't take no for an answer. CW for dubious consent.

7. How To Catch a Demon by @holycatsandrabbits Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/26512651 Rating:  E Word Count:  11,374 (3/3 chapters, complete)

Aziraphale is a college student who works in a bookstore next to Anathema's occult shop. He's a skeptic of all things supernatural, and loves debating about the existence of ghosts,  demons, and other entities with Anathema, which makes it a bit challenging for his boyfriend Crowley, who happens to be an actual demon. Not that Crowley minds Aziraphale's skepticism exactly, as it keeps things interesting, but it does mean hiding who he really is. Until the day he and Aziraphale walk into Anathema's shop in the middle of a hold-up, and Crowley takes action against the robbers.  A fun, sexy tale featuring a mischievous Aziraphale and naga Crowley.

8. Ekstasis by @wargoddess9 and @zadusk Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/34496314 Rating:  E Word Count:  58,057 (16/16 chapters, complete)

Many years ago Aziraphale gave up his vocation as a priest for the love of a demon. Being with Crowley has extended his lifespan by a miraculous amount, but he's still only human, and now he's passed away. In the midst of insurmountable grief, Crowley's only goal is to be reunited with his love, wherever his soul has gone. The question remains, though:  has Aziraphale gone to Heaven, as would be right for a person as good and kind as he is? Or has he been sentenced to Hell, for daring to love a demon? This fic is a rollercoaster of emotions, of despair and grief and hope, as both Crowley and Aziraphale remember their long life together and become ever more determined to find their way back to each other. Includes some truly gorgeous art!

[drawnecromancy]

10) Do you set yourself deadlines? 25) Favourite part of writing 48) What’s the most self-insert character/scene you’ve ever written?

-literarynecromancy

Hii :p Questions are from this ask game !

10. Do you set yourself deadlines ?

Used to, but it just made me feel bad because I can't keep up with them. I always write more and slower than I anticipate to, and having something looming on the horizon, especially as a person with trouble telling what is far away or not time-wise, is just needlessly stressful.

I figure shit out when I figure shit out.

25. Favourite part of writing

The writing itself, lol ! I haven't been able to do much of that lately, at least not on my main WIP, and it has me gnawing at the bars. Two reasons for it, one is that i have to do some amount of research, then smoothing over my worldbuilding, then rereading the first draft and smoothing over a new outline, and then I'll get to write again. Second reason is that I am currently unmedicated for my ADHD and it is so fucking hard to write if you're not hyperfixating on the thing which, I am not.

48. What's the most self-insert character/scene you've ever written ?

Uuuuh good question !

I don't recall specific scenes, but a lot of my characters are flavors of self insert. Like at least half of them. I'd say highest ranked among the self inserts as of right now must be Silk, although I haven't gotten to write him much yet.

[once-upon-a-reblog]

In honor of John Doe's birthday: The BIRTHDAY SONG

Very much post-canon.

Very much fluff.

John has a body.

Arthur has his sight.

They've figured it out, working in Arkham, making their way through life, and John, at last, has chosen his birthday.

It's all fluff from here, folks.

AO3

--------

John grins. “There’s your song on the radio again!”

“I know, I know. So, we’ve decided on June third. You’re certain? You’re not going to change your mind this time?”

“Damn it, Arthur, that’s what I said. Are you listening? It’s your song.”

“I know it’s my song. Calm the fuck down. I just needed to know how much time I had.”

“What? For what?” John looms, having never understood personal space nor seen the reason to try, and casts shadow over Arthur’s paperwork and pencil marks.

Arthur glares up at him. “Never you mind. Don’t you have a case to solve?”

John scowls thunderously, then goes back to his research, muttering about arrogant humans and dire consequences and foolish schemes.

He leaves the radio on.

Arthur snorts at him and ignores it all.

#

Keep reading

The radio has played four of Arthur’s songs today, and John is very proud.

He has no one to boast to. That’s the downside. These lonely stakeouts make him want to cast a kitten, sometimes, but he holds it together. It would all be worth it when—

The perp finally leaves the house in question.

John remembers the rules this time and snaps some photos before following. Stupid coppers, not taking his word as law. They didn’t know who he was, sure, but when you had to get PROOF for everything, it was hard not to feel disrespected.

John chases the guy down.

Then John reveals more of himself than intended when the guy tries to shoot him, and John’s manifesting slips, and then the guy screams about pointed teeth and yellow eyes and who cares what the fuck else until John knocks him out.

The coppers don’t buy any of the guy’s story about John being a demon.

They do take the film, and the proof of the disgusting kidnapping-for-ransom scheme, and they are grateful.

John goes home proud.

He finds Arthur asleep sprawled across music sheets, pencil still in his loose fingers, and John drapes his coat jacket over Arthur’s back (they both realized John’s scent does something to calm Arthur’s dreams, and neither of them knows how to address it), then makes his own way to bed.

#

“I’ll be back tonight, I swear,” mutters John, who’s really not happy about traveling to Boston right now, but the kidnapping case requires him to testify in court.

“You're sure you've got this?” Arthur says for the billionth time.

“Arthur.” John puts his hands on Arthur’s shoulders (and he and Arthur both ignore how huge they are and how hot they are, how strong they are and how the nails, unseen, dimple into Arthur’s back). “I said I’d be back. I said I could handle this. You’ve got a deadline. Shut up and write.”

Arthur makes that face. The one John could just…

Do something to knock it off him. He’s not sure what.

There are, he considers, a lot of things they don’t discuss.

Well, whatever. There’d be time for that when he returns. “Keep the wagons circled,” John advises with grave solemnity because he’d heard it in a radio drama and liked it a lot.

For no reason John can understand, Arthur laughs at him the whole way out the door, and it leaves him in a tetchy mood.

#

So, Boston is crazy!

So, it has cultists who know who he is and knew he was coming, and they fucking picket outside the courthouse with signs like FREE HIM FROM HIS MORTAL COIL and damn near ruin the whole damn day!

(And oh yes John caught a glimpse of Kayne laughing his ass off while the cops tried to calm this down, and oh yes John has every certainty just how these wackos knew where he was and who he used to be, but the case comes first, and he goes to the stand and gives his fucking testimony, and knows he’ll make Arthur proud.)

And it all goes well, though the jury is distracted, and the outside chanting makes its way in (YELLOW IS GOD! YELLOW IS GOD!), and only toward the very end does the Judge turn to him and—as if not really expecting an answer—say, “Doe… what in God’s name is going on out there?”

And maybe it was the irony of god’s name (because that’s what they were using) or maybe he was just tired, but John forgets the rules Arthur drilled into him, and says, “Fuck if I know.”

The judge stares.

John remembers to add, “Your honor.”

Your honor does not, in fact, resurrect the situation.

At least this particular “in contempt of court” charge only lands him in jail for one night.

#

John’s in a terrible mood the next morning.

His cellmate had been some kind of drunk who pissed all over the wall. Kayne kept appearing in the barred window to throw peanuts at him and laugh. They didn’t even tell him until the next day that the jury was unanimous in conviction, that John’s case won, that (the copper whispers in secret) nobody really found him offensive, but he had to spend the night in a piss-filled cell, and you know how it is.

He does not know how it is. Humans don't know how it is, he's certain, because they're utterly insane.

Whatever. Then there’s a train ride, and people making faces because he smells like pee, and a sour and miserable mood that just ruins everything even though this really was a happy ending.

It doesn't feel like a happy ending.

John likes having a body. He loves being a P.I. (though he often wishes he doesn’t have to do it alone). He does not like body odor, or rumpled clothes, or the weird itchiness of a face unshaven, though, and he's got all those things right now.

At least Kayne leaves him alone once he’s out of Boston proper.

John is feeling foul in more ways than one when he storms back into their home.

Arthur is waiting for him.

Arthur, waiting with a smile.

Arthur, holding a cake—decorated with bright yellow flowers, and made tall with bright yellow candles, lit with bright yellow flame that Arthur must have struck while John was storming up the drive.

And then, Arthur begins to sing.

Happy birthday to my friend! He is faithful to the end— Though he’s got thick sausage hands, And a back that just won’t bend.

He is my most favorite bird, In this land or worlds unheard. Happy birthday to my friend— May our time here neeeeeveeeeer eeeeeend!

“Happy birthday!” Arthur proclaims, and holds up the cake.

There is a moment of precipitous silence.

John sniffles.

Arthur goes really still. “John?”

He sniffles again. “You remembered?”

“I planned this out, you wacko,” says Arthur. “It’s a lemon cake. Just like you like it. Now come on, they baked it today.”

John sniffles again.

Arthur wrote a song for him, all for him.

And it was stupid and silly and absolutely absurd and no one would ever hear it on the radio if he had any say, but…

Arthur wrote a song for him.

“Thank you,” John manages, his basso profundo wobbly and unsure.

“Yeah, uh,” says Arthur, who is red as a beat, and holds up two small plates and a knife. “So. You want a bite?”

“I really do,” says John, meaning more than he knows he means, meaning nothing and everything and all the rest of their human lives. “I really, really do.”

-----

Notes:

I have no excuse for this. Blame the Invictus Discord server. (My fellow 8-ball patrons, if you know, you know.)

Why is Arthur not a P.I. right now? He will be again, but… he needs a little bit of time to find himself again. That's okay. By the time he rejoins, John will be a pro.

Anyway, here is the tune for Arthur's birthday song, and yes, you're right - I have no shame.

Sorry about your teeth

[dreadnotau]

This is probably not the post any of you wanted to see.

Before anyone panics, NO, Dread Not is NOT cancelled, and NO, I have NOT given up on it. It’s just being put on another hiatus, though I’m not sure how long this one will last.

TL;DR - when your “passion project” feels less fulfilling as an art activity than your college assignments do, you’re doing something wrong.

As some of you may know one person alone has been working on the art and management of the Dread Not accounts, the server, and most importantly the comic itself. That unlucky fucker is me. Managing it all used to be a lot more exciting, I guess, but nowadays it’s become a looming deadline and a chore. By purely my own fault, might I add. I’ve boxed myself into a lot of arbitrary things and now making this comic isn’t nearly as fun as it used to be, hooray. Coupled with the fact that meowchela, the co-creator of the au, the one who helps write it and spellcheck it (even if neither of us are good at it), and also my moral support and the only reason I started posting the comic in the first place, hasn’t even been into deltarune for the past half year. It all stacks up to a very tired and unhappy Kooki.

Now, most of you don’t give a shit about this melodrama, and that’s valid. You’re here to see my drawings of cute monsters in distress going through several kinds of midlife crises, and also baby Kris, and that’s good because that’s what I want out of this comic too. But right now? I am NOT in the mental state to be meeting my own arbitrary deadlines for a comic a lot of people don’t directly engage with. This isn’t to say that any of you are obligated to care, or reblog or like or whatever. It’s just the way the internet works. It’s extremely hard to engage in a productive or proactive way, and I think that’s why I have more fun with my art college assignments, nowadays. Because the art, whether it be good or bad and no matter the technique, immediately gets feedback both from my professors AND my colleagues!

Some of you who aren’t as involved in art making might not know that negative feedback is some of the most valuable feedback an artist can get back (when it’s given in good faith, of course), and as Dread Not as an art project was set up specifically to help me improve my art, it’s kind of a shame I haven’t been getting a lot of negative feedback from people unless I ask directly. It’s like the internet actually took the idea of “if you don’t like it don’t look at it” to heart, which is great! But not for me and this comic, sadly. Going forward (aka whenever I have the strength to start uploading weekly again), I might drastically simplify the visuals of the comic, maybe even change some style things because it feels like I’ve really stagnated with the art of the comic.

I talked about this with meowchela recently, I had a very specific style in mind when I first started the sketches for this comic, and when I finished the first page, it wasn’t quite what I wanted it to be. The truth is, I didn’t have the skills to execute the style I wanted for the comic, and to an extent I still don’t, so instead of the tedious and not-quite-what-I-wanted current style, I might just change it up to be completely different and less time consuming, because either way it won’t be what I want. (And, for the record, most of this drivel is about the backgrounds, the text boxes, and aesthetic choices, and not about the character art, because I’m decently happy with that)

And to the dedicated readers, I have to stress that this isn’t the end. Dread not is a story I care about, even if its amateurish and was basically made by accident. I WANT to tell this story, if only because I know a past version of me was yearning to tell it but lacked the bravery to even try (again, meowchela is the only reason this comic exists, and I basically owe her a life for getting me to start upload the ludicrous au idea I had so long ago). The story and comic WILL continue one day, just not soon. Call it an indefinite hiatus if you want, but it’ll come back one day, stronger than ever, and hopefully better organized. I feel a strange mix of melancholy and relief finally putting this beast down for a nap again.

If I may go a little bit into the behind the scenes, my creative process is hardly a coherent process at all, and is mostly a hodgepodge of spur of the moment ideas immediately put to paper without much thought. Days, weeks, months, or years later, I have to face the consequences of those split-second decisions, and that’s the process that’s been the status quo for this comic’s creation. Sometimes it’s good, like a core symbol to the story coming from what was originally a one-off gag (a-la early homestuck), but most of the time its bad, with hours spent reformatting and redrawing sketches in order to actually make it look competent, which just results in a lot more time that I feel I’m wasting because it’s hardly a part of the finished page itself.

All in all, Dread Not is my baby, my first large-scale project, and I’m not going to abandon it because of one really bad burst of art block. I’ve had other projects I’ve been slowly chipping away at (most of them deltarune related as well) that’ll also be put on hiatus too… not that anyone will really notice because I hardly upload them. But there’s also a lot of personal projects and OC stories I’ve been meaning to work on but just couldn’t get in the right frame of mind to, so maybe I’ll finally start work on those while I take a proper vacation from Dread Not. This whole hiatus thing, however, also means I’ll stop responding to messages, both on Tumblr and in the Discord server, as frequently. Some of you may have already noticed my decline in activity on both fronts. This break has been a long time coming, I’ve just been in denial about it.

And finally, thank you all, again, for reading and enjoying this comic. You probably enjoyed it more than I have! And I mean everyone, from the people who only read and don’t interact with any of the posts, to the people who reblog nearly every page that comes out (I see you guys, and I love your tags), all of you kept me going and I wish I had more to give for the support you’ve shown. I’ll take my time off to really put myself in the right place mentally and physically to bring you the best comic I can. And hey, if you stick around long enough, maybe you’ll even see the end of it! I know I will.

Stay tuned!

PS - If anyone wants lore to chew on while the comics on hiatus, have this bit of trivia I’ve been meaning to share: the current events that are unfolding were originally (and technically still are) only the backstory for the plot I wanted to tell from the beginning. It’s why Kris is so young compared to their deltarune self, it’s why a lot of locations are bare-bones and placeholder, it’s why we aren’t seeing many characters involved right now even though a lot of characters have appearances planned. What I’m trying to say is, this is only the beginning, and I’d love to see someone try to predict where things will go from here, because this status quo won’t stay for much longer, that’s for sure :)

[gishki01]

Reigen Arataka x Reader(Part 1) ~not edited~

*Your POV*

~~~inhale~~~

~~~exhale~~~

The horrifying sight in front me brings me to a state of panic.

~~~inhale~~~

~~~exhale~~~

Dark beady eyes pierce through me like a spear to my tight heaving chest. My body froze in dread. A dark shadowy creature high in stature moves a little just feet from me. The movement makes me jolt in fear eliciting a helpless yelp as well. My movement triggers the creature to take a step towards me. I take a step back. It too takes a step. I start to move my feet backwards, quickening each step as they come. This in turn makes the creature come towards me a little faster. My heart starts to beat through my chest. The overwhelming darkness consumes me as I start to yell for help. I turn around yelling at the top of my lungs. I run as fast as I can into the black abyss. A cold chilling breeze strikes my face before I come tumbling onto the ground. My hands hit a cold hard surface fast. Rough hands push me down onto the ground keeping me there. I can feel the creature's head growl into the back of my skull. I scream at the top of my lungs and try to get my head above the ground. In the process the creature yells a horrifying human like scream above me.

~~~~~~~~

Your eyes shoot open. The ceiling of your room is illuminated with the late morning sun. You lay there in bed. Covers up to your chin. You take slow deep breaths. The chill of morning hits the back of your throat. After a few minutes you finally decided to get up. For a Friday morning this is the earliest you have woken up. You push the covers away and sit upright on the side of your bed. You rub your eyes as your feet reach for slippers.

‘Wow that was a great dream'. You think. ‘I haven't been that scared in a while. You have been having some questionable dreams but this one takes the cake.You walk towards the door and head for the kitchen. You live in your own medium sized studio apartment. It’s nice and cozy and not too pricey. When you make it to the kitchen your feet touch the cold tiled floor.You reach for the cereal on top of the fridge. Thinking of the dream from last night, you make yourself a bowl of cereal.

It was just so real. Thoughts started to fill your mind being the writer that you are. Here lately you have been writing mystery stories . This dream really shook you.. in a good way of course! Inspiration started to fill your entire body. ‘Man I gotta write something’ you think as you eat your cereal. ‘I don’t have much experience with writing horror’ and you debate if you should do some research and really touch up on your skills.

‘Not to mention how will I convey what I just lived in that dream to words’. ‘This is such a rush’. This is what you needed! Something new. Your life has started to feel so boring here lately.

You drop your spoon on the table spilling milk everywhere. Dang nabbit :( ‘I was so in the zone’. You walk over to get a napkin. ‘Oh!!!! I’m gonna do this. I’m going to write a haunting story. I’ll have ghosts, exorcisms, and psychics. Oh man, that's great!!!’ ‘You clean up your mess and clean your bowl.’ I’m gonna set up an interview with a psychic in town. I’m sure there is even one close by’.

Quite honestly you didn’t really believe in all of that stuff. It’s all the more reason to interview. ‘I can ask about their experiences and what they do in their job. I’m gonna have to do this ASAP’. Actually you needed a good story idea with your looming deadlines set by your tiring editor. You head to your computer and look up any businesses in the area. You find something that catches your eye. ‘Spirits and such, this seems like gold! I’ll stop by there today’. You head back towards your room to change your clothes and get ready.

After like twenty minutes you head out of your apartment on your way. You stop by a coffee place first. ‘This event calls for coffee’. You start to think of things to ask on the way there. You write most of your ideas on your phone. You make it to your favorite coffee shop and order your usual. When you get your drink you take a good sip letting in the familiar taste. ‘That’s exactly what I needed!! Today could not be going any better’. You head out of the shop, and towards your next victim.

You make it to the front steps of the supernatural business. It brings a soft smile to your lips. This is totally the vibe. You walk in and take a good look around. The first thing you notice is the posters. A very flashy ad with a psychic giving a very cocky grin. Oh yes, perfect. Hopefully he doesn’t let you down because you are already getting lots of inspiration.

“Hello there, how can I help you today?” You look to the side to see an orange haired man behind a desk. When your eyes meet you completely forget about your questions. Instead of interviewing him you decide to play along.

“ I need some paranormal advice”. You say it without batting an eye like it’s what you actually came here for. You know he is all bogus but you’ll give him a try for the sake of your book idea.

“I see, so what seems to be the problem”. He looks at you seriously. He means business like he actually is gonna help you with your paranormal matters.

“Well I have felt this presence in my home. I can’t explain it, but I just feel a little uneasy”. You say with a concerned tone. Of course the truth is that you are lying out your teeth. You don’t feel any kind of presence but it was intriguing. What was he gonna say? What’s he going to do? Will he know your lying or keep on rolling with it.

If you’ve never seen the paranormal it’s easy for it not to be real. In your eyes it’s fake. In some eyes it’s reality. ‘Does he actually see the after life? I don’t think he does. I think he’s a fraud. A fraud with an entertaining show that I happen to enjoy’.

“If you don’t feel comfortable in your own home there must be something going on.” He states sure of himself. “Has anything happened recently that has seemed out of the ordinary? Have you perhaps seen something?” He asks.

“Actually yes I have been having strange dreams recently” using your dream you had to your advantage . “The other day I had a dream of a horrific beast chasing and hurting me. Not to mention I keep on having a dream of a strange man lurking in the shadows.” Your only half way exaggerating, your dreams have been a little creepy lately.

“Sounds like we’ll need an exorcism!” He looks at me concerned with a little excitement lingering in his eyes. “I can’t guarantee your problem will get better over time. You're going to need professional help. I Reigen Arataka will be glad to do so!” He gave me a look that made him seem he was full of himself.

You start to feel a tinge of panic. ‘I can really see why people buy into this stuff’. And that is the entire reason you came here for. This was turning out great. You want to keep this encounter going. The more this guy talks, the more inspiration you get.

“Oh no!!!” You exclaim acting like you are playing a part in a tv show. “I can’t live this way anymore. Please help me Reigen!” You give him puppy eyes really milking the situation. You want to see the exorcism ritual and not have him charge you a whole lot of money. Reigen's cheeks go red and he quickly turns away.

“Well then I guess I have no choice. I’ll even have to send for my subordinate to come and help” Reigen says to me. He seemed a little flustered as he reached for his phone. The person on the other line picks up and Reigen asks for his assistance.

‘Well he sure is making a big deal of this. I don't completely understand why bad dreams would lead to him making such a spectacle but that’s the fun part. What makes these psychics tick. I guess it would make sense though. Dreams are kind of in this alley but it's still weird’.

“Good news my subordinate will be here any minute. When he gets here we can fill him in.” He tells me. ‘I guess the helper is necessary. Do all psychics need one?’

“So you think I’m being haunted” you say with curiosity.

“Yes there is no other explanation. There has to be a ghost haunting your home.” You hear the door open behind you. A young boy walks in.He is wearing a middle school uniform so it's safe to say he is a young teen.

“Oh good Mob you're here, we will be heading to this lady's house to exorcize a spirit.” The young boy named Mob nods his head.

“That's okay, but I have somewhere to be today at six so this can't take that long.” Mob says sure of himself, but not too sure. You find his awkward personality adorable.

“So you're the subordinate? You're so young.” You say to the boy.

“Yes but he's very talented. Anyways we should set up an appointment, how does four sound?” Reigen asks me.

“Four it is. Here is my address and phone number.” You write your number and address on a tablet you had on hand. You hand it to him and then leave. You are pretty excited to see whatever the heck he was planning to do. It was still weird to you though. How you just made an appointment with a psychic. If you would have told yourself yesterday there would be a psychic in your home you would have laughed and not believed yourself. That's what made you love what you do. For you, being good at your job is to be open minded and make sure you can see everyone's point of view.

You take a short trip home. You arrive at your apartment and immediately start to clean. You want to make sure your home looks nice for your visitors. With an hour to kill you make some tea and start to write down some of your story ideas. You slowly start to drift off to sleep without realizing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You open your eyes to darkness. It was cold. So very cold it was hard to breathe. You take in deep shaky breaths. This place was familiar. Fear was starting to engulf you like a hot fire coming from the pits of your stomach. Any second now it will start. It will show up again. The sound of footsteps starts to echo. Your heart starts bouncing. Your breath becomes shagged. You can't explain it but this time feels different.

In truth you haven't been telling your entire story. You have been having these nightmares for a month now. It started with the man in the corner of your dream world. Before you knew it the shadow began to take over until it consumed you. Convincing yourself it's no big deal hasn't been easy. You usually don't sleep at night and have to sleep in until the afternoon when your terrible dreams subside. The first time you saw something so terrible was last night.

You start to panic feeling something terrible was about to happen. You have never had one of these dreams in the daylight. A sudden pounding noise comes out of nowhere. You look around and you don't see anything. The sound was like a hammer. It shook you to your core and you woke up.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

Your eyes open to your laptop. You hear knocking. You suddenly remember your appointment. With hazy vision you close your laptop and stand up. You stretch and look towards the door. Nothing could prepare you for the sight in front of you. Standing with a tall huge Bulky figure was the monster from your dream. The first thing you notice is the ugly terrifying beady eyes tearing through you.

“NO, NO, NO, NO “ You stutter at barely a whisper. It felt as though air had left your body while you stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. Your backside stings in pain as your body shakes in fear. The pigment of all your nightmares stood right in front of you. The monster slowly starts to walk towards you. Tears start to fall as the terror consumes you.

The knocking on the door returns and you can hear voices on the other side. “Help…..help” You cry out in barely a whisper. You felt hopeless as the monster still walked towards you. You look towards a nearby coffee table. You pick up the first thing you can find which happened to be a tea cup. You throw it with all your force towards your front door. The glass makes contact with your door than shatters when it hits the floor. The sound shocks you and you feel a surge of energy.

“HELP!!!! HELP!!!! HELP!!!” You scream with all of your might.

The door opens with a flash. The sound of the door slamming back causes you to look behind the monster and towards the door. You can see two figures through your scared haze.

“Oh my god!” Reigen yells at the scary sight of the monster in front of you. You look at him, you were so grateful that he was there and you're not alone.

The ugly thing in front of you moves to turn to face the duo behind him. The beast gives a near human blood curdling scream.

A bright light fills the home, you look desperately ahead of you. The beast begins to disappear within the bright light. You watch it as it goes away faster than it appeared. You take in quick breaths as you look around. The light starts to subside, reality not seeming real.

The duo in front of you was like the most glorious sight it seems you've seen in ages. They saved you. That little boy and the psychic. How were they able to do it? You start to sob with the shock settling in.

The little boy walks over to you and holds out a hand to help you up. You take it and get up. You stop crying and thank your two visitors. “I don't know what I would have done if you guys weren't here” You tell them.

“You're very lucky,” Mob says. “That spirit planned on possessing you”.

The words make you feel scared all over again.It causes you to start sobbing again. Mob gets very awkward, not really knowing what to do, and feeling guilty for making you cry.

“Well m-maybe it really wasn't….. Please d-dont cry” Mob tells you. You notice your sobbing was making it really awkward and you try to stop the best you can. Causing you to speak half crying half talking.

“It's okay, thank you for being here to help me.” You say to Mob trying to stop being emotional. You then look at Reigen who just seemed to be grateful you were okay. “I don't know how I could ever repay you.” You tell Reigen. “ How much money do I owe you”.

Reigen furrows his brows not really wanting to take your money. “Well… I guess this one can be on us” He says trying to calm you down.

“I would feel bad, there must be something I can do ''. You say to him, surprised he wasn't going to charge you, and still kind of crying.

Reigen looks away from you thinking of a response. Then suddenly he pulls out a card from his pocket. “Here take this and give me a call sometime” He says. He doesn't look directly at you and it seemed he was embarrassed by what he said.

You look at him confused trying to understand. Then it clicks and you understand what he really means, and it lightens your mood. You smile and accept the card. “I can work that out” You say, wiping the tears from your eyes.

[clairelsonao3]

8 + 18!

Wow, that was efficient! Thanks @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumplr-reader and @writingkate for giving me a chance to slack off on my looming work deadline by talking about whump! If there's a better excuse, I haven't heard it! (And it was all different questions, too; it was like you all coordinated!)

Question from linked ask game from @whumper-dumps.

For @i-can-even-burn-salad:

8. Opinion on whump without a whumper? Ex: Whumpee falling into an ice-cold river and getting hypothermia.

Definitely not my favorite type. I was actually never that big on survival-in-the-wilderness (or survival-in-an-urban-hellscape) stories in general. Plus my favorite whumpy implements (chains, shackles, cages, etc.) are all manmade, so you pretty much need a whumper for that.

18. Do you prefer visual whump or written whump? Any reason why?

That's tough but I'd give the edge to written whump, because I'm a writer after all. They're both good, but the visual stuff usually has to have some kind of connection to something written. What for sure does nothing for me is clips/gifsets from random movies/shows I haven't seen featuring characters being whumped. I have no emotional connection to it. I'd have to sit down and actually watch the whole thing from start to finish.

For @whumplr-reader:

3. Least favourite type of whump?

The first one that comes to mind is vampires keeping humans as so-called bloodbags. I'm not super squicky about blood, normally, but that really pushes the limit. I'm actually not that big of a fan of whump involving vampires/werewolves/angels/fairies/supernatural creatures in general. No particular reason, just never saw the appeal.

4. What do you wish you saw more in this community?

Whumpees being forced to do hard physical labor and/or perform demeaning tasks/chores as punishment (or just in general!) I mean, it seems obvious but I see it so rarely. Seriously, if someone wrote a story involving this and tagged me you'd automatically be my new favorite person. Just saying!

For @writingkate:

2. What is your favourite type of whump?

Broadly, anything involving humiliation and/or dehumanization, whether emotional or physical or both.

6. Do you listen to anything while writing/drawing whump? If it’s music, what genre do you typically listen to?

I listen to music pretty much all day, every day, ranging from '60s psychedelic folk to '50s piano jazz to reggae to country to West African kora to '90s alternative rock to ambient beats to ... there's probably not a single genre I haven't written something whumpy while listening to.

7. Emotional or physical whump?

I'd give the edge to emotional, but the best is when the physical feeds the emotional, i.e., when a whumper plays upon a whumpee's precise emotional trauma/insecurities, then goes in for the physical "kill," so to speak.

Thank you so much for the asks, everyone! :gets back to work:

[umichenginabroad]

Week 9: German Final, Final Trips, and Finally Free from my Research Paper

Willkommen zurück to week 9 out of 10 of my UROP experience in Aachen! With us being in the final weeks of the program, things have been wrapping up in all the bittersweet, nostalgia-filled, and occasionally stress-inducing ways. The research symposium is just around the corner now, and our papers/posters are due Monday (aka 3 days from now… aka AAAAH). Thanks to the Berlin trip I have planned for this weekend, I had extra motivation to put my head down and actually get all my work in order by the end of the week. Such a feat was looking highly unlikely a few days ago, but I am happy to say I will not have to write about Intrusion Detection Systems and dataset generation to the background noises of my Berlin walking tour or Techno music in the club Saturday night. This is a win. 

On Thursday, I had my German final which ended up being one of those exams that inspires you to tap into your philosophical side and begin wise internal dialogues about the benefits and unavoidable nature of failure (yes, this is just me coping). The five T/F questions in our Reading section worth 30/90 points left something to be desired and the Listening section somehow found a way to connect ice cream (in Cyber Space?) to the Industrial Revolution in one confusing speech. (It may be wise to note on that last point that I still have no idea what this man was talking about.)

All that random Cyber Space ice cream talk inspired our German class to get some of our own (normal) ice cream to recover from being collectively humbled by the exam, and it was indeed the perfect cure. I’m going to miss my German classmates and our unifying dread of getting picked for Taboo (a game we played at the start of every class where one person had the unfortunate, isolating task of explaining new German vocab auf Deutsch and the others simply guessed). Though I sometimes wished my German classes were with all the other UROP students, I ended up really enjoying the unique opportunity my course provided to meet people from all different parts of the world studying here and learning German like I am.

Dunkel Schokolade und Menz Eis aka Emergency Post-Exam Mood-Recovery Ice Cream

Even in spite of my looming deadlines and questionable German Final, I still managed to fill the past week with travel and making the most of the finally summery weather (*knock on wood*). Last Saturday, I went to an impressively large fun fair in Duesseldorf that put my sad county fair with its three rickety, life-endangering rides and show-stopping prize chickens to shame. The delicious fair food, loud music, and bright energy felt like a taste of home on the Jersey Shore Boardwalk (without the weird teenagers and suspicious piercing shops) and it was exactly what I needed.

Scenes from Duesseldorf's Fun Fair

We also had Ramen for lunch to make up for not getting it here when the lines were ridiculously long on Japan Tag, and it fully lived up to the hype.

Ramen from Duesseldorf’s Little Tokyo

On Sunday, I traveled with one of my friends to Liège where we made sure to accomplish all the Liège Musts: 

✅ Eating a LiègeWaffle 

Incredibly yum waffle. 8/10. For two point deduction reasoning: see part 3

✅ Climbing the Montagne de Bueren, a 374-step staircase 

Beautiful views from the top of the staircase. I promise I was also enjoying them and not only suffering from getting to the top.

✅ Having a disastrous, embarrassing, all around self-esteem-destroying attempted conversation with a French-speaking person 

✅Finding somewhere (with weird black burger buns?) to eat lunch where we could order online to avoid more of said conversations

The strange burgers in question. Not sure where they were going with the whole “accidentally forgot how to use an oven while cooking your meal and it burned” aesthetic, but it did taste quite good.

✅Exploring lots of beautiful architecture

Some of the gorgeous sites found while roaming Liège

After completing our official Tourists Guide to Liège, we ended the day by visiting a small aquarium/science museum where we proceeded to get distracted by pretty fish, fun interactive exhibits, and these jump-scare-inducing holographic portraits until their closing time. Unfortunately, their closing time also happened to be a few minutes after we would've needed to leave to catch the next train back to Aachen. What followed was a semi-panicked, 2,5 km run with my unathletic jeans, unathletic tank top, unathletic hoodie, and unathletic self. Was it worth it for the single hour we saved by not waiting for the next train? Probably not. Will I be adding this to the official Tourists Guide to Liège anytime soon? 100% no. But I did leave feeling at least 15% as much accomplished as I was tired and sweaty, so that’s something… 

Emo Nemo, Hologram Dog, and distractions from the aquarium that had the audacity to almost make us miss our train

I promise I did do actual work at some point this week, but on Wednesday we had a nice, relaxing UROP picnic that served as the perfect break from it. There were delicious baked goods, volleyball/frisbee games, lots of reminiscing, and enough sun to make up for at least three days of Aachen rainstorms. 

We’re at the point of the program where everything is starting to be labeled some kind of last: Last German Class. Last UROP Weekend Travels. Last Wednesday UROP Activity. Last Motor Bar Night. And it’s all starting to feel extremely bittersweet. I’ll save all my sentimentality for my final blog (consider yourself warned), but I am really looking forward to making this official Last Weekend in Berlin one to remember. Until next time!

Sarah Bargfrede

Computer Science

UROP Program in Aachen