sylphmacabre

[sylphmacabre]

[Fic] Call Signs, Chapter 33

Fandom: Deltarune

‘Verse: Human AU

Pairing: Swatch/Spamton [Swatchton]

Characters: Spamton Addison, T.M. Tanner, Leroux Kaard, Lance O'Toole, GiGi McCray

Rating: Mature

Chapter title: Sweet And Sour Grapes

Chapter summary: Spamton and T.M. fit a lot more into a Sunday morning than either of the two of them had planned.

Author notes:

Again, apologies for the delay in posting. I did not intend to take TWO MONTHS between chapters. I work retail, so yes, the winter holidays definitely eat away at my writing time each year. But offline life, which is Always Interesting [insert sarcastic emoji here] decided to get Even More Interesting this year, and I've had to spend more time than I'd like clearing up the wreckage.

Anyway. On to the chapter. Warnings as always for angst and dark themes, sprinkled in amongst the fluph.

My thanks to @jaimistoryteller for last-minute beta-reading and hand-holding while I dithered over some of the details.

_________________

“You know, you’re the first person I’ve met who thinks in music the way I do.”

“R-really?”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” T.M. straightened up from where she’d been reshelving the LPs and CDs that Spamton handed her, one at a time.  She was filing albums that had aged out from being “new acquisitions” and could be added to the radio station’s core library, housed in Prodo in a recessed alcove. 

When T.M. had invited Spamton along this morning after breakfast, she had explained this was her usual Sunday task, self-imposed of course, but one that gave her enormous satisfaction.

Spamton got the impression that T.M. didn’t invite just anyone to do this task with her.

But things had changed between them since last night.

This morning should have been awkward as hell, once Spamton realized that there was an extra person in his and Swatch’s bed.

But, surprisingly, it wasn’t.

His brain registered that he must have fallen asleep in his clothes, as had Swatch. Spamton still had his arms around Swatch and his face buried in Swatch’s slightly scratchy sweater. That was normal.

What wasn’t normal was the warmth at his back… a warmth that felt like someone else’s back.

Spamton remembered T.M. lying down behind him last night. He himself had turned over to clamber onto Swatch, as was the nightly pattern for them both.

He remembered that she had put an arm loosely over his shoulders, not tightly under his arms and around his waist.

She had been an anchor, not a restraint.

He cautiously moved from his usual position on his right side, to gradually be half on his back, half on his left side.

A head of blonde hair with aqua-blue tips was on a pillow next to him. Half under blankets, he also saw an arm clad in a black and silver sweater with a cat-and-moon pattern.

The puzzle pieces came together then as Spamton remembered blowing an emotional gasket the night before and apologetically telling T.M. that it would be all right if she stayed over. He had felt awful about ruining the cuddle puddle the three of them had had going, but he couldn’t stop all of the rage at Mike from choking him.

Still, it wasn’t T.M.’s fault that he was a screwed-up mess.

 Not only was everyone in their clothes, but he was lying on top of the big comforter. At some point either Swatch or T.M. must have gotten up to find an extra pillow and extra  blankets to throw over all three of them.

Cozy and reassuring.

He must have twitched, or his breathing must have changed, because his thoughts were interrupted by a quiet voice asking, “Y-You awake?”

"Yes," he managed to croak out, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

And then Spamton woke up for real.

His arms were still around Swatch, but the two of them were the only ones in the bed.

The sensations of three, not two, had felt so real, though.

He resolved to mull the night over later.  First things first… nature was calling. No, more accurately, nature was SCREAMING.

He carefully disengaged himself from Swatch, who remained deeply asleep. Not that Spamton blamed them. Swatch had definitely earned a morning of sleeping in.

The question on the tip of Spamton's mind was answered when he sat up and put his hand down on a piece of paper. T.M. had left a note.

Gonna crash on the couch. Wake me up and we can do breakfast.

He quickly grabbed some clothes to change into in the small downstairs bathroom.

When he headed into the living room, T.M. was already pulling herself up into a sitting position on the couch. Spamton felt a tiny flash of amusement at her hair sticking out in various directions. For once she was the rumpled one.

"Morning, Short Stuff," she greeted him. "Guess you saw my note." Her voice sounded normal… chipper, sweet, no hidden undertones. 

"Uh huh,” he answered. “Should we - should we wait f-for Swatch?"

She flung off the blanket she’d been using and stood up, stretching. "Nah, let them sleep. We can go to the caf, I still have guest points from last semester."

That was a relief to him, although he would have been willing to pay his way. "Okay. B-but let me leave a note."

“Sure thing.” 

___________________________

There was an unexpected delay before breakfast, unexpected at least on Spamton’s part. T.M. insisted on stopping by her dorm first to change clothes, saying, “Esther will never let me live it down if she sees me for breakfast in the same outfit I showed up for dinner in!”

Spamton grinned at that.  He remembered Esther from last semester. He was fond of her because she never made a fuss or gave him the side-eye when he asked her to halve the portion of whatever was being served at mealtimes, unlike some of the other staff who would make height jokes in response to his request. And another trait that endeared Esther to him was she seemed to believe that every day should be Talk Like A Pirate Day.

He hadn’t expected to be greeted by a pair of actual pirates when T.M. unlocked the door to her suite.

The shorter of the two barely came up to Spamton's waist, brandishing what looked like a garden trowel. He wore a jaunty black cardboard hat, decorated with a skull and crossbones. Otherwise his outfit was that of any other kindergartner. He had soft, baby-fine brown hair, bright blue eyes, and dimples in his pale cheeks.

“Ho ho! I’m the bad guy!” the smaller pirate chortled, sticking his tongue out. The taller, wearing a similar homemade hat, was quick to say, "Lancelot Roland O'Toole! Standeth down, swabby. These be fellow captains here to parley." Leroux followed this up almost immediately by mouthing, half-silently, "Please playeth alonge."

Leroux's admonishment was apparently acceptable, because Lance looked back, smiled, and replied, "okay, lesser dad", as he put his improvised weapon away.

T.M. stepped into the conversational breach as she strode into the living room. She intoned, "Permission to come aboard, Captains?" At the young boy's almost regal nod, a sharp contrast to his delighted grin, she bent down to shake Lance's hand, then pointed behind her to introduce Spamton. 

"Pirate Lancelot, this is Pirate Stanton. Please treat him as an honored guest."

There was the sound of laughter from the next room, followed by GiGi's voice chiming in with the comment, "Welcome To The Poop Deck!"

Leroux looked pained, but rolled his eyes fondly and shrugged in a what can you do kind of way. T.M. rolled her own eyes back at him in a far less fond manner and continued, "And if you good shipmates will excuse me, I'm feeling filthy as a bilge rat." 

She moved off in what Spamton presumed was the direction of her own room, tossing over her shoulder as she went, "If Pirate Regina has used up all the hot water and not left any for my shower, I'm going to make her walk the plank."

The kindergartner giggled at that, and then grabbed Spamton’s hand, tugging him towards a chair. Leroux followed, pulling his own pirate hat off and running a dark hand through his silvery beaded braids.  He sat on the couch next to a pile of winter coats, and Lance plopped himself down to sit on the floor.

 "Stan-ton. That’s a funny name. Your hair is funny too. Can I call you Grunkle Stan?"

It took Spamton a few seconds to realize what Lance was referencing, but once he did, he decided to roll with it. He leaned forward in his chair and answered in a gravelly voice, doing his best to disguise his stutter, "Kid, I think you’re m-mixing me up with Ford. But I'll take that as a compliment!"

That response had Lance literally rolling on his back laughing and waving his feet in the air. GiGi came into the room, stuffing one last textbook into her backpack, and commented, “Watch where you’re kicking, little guy. Remember to respect the pottery.” Leroux got to his own feet, saying, “Cometh now, my irrepressible prince, it is time to go.”

“Okay!” The little boy grabbed his coat off the pile, and then handed GiGi hers, saying, “Here you go, girldad.” 

Spamton was impressed by the kid’s good manners, but was starting to feel confused about the dynamics in the room. Leroux picked up on the vibe and shot Spamton a worried look disguised by a smile, saying, “Always good to see you. I hope to get a chance to talketh more with you at the next staffe meeting.” He grabbed his own coat from the arm of the couch, and the three left the apartment.

What was THAT all about? Spamton mused to himself. You’d think this was THEIR home and that T.M. was the visitor. 

And, furthermore, it was one thing to know that his boss at the radio station had a child; it was another thing to meet that child and to realize that the little boy looked nothing like Leroux and didn’t even share his last name. And what was the deal with the kid calling Leroux his “lesser dad”?  

The thought crossed Spamton’s mind that the old Gainsboro Stanton Addison would have felt obligated to be appalled, assuming the nickname was a rude one on the child’s part. He was glad to find himself intrigued instead, and felt vindicated in his hard-fought-for belief that family was where you found it.

But if this was how GiGi treated T.M. in the apartment that they were supposed to share, it was no wonder that T.M. found excuses to study, eat, and sleep elsewhere.

The possibility of asking T.M. to move into the townhouse with him and Swatch flashed across his mind once again. Swatch had even joked about it last night, before everything had gone pear-shaped.

Then it’s settled. None of us are ever leaving this couch again. Sorry, Moggy, you live here now.

Swatch had been joking, hadn’t they? 

The lady herself appeared in the doorway not even a moment later and interrupted his further reflection on the topic. T.M. was wearing a deep purple sweater with a wide leather belt, as well as skinny jeans tucked into knee-high fringed boots. She shrugged herself into her studded leather jacket. “Sorry to leave you with the pirate crew, but I really was going to crawl out of my skin if I didn’t get cleaned up. You ready for breakfast?”

“V-very ready.”

____________________

“J-just so I know what you - you mean by ‘thinking in m-music’, do you mean you actually see scenes from your life as song - song lyrics?” That wasn’t exactly what he meant to say, but Spamton was finding it hard to lay his hands on the words he wanted.

T.M. looked over at him and tilted her head to the side. “Not quite, but that sounds really cool, too. Like those AMVs that people make for their favorite characters. No, what I mean is, it sounds to me like when someone says something to you, your brain leaps immediately into responding with a song lyric.”

“Huh. I d-don’t know that I ever p-put two and two t-t-together like that, but you may be on to something.” A suspicion crossed his mind and he blurted out, before he could think better of it, “Hey.  Is this about - about last night? Because I’m still tired of talking about Mike.”

She picked up an empty album jacket and tapped him gently on the head with it. “It’s not always about you. But his name was Mike, huh?”

Spamton was torn between wanting to curse himself out for letting Mike's name slip and wanting to laugh out loud at how slyly she'd maneuvered him, so he settled for a snort and a smirk, saying, “Give the lucky lady ten points, she only needs another ten to win the kewpie doll.”

T.M. smirked back at him at that, and then gave him a piercing look. “You know, Swatch was right. Your stutter really DOES go away when you’re pissed off.”

How was he supposed to answer that? 

At the sight of his conflicted expression, T.M. rushed in to continue, “Don’t blame Swatch. They didn’t give up any secrets about you.  We were talking about Leroux, believe it or not, and how all that ‘ye olde Englishe’ pose of his goes away when he’s really serious about something, and Swatch mentioned something about when Catto tried to go two hours without talking, and then got a fit of hiccups for another two hours, and God, I’m just babbling and making things worse and putting my foot deeper in my mouth, aren’t I?”

She looked so stricken as she said that last bit that Spamton had to laugh. “N-no, you’re fine. If I - I think about it, it’s actually f-f-flattering to know my partner talks about me to his best friend.”

“Damn straight,” T.M. replied in a relieved voice. “They really love you, you know. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“Oh, I d-don’t. We - we got that settled after the initial m-m-m-misunderstanding.”

“Good.” 

“Good.”

“But about last night…”

Spamton had to reach up to do it, but he used the same empty record album jacket [NURSERY CRYME by Genesis] to whap her on the head. “Let’s t-t-talk about you, not me, T.M.”

She crinkled her eyes and wrinkled her nose at him with an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiine. Do we have all day?”

His phone chose that moment to interrupt with a text notification, and he held it out to her so she could read it.

From: SWATCH

Sunday: 10:52

Got your note, thank you {REALLY} for letting me sleep. Didn’t know how much I needed it. You coming back here before your work shift or should I meet you at Luigi’s after?

“Well, then. If you don’t mind hanging out with me, instead of flying back to Birdman, I suppppppppppppppose I can let you in on my deep dark secrets,” T.M. said flippantly.

Spamton matched her tone and replied, “Mmmmm, dish to me baby, I love me some d-deep dish.” He typed back to Swatch, It makes sense if I just stay on campus for now and meet up at Luigi’s later. And are we food shopping tonight? It’s supposed to snow this week.

The answer came back immediately. Sounds good. Although I’ll believe snow when I see it. I’m walking around topless. And bottomless.

He grinned to himself and texted, Promise? 

“Oh my God, you’re actually blushing! You two are so cute and domestic, I’m gonna melt into goop, I swear.”

Spamton’s grin froze.  He'd forgotten in the few brief moments of his texting exactly who was still peering over his shoulder.

He looked up at T.M. in embarrassment, but her face was neither mocking nor judgemental, and her next words sounded thoughtful, as though they weren’t meant to reach his ears. “I wish I had what you and Swatch have.”

Should he pretend he hadn’t heard?

The decision was taken out of his hands.  While he was trying to come up with something to say, T.M. brushed him aside, physically as well as verbally by muttering, “Be right back,” as she beat a hasty exit from the Prodo studio.

When she came back, Spamton put on a show of needing to also hit the restroom, to give her a moment. He took his time, but not excessively so. On his return, he noticed that the door to Prodo was closed and the electric  RECORDING IN SESSION! DO NOT DISTURB! sign was lit up over the transom.

After a few nerve-wracking moments, T.M. opened the door and let him in, but the sign stayed lit. She closed the door behind him, turned away and shimmied up to perch on the counter behind the mixing board, kicking her legs nervously. She pointed her finger at him and asked, for all the world sounding like a prophet of doom, “Do you have a ‘Go To Hell’ playlist? I think everyone should have a ‘Go To Hell’ playlist.”

Spamton took a seat near her on one of the office stools, swiveling pensively back and forth on its casters. “That’s - that’s a fair question. I assume you h-have one of your own?”

She nodded. “I’ve actually got multiples. And lucky me, one of them is three-quarters of the songs on one album.”

“Huh.”

“But I need a new playlist for my current situation.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My mother wants to marry some guy she's known for all of four months and move to fucking New Jersey to breed racehorses.”

She let that sink in, and he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “That’s - yeah, that’s what I’d c-call…. Something. I d-d-don’t know what I’d call it, but… yeah.” Spamton could see how upset T.M. was, even without having any context. He felt like it was his turn to be dancing in a minefield.

“What it is, my friend, is pure unadulterated narcissistic selfishness.” T.M.’s voice rose with every word, until she was practically screaming. “The woman didn’t ask me, she TOLD me. On Tuesday night.  Right before you stopped by. And she doesn’t even have the decency to wait until I graduate. She’s got all her plans set for the end of April. So  just like Swatch, in a couple of months I’ll have no home either…”

She paused for breath, and then spoke more calmly. “It doesn’t bug me when you and Swatch make goo-goo eyes at each other, not like GiGi and Leroux. Because I’ve got a gut feeling that you and my Swatchy are going to go the distance, and I’m also pretty sure that GiGi’s going to get bored… or scared… and dump Leroux. I just feel bad for Leroux’s kid… he’ll latch onto anyone who shows him the tiniest scrap of affection.” She snorted as a thought seemed to strike her. “Too damn relatable.”

That was a bomb that Spamton didn’t even want to START defusing. Too damn relatable for me, too.

T.M. seemed to have run out of steam by then. They both sat there in silence for a few minutes, until T.M. said, entirely too brightly, “So! Before you head off for your library job. How’s about a little music therapy?”

"For you, or f-for me?"

"Tell you what. Make it interesting, let's each pick one song." She wore more of a rictus than a smile. "You go first."

He nodded uneasily. "Okay. B-but I need - need a minute."

Spamton closed his eyes to give the impression that he was thinking hard, but almost as soon as T.M. had mentioned a "Go To Hell" playlist, he knew one song that should be on his. It had been a staple on the “psychic jukebox” at The Grass Roots Tavern; he remembered that John the bartender always used to make rude comments when it came on, so he never picked it himself. But the song satisfied something dark in Spamton’s soul.

“G-got it,” he said now, opening his eyes. He flipped through the CD racks until he found the Billy Talent album he was looking for. He fitted the disc into the slot on the mixing board, adjusted the volume so that it was loud, but not likely to burst anyone’s eardrums, and hit the “play” button.

I stumble through the wreckage

Rusted from the rain

There's nothing left to salvage

No one left to blame

Among the broken mirrors

I don't look the same

I'm rusted from the rain

I'm rusted from the rain

Dissect me 'til my blood runs

Down into the drain

My bitter heart is pumping

Oil into my veins

I'm nothing but a tin man

Don't feel any pain

I don't feel any pain

I don't feel any pain

I'm rusted from the rain

Go on, crush me like a flower

Rusted from the rain

Come on, strip me of my power

Beat me with your chains

And if I'm the king of cowards

You're the queen of pain

I'm rusted from the rain

I'm rusted from the rain

You hung me like a picture

Now I'm just a frame

I used to be your lapdog

Now I'm just a stray

Shackled in the graveyard

Left here to decay

Left here to decay

Left here to decay

I'm rusted from the rain

Go on, crush me like a flower

Rusted from the rain

Come on, strip me of my power

Beat me with your chains

And if I'm the king of cowards

You're the queen of pain

I'm rusted from the rain

I'm rusted from the rain

I'm rusted from the rain

He hadn’t realized that he’d closed his eyes again and was practically panting until T.M.’s voice broke through the blood-red haze of his rage. Tears soaked his eyelashes as he blinked at her behind his glasses. She was sitting on the other swivel stool next to him, holding his hands gently but firmly in hers.

“Wow, man. Just… wow. That wasn’t what I expected you to pick, but it kind of proves my point.”

He thought he’d gotten all the poison out when he’d broken down all those times in front of Ballew after Ballew had found him and brought him home.

When he’d verbally vomited up all the details to Dr. George and to his therapist, in his months of treatment, about what he’d put his body through during his homeless stretch.

When he’d outlined the timeline of his rise and fall to Swatch a few days ago.

Would there never be an end to it?

“Your turn,” he said gruffly, his throat feeling like he’d swallowed a handful of razor blades and then washed them down with a mug of bile. “T-tell me who you hate as much as I - I hate Mike.”

T.M. had an odd expression on her face as she dropped his hands and pressed the “play” button for her own selection. “Take a wild guess,” she said quietly as the voice of Tori Amos rolled out from the speakers.

Every finger in the room is pointing at me

I want to spit in their faces then I get afraid what that could bring

I got a bowling ball in my stomach, I got a desert in my mouth

Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now

I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets

Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets

I've been raising up my hands, drive another nail in

Just what god needs, one more victim

Why do we crucify ourselves every day?

I crucify myself and nothing I do is good enough for you

I crucify myself every day

I crucify myself and my heart is sick of being

I said my heart is sick of being in chains

Chains

Got a kick for a dog begging for love

I got to have my suffering so that I can have my cross

I know a cat named Easter, he says, will you ever learn

You're just an empty cage, girl, if you kill the bird

I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets

Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets

I've been raising up my hands, drive another nail in

Got enough guilt to start my own religion

Why do we crucify ourselves every day?

I crucify myself and nothing I do is good enough for you

I crucify myself every day

I crucify myself and my heart is sick of being

I said my heart is sick of being in chains

Chains

Please be

Save me

I cry

And now T.M. was crying as the piano notes reached a crescendo along with Tori’s wails of anguish.

Spamton didn’t think, he acted.  

He only wanted to comfort his friend.

But somehow he ended up half in her lap and she half in his, one of her legs trapped between both of his, her hands in his hair, his hands cupping her face, the two of them just one heartbeat away from kissing.

[sylphmacabre]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

I was tagged by both @gretchensinister and @insufferablearchanist and am thus compelled by their charm and glamour to surrender my secrets! [grin]

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

93 at last count. It will probably stay at that number until 31 March 2024, which is when ROTG Hope Week starts. [I get a lot of mileage out of fandom events that are prompt-based.] My goal between now and the month of March is to complete or add to the chapter count of at least three of the multiple-chapter longfics I've got in various states of progress.

2. What’s your total word count?

AO3 says it's 220,945. I don't know if that counts chapters saved in draft on several of my works, which act as notes files for me. So I'm going to underestimate by a lot and say my word count is more than 200K and will leave it at that.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I'm most well-known for fics in the RISE OF THE GUARDIANS/GUARDIANS OF CHILDHOOD fandom and its subfandom Nightmare Dork University. in the last two years I've ventured into writing fics set in the milieu of DELTARUNE [the videogame by Toby Fox], but those fics are so far into the realm of AU country that I can't claim to "write for the DELTARUNE fandom".

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

A CITIZEN OF THE UNIVERSE AND A GENTLEMAN TO BOOT, which is the first fanfic I posted on AO3 and is still in progress. It's set after the ROTG movie and involves plot threads from the GOC books, as well as featuring several characters from the Rankin/Bass holiday specials.

"Fleecy Shining Streaming Gleaming/Gimme A Mare With Hair", a giftfic based on a prompt from the ROTG Kinkmeme on Dreamwidth from years agone. Still in progress; my giftee is ***extremely*** patient. [sob]

[[ATTIC]] [[NEST]] [[HOME]], my first DELTARUNE fanfic, set in an AU created by @penbwl and featuring the Swatchton pairing.

"A Temptation Averted", set in my Six Guardians AU series, and apparently everybody's favourite of my ROTG Blackice stories, probably because it's so schmoopy.

CALL SIGNS. Ah, CALL SIGNS. The mammoth fic that has eaten most of my current brain capacity, to the point where I have dreams about it. [and plans for sequels] It was supposed to be so simple. A "what if" story where two DELTARUNE characters met in a human!AU and at a different point in their timelines than they did in-game. Then it suddenly roared to life as a whole sequence of events lifted from my own experiences, spread out over an ever-increasing number of protagonists, not to mention featuring cameos from NDU characters. I wrote it to be accessible to people who haven't played the game and had no familiarity with the characters, and I've been told I've succeeded. I expect it will move up in the kudos count the longer it runs... so far it's the highest word-count work I have ever written. EVER.

5. Do you respond to comments?

99.9999% of the time, yes. [see the answer to questions 8 and 11]. I love comments... short comments, long comments, comments that are nothing but emojis and keysmashes, comments that are well-thought-out analyses. As long as the comment is offered in good faith, I'll answer it.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

If we're being strictly literal with the use of the word "ending", then it's a toss-up between "His Days Like Crazy Paving", "Exit", and "Making Fire".

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

So many of my stories are windows into my characters' "middles", rather than having narrative endings, and I tend to the fluph side of the writing scale. So here's a sampling of one-shots that conclude on a happy note... "Caterpillar", "Starmeadow", "Your First Memory Of All", "Bedtime Story", and "Centres Small And Still".

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've never gotten out-and-out hate on fics. I *have* had someone react negatively when they wanted to use my comment space to plug fics they had written in fandoms I wasn't interested in and I said as much in reply.

9. Do you write smut?

On occasion. I *enjoy* smut... a lot... but I read more smut than I write. "The Joy Of First Flight" is probably my most explicit work to date, and even that is not terribly steamy.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Again, on occasion. CITIZEN ended up being a crossover about halfway in, surprising me rather completely. CALL SIGNS features cameos from other fanon characters, but isn't technically a crossover. AND FEAR AS MY COMPANION is the only work I've written with the initial intent of being a crossover between RISE OF THE GUARDIANS and DOCTOR WHO.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of. I **have**, however, fallen victim to being fooled by AI bots writing what I thought were truly sincere and sweet comments, which I foolishly answered before realizing the truth. Still kicking myself for how gullible I was, but it was at a low point in my confidence as a writer and I was starved for reassurance.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Into a language other than English? Not that I've been informed about. However, someone did make a podfic of my drabble "Hope In A Storm", if that counts as "translation" rather than "transformation".

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I've collaboratively tossed ideas around with @ksclaw and @piratekingpitchblack that have made their way into character development and plotlines for more than a few Nightmare Dork University stories.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

HOW CAN I CHOOOOOOOOOOOOSE?

The one that started it all, that punched me in the gut not even twenty minutes after I saw RISE OF THE GUARDIANS for the first time, was Blackice. I devoured then and continue to devour now every Blackice shipfic I can get my little paws on. From there, once I found the NDU subfandom, it was NDU StageFright all the way, although it's now running neck-and-neck with NDU Nightmare Galleon as far as fics I've written. And currently, I have a very active Tumblr tag labelled "i have fallen down the swatchton sinkhole don't even try to rescue me", if that gives any hints.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I am realllllllllllllllllllly hoping that I can get inspiration for "Sweater Weather" going again.

16. What are your writing strengths?

RESEARCH.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Falling into the timesink that research leads to. [sob]

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

That hasn't come up in any of my fics so far, other than throwing gratuitous Italian into dialogue for my OC Mama Michelina.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

If you don't count the self-insert novelization of YELLOW SUBMARINE that I wrote when I was fourteen, then ROTG would be the first fandom I've written for.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

That's a toughie. The most ***personally satisfying*** fics I've written have been "Deal The Cards", which is a love letter to one of my favourite relatives, now deceased, and "Which Witch", one of the few times a story came pouring out of me without needing to be edited to shreds.

I am hesitant to tag people because when I've done so in other ask games, it has often backfired on me. I love all my mutuals and don't want anyone to feel left out. Therefore.....

WHOEVER READS THIS AND WANTS TO PLAY, CONSIDER YOURSELF TAGGED.

[sylphmacabre]

The 2023 ROTG Halloween Challenge creeps in on little cat feet.

Mod Sylph here.

Yes, I know it's only June July, but it's time to get the cobwebs off this blog [ha!]

A sneak peek at the event guideline and the prompts for this year's RISE OF THE GUARDIANS Halloween Challenge...

2023 EVENT GUIDELINES

13 days, 13 prompts.

Visual, aural, textile, and literary works are allowed - fanart, fanfiction, gifs, edits/manips, cosplay, fanmixes, crafts, or ask-and-answer.  

Unlike other fandom events, reblogs of previously created material are welcome IF THEY FIT THE PROMPT, but creation of original material is preferred.

Inspiration can be drawn from the GUARDIANS OF CHILDHOOD bookverse, the RISE OF THE GUARDIANS movieverse, and any and all associated AUs.

OCs are welcome and encouraged to interact with RotG/GoC characters.

Crossovers are welcome, but please make sure that the focus POV is a character from RotG/GoC.

Works in progress are welcome and encouraged, as long as they fit the prompt. No reason not to celebrate Halloween all year ‘round! No need to worry about having to have something complete before posting.

Don’t feel like you ***must*** post a piece Every… Single… DAY, and/or fill every single prompt.  Burnout is not fun.  But do try to post at least ONE piece during the 13 days of the challenge.

Be sure to tag your works with @rotg-halloween, and list #rotghalloween in one of your first 5 tags.

Please tag works accordingly, and be sure to use any warnings for sensitive and potentially triggering subjects.  

HAVE FUN, and support your fellow creators.

2023 Prompts

19 October 2023 / Day One: Hill

20 October 2023 / Day Two: Wormwood

21 October 2023/ Day Three: Train

22 October 2023 / Day Four: Bone

23 October 2023 / Day Five: Insubstantial

24 October 2023 / Day Six:  Exit

25 October 2023 / Day Seven: Apart

26 October 2023 / Day Eight: Melting

27 October 2023/ Day Nine: Kaiju

28 October 2023 / Day Ten: Guide

29 October 2023 / Day Eleven: Evening

30 October 2023 / Day Twelve: Hungry

31 October 2023 / Day Thirteen: Overlord

Let's get spooky.

[sylphmacabre]

Fandom: Nightmare Dork University, an AU of RISE OF THE GUARDIANS that has become its own subfandom

'Verse - Wardrobeverse, Metaverse

Characters: Icicle Jack, Meta!Proto, Wangst Pitch [mentioned]

Rating: Mature

Summary: Watching and wanting what cannot be had. Set in the RotG AU known as the Wardrobeverse, originating in the "Wangst Comics" by ask-pitchs-wardrobe on Tumblr. Companion piece to "Somewhere Deep Inside Of These Bones".

Notes: Written as a request from @twistedxsaiyan

Originally posted on Archive Of Our Own on February 25, 2019.

You watch from your corner as the man who mirrors your lover sweeps your own mirror image into his embrace.

That clasping looks so much warmer, so much more solid, than the fierce and spiky couplings you and your lover subject one other to.

The devotion in the dark-haired human’s voice makes you weep when you think about the desperation you hear in your own voice, when you respond to similar devotion from your lover.  You hear the same desperation in the voice of your human doppleganger.

You do not understand why neither can hear the common threads of fear and loneliness that bind each other’s speech, the inchoate terror that marks the cadences of each other’s words.

“Oh, but they do hear themselves, little stalactite, but they’ll never admit that they do,” murmurs an unwelcome voice behind you.  Without turning to look, you know there will be a tall, smokily indistinct shape with too many limbs, a pale smooth unfurrowed face, and eyes of a violently incandescent blue, hovering at your shoulder.

Without being either booming or scratchy, the voice of that most dreaded, that most inscrutable and indefinable companion in your shadowed world reminds you, as it is meant to do, of the loud silence of anticipation of the next thunderclap as the last one rolls away, of the frantic skittering of insects as they flee from the disturbed safety of overturned loam in the forest.  That voice is meant to be feared, and fear it you do… but not as much as you fear the sound of disappointment in your lover’s voice.

You make an effort to suppress a shudder and to act as though your unwanted companion is not there, as you turn your attention back to the humans, one tall, one small.  The murmurs of “stop, hush, of course I’ll…” are a counterpoint to “thank you” and the hitching of breath that usually presages sobbing until emptied.

The familiarity is painful.  Your lover commands as often as he comforts.  You acquiesce far more often than you protest.

You want these two to be different, but the odds are that they will trace the same path of futility that you find yourself on.

You sigh and turn away, noticing as you do so that your dreaded companion has disappeared.

You do not know why that leaves you aching and lonely.

[sylphmacabre]

Somewhere Deep Inside Of These Bones

Fandom: Nightmare Dork University, an AU of RISE OF THE GUARDIANS that has become its own subfandom

'Verse - Collegeverse

Characters: NDU Piki Black, NDU Jack Sickle, NDU Brunhilde, EBU Jack Frost [mentioned]

Pairings: StageFright [Piki/Jack]

Rating: General

Summary: Piki cluelessly does the right thing for Jack for ENTIRELY the wrong reasons.

Notes: Based on a prompt from @bowlingforgerbils If you are wondering what the devil Nightmare Dork University is, and what it has to do with either the movie RISE OF THE GUARDIANS or the GUARDIANS books by William Joyce, please visit the NDU 101 page on Tumblr and its accompanying tags. It's a wild and woolly ride involving four different versions of Pitch Black and a very different version of Jack Frost, all of whom either room together or "fraternize" in a college / university AU. And let's not forget a taxidermied ferret named Mr. Pickles.

Originally posted on Archive Of Our Own on November 2, 2016.

The front door buzzer sounded at 3pm over the intercom in Piki’s flat; he nearly tripped over his own feet in his rush to buzz Jack in.  He cast a quick glance behind him, to make sure Brunhilde was still asleep in her sunny spot on the window seat, before opening the apartment door and waiting for Jack to round the curve of the staircase to the second floor.  

Now *that* was an unfamiliar expression to see on Jack’s face; Piki thought he knew all Jack’s reactions intimately.  Shy, sweet, nervous, enthused, sleepy… but this… smouldering rage?  It did not sit well with the playwright, and he was mentally cataloguing the ways he could commit justified mayhem on the person who had made his dear one angry.

But, he reflected, justified mayhem could be VERY time-consuming, and that would mean time spent away from Jack.  So, with a silent sigh of regret, Piki turned his attention towards getting to the root cause of his beloved’s distress.

“Jack?” he inquired softly as he waved the young blond man into his living room.  “What’s wrong?”

The angry look faded into an almost sheepish smile.  “It’s n-n-nothing, really, Piki.  My cousin was supposed to have met me after class to help me with a project, but he never… he never showed up.”  Jack sat down gingerly next to Brunhilde, buried his chin in his chest, and started to run his hand over the recumbent Siamese cat’s back, The stroking action seemed to require all his attention, almost as if he did not want to look his boyfriend in the eye.

Piki tried not to visibly shudder at the mention of the Anti-Jack, and instead concentrated on the rest of what Jack had said.   He lowered himself into the armchair across from the window seat… near enough to be supportive but not so near as to be intimidating.  He queried gently, “What kind of project, if I may ask?”

A few moments passed before Jack blurted out, words tumbling over one another too quickly for his stutter to catch up, “We-used-to-act-out-Nightmare-Before-Christmas-when-we-were-kids-and-I-wanted-to-do-it-as-a-skit-for-my-education-class…”

Piki nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, his own mind racing again towards thoughts of revenge against the one who’d let his darling down.  He snapped back to attention as he heard the desperation and, yes, actual anger in Jack’s voice, words coming out more slowly and softly, but still rushed.

“…but now he’s always hanging out with that p-professor and the project is due next week and I still have my Zero costume and I need someone to be the Pumpkin King - “

Realization dawned.  In one fluid sequence of motions, Piki bounded off his chair, knelt before the startled young man on the window seat and enfolded him in his bony arms.  He murmured soothingly, “Stop, Jack, hush, of course I’ll help you, of course I’ll be your Pumpkin King…”

Brunhilde lazily lifted her head at the interruption to her petting, and flopped resignedly back into sleep.

And that was how Piki found himself, five days later, dressed in a snazzy pinstriped black suit with a bow tie shaped like a bat, his head encased in a mask, in a brightly lit classroom in front of twenty-five small humans who were fascinated by his long spidery hands and the way he could throw his voice as he sang “Jack’s Lament” for them..

He did not want to even CONTEMPLATE what Proto would demand as recompense for helping with his costume, nor did he want to remember Proto’s silent smile when Piki was foolish enough to ask where the costume had come from at such short notice.

The sweet timid smiles that Jack-dressed-as-Zero kept shooting at him during the skit were reward enough.

[sylphmacabre]

Somnos Scherzo

Fandom: Nightmare Dork University, an AU of RISE OF THE GUARDIANS that has become its own subfandom

'Verse - Collegeverse

Characters: NDU Piki Black, NDU Jack Sickle, NDU Pitch Black

Pairings: StageFright [Piki/Jack]

Rating: General

Summary: The sleeping habits of Piki Black, hyperbolic playwright.

Notes: If you are wondering what the devil Nightmare Dork University is, and what it has to do with either the movie RISE OF THE GUARDIANS or the GUARDIANS books by William Joyce, please visit the NDU 101 page on Tumblr and its accompanying tags. It's a wild and woolly ride involving four different versions of Pitch Black and a very different version of Jack Frost, all of whom either room together or "fraternize" in a college / university AU. And let's not forget a taxidermied ferret named Mr. Pickles.

Originally posted on Archive Of Our Own on May 15, 2016.

A clinical observer would note that Piki Black succumbed to sleep in sections.

He did not snore, precisely, but his breathing had a sharp difference between inhale and exhale, a staccato rhythm on the upbeat of air leaving his nostrils which would then fold in upon itself as he more softly took air in.

He would most often lie on his left side while sleeping alone, his left hand tucked under one of his two pillows, his right arm wrapped around himself, his right hand grasping his left shoulder.  Occasionally the right hand could be seen to twitch, opening and closing spasmodically.

Once Piki’s breathing settled into a more even pattern and his arms relaxed, there would usually be some erratic scissoring of his legs, with the occasional backwards rabbit-kick, before he gave in to letting sleep take him entirely.

==================

Jack Sickle liked to sleep on his right side.  Piki had noticed that, the very first time the younger man had stayed over at the apartment of iniquity his brother shared with the brute and the horror.

His Jack, his dear, dear Jack, was worth any sacrifice.

So for years, both before and after Jack moved in with him, Piki ignored the constantly pinched nerve in his arm and the eternally pulled muscles in his neck that were a result of him sleeping curled around Jack, while both slept on their right sides.

His leg movements diminished until they barely happened at all, since Piki seldom now descended into utter relaxation.  How could he, when he had all of earth and heaven too in his embrace each night?

The dark shadows under Piki’s eyes deepened more and more during each year that he and Jack lived together, but he brushed aside Pitch’s concerns about sleep deprivation.

==================

Pitch stayed in Piki’s room on an airbed for a full two weeks following Piki’s breakdown, after Jack left.

Never the deepest sleeper himself, for the first ten nights he watched his tormented brother insist on sleeping on “Jack’s side” of the bed.. on what was, in his opinion, the wrong side.  Pitch observed Piki repeatedly try to mould his body to fill an imaginary hollow, contorted into a space that covered barely a tenth of the surface of the mattress, right on the edge and perilously close to falling on the floor.

On the eleventh night, Pitch awoke to hear Piki shifting restlessly.  Keeping his own counsel, he pretended to be asleep himself until the rustling ceased, and then ventured a look over to the bed.

Piki was lying flat on his back, in the center of the mattress.  Tears were leaking from beneath his closed eyelids, as they generally did every night, but tonight Piki’s breathing was deep and even; he was finally, finally sound asleep, and looked more peaceful than he’d been in ages.

Pitch felt his own eyes fill, briefly.

==================

New bed with a double bookcase headboard, new sheets, new pillows.  

A night-table for each of them, rather than both of them sharing Piki’s.

A new double reading-lamp light fixture for over the bed, with switches on each side within easy, independent reach.

Reading aloud to one another became their nightly ritual.

Some nights they slept back to back, Piki on his left side, Jack on his right.

Sometimes Jack curled around Piki, or let Piki pillow his head on his chest.  

Jack never minded the occasional kick in the shins, since he knew that it meant that Piki was actually on his way to a good night’s sleep.

[sylphmacabre]

Somnos Scherzo

Fandom: Nightmare Dork University, an AU of RISE OF THE GUARDIANS that has become its own subfandom

'Verse - Collegeverse

Characters: NDU Piki Black, NDU Jack Sickle, NDU Pitch Black

Pairings: StageFright [Piki/Jack]

Rating: General

Summary: The sleeping habits of Piki Black, hyperbolic playwright.

Notes: If you are wondering what the devil Nightmare Dork University is, and what it has to do with either the movie RISE OF THE GUARDIANS or the GUARDIANS books by William Joyce, please visit the NDU 101 page on Tumblr and its accompanying tags. It's a wild and woolly ride involving four different versions of Pitch Black and a very different version of Jack Frost, all of whom either room together or "fraternize" in a college / university AU. And let's not forget a taxidermied ferret named Mr. Pickles.

Originally posted on Archive Of Our Own on May 15, 2016.

A clinical observer would note that Piki Black succumbed to sleep in sections.

He did not snore, precisely, but his breathing had a sharp difference between inhale and exhale, a staccato rhythm on the upbeat of air leaving his nostrils which would then fold in upon itself as he more softly took air in.

He would most often lie on his left side while sleeping alone, his left hand tucked under one of his two pillows, his right arm wrapped around himself, his right hand grasping his left shoulder.  Occasionally the right hand could be seen to twitch, opening and closing spasmodically.

Once Piki’s breathing settled into a more even pattern and his arms relaxed, there would usually be some erratic scissoring of his legs, with the occasional backwards rabbit-kick, before he gave in to letting sleep take him entirely.

==================

Jack Sickle liked to sleep on his right side.  Piki had noticed that, the very first time the younger man had stayed over at the apartment of iniquity his brother shared with the brute and the horror.

His Jack, his dear, dear Jack, was worth any sacrifice.

So for years, both before and after Jack moved in with him, Piki ignored the constantly pinched nerve in his arm and the eternally pulled muscles in his neck that were a result of him sleeping curled around Jack, while both slept on their right sides.

His leg movements diminished until they barely happened at all, since Piki seldom now descended into utter relaxation.  How could he, when he had all of earth and heaven too in his embrace each night?

The dark shadows under Piki’s eyes deepened more and more during each year that he and Jack lived together, but he brushed aside Pitch’s concerns about sleep deprivation.

==================

Pitch stayed in Piki’s room on an airbed for a full two weeks following Piki’s breakdown, after Jack left.

Never the deepest sleeper himself, for the first ten nights he watched his tormented brother insist on sleeping on “Jack’s side” of the bed.. on what was, in his opinion, the wrong side.  Pitch observed Piki repeatedly try to mould his body to fill an imaginary hollow, contorted into a space that covered barely a tenth of the surface of the mattress, right on the edge and perilously close to falling on the floor.

On the eleventh night, Pitch awoke to hear Piki shifting restlessly.  Keeping his own counsel, he pretended to be asleep himself until the rustling ceased, and then ventured a look over to the bed.

Piki was lying flat on his back, in the center of the mattress.  Tears were leaking from beneath his closed eyelids, as they generally did every night, but tonight Piki’s breathing was deep and even; he was finally, finally sound asleep, and looked more peaceful than he’d been in ages.

Pitch felt his own eyes fill, briefly.

==================

New bed with a double bookcase headboard, new sheets, new pillows.  

A night-table for each of them, rather than both of them sharing Piki’s.

A new double reading-lamp light fixture for over the bed, with switches on each side within easy, independent reach.

Reading aloud to one another became their nightly ritual.

Some nights they slept back to back, Piki on his left side, Jack on his right.

Sometimes Jack curled around Piki, or let Piki pillow his head on his chest.  

Jack never minded the occasional kick in the shins, since he knew that it meant that Piki was actually on his way to a good night’s sleep.

[sylphmacabre]

Mullioned Pains

Fandom: Nightmare Dork University, an AU of RISE OF THE GUARDIANS that has become its own subfandom

'Verse - Collegeverse

Characters: NDU Pitch Black, NDU Piki Black, NDU Cossimo "Coz" Pitchiner, NDU Jack Sickle, NDU Proto

Pairings: Nightmare Galleon [Pitch/Coz], StageFright [Piki/Jack]

Rating: Teen

Summary: How friends, brothers, lovers, and... ummm, others... help drama student and theatre director Pitch Black cope with the frequent migraines he suffers during and after his time at Nightmare Dork University.

Notes: If you are wondering what the devil Nightmare Dork University is, and what it has to do with either the movie RISE OF THE GUARDIANS or the GUARDIANS books by William Joyce, please visit the NDU 101 page on Tumblr and its accompanying tags. It's a wild and woolly ride involving four different versions of Pitch Black and a very different version of Jack Frost, all of whom either room together or "fraternize" in a college / university AU. And let's not forget a taxidermied ferret named Mr. Pickles.

Originally posted on Archive Of Our Own on April 1, 2016.

Mullion: a slender vertical member that forms a division between units of a window, door, or screen or is used decoratively

=================================

PIKI - two years after graduating NDU

He couldn’t help but flinch when he heard the key in the lock of the front door of his flat, rather than the expected buzzer from the foyer below.  Piki’s momentary resentment of Pitch’s presumption disappeared when he saw his twin’s face.

A still face.  A composed face.  Not a flicker of animation, not a hint of pursed lips or clenched jaw.

But Pitch’s right hand kept opening and closing spasmodically.  Piki knew that sign.

It had been more than a decade since his brother had come to him for comfort for one of his headaches.  Without letting himself think about why Pitch was coming to him for comfort, Piki swung instantly and instinctively into the routine he and his brother had established in childhood.  He led Pitch to the couch, sat next to him. and guided Pitch’s head to his shoulder with his right hand while keeping his left arm loosely clasped around his twin’s waist.

He could feel Pitch’s breath hitching as he tried to cope with the pain.  “Ssssh, close your eyes,” Piki murmured, closed his own in sympathy, and began to hum the “Promenade” theme from Mussorgsky’s Pictures At An Exhibition.  

JACK - November of Pitch’s senior year at NDU

Was he overstepping his bounds?  Would he just be adding to Pitch’s headache?  Would Pitch appreciate the little trinket that was just like the one Jack’s sister had given him when she thought Jack was afraid of the dark?  

Since the beginning of the semester, Jack had quietly filed away in his memory everything he had observed about the older student who’d taken him on as a stagehand, even if Pitch had done it under protest.  He knew how Pitch liked his coffee.  He’d learned when Pitch was trying to rile Koz up in a lighthearted manner and when they were poised to do one another unmitigated damage.  He was unsurprised that Pitch genuinely feared his cousin Proto, his fear an equal measure to his disgust at their being related.

He did not understand what it was about Piki that made Pitch unleash real venom at his twin brother instead of the clever drawling sarcasm he used on everyone else.

After yet another screaming match backstage at the NDU theatre, where Piki stormed out slamming the stage door behind him and Pitch sank down on a rickety chair behind the curtain and put his face in his hands, Jack was prepared, despite his self-doubts.

When Pitch returned to the apartment he shared with Pitchiner and Proto, exhausted, hungry, and bleary-eyed after combatting his stress-induced migraine in private, he found a bright blue rabbit’s-foot keychain on his desk, along with a note in Jack’s neat handwriting.

It’s not magic, but it helps me to calm down.  I hope it will help you too.

Pitch rubbed the soft fur between his fingers and closed his eyes. 

PITCHINER - Sometime after their tenth wedding anniversary

He was not the most sentimental of men on the planet, but then again, neither was Pitch.

Coz had congratulated himself on finding what he thought was the perfect getaway spot for Pitch to finish his newest screenplay.  Spooky inspiration was all right in its way, at least for Pitch, and chopping wood for the massive fireplace in the cabin helped Coz flex muscles he hadn’t used since NDU and the Army, muscles he’d forgotten he had.

But now he wasn’t so sure that a wooded mountain retreat, far from the highway and civilization, was all that great an idea.  His husband was now huddled in a rocker near the kitchen stove, face screwed up in misery, in too much pain to snark or to make a sound beyond an occasional hiss.  A combination of unexpectedly cold temperatures for May and altitude sickness from the increased elevation had conspired to give Pitch one doozy of a physical headache and Coz one doozy of an emotional one.

To distract himself and Pitch from the worrisome thoughts of seizures and blood clots and strokes and aneurysms while being two hours away from the nearest hospital, Coz gave his husband a cheeky grin and blurted out, “Do you remember when I stuffed sweat socks into that old radiator back at our dorm to stop it from clanking?”

Pitch looked back at him blankly, his eyes ringed with darker shadows than normal.  The silence stretched for countless minutes and Coz mentally kicked himself   Then, surprisingly and gratifyingly, the corners of Pitch’s thin lips quirked upwards in subdued mirth.  “Ah, the stench of true love.”

PROTO - Two months after move-in at NDU

A four-afghan migraine.  Oh dear, this WAS serious.

Proto dispassionately viewed the sleeping form of his cousin stretched out on the couch under multiple blankets, face buried in cushions so that only his distinctive crest of black hair could be seen.

Oh dear, indeed.

This called for drastic measures.

One quick and completely justifiable break-in, one cupboard rummage-by-feel, and one gently-muted whisking later, Proto placed a mug of hot gingered wheatgrass-and-chard tea and a snifter of brandy on the coffee table within Pitch’s reach.  He tenderly positioned Mr. Pickles between his roommate’s drawn-up knees and the back of the couch so that the stuffed ferret’s winsome grin would be the first sight to cheer Pitch when he awoke.

Proto ghosted away to his own room with a self-satisfied smile.

[sylphmacabre]

Trivia Tuesday, 21 March 2023

Banner by AO3CommentOfTheDay and used with permission.

I just posted my 26th chapter of my Swatchton fanfic CALL SIGNS, and have just realized that out of the 76K words written so far, somewhere between one-sixth and one-third of those words are reference material that I've stuck in the author's notes.

That's a lot of trivia.

[sylphmacabre]

[image is a green banner with the words Fic Back Friday in a cursive font]

Fic Back Friday

Make a post recommending a fic you love from at least a year ago. Dust off the archives, dig through your AO3 history and share those old fics with newer fans who might not have seen them - and the fans who’ve been around forever and might want to revisit an old fave.

Reblog art, edits, and gifsets from seasons past. Dig out those old headcanon and meta posts and bring them back. What were the popular fan theories? What was everyone writing fic about 2 years ago? Five? Go comment on an old fanvid that got you right in the feels. Queue up that OTP playlist and break out the tissues.

[sylphmacabre]

Mullioned Pains

Fandom: Nightmare Dork University, an AU of RISE OF THE GUARDIANS that has become its own subfandom

'Verse - Collegeverse

Characters: NDU Pitch Black, NDU Piki Black, NDU Cossimo "Coz" Pitchiner, NDU Jack Sickle, NDU Proto

Pairings: Nightmare Galleon [Pitch/Coz], StageFright [Piki/Jack]

Rating: Teen

Summary: How friends, brothers, lovers, and... ummm, others... help drama student and theatre director Pitch Black cope with the frequent migraines he suffers during and after his time at Nightmare Dork University.

Notes: If you are wondering what the devil Nightmare Dork University is, and what it has to do with either the movie RISE OF THE GUARDIANS or the GUARDIANS books by William Joyce, please visit the NDU 101 page on Tumblr and its accompanying tags. It's a wild and woolly ride involving four different versions of Pitch Black and a very different version of Jack Frost, all of whom either room together or "fraternize" in a college / university AU. And let's not forget a taxidermied ferret named Mr. Pickles.

Originally posted on Archive Of Our Own on April 1, 2016.

Mullion: a slender vertical member that forms a division between units of a window, door, or screen or is used decoratively

=================================

PIKI - two years after graduating NDU

He couldn’t help but flinch when he heard the key in the lock of the front door of his flat, rather than the expected buzzer from the foyer below.  Piki’s momentary resentment of Pitch’s presumption disappeared when he saw his twin’s face.

A still face.  A composed face.  Not a flicker of animation, not a hint of pursed lips or clenched jaw.

But Pitch’s right hand kept opening and closing spasmodically.  Piki knew that sign.

It had been more than a decade since his brother had come to him for comfort for one of his headaches.  Without letting himself think about why Pitch was coming to him for comfort, Piki swung instantly and instinctively into the routine he and his brother had established in childhood.  He led Pitch to the couch, sat next to him. and guided Pitch’s head to his shoulder with his right hand while keeping his left arm loosely clasped around his twin’s waist.

He could feel Pitch’s breath hitching as he tried to cope with the pain.  “Ssssh, close your eyes,” Piki murmured, closed his own in sympathy, and began to hum the “Promenade” theme from Mussorgsky’s Pictures At An Exhibition.  

JACK - November of Pitch’s senior year at NDU

Was he overstepping his bounds?  Would he just be adding to Pitch’s headache?  Would Pitch appreciate the little trinket that was just like the one Jack’s sister had given him when she thought Jack was afraid of the dark?  

Since the beginning of the semester, Jack had quietly filed away in his memory everything he had observed about the older student who’d taken him on as a stagehand, even if Pitch had done it under protest.  He knew how Pitch liked his coffee.  He’d learned when Pitch was trying to rile Koz up in a lighthearted manner and when they were poised to do one another unmitigated damage.  He was unsurprised that Pitch genuinely feared his cousin Proto, his fear an equal measure to his disgust at their being related.

He did not understand what it was about Piki that made Pitch unleash real venom at his twin brother instead of the clever drawling sarcasm he used on everyone else.

After yet another screaming match backstage at the NDU theatre, where Piki stormed out slamming the stage door behind him and Pitch sank down on a rickety chair behind the curtain and put his face in his hands, Jack was prepared, despite his self-doubts.

When Pitch returned to the apartment he shared with Pitchiner and Proto, exhausted, hungry, and bleary-eyed after combatting his stress-induced migraine in private, he found a bright blue rabbit’s-foot keychain on his desk, along with a note in Jack’s neat handwriting.

It’s not magic, but it helps me to calm down.  I hope it will help you too.

Pitch rubbed the soft fur between his fingers and closed his eyes. 

PITCHINER - Sometime after their tenth wedding anniversary

He was not the most sentimental of men on the planet, but then again, neither was Pitch.

Coz had congratulated himself on finding what he thought was the perfect getaway spot for Pitch to finish his newest screenplay.  Spooky inspiration was all right in its way, at least for Pitch, and chopping wood for the massive fireplace in the cabin helped Coz flex muscles he hadn’t used since NDU and the Army, muscles he’d forgotten he had.

But now he wasn’t so sure that a wooded mountain retreat, far from the highway and civilization, was all that great an idea.  His husband was now huddled in a rocker near the kitchen stove, face screwed up in misery, in too much pain to snark or to make a sound beyond an occasional hiss.  A combination of unexpectedly cold temperatures for May and altitude sickness from the increased elevation had conspired to give Pitch one doozy of a physical headache and Coz one doozy of an emotional one.

To distract himself and Pitch from the worrisome thoughts of seizures and blood clots and strokes and aneurysms while being two hours away from the nearest hospital, Coz gave his husband a cheeky grin and blurted out, “Do you remember when I stuffed sweat socks into that old radiator back at our dorm to stop it from clanking?”

Pitch looked back at him blankly, his eyes ringed with darker shadows than normal.  The silence stretched for countless minutes and Coz mentally kicked himself   Then, surprisingly and gratifyingly, the corners of Pitch’s thin lips quirked upwards in subdued mirth.  “Ah, the stench of true love.”

PROTO - Two months after move-in at NDU

A four-afghan migraine.  Oh dear, this WAS serious.

Proto dispassionately viewed the sleeping form of his cousin stretched out on the couch under multiple blankets, face buried in cushions so that only his distinctive crest of black hair could be seen.

Oh dear, indeed.

This called for drastic measures.

One quick and completely justifiable break-in, one cupboard rummage-by-feel, and one gently-muted whisking later, Proto placed a mug of hot gingered wheatgrass-and-chard tea and a snifter of brandy on the coffee table within Pitch’s reach.  He tenderly positioned Mr. Pickles between his roommate’s drawn-up knees and the back of the couch so that the stuffed ferret’s winsome grin would be the first sight to cheer Pitch when he awoke.

Proto ghosted away to his own room with a self-satisfied smile.

[sylphmacabre]

[image is an orange banner with the words Thirsty Thursday in cursive font]

Thirsty Thursday

Creators: ask for prompts, post ask memes, reblog your own posts and link your other social media. Be as thirsty for attention as you want to be!

Fans: Post about the fics/art/gifsets you want the most. Make a post with an open prompt, available to any creators who are willing to take it on! Tell people what you want to see in your fandom, and be as self-indulgent as you want.

Feel free to repost this image!

[sylphmacabre]

Work In Progress Wednesday - 15 March 2023

Well, the people have spoken, as far as my poll results show, so please enjoy what I have so far for the opening of Chapter 22 of A CITIZEN OF THE UNIVERSE AND A GENTLEMAN TO BOOT.

Jack flew back from the Pole, worries and thoughts buzzing in his head. The Bennett house was quiet and dark, so he let himself in via the window of the bedroom that Emily had given him years ago, rather than through the back door through the kitchen. He didn’t want to risk Abby barking and waking the whole household up.

He lay down on top of the comforter on his bed, looking at the spiraling fractals he’d painted on the wall when he’d first moved in.  Their patterns soothed his mind in ways that none of the Guardians, other than Sandy, would not have understood.

His busy brain kept circling around the notion of counterpoints.  Personality-wise, Sandy seemed to be Jack’s opposite. Slow, self-assured, and thoughtful, as compared to Jack’s never-ending energy and anxious restlessness.

Pitch Black, on the other hand… Pitch had at least a veneer of self-assurance, with that same restlessness that plagued Jack not terribly far under the surface. At least that’s what Pitch had been demonstrating these last few days / weeks.

Jack sighed heavily. No point in delaying the inevitable. Even if the humans were asleep, chances were that a certain spirit currently housed in the attic of the Bennett house was wide awake.

And, if not actively plotting the takeover of the world, at least was probably antsy to go back to spooking people.  Or something. Recalling that the only time he’d seen Pitch even nominally relaxed was when he was petting his chief Nightmare at the Tooth Palace where they'd first met, Jack thought to himself, He needs an evil cat to stroke.

He found himself walking up the stairs rather than flying, but his staff was still in his hand. He used the crook to gently tap on Pitch’s closed door.

“Come in, Frost,” was the reply, delivered in a flat tone. Jack turned the doorknob and entered the room, feeling awkward.  How did Pitch DO THAT… put Jack at a disadvantage with three words, even when Pitch was ill and weakened? Was that what millennia of solitude do to spirits… give them time to settle into cynicism?

Pitch sat on the couch-bed, a paperback book open facedown on his lap. He waved a hand towards the desk, anticipating Jack’s need to perch somewhere. Jack took the perch, but held his staff across his body, as if expecting Pitch to snap it and break it again.

[sylphmacabre]

[image: a purple banner with the words Work in Progress Wednesday in a cursive font]

Work in Progress Wednesday

Creators: work on or post something from your WIP. This is your weekly reminder to get something down on paper (real or virtual). It’s also a chance to share your progress with your followers and give them a sneak peek of what’s to come!

Fans: leave a comment on an unfinished fic and let the writer know how much you love it. Reblog an artist’s sketch and let them know you can’t wait to see the final product. Send someone an ask cheering them on!

Feel free to repost this image!

[sylphmacabre]

Motivation Monday 13 March 2023

For this week, giving credit where credit is due... the writers of the first fanfics I ever read. Tumblr and AO3 handles where applicable.

First and foremost, the fact that I started READING fanfiction in the first place [as opposed to writing it, which is another story to be told another time] can be laid directly at the feet of Snacky back in the LiveJournal days.

For my main fandoms, here are my "first reads" as I recall them:

BLAKES 7 - "Vila Restal's Emails" by Vilakins, first on Hermit.org, then on Breaking Orbit

DOCTOR WHO - for Classic Who, too long ago to remember, but it was on Geocities. For NuWho, it was "The Politesse of Love and Flight" by Kaffyrutsky

RISE OF THE GUARDIANS - my first Pitch-centric fic read was "Shadowplay" by @windlion; my first Blackice fic read was "Child Of The Moon" by Keinna; my first Blacksand read was "Not Quite A Total Eclipse Of The Heart" by @lithefider

NIGHTMARE DORK UNIVERSITY - my first fic read was "When Fairy-tales End" by @emeraldembers

OVER THE GARDEN WALL - my first fic was Blutrunst by @incurablenecromantic

GOOD OMENS - my first Ineffable Spouses fic was "Because I missed you (and I like it when you bite)" by megzseattle

THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES - the first fic I read there was "Patchwork" by @mira-eyeteeth

DELTARUNE - the first fic I ever read was a gen-rated platonic Spamton X reader fic that I somehow forgot to bookmark, but it was sweet and adorable. The first Swatchton fic I read was "Two Toned Glasses" by TheEarlOfTophats.

[sylphmacabre]

[image: a yellow banner with the words Trivia Tuesday in a cursive font]

Trivia Tuesday

Creators: give a “behind the scenes” look at one of your works. This could be things that got removed or changed, the origins of ideas/details, whatever you like!

Fans: share bits of trivia from canon and challenge others to create something based on that trivia - fic, art, or something else! I once made a crossword puzzle :)

Feel free to repost this header!

[sylphmacabre]

[image: a red banner with the words Motivation Monday in cursive script]

Motivation Monday 

Fans: tag your favourite fandom creators and let them know what an awesome job they’re doing. Add a comment to an unfinished fic. Reblog fanworks with enthusiastic tags. Send them an ask to let them know what an awesome job they’re doing.

Creators: tag your favourite fandom participants and let them know how they motivate you to do what you do. Send them asks of appreciation or dedicate some of your work to them.

Feel free to repost this header!