#That’s why everybody else is getting radio silence

[gigi-smyth]

I don’t hurt John, he gets that I’m joking with him!

Who the hell is Icarus

{ @gigi-smyth }

Hello!!!

[sparxemberflame]

God damn it.

No matter how much I try not to I'm still here. Over three years and I'm still here.

Waiting. Whispering desperately to myself the truths and apologies and forgiveness and thank yous that I cannot give to you since you closed the door.

All the closure I've wanted for over three years now is to tell you I'm sorry, ask to be allowed to show the effort and change I've done, tell you you are forgiven for everything and thank you So Much for the honor it was to be your friend and partner.

That and to give you any and all closure you want as well. If I could just do that it'd finally be out of my goddamn head. Instead I keep repeating. Like a mantra, like a prayer. Hoping against hope I'll one day get to say it. And get to say it right.

I hope you don't have any thoughts like this. I wish all the best for you and hope that moving on has been easy. Somehow, despite it all. But fuck dude do I miss you. And boy do I wanna learn and meet who you've become.

But you don't even want to speak to me. That's alright. If all I can do for you is stay away. If all I can do is wait without expectation that the waiting will ever be rewarded. Then I'll do that. I can do that much at least.

[himegureisu]

calls

Summary: At the beginning of your relationship, both of you promised to call the other whenever you had time to spare.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

------------------——— 🔎--------------------------

“Did you catch them?”

Your voice was a balm for his weary soul. His team was away for a case though it has been three long grueling days it seemed longer. They’d been on a roll for their unsubs profile and were on their way back to the airport after a successful and fairly uneventful arrest.

“Yeah, we did,” he sighed, sinking into the plush seat of the jet, and observed the team on the ground, “Are you home?”

“No, not yet, will you make it home for dinner?” you asked, from your office packing the files you’d bring home, “Are you hurt? Do I need to get bandages?”

“No, you don’t need to. Just bruised,” his exhaustion evident by the tone of his voice, “Make it a late dinner?”

“Okay, that’ll give me time to finish work. Do you want anything in particular?” you closed up your office, as silence prevailed on the other line, “Hotch?”

“I miss you,” he whispered.

“I know. I miss you too,” your heart ached with longing, as you glanced at the gradient colors of sundown, “But look on the bright side you’re on your way home. Just a couple more hours until then.”

“I’m counting the minutes,”

“Okay, fly safe. I love you,”

“I love you too,”

At the tail end of the call, the BAU boarded the plane and a couple of curious looks went his way but he ignored them. None dared to ask a question.

------------------——— 🔎--------------------------

“Can I take you out for lunch?”

His sudden invitation was a pleasant surprise given that they rarely could get out of the office, so every time an opportunity came up, he takes it and leaves. That’s why he hoped you were free and could answer before another person knocked on his door.

“Yes, of course, you can take me out for lunch,” you laughed, placed the documents aside for later, and signaled your assistant, “What time can I expect you?”

“In fifteen,” in a rush, he walked out and silently hoped no one would intercept him on the way. On his phone, he doesn’t notice the team stares from the bullpen as he enters the elevator. “I’m on my way,”

“Okay, I can hear your breathing, don't rush and drive safe,” you answered, knowing smiles blooming on both your lips, as he arrived at the parking, “I love you,”

“I love you too. I’ll see you soon,”

------------------——— 🔎--------------------------

“Did I wake you?”

His deep tenor echoed from the speakers and immediately your anger, from your disrupted slumber, was abated. On the soft mattress of your bed, you rolled over and clutched his pillow closer as you put the phone on speaker.

“Yes, you did but it’s okay,” you murmured, the scent of his shirt on you comforting but not enough, “If it were anyone else, I’d hung up by now,”

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he breathed out,

From across the country, Hotch looked around to see his team canvassing information from witnesses. He knew he needed to be there but he also needed this breather.

“I also love hearing from you,” you admitted, staring at a photo of you two on the nightstand. His smile wide and dimples out for everybody to see as you held a giant stuffed bear in victory, “Even if it’s gory details of the cases and unsubs you arrest,”

“Were you dreaming of me?”

“Was on my way there,” you answered, the smiles forming on both your lips. “This is so much better but you need me to talk so what do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything. Everything,” he pressed on something for you to be transferred to his earpiece, and went back to his team, “Just talk, please?”

“Okay, so today I was called for an alleged case of corporate espionage…”

------------------——— 🔎--------------------------

There was something wrong.

At the beginning of your relationship, you and Hotch made an agreement about constant communication whenever you could. That’s why you often called, and he’d answer but you’d gone radio silent.

His calls were being directed to your voicemail and as far as he knew, you weren’t on for jury duty until a few more weeks and there were no special events other than settling a case in court for the day.

This is Y/N L/N. I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone but please leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

“I’m worried, baby,” he whispered, as he ran his hand through his hair, from the corner of his eye he could see JJ stand up and walk to his office, “I love you, please call me back soon,”

His phone buzzed on the table as JJ entered and announced a new case but the text he received from you has him up and shaved off ten years of his life.

Code Silver. Supreme Court VA is on lockdown. Check the news. I’m fine, I promise but stop calling or you’ll give us away. I love you. I’ll contact you when it’s clear.

Oh no, this was where he drew the line between work and personal life. He couldn’t solve any murder knowing that you were on lockdown at the courthouse just an hour away.

“You can fend for yourselves without me,” he answered, rushing out of the office, “I’m sorry, JJ, I need to go it’s an emergency,”

“Hotch?” JJ called, as he rushed out of the office, “Hotch!”

calls pt.2 >

[luveline]

grumpy!joel and sunshine!reader? like he is very gruff and short with people until his girl comes around and tess is like wow are you soft now?

tysm for ur request! disclaimer: I am not an expert in tlou I just think Joel is very fit and also scary ♥︎ tess and joel are roommates here (and also no hate on tess at all I tried to make her a realist rather than a pessimist but she may sound a little jaded) idk lol pls enjoy! fem!reader 

Joel's asleep when you come around. Tess is stirring her drink, small spoon bouncing against the sides of her mug with a metallic tap-tap-tap as your familiar knock raps the door. She doesn't bother yelling, just opens the door to let you in. 

"Hello," you say, though you wince when you spot Joel dozing on the couch. You drop your voice to a whisper. "Nice shiner, Tess." 

"Thanks." She steps aside to give you free reign, rolling her eyes when you toe off your shoes. 

You're not right in the head, in Tess' opinion. You're too soft for this life, and your continued survival feels like luck and nothing more. You know how she feels about you, and you know what she thinks: that to be vulnerable is to kill yourself. You don't feel the same. 

Joel's flat on his back. You push him against the cushions of the couch to make room, perching at his hip with a small sigh. He couldn't have been with Tess when she got hurt, his face clean of contusions. No speckled bruising, no scabbing cuts. 

You place your hand over the solid plane of his stomach and lean forward just a touch. You could kiss him. 

"Joel," you murmur, hand sliding to his waist. His jeans are rough under your palm. "Wake up. I have good news." 

He never wakes gently. His eyes scrunch, his lips tug down into a scowl. When he sees you, it takes a good long second for his agitation to fade into a more neutral expression. 

"Hey," you say, smiling. 

He doesn't smile back. "Where have you been?" he asks succinctly, voice rough with the lingering dregs of sleep. 

"Why should I tell you?"

He almost pushes you off of the couch as he sits up and swings his legs to the side. His shoes touch the floor, and of course he sleeps with his shoes on, he's ready for everything.

"Don't play games." 

You hum in delight at his dark tone and stand up before he can grab you, shivering at the feeling of his fingertips scratching your thighs. You backtrack through the room for your bag thrown haphazardly by the door. You pick it up, excited and scared at once, and scrabble to procure your promised 'good news'. 

"I wasn't far." 

"Your definition of far isn't one I trust," he says. 

"She's a big girl, Joel," Tess says, sipping her drink. She winces at the taste but isn't deterred. "She can take care of herself." 

And if you can't, who cares? You shouldn't be anybody else's problem, and to your credit you aren't. You take care of yourself. You take care of Joel, too, whenever you can, which is why you've brought him the book you found. 

"Here, handsome," you say, holding it out with little ceremony. 

Joel stands up to take it. He stares at the cover in silence. 

"It's a shame they can't include a snippet on every page," you lament. "Like when they used to put perfume samples straight on the paper. I don't know what half of those songs sound like. Which is weird, right? The biggest Billboard hits and I can't remember them." 

"And this is for…" 

"Your codes. Your radio codes?" Your beaming smile starts to shutter. Maybe it isn't useful after all.

Joel knows better than to ask what you want for it. You never ask for anything, ever. You give and you give and at first he'd thought you were stupid, just plain dumb. Generosity is a myth and everybody has their motives. He'd been suspicious of your angle, rejecting you, talking down on you, practically spitting at you to get lost. And you'd listened, for the most part, but then he'd see you in line after shifts for cards, around dark corners talking to dirty FEDRA officers, and you'd always impossibly feel his gaze and pin him with a smile. You've eroded his reluctance over time, and now you're here, sprightly and pretty in his too-big apartment filling every inch with light. 

He reaches across the gap and takes your hand. He squeezes, savouring the warmth of your smaller hand. You have delicate fingers compared to his, and they look smaller still enveloped in his grasp. 

"I'll make you something to eat," he says. 

You nod once, a pop of movement. "Thank you." 

You're not the one who should be saying it but you're the only one who's willing to. Thank you has become synonymous with I owe you. 

Tess lets her gaze flick between your two bodies, clearly startled. Joel drops your hand and it's too late, far too late, she's already gearing up to make fun. 

"Is this how it's gonna be now?" she asks. 

Joel huffs quietly. Tess talks with a brittle kind of love, the familiarity of knowing someone for a long time softening what would otherwise be ridicule. She thinks, without malice, that you and Joel are a bad idea.  

"Hasn't it been like this for a while?" you ask, turning to face her, your usual sunshine attitude worsened by Joel's affection. 

"You're fucking up my guy." 

"Don't get stiffed so often and you won't need a bodyguard," you say lightly. 

Joel snorts, tossing your catalogue of songs on the counter. He doesn't know if they have anything worth eating here, but he's gonna damn well try and find something. 

"You're soft," Tess says to Joel, quick and quipping as she dumps what's left of her drink into the sink. "I'm going out." 

Not much changes when she goes. You come to stand beside him at the counter, your elbow brushing his arm. He doesn't move away. 

Joel doesn't understand why you stick around. Doesn't know what it is that makes you so sweet on him. The first time you met, outside the old meat market on the edge of curfew, he'd been standing watch as Tess made a deal. You'd slunk up on him from the right, and said, "You look unhappy," with your usual softness. 

He'd turned to you in wonder. Wonder in the very worst sense of the word; what could possibly possess you to approach him? Agitation struck like the powdery head of a match against its box, fuck off on the tip of his tongue, and you'd said, "You ever hear that Bill Withers song? 'Ain't no sunshine without rain?'" 

He'd thought you were a wannabe member of the resistance, and that fuck off had rolled right out of his mouth with ease. Your smile hardly wavered. 

"It's 'when she's gone,'" he says now.

You look up at him, he looks down at you. His thick brows relax, and his brown eyes calm. It suits him, and you'd tell him, but you're confused. 

"Huh?" 

"That Bill Withers song. It's 'ain't no sunshine when she's gone,'" he corrects you, the you from the past. He's trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. 

"Oh," you say. Your eyelashes kiss in the corners as you smile. "Right. What am I thinking of?" 

"How should I know?" He doesn't sound mad, smiling at you very briefly.

"I don't know, I thought you knew everything." 

That's not true. He can't know everything, because he doesn't have a clue in the world what he did to deserve meeting you. 

—

please forgive any inaccuracies, I only played the game a little when I was much younger, and so this was made of my watching the first episode twice and some help from people / the wiki!! it's just for fun lol so I hope you enjoyed <3<3<3

[skipper1331]

Silent Treatment // Ona Batlle

a/n: based off this request. Hope you enjoy it :D

You were talking to Ana-Maria, one of your closest friends at Barcelona as Ona showed up. She had a wrinkle between her brows, a sign that she‘s mad or concentrated but If she was concentrated her tongue would stick out too which wasn‘t the case. The spaniard went immediately to Aitana, not sparing you a glance. You frowned yet not giving it too much thought. Maybe she didn‘t see you.

Spoiler: she did see you and ignored you, who would‘ve thought.

Practice wasn't too exhausting, it was mostly in the gym due the intense sessions you had the last few days.

As you finished your exercise you saw your girlfriend standing next to the medicine ball about to do her next exercise. Quickly, you walked over to her, "hey, do you wanna grab some food later? There is this new little restaurant" you asked. The spaniard didn‘t answer, just walking past you as she brushed you off. Helplessly, you looked around, Ana reacting with a shrug. Your palms started to get sweaty as your breathing got faster. You hated it when people ignored you, especially If it was your girlfriend, she had never done it before.

Being ignored had always stressed you out. It started early in your childhood. If you did something wrong, your parents would punish you by ignoring you for days if not weeks. They weren't the nicest parents but made sure there was food on the table and that you had everything you needed. Their punishment was for sure questionable, you still suffered from it.

You hated silence, it made you feel ignored - punished. When you had your own apartment, the radio played 24/7. Music was constantly playing in the car and when you were somewhere else where you didn't know if it was going to be quiet, you always had two pairs of headphones with you, in case one pair wouldn’t work. But sounds like birds chirping, leaves rustling in the wind or other people’s conversation calmed you down. You loved these kind of noises.

Silence was your biggest enemy.

Again, Ona was talking to Aitana as they did the drill together. Ona was upset about something, gesticulating out of rage while Aitana tried to calm her down - with no success. You were standing lost in the middle of the gym as your teammates looked confused at you, your eyes drained on your girlfriend, her friend sending you a mean glare. Your thumb started to count your fingers, a habit of yours. You‘re getting anxious.

Thumb to index finger.

Thumb to middle finger.

Thumb to ring finger.

Thumb to pinkie.

And the other way around.

The next time you saw the brunette alone was in the changing room, your teammates were still outside while Ona went to grab something. You followed her.

"Ona?"

She was startled, her hand resting above her heart as she breathed loudly, "Is everything alright?" Without even acknowledging you, she walked right past you. Again. Grumbling angrily under her breath she marched out of the locker room, leaving you alone. In silence.

Your mind was spinning, what did you do wrong? Why was she ignoring you? Was she about to break up with you?

Thumb to index finger.

Thumb to middle finger.

Thumb to ring finger.

Thumb to pinkie.

Not liking the silence you left, your studs making noises on the tiles.

"Did she say something?" the swiss international asked as you joined the group again. You shook your head as reply. "It‘s gonna be fine" pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, she hugged you. What you didn't know was that Ona was watching you closely, feeling jealous but not jealous of Ana. She knew she’s like a big sister to you.

When training was called to an end, everybody made their way to the changing room and showers. "Do I see you at home?" you tried one last time, not much hope left that she would answer. As she looked away you had your answer, you grabbed your bag, said a loud goodbye to the girls and left.

Why wasn‘t she talking to you?

The whole way home you thought about what you could have done wrong, the music only playing very quietly in the background, almost inaudible.

As you arrived at home, you dropped your bag on the floor, not caring If it was in the way. You sat down at the kitchen table but didn‘t turn on the radio like you normally would when Ona wasn‘t there. You sat there in silence, accepting your punishment.

Ona was mad at you - you must get punished.

Your brain was working overtime, your mind was spinning, your anxiety got worse and your heart felt pain.

Thumb to index finger.

Thumb to middle finger.

Thumb to ring finger.

Thumb to pinkie.

Two hours later, Ona finally came home. She had expected to hear music, instead there was silence. A strange feeling came over her. Are you not at home?

You heard the keys in the lock but didn't turn around. Ona would ignore you anyway. When she entered your home the silence was loud, too loud. Your girlfriend stared at your back, slowly taking off her shoes. You heard her walking further into the room, the silence gone. For once you didn't know if that was a good sign.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

Silence.

She stopped in her tracks. "¿Qué?", it was the first time you heard her voice this day, it was as beautiful as always.

You couldn't take it anymore, you started crying. Your body shook violently, her heart aching seeing you like this. "Mi amor," with a few quick steps she was beside you, her hands pulling yours out of your face "no, no, no" she said as she placed herself on your lap. "But-"

"I‘m an idiot"

"You ignored me the whole day, why?" you looked so sad, the spaniard wanted to slap herself. Why didn‘t she talk to you? "I don‘t like being ignored"

The defender wanted to slap herself twice as hard. She knew about your childhood but she was too caught up in her anger that she forgot how ignoring you made you feel. "lo siento, mi amor, i was just so angry"

"At me?"

"Sí, lo siento" your crying had stopped but why was she angry at you? Your hands were resting on your stomach, not knowing if you should touch her or if you wanted to touch her. "Why?"

She sighed, leaning her forehead against yours, "Last night, you didn‘t give me a good night kiss and this morning I had to wake up alone. I feel like ever since i’m back I just live in your home. That you liked our long distance relationship more" she admitted.

Ona and you‘ve been a couple since two and a half years. You met at United, her first season while it was your last.

Since you were little you wanted to play for Barcelona and as they approached you, you couldn’t reject them. Your transfer to Barca was settled. However, that wasn't a reason for you to break up, her plan was to return home anyways at some point - which she now did.

It felt surreal to you. She was back here, in your arms, "I‘m sorry. This is all so new to me. We live together, I've never lived with anyone before and I need to get used to the fact that you're really here. Sometimes i‘m afraid when I wake up that you‘re not here. That you’re back in Manchester. I‘m sorry for making you feel like I don‘t want you here. Because I do, I really do."

Her hands caressed your cheeks, your hands finding their way around her torso, wanting to feel her touch. You looked in her eyes, then to her lips and back to her eyes. You wanted to kiss her. "I‘m not going anywhere." she declared as you leaned forward, connecting your lips for the first time since yesterday.

The kiss was soft and gentle, unspoken words spoken. "Te amo" the spaniard whispered as her lips ghosted over yours, about to re-connect them.

"I love you too"

That night, Ona promised herself that she would never ignore you again, she loved you too much to see you cry.

—————————

[hazbinhazmeinachokehold]

The hotel gang + overlord!reader part 2

Part one here

!Not beta read!

While it may just be the stress talking, the bed was surprisingly comfortable, for a hotel at least. Today was a lot. Even if this hotel seemed to be a net positive it was still a lot. So the comfortable bed made it seem like you already made it to heaven. As you sank into the bed you drifted off to sleep.

You awoke to a few loud and powerful knocks on your door. "Hello? If you're awake we are going to do some trust exercises!" Charlie called out. You unintentionally groaned as you got up.

"Give me a minute!" You replied.

"Okay." Charlie said as she left. When you got up you looked at yourself in the mirror. You weren't a mess by any means but you've definitely looked better. You freshen yourself up slightly before going downstairs.

The Hotel residents and staff were all in a circle. You sat down in one of the gaps in the circle. Charlie cleared her throat.

"Okay everybody let's go around in a circle and say our names first! I'm Charlie." She paused, "As you all know." Everyone else proceeded to say their name, which you already knew everyone's name. Excluding the short one-eyed girl, Niffty, and the girl with an x over one of her eyes, Vaggie. Then your turn came.

"Uh- Hi! My name is y/n" You cringed at the nervousness in your voice.

"Now I want everyone to tell a fact about themself. It doesn't have to be anything huge, just something to get to know each other." Charlie said, "I love musicals!" Yeah, that was pretty easy to guess.

Angel was next up. "I love sitting on big, HUGE-"

"Angel I fucking swear." Husk cut him off.

"Comfortable chairs! What were you thinking?" Angel had a smug smile plastered on his face. "Also cocks as well." He added. Husk and Vaggie groaned.

Niffty went next, but Charlie spoke before her, "Please try not to scare away our newest member." She pleaded. Niffty pouted but compiled anyway.

"I love writing fanfiction! Escapily with bad boys." Her tone turned slightly seductive at the end. You elected to ignore that.

There was a silence as everyone waited for Vaggie. Charlie stretched her palm out to tell her to talk. "Oh- yeah right sorry." She shook her head slightly, "I like to dance."

"Really!? How come I never knew that?" Charlie asked.

"It never came up." Vaggie smiled faintly

"I'm the bartender," Husk grumbled. Vaggie elbowed him. "What? I told a fact about myself."

Alastor let out an "ahem" noise. The focus shifted to him. "While this is a fact in general, I believe that radio is the utmost form of medium." As baseline as this was for a guy such as Alastor, you also kind of expected it. Alastor would not let anything deeper about himself slip. So why not go for the most well-known part of yourself. "Now, y/n, darling I do believe it is your turn."

Oh shit right. You've just met these people so don't go with anything personal. Also, make sure it doesn't make anyone uncomfortable. “I really don’t like being an overlord.” Your mouth moved before you could comprehend what you were saying. Well fuck. If this was a TV show you’d clearly be the comic relief, at least right now. Everyone but Alastor and Niffty had some form of uncomfortable plastered on their face. Alastor however had a curious yet sinister smile on his face. Niffty wasn’t really paying attention to you, she was chasing some random cockroach. 

You wanted to go back on that statement but something was saving you from embarrassing yourself further. Do demons have guardian angels? If so, yours was working overtime right now. But they also weren’t getting much work done.

Your real savior was whoever blew the fucking wall up. Everyone's head was quickly aimed at the now missing wall. While Husk just accepted it everyone else, including yourself, to find the source. Like you were in some sort of horror movie character getting ready to be stabbed. But you instead met with a huge mechanical blimp that had an impractical amount of guns.

“There you are!” The person in the blimp called out. It was very hard to hear but it was just loud enough. “Alastor, are you ready to be beat-”

“Who is this?’ 

“Who- Who am I!?” The voice was very clearly offended at Alastor's lack of knowledge. You just drowned the rest out. Alastor was cruel and frankly heartless. But he also did not like wasting time. So even while this poor sinner's fate was sealed, thankfully it wouldn’t be as drawn out as his past victims. You turned around to hopefully save any shred of innocence you were able to save. As you entered through the wall you could hear both Alastor and his victim speak.

“Thank you for another forgetful experience!” Alastor said. You didn’t necessarily

want to look but you did so anyway. Kind of like watching a car crash.

“Thank you…” the snake struggled to get out, “ For letting your guard down!” He ripped part of Alastors coat off. Well, that's not good, for anyone really. Alastor’s coat got torn and this sinner is about to die again. Or at the very least get seriously injured. You’re honestly surprised he lasted this long. He was notably weaker than The Radio Demon’s usual opponents. 

He, quite appropriately, said “Oh shit-” Before an explosion (you can only guess caused by Alastor) caused him to fly away. Welp, he’s gone forever now. The hotel seemed nice for the most part. It honestly still does. You just wish you weren’t staying in the same house as The Radio Demon. But now that you think about it, almost everyone here seems to have something severely wrong with them. And that includes you too. So at least you fit in.

[lukolabrainrot]

its me again. I really loved the last ask. It made me think a little deeper, so thank you. I firmly believe the reason why Nicola made those post is for the fans. Even though we've invaded her privacy and her personal life, she still loves her fans. And to be honest with you, it kind of calmed everybody down on the hatred that Luke was getting. She wanted us to know that they working through things . That working on things though is going to take some time and that's why we've gotten radio silence again from her because not only is she working but she's also dealing with a lot of stuff I'm sure BTS. But you made a phenomenal point if this was for Luke, they could've done it on their private Instagram. This is for the fans to let us know that things are OK between them, but we don't need to know anything else. I also agreed that eventually will see them come out as a couple. I don't think it'll be for a while. And I don't think we'll see the ins and outs of their relationship nor should we. But the message was definitely for us fans. It was because the fans were getting out of control, and this was Nicolas's way of reining it back. Because you're right, she doesn't know her fans. She said of Luke here you go fans. Because if it was just for Luke, she did just send it to him in a text message that was for fans to over analyze

Anon, you're the best! We need to come up with a nickname for you here lol You can lmk in your next ask if you have any ideas/suggestions 😂

I will say though, I personally think that there will be some public acknowledgement of their relationship sooner than later because of the paparazzi frenzy around them. I THINK N would rather they announce it themselves than the terrible paps.

However, I could also see them just announcing it if they get married or something big like that. So it's kind of just a game of wait and see atp.

[forfluxsake]

a personal slash solitary blog where i publish my doodles, have hobbies, and do anything typical of the average person

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before i write anything else, i’m promoting my utmv (undertale multiverse) server. JOIN PARTYCHROMA TODAY! FOREVER LINK: https://discord.gg/sATaZ8WZDh

if you aren’t sensitive to bold text, fonts, weird symbols, and eyestrainy gradient rainbow themes, join partychroma. it’s a neverending party for people who’re into undertale or deltarune aus and the like. it’s quiet for the time being, which is why i’m hoping people find this post

we are welcoming of anybody who’s willing to have a good time. the server provides funny roleplay channels, a place to showcase your creations, roles, incredible people, and more. i put effort into it and stuff so that’s great

…a better, less half-hearted advertisement can be found on disboard. hope to see you there!

about me

if you’re wondering who i am, hi

i’m flux.

i am a male and i use he/him/she/her pronouns. that’s all you need to know to respect my existence. if you have any questions direct them to the asks feature i just enabled

what do i like doing? doodling, writing, listening to some funky tunes; learning… i’m not picky about creative activities, but i do tend to procrastinate. my hyperfixations are seasonal and i suffer from being unable to let go of past phases. the list of my interests is infinite. if you care, i enjoy a variety of indie rpgs, object shows, args slash creepypastas, webcomics, and television shows.

cartoon series pique my interest the most.

boundaries

(be my friend)

i’m a minor. this much information is self explanatory as to how you should approach me. obviously don’t interact with me if you are a nsfw age-restricted page, but also don’t attempt to send me weird asks

i don’t talk about politics.

i think being friends with me requires a lot of patience. sure, you may friend me on my discord, o5fo, but understand that i’m terrible at one on one conversation. if you don’t get straight to the point, i will most likely not respond.

preferably keep contact with me through our shared communities or mutual servers and not direct messages.

if i’ve crossed a line, i encourage people to express their discomfort. nothing is gained from radio silence. (it’s not like i’m not anxious as well LOL don’t be shy to contact me [on dis] if it’s important)

what to expect

this blog is sfw, though it’s prone to having violent and dangerous content, mostly because i’ve drawn a fair amount of works with blood or upsetting themes. be wary of who you follow, always, and take steps to protect yourself online. take advantage of the filter tool to block tags that trigger you.

i will occasionally open art requests. but i won’t do too many at a time.

i might touch on some uncomfortable topics while i’m maintaining this nostalgia-seeking blog, especially about past controversies in the communities i was in since i was a child. and depending on the post, i will treat the flaws in said communities seriously or jokingly. please do not take it the wrong way if i redraw those memories.

assume everything i say is light-hearted for the sake of everybody; spare yourself the trouble of thinking i’m trying to invalidate people’s experiences. i never want to come off that way

fanart. expect a handful of art in general. uncolored/whiteboard doodles are abundant. i have ocs- but i’m anything but organized.

that’s a wrap

i wasn’t prepared to end this post

[where-is-your-boy-t0night]

very rough and incomplete bullet points from aizas perspective of the story

feliks and aiza were childhood friends, they even survived the transition to secondary school!

however since beginning secondary school, aiza found just about any and every reason to dislike herself. shes insecure, like most young girls of her age, and being shoved into the 'cool' crowd didnt help. everyone is so judgy these days, right? at least she still has feliks.

aiza makes some really good friends. shes got an established close friend group now, actually, which is awesome. her main girls are noa, sabrina, evie and samara. nice.

aiza compares herself to everybody. literally everybody. she overthinks a lot and she perceives herself to be lagging behind, or something like that. she makes many an attempt to ensure that nobody else can think the same.

once she and feliks were about 14 they were closer than ever. romantic, even, which was new. aiza was extremely nervous to mess this up, but she was so excited to have a boyfriend, and especially for that boyfriend to be someone she already knows is great. their relationship is perfect, for a time.

feliks is being weird with her... for some reason. aiza tries not to overthink it, for once. its not like hes avoiding her. noa tells her that hes probably just also nervous because, after all, this whole intimacy thing might be new for him too. aiza doubts that it is, but at the same time maybe her bff has a point.

out of the blue, she spent almost the whole october week break no contact with feliks. at first, its whatever. hes probably just busy with homework or something. this was, however, an unlikely scenario. feliks hates homework. aiza becomes worried for him and catches up with him at school once they return. why isnt he explaining himself..?

"i cant go out with you anymore." or something along those lines. oh god. aizas whole world crumbled in front of her eyes right then. why? what changed? what did she do to deserve radio silence? not a single clue, but it must have been her fault. oh god.

aiza felt like every insecurity she had before had been magnified by about 500 times. what if all of her other friends secretly couldnt stand her and wanted her to leave them alone? what if noa thought she was boring and bland, unfunny and embarrassing? she must want a different best friend. she should pick sabrina or evie, they were so much more interesting and way cooler than aiza. she felt sick.

she tried to put on a brave face. if her friends asked her where feliks had went (she had no idea herself) she would tell them that he was just being a huge jerk and she didnt want anything to do with him anymore. she wished that were true.

noa would come to hear almost everything aiza had to say about feliks. 'almost' meaning just her anger, not her sadness. aizas sadness was private, for when she was alone. like when she felt like crying into her pillow at night.

her anger manifested in her throwing things at her bedroom walls, or feeling the need to walk right up to feliks and scream in his face. she hated him she hated him so so so much. what the hell made him think he could do this to her? after all their years of friendship?

at the same time, she didnt really hate him. she didnt understand how she felt, actually. he lingered on her mind much more than he deserved to.

she found out that enzo was friends with feliks now, which she found from the oh so trustworthy source of information which was karim, obviously. she didnt know enzo that well. anyway, she found him on the yard after she heard of this, and mildly confronted him. feliks is not someone you want to get close to, you know. she couldnt tell what enzo thought about her. was that skepticism in his expression? wanker.

aiza didnt hear much more from or about feliks at all, he had stopped talking to all of his other friends too, it seemed. this didnt make aiza feel any better, but at least it wasnt just her. she spoke to izak privately about it. he was feliks' best friend, the two of them could relate to each other on that. he didnt know much. their conversation became deep, though. aiza misread the situation and kissed izak... oops. he was not happy about that.

maybe aiza shouldve felt worse about what she did, especially since izak had a girlfriend already, who was evie, who was one of her closest friends. but she didnt feel that bad. she kind of didnt like evie that much anymore, anyway. (she felt terrible and scared, mostly in case noa or sabrina reacted badly to this... if they were to find out.)

once evie found out, there was a big argument in the refectionary. the perfect place to shout about something if you want the entire year to also hear about it. even feliks heard about it.

...who is nikita?

[3sc4p1sm]

The Night Before ♡

Characters: Katsuki Bakugou x GN!Reader

Contains: angst (if u squint), suggestive/implied nsfw, swearing, fluff lmk if I miss something

Words: 1K

A/n: this was in my main account's draft for like a year or so BUT ENJOY I hope you like this ps. I HOPE THIS HEADER FITS THE THEME CAUSE I MADE IT

He always thought that you would be together after all you were best friends, as much as he never wanted to admit to it but you were always together. Like when he got his licence, you being there for almost almost all his birthdays, awards and everything. You were always there for him and he was always there for you. You got him out of going to jail, You got him out of the house, when no one else did you were like his rock when he felt like he didn't have one.

And there was no denying it. Not to you, not to him not to anybody you guys were super close too. So when you guys said you would be back in a bit everybody knew you guys wanted to be left alone even if it wasn't said you guys weren't together but everyone let you two be without bugging or asking. Knowing you guys you would wanna spend a bit of alone time together before you both left for college and then you'd start your lives.

The short and quiet drive to the lake was nothing but comfortable. Radio silence and then the car coming to a stop and you and bakugou were in a good mood although he would never admit you being alone with him made him feel things he didn't feel with others. Seeing the lake made him really think about you, and everything leading up to this. He thought about every single little detail and this lake, this stupid little lake. The lake he met you at and the lake he realized he loved you at the week before this. Where you found him on the verge of tears cause he had been broken up with, where you met his friends and he met yours. All those memories hit him with full force as he saw the orange, pink, purple, blue and golden hues of the somewhat clear sunset.

Sitting in the car and turning the engine off he looked at you. Slightly asleep and head against the cold glass of the window. He wasn't sure what to think, he didn't know why his eyes were scanning your tired body. He didn't know why he so badly wanted to kiss you or why his heart was racing. He couldn't figure out why the look of your smooth skin gave him goosebumps and why the way you were just sitting in his passenger seat the night before you both left for collage, even when your guy's friends were at his house for one last hurrah.

He didn't get why you suck by him even with his "monster" like attitude or why you'd defend it either. He always thought about why you did or a way to explain it. He never did and after sometime he stopped and just paid attention to you. Seeing everything he could, wanting to know as much about you as you did him.

But he got too full of emotion and without thinking he was pulling you to him. Getting the best of him was hard for most never knowing what he was like except for you. You didn't think he would be pulling your hoodie to him and locking lips with the ash blond pulling him in harder than he did you, feeling the need he emitted from a simple kiss. Pulling away when you both needed air but he still held onto you if anything tightening his solid grip.

"All I wanna do, is take care of you." He paused for a second almost completely out of breath, "Will you let me take care of you." looking you saw nothing but pure love and dilated scarlet pupils. At a loss of words you go to speak but he beats you to it "I'll let you take care of me." You swore that in that moment you had never heard his speak so softly. Knowing how much he hated when people offered to take care of him, you know he was serious but the way his hand started to lightly tremble and how his ear tips were getting the slightest shade of pink to 'em. Looking at you and seeing you teary-eyed and nodding yes with a soft look "yeah?" he said more like a question. Giving him a nod for the third time "Okay."

You never thought you would see this day, you thought it would be a happy time. Given the circumstances you would have been so excited, but in the morning you'd both leave and start anew with one another. You weren't sure why you didn't stop him from kissing you more or why you wanted it to last forever. You loved it, you love him that's why you'd never stop him. You wanted to feel his hands roam your body untouched by another feeling like it was right. While he showed you what his love really was telling you that you'd be sweet nothings and praise while wiping your tears away. You both knew you'd love each other even after college so you both took your time and sat in the car after you were done.

The ride home was quite pleasant as you both made some small talk and talked about future plans you both had while in and out of college. You both always wanted to be in contact and that was the promise you made it was to always keep contact no matter what was going on in and out of school. You both talked about your majors as you pulled into a parking lot to get ice cream, with you being nosy about him always you asked about why he chose to go into mechanics and engineering. And he asked you why you wanted to get into botany and art while he ordered your ice creams. And as you guys were getting back home you took a good look at everything one last time and said "until we meet again yeah?"

© 3SC4P1SM 2022. all content published on this blog belongs to 3sc4p1sm. please refrain from copying, stealing, plagiarizing, modifying, or reposting my content. I don’t allow my content to be used in any way without my permission.

tags <;3 @littlexbimbo @zawadni @avid-idiot @https-black-barbie @ayojordanstopscreaming @k0dzu1

rbs are appreciated &lt;3

[rjalker]

We had been at the South Pole a week. The outside thermometer read fifty degrees below zero, Fahrenheit. The winter was just beginning.

"What do you think we should transmit to McMurdo?" I asked Rizzo.

He put down his magazine and half-sat up in his bunk. For a moment there was silence, except for the nearly inaudible hum of the machinery that jammed our tiny dome, and the muffled shrieking of the ever-present wind, above us.

(read-more was here)

Rizzo looked at the semi-circle of control consoles, computers, and meteorological sensors with an expression of disgust that could be produced only by a drafted soldier.

"Tell 'em it's cold, it's gonna get colder, and we've both got appendicitis and need replacements immediately."

"Very clever," I said, and started touching the buttons that would automatically transmit the sensors' memory tapes.

Rizzo sagged back into his bunk. "Why?" He asked the curved ceiling of our cramped quarters. "Why me? Why here? What did I ever do to deserve spending the whole goddammed winter at the goddammed South Pole?"

"It's strictly impersonal," I assured him. "Some bright young meteorologist back in Washington has convinced the Pentagon that the South Pole is the key to the world's weather patterns. So here we are."

"It doesn't make sense," Rizzo continued, unhearing. His dark, broad-boned face was a picture of wronged humanity. "Everybody knows that when the missiles start flying, they'll be coming over the North Pole…. The goddammed Army is a hundred and eighty degrees off base."

"That's about normal for the Army, isn't it?" I was a drafted soldier, too.

Rizzo swung out of the bunk and paced across the dimly-lit room. It only took a half-dozen paces; the dome was small and most of it was devoted to machinery.

"Don't start acting like a caged lion," I warned. "It's going to be a long winter."

"Yeah, guess so." He sat down next to me at the radio console and pulled a pack of cigarets from his shirt pocket. He offered one to me, and we both smoked in silence for a minute or two.

"Got anything to read?"

I grinned. "Some microspool catalogues of stars."

"Stars?"

"I'm an astronomer … at least, I was an astronomer, before the National Emergency was proclaimed."

Rizzo looked puzzled. "But I never heard of you."

"Why should you?"

"I'm an astronomer too."

"I thought you were an electronicist."

He pumped his head up and down. "Yeah … at the radio astronomy observatory at Greenbelt. Project OZMA. Where do you work?"

"Lick Observatory … with the 120-inch reflector."

"Oh … an optical astronomer."

"Certainly."

"You're the first optical man I've met." He looked at me a trifle queerly.

I shrugged. "Well, we've been around a few millennia longer than you static-scanners."

"Yeah, guess so."

"I didn't realize that Project OZMA was still going on. Have you had any results yet?"

It was Rizzo's turn to shrug. "Nothing yet. The project has been shelved for the duration of the emergency, of course. If there's no war, and the dish doesn't get bombed out, we'll try again."

"Still listening to the same two stars?"

"Yeah … Tau Ceti and Epsilon Eridani. They're the only two Sun-type stars within reasonable range that might have planets like Earth."

"And you expect to pick up radio signals from an intelligent race."

"Hope to."

I flicked the ash off my cigaret. "You know, it always struck me as rather hopeless … trying to find radio signals from intelligent creatures."

"Whattaya mean, hopeless?"

"Why should an intelligent race send radio signals out into interstellar space?" I asked. "Think of the power it requires, and the likelihood that it's all wasted effort, because there's no one within range to talk to."

"Well … it's worth a try, isn't it … if you think there could be intelligent creatures somewhere else … on a planet of another star."

"Hmph. We're trying to find another intelligent race; are we transmitting radio signals?"

"No," he admitted. "Congress wouldn't vote the money for a transmitter that big."

"Exactly," I said. "We're listening, but not transmitting."

Rizzo wasn't discouraged. "Listen, the chances—just on statistical figuring alone—the chances are that there're millions of other solar systems with intelligent life. We've got to try contacting them! They might have knowledge that we don't have … answers to questions that we can't solve yet…."

"I completely agree," I said. "But listening for radio signals is the wrong way to do it."

"Huh?"

"Radio broadcasting requires too much power to cover interstellar distances efficiently. We should be looking for signals, not listening for them."

"Looking?"

"Lasers," I said, pointing to the low-key lights over the consoles. "Optical lasers. Super-lamps shining out in the darkness of the void. Pump in a modest amount of electrical power, excite a few trillion atoms, and out comes a coherent, pencil-thin beam of light that can be seen for millions of miles."

"Millions of miles aren't lightyears," Rizzo muttered.

"We're rapidly approaching the point where we'll have lasers capable of lightyear ranges. I'm sure that some intelligent race somewhere in this galaxy has achieved the necessary technology to signal from star to star—by light beams."

"Then how come we haven't seen any?" Rizzo demanded.

"Perhaps we already have."

"What?"

"We've observed all sorts of variable stars—Cepheids, RR Lyrae's, T Tauri's. We assume that what we see are stars, pulsating and changing brightness for reasons that are natural, but unexplainable to us. Now, suppose what we are really viewing are laser beams, signalling from planets that circle stars too faint to be seen from Earth?"

In spite of himself, Rizzo looked intrigued.

"It would be fairly simple to examine the spectra of such light sources and determine whether they're natural stars or artificial laser beams."

"Have you tried it?"

I nodded.

"And?"

I hesitated long enough to make him hold his breath, waiting for my answer. "No soap. Every variable star I've examined is a real star."

He let out his breath in a long, disgusted puff. "Ahhh, you were kidding all along. I thought so."

"Yes," I said. "I suppose I was."

Time dragged along in the weather dome. I had managed to smuggle a small portable telescope along with me, and tried to make observations whenever possible. But the weather was usually too poor. Rizzo, almost in desperation for something to do, started to build an electronic image-amplifier for me.

Our one link with the rest of the world was our weekly radio message from McMurdo. The times for the messages were randomly scrambled, so that the chances of their being intercepted or jammed were lessened. And we were ordered to maintain strict radio silence.

As the weeks sloughed on, we learned that one of our manned satellites had been boarded by the Reds at gunpoint. Our space-crews had put two Red automated spy-satellites out of commission. Shots had been exchanged on an ice-island in the Arctic. And six different nations were testing nuclear bombs.

We didn't get any mail of course. Our letters would be waiting for us at McMurdo when we were relieved. I thought about Gloria and our two children quite a bit, and tried not to think about the blast and fallout patterns in the San Francisco area, where they were.

"My wife hounded me until I spent pretty nearly every damned cent I had on a shelter, under the house," Rizzo told me. "Damned shelter is fancier than the house. She's the social leader of the disaster set. If we don't have a war, she's gonna feel damned silly."

I said nothing.

The weather cleared and steadied for a while (days and nights were indistinguishable during the long Antarctic winter) and I split my time evenly between monitoring the meteorological sensors and observing the stars. The snow had covered the dome completely, of course, but our "snorkel" burrowed through it and out into the air.

"This dome's just like a submarine, only we're submerged in snow instead of water," Rizzo observed. "I just hope we don't sink to the bottom."

"The calculations show that we'll be all right."

He made a sour face. "Calculations proved that airplanes would never get off the ground."

The storms closed in again, but by the time they cleared once more, Rizzo had completed the image-amplifier for me. Now, with the tiny telescope I had, I could see almost as far as a professional instrument would allow. I could even lie comfortably in my bunk, watch the amplifier's viewscreen, and control the entire set-up remotely.

Then it happened.

At first it was simply a curiosity. An oddity.

I happened to be studying a Cepheid variable star—one of the huge, very bright stars that pulsate so regularly that you can set your watch by them. It had attracted my attention because it seemed to be unusually close for a Cepheid—only 700 lightyears away. The distance could be easily gauged by timing the star's pulsations.[1]

I talked Rizzo into helping me set up a spectrometer. We scavenged shamelessly from the dome's spare parts bin and finally produced an instrument that would break up the light of the star into its component wavelengths, and thereby tell us much about the star's chemical composition and surface temperature.

At first I didn't believe what I saw.

The star's spectrum—a broad rainbow of colors—was criss-crossed with narrow dark lines. That was all right. They're called absorption lines; the Sun has thousands of them in its spectrum. But one line—one—was an insolently bright emission line. All the laws of physics and chemistry said it couldn't be there.

But it was.

We photographed the star dozens of times. We checked our instruments ceaselessly. I spent hours scanning the star's "official" spectrum in the microspool reader. The bright emission line was not on the catalogue spectrum. There was nothing wrong with our instruments.

Yet the bright line showed up. It was real.

"I don't understand it," I admitted. "I've seen stars with bright emission spectra before, but a single bright line in an absorption spectrum! It's unheard-of. One single wavelength … one particular type of atom at one precise energy-level … why? Why is it emitting energy when the other wavelengths aren't?"

Rizzo was sitting on his bunk, puffing a cigaret. He blew a cloud of smoke at the low ceiling. "Maybe it's one of those laser signals you were telling me about a couple weeks ago."

I scowled at him. "Come on, now. I'm serious. This thing has me puzzled."

"Now wait a minute … you're the one who said radio astronomers were straining their ears for nothing. You're the one who said we ought to be looking. So look!" He was enjoying his revenge.

I shook my head, and turned back to the meteorological equipment.

But Rizzo wouldn't let up. "Suppose there's an intelligent race living on a planet near a Cepheid variable star. They figure that any other intelligent creatures would have astronomers who'd be curious about their star, right? So they send out a laser signal that matches the star's pulsations. When you look at the star, you see their signal. What's more logical?"

"All right," I groused. "You've had your joke…."

"Tell you what," he insisted. "Let's put that one wavelength into an oscilloscope and see if a definite signal comes out. Maybe it'll spell out 'Take me to your leader' or something."

I ignored him and turned my attention to Army business. The meteorological equipment was functioning perfectly, but our orders read that one of us had to check it every twelve hours. So I checked and tried to keep my eyes from wandering as Rizzo tinkered with a photocell and oscilloscope.

"There we are," he said, at length. "Now let's see what they're telling us."

In spite of myself I looked up at the face of the oscilloscope. A steady, gradually sloping greenish line was traced across the screen.

"No message," I said.

Rizzo shrugged elaborately.

"If you leave the 'scope on for two days, you'll find that the line makes a full swing from peak to null," I informed him. "The star pulsates every two days, bright to dim."

"Let's turn up the gain," he said, and he flicked a few knobs on the front of the 'scope.

The line didn't change at all.

"What's the sweep speed?" I asked.

"One nanosecond per centimeter." That meant that each centimeter-wide square on the screen's face represented one billionth of a second. There are as many nanoseconds in one second as there are seconds in thirty-two years.

"Well, if you don't get a signal at that sensitivity, there just isn't any signal there," I said.

Rizzo nodded. He seemed slightly disappointed that his joke was at an end. I turned back to the meteorological instruments, but I couldn't concentrate on them. Somehow I felt disappointed, too. Subconsciously, I suppose, I had been hoping that Rizzo actually would detect a signal from the star. Fool! I told myself. But what could explain that bright emission line? I glanced up at the oscilloscope again.

And suddenly the smooth steady line broke into a jagged series of millions of peaks and nulls!

I stared at it.

Rizzo was back on his bunk again, reading one of his magazines. I tried to call him, but the words froze in my throat. Without taking my eyes from the flickering 'scope, I reached out and touched his arm.

He looked up.

"Holy Mother of God," Rizzo whispered.

For a long time we stared silently at the fluttering line dancing across the oscilloscope screen, bathing our tiny dome in its weird greenish light. It was eerily fascinating, hypnotic. The line never stood still; it jabbered and stuttered, a series of millions of little peaks and nulls, changing almost too fast for the eye to follow, up and down, calling to us, speaking to us, up, down, never still, never quiet, constantly flickering its unknown message to us.

The line never stood still; millions of little peaks and nulls calling to us, speaking to us, never still, never quiet, constantly flickering its unknown message to us.

"Can it be … people?" Rizzo wondered. His face, bathed in the greenish light, was suddenly furrowed, withered, ancient: a mixture of disbelief and fear.

"What else could it be?" I heard my own voice answer. "There's no other explanation possible."

We sat mutely for God knows how long.

Finally Rizzo asked, "What do we do now?"

The question broke our entranced mood. What do we do? What action do we take? We're thinking men, and we've been contacted by other creatures that can think, reason, send a signal across seven hundred lightyears of space. So don't just sit there in stupified awe. Use your brain, prove that you're worthy of the tag sapiens.

"We decode the message," I announced. Then, as an after-thought, "But don't ask me how."

We should have called McMurdo, or Washington. Or perhaps we should have attempted to get a message through to the United Nations. But we never even thought of it. This was our problem. Perhaps it was the sheer isolation of our dome that kept us from thinking about the rest of the world. Perhaps it was sheer luck.

"If they're using lasers," Rizzo reasoned, "they must have a technology something like ours."

"Must have had," I corrected. "That message is seven hundred years old, remember. They were playing with lasers when King John was signing the Magna Charta and Genghis Khan owned most of Asia. Lord knows what they have now."

Rizzo blanched and reached for another cigaret.

I turned back to the oscilloscope. The signal was still flashing across its face.

"They're sending out a signal," I mused, "probably at random. Just beaming it out into space, hoping that someone, somewhere will pick it up. It must be in some form of code … but a code that they feel can be easily cracked by anyone with enough intelligence to realize that there's a message there."

"Sort of an interstellar Morse code."

I shook my head. "Morse code depends on both sides knowing the code. There's no key."

"Cryptographers crack codes."

"Sure. If they know what language is being used. We don't know the language, we don't know the alphabet, the thought processes … nothing."

"But it's a code that can be cracked easily," Rizzo muttered.

"Yes," I agreed. "Now what the hell kind of a code can they assume will be known to another race that they've never seen?"

Rizzo leaned back on his bunk and his face was lost in shadows.

"An interstellar code," I rambled on. "Some form of presenting information that would be known to almost any race intelligent enough to understand lasers…."

"Binary!" Rizzo snapped, sitting up on the bunk.

"What?"

"Binary code. To send a signal like this, they've gotta be able to write a message in units that're only a billionth of a second long. That takes computers. Right? Well, if they have computers, they must figure that we have computers. Digital computers run on binary code. Off or on … go or no-go. It's simple. I'll bet we can slap that signal on a tape and run it through our computer here."

"To assume that they use computers exactly like ours…."

"Maybe the computers are completely different," Rizzo said excitedly, "but the binary code is basic to them all. I'll bet on that! And this computer we've got here—this transistorized baby—she can handle more information than the whole Army could feed into her. I'll bet nothing has been developed anywhere that's better for handling simple one-plus-one types of operations."

I shrugged. "All right. It's worth a trial."

It took Rizzo a few hours to get everything properly set up. I did some arithmetic while he worked. If the message was in binary code, that meant that every cycle of the signal—every flick of the dancing line on our screen—carried a bit of information. The signal's wavelength was 5000 Angstroms; there are a hundred million Angstrom units to the centimeter; figuring the speed of light … the signal could carry, in theory at least, something like 600 trillion bits of information per second.

I told Rizzo.

"Yeah, I know. I've been going over the same numbers in my head." He set a few switches on the computer control board. "Now let's see how many of the 600 trillion we can pick up." He sat down before the board and pressed a series of buttons.

We watched, hardly breathing, as the computer's spools began spinning and the indicator lights flashed across the control board. Within a few minutes, the printer chugged to life.

Rizzo swivelled his chair over to the printer and held up the unrolling sheet in a trembling hand.

Numbers. Six-digit numbers. Completely meaningless.

"Gibberish," Rizzo snapped.

It was peculiar. I felt relieved and disappointed at the same time.

"Something's screwy," Rizzo said. "Maybe I fouled up the circuits…."

"I don't think so," I answered. "After all, what did you expect out of the computer? Shakespearean poetry?"

"No, but I expected numbers that would make some sense. One and one, maybe. Something that means something. This stuff is nowhere."

Our nerves must have really been wound tight, because before we knew it we were in the middle of a nasty argument—and it was over nothing, really. But in the middle of it:

"Hey, look," Rizzo shouted, pointing to the oscilloscope.

The message had stopped. The 'scope showed only the calm, steady line of the star's basic two-day-long pulsation.

It suddenly occurred to us that we hadn't slept for more than 36 hours, and we were both exhausted. We forgot the senseless argument. The message was ended. Perhaps there would be another; perhaps not. We had the telescope, spectrometer, photocell, oscilloscope, and computer set to record automatically. We collapsed into our bunks. I suppose I should have had monumental dreams. I didn't. I slept like a dead man.

When we woke up, the oscilloscope trace was still quiet.

"Y'know," Rizzo muttered, "it might just be a fluke … I mean, maybe the signals don't mean a damned thing. The computer is probably translating nonsense into numbers just because it's built to print out numbers and nothing else."

"Not likely," I said. "There are too many coincidences to be explained. We're receiving a message, I'm certain of it. Now we've got to crack the code."

As if to reinforce my words, the oscilloscope trace suddenly erupted into the same flickering pattern. The message was being sent again.

We went through two weeks of it. The message would run through for seven hours, then stop for seven. We transcribed it on tape 48 times and ran it through the computer constantly. Always the same result—six-digit numbers; millions of them. There were six different seven-hour-long messages, being repeated one after the other, constantly.

We forgot the meteorological equipment. We ignored the weekly messages from McMurdo. The rest of the world became a meaningless fiction to us. There was nothing but the confounded, tantalizing, infuriating, enthralling message. The National Emergency, the bomb tests, families, duties—all transcended, all forgotten. We ate when we thought of it and slept when we couldn't keep our eyes open any longer. The message. What was it? What was the key to unlock its meaning?

"It's got to be something universal," I told Rizzo. "Something universal … in the widest sense of the term."

He looked up from his desk, which was wedged in between the end of his bunk and the curving dome wall. The desk was littered with printout sheets from the computer, each one of them part of the message.

"You've only said that a half-million times in the past couple weeks. What the hell is universal? If you can figure that out, you're damned good."

What is universal? I wondered. You're an astronomer. You look out at the universe. What do you see? I thought about it. What do I see? Stars, gas, dust clouds, planets … what's universal about them? What do they all have that….

"Atoms!" I blurted.

Rizzo cocked a weary eye at me. "Atoms?"

"Atoms. Elements. Look…." I grabbed up a fistful of the sheets and thumbed through them. "Look … each message starts with a list of numbers. Then there's a long blank to separate the opening list from the rest of the message. See? Every time, the same length list."

"So?"

"The periodic table of the elements!" I shouted into his ear. "That's the key!"

Rizzo shook his head. "I thought of that two days ago. No soap. In the first place, the list that starts each message isn't always the same. It's the same length, all right, but the numbers change. In the second place, it always begins with 100000. I looked up the atomic weight of hydrogen—it's 1.008 something."

That stopped me for a moment. But then something clicked into place in my mind.

"Why is the hydrogen weight 1.008?" Before Rizzo could answer, I went on, "For two reasons. The system we use arbitrarily rates oxygen as 16-even. Right? All the other weights are calculated from oxygen's. And we also give the average weight of an element, counting all its isotopes. Our weight for hydrogen also includes an adjustment for tiny amounts of deuterium and tritium. Right? Well, suppose they have a system that rates hydrogen as a flat one: 1.00000. Doesn't that make sense?"

"You're getting punchy," Rizzo grumbled. "What about the isotopes? How can they expect us to handle decimal points if they don't tell us about them … mental telepathy? What about…."

"Stop arguing and start calculating," I snapped. "Change that list of numbers to agree with our periodic table. Change 1.00000 to 1.008-whatever-it-is and tackle the next few elements. The decimals shouldn't be so hard to figure out."

Rizzo grumbled to himself, but started working out the calculations. I stepped over to the dome's microspool library and found an elementary physics text. Within a few minutes, Rizzo had some numbers and I had the periodic table focused on the microspool reading machine.

"Nothing," Rizzo said, leaning over my shoulder and looking at the screen. "They don't match at all."

"Try another list. They're not all the same."

He shrugged and returned to his desk. After a while he called out, "their second number is 3.97123; it works out to 4.003-something."

It checked! "Good. That's helium. What about the next one, lithium?"

"That's 6.940."

"Right!"

Rizzo went to work furiously after that. I pushed a chair to the desk and began working up from the end of the list. It all checked out, from hydrogen to a few elements beyond the artificial ones that had been created in the laboratories here on Earth.

"That's it," I said. "That's the key. That's our Rosetta Stone … the periodic table."

Rizzo stared at the scribbled numbers and jumble of papers. "I bet I know what the other lists are … the ones that don't make sense."

"Oh?"

"There are other ways to identify the elements … vibration resonances, quantum wavelengths … somebody named Lewis came out a couple years ago with a Quantum Periodic Table…."

"They're covering all the possibilities. There are messages for many different levels of understanding. We just decoded the simplest one."

"Yeah."

I noticed that as he spoke, Rizzo's hand—still tightly clutching the pencil—was trembling and white with tension.

"Well?"

Rizzo licked his lips. "Let's get to work."

We were like two men possessed. Eating, sleeping, even talking was ignored completely as we waded through the hundreds of sheets of paper. We could decode only a small percentage of them, but they still represented many hours of communication. The sheets that we couldn't decode, we suspected, were repetitions of the same message that we were working on.

We lost all concept of time. We must have slept, more than once, but I simply don't remember. All I can recall is thousands of numbers, row upon row, sheet after sheet of numbers … and my pencil scratching symbols of the various chemical elements over them until my hand was so cramped I could no longer open the fingers.

The message consisted of a long series of formulas; that much was certain. But, without punctuation, with no knowledge of the symbols that denote even such simple things as "plus" or "equals" or "yields," it took us more weeks of hard work to unravel the sense of each equation. And even then, there was more to the message than met the eye:

"Just what the hell are they driving at?" Rizzo wondered aloud. His face had changed: it was thinner, hollow-eyed, weary, covered with a scraggly beard.

"Then you think there's a meaning behind all these equations, too?"

He nodded. "It's a message, not just a contact. They're going to an awful lot of trouble to beam out this message, and they're repeating it every seven hours. They haven't added anything new in the weeks we've been watching."

"I wonder how many years or centuries they've been sending out this message, waiting for someone to pick it up, looking for someone to answer them."

"Maybe we should call Washington…."

"No!"

Rizzo grinned. "Afraid of breaking radio silence?"

"Hell no. I just want to wait until we're relieved, so we can make this announcement in person. I'm not going to let some old wheezer in Washington get credit for this…. Besides, I want to know just what they're trying to tell us."

It was agonizing, painstaking work. Most of the formulas meant nothing to either one of us. We had to ransack the dome's meager library of microspools to piece them together. They started simply enough—basic chemical combinations: carbon and two oxygens yield CO2; two hydrogens and oxygen give water. A primer … not of words, but of equations.

The equations became steadily longer and more complex. Then, abruptly, they simplified, only to begin a new deepening, simplify again, and finally become very complicated just at the end. The last few lines were obviously repetitious.

Gradually, their meaning became clear to us.

The first set of equations started off with simple, naturally-occurring energy yielding formulas. The oxidation of cellulose (we found the formula for that in an organic chemistry text left behind by one of the dome's previous occupants), which probably referred to the burning of plants and vegetation. A string of formulas that had groupings in them that I dimly recognized as amino acids—no doubt something to do with digesting food. There were many others, including a few that Rizzo claimed had the expression for chlorophyll in them.

"Naturally-occurring, energy-yielding reactions," Rizzo summarized. "They're probably trying to describe the biological set-up on their planet."

It seemed an inspired guess.

The second set of equations again began with simple formulas. The cellulose-burning reaction appeared again, but this time it was followed by equations dealing with the oxidation of hydrocarbons: coal and oil burning? A long series of equations that bore repeatedly the symbols for many different metals came up next, followed by more on hydrocarbons, and then a string of formulas that we couldn't decipher at all.

This time it was my guess: "These look like energy-yielding reactions, too. At least in the beginning. But they don't seem to be naturally occurring types. Then comes a long story about metals. They're trying to tell us the history of their technological development—burning wood, coal and eventually oil; smelting metals … they're showing us how they developed their technology."

The final set of equations began with an ominous simplicity: a short series of very brief symbols that had the net result of four hydrogen atoms building into a helium atom. Nuclear fusion.

"That's the proton-proton reaction," I explained to Rizzo. "The type of fusion that goes on in the Sun."

The next series of equations spelled out the more complex carbon-nitrogen cycle of nuclear fusion, which was probably the primary energy source of their own Cepheid variable star. Then came a long series of equations that we couldn't decode in detail, but the symbols for uranium and plutonium, and some of the heavier elements, kept cropping up.

Then came one line that told us the whole story: the lithium-hydride equation—nuclear fusion bombs.

The equations went on to more complex reactions, formulas that no man on Earth had ever seen before. They were showing us the summation of their knowledge, and they had obviously been dealing with nuclear energies for much longer than we have on Earth.

But interspersed among the new equations, they repeated a set of formulas that always began with the lithium-hydride fusion reaction. The message ended in a way that wrenched my stomach: the fusion bomb reaction and its cohorts were repeated ten straight times.

I'm not sure of what day it was on the calendar, but the clock on the master control console said it was well past eleven.

Rizzo rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. "Well, what do you think?"

"It's pretty obvious," I said. "They have the bombs. They've had them for quite some time. They must have a lot of other weapons, too—more … advanced. They're trying to tell us their history with the equations. First they depended on natural sources of energy, plants and animals; then they developed artificial energy sources and built up a technology; finally they discovered nuclear energy."

"How long do you think they've had the bombs?"

"Hard to tell. A generation … a century. What difference does it make? They have them. They probably thought, at first, that they could learn to live with them … but imagine what it must be like to have those weapons at your fingertips … for a century. Forever. Now they're so scared of them that they're beaming their whole history out into space, looking for someone to tell them how to live with the bombs, how to avoid using them."

"You could be wrong," Rizzo said. "They could be boasting about their arsenal."

"Why? For what reason? No … the way they keep repeating those last equations. They're pleading for help."

Rizzo turned to the oscilloscope. It was flickering again.

"Think it's the same thing?"

"No doubt. You're taping it anyway, aren't you?"

"Yeah, sure. Automatically."

Suddenly, in mid-flight, the signal winked off. The pulsations didn't simply smooth out into a steady line, as they had before. The screen simply went dead.

"That's funny," Rizzo said, puzzled. He checked the oscilloscope. "Nothing wrong here. Something must've happened to the telescope."

Suddenly I knew what had happened. "Take the spectrometer off and turn on the image-amplifier," I told him.

I knew what we would see. I knew why the oscilloscope beam had suddenly gone off scale. And the knowledge was making me sick.

Rizzo removed the spectrometer set-up and flicked the switch that energized the image-amplifier's viewscreen.

"Holy God!"

The dome was flooded with light. The star had exploded.

"They had the bombs all right," I heard myself saying. "And they couldn't prevent themselves from using them. And they had a lot more, too. Enough to push their star past its natural limits."

Rizzo's face was etched in the harsh light.

"I've gotta get out of here," he muttered, looking all around the cramped dome. "I've gotta get back to my wife and find someplace where it's safe…."

"Someplace?" I asked, staring at the screen. "Where?"

[wordingg]

Radio Silence

Summary: Cass goes silent over comms during an Arkham breakout and Steph rushes to find her.

Whumptober Day Seven fill. Prompt: radio silence.

A lot of people assume that Cass doesn't talk. And Steph guesses that in the strictest of terms that's true. She's not exactly verbose or whatever. But, if you know how to listen, she has a lot to say.

Maybe she doesn't say things with words, but she communicates constantly with looks, with tilts of her head and hips, by clicking her tongue, snorting at jokes, rolling her eyes. She's super expressive for people who are paying attention, and Steph always pays attention to her.

She thinks of the two of them as the perfect combination of traumas and coping mechanisms. Everyone seems to be aware of Cass' trauma and the way she copes. She was hurt badly for a long time and as a result she has trouble communicating and probably hasn't had enough support to combat that. But few people notice how Steph watches everybody, how she's always worrying about other people's moods and their opinions and their relationships. Growing up with dysfunctional parents will teach a kid to walk on eggshells, and it's a skill useful enough that it's hard to put down even with age and distance. And, to top that off, she's great at verbal deflection, always quick with a joke or a jab, anything to keep the focus off her and off of whatever is bothering everybody else.

So if Cass was quiet, Steph could fill in the gaps for her. And, if they were both watching, then nothing got by them. They were a force to be reckoned with when they were together.

Steph hated being separated from Cass. Since they started working together, she had felt more confident and more capable than ever before. But, it was the first Arkham breakout in over a year, so she understood the need to spread everyone out as far as they could.

"Does anyone have eyes on Batgirl?" Steph asked into her comm as she finished zip tying a rail thin old man in a bright orange jumpsuit to a street sign. She had got a bad feeling in her gut, and not just because that old man needed a social worker a lot more than he needed a vigilante like her.

"You're Batgirl," snorted Damian over the comm line.

"The other Batgirl, brat," Steph snarked back. That was a lame shot. She wondered if Damian was stressed or just bored. She couldn't read him as well as she could when he was little. He was getting older, already old enough to be in high school and sometimes she missed the much more prickly preteen version she was more familiar with.

"I thought I saw her near the docks," Tim said helpfully. There was the sound of wind behind his voice, which meant he was probably pretty high up, wherever he was. "But that was hours ago."

"Batgirl, comm in," Babs’ voice cut in barely a second after Tim stopped speaking. Steph was sure it was smarting against her pride that she was the only one not out on the streets that night, but with so many of them to coordinate, someone needed to be working comms and intel and Babs was the best.

There was silence on the line, just a very faint crackle from the small earpiece. Steph took the opportunity to shoot her grapple and get up to a higher elevation. That tight feeling in her gut was just getting tighter, and she felt sure she would be running soon.

"Batgirl, respond," Babs said, her voice steely. It sounded cold and unyielding to anyone who didn’t know Babs, which meant to Steph that she was upset. When Babs got upset, she would clamp down on her emotions like a drill sergeant snapping a tight salute.

Steph started running for the docks, jumping roofs and grappling across gaps.

"Oracle, tracker location?" Bruce rumbled over the comm line. The Batman voice had always been hard for Steph to decipher. She didn't live with Bruce or work with him as closely as the Robins, so she never got the hang of the way Batman communicated the way they did. That was probably half of why she couldn't trust him as far as she could throw him. How was she supposed to trust a 200 lb tank of a man when she could never get a read on how he was feeling or what he was thinking, and he never bothered to share with the class?

"Tracker is in the alley behind the Monarch Theater. Shit," Babs cussed, a crack in her facade. Steph made a sharp turn back toward the theater district and started running faster, her thighs burning. "The tracker hasn't moved in almost fifteen minutes."

The comm line lit up with people chiming in, questions and suggestions and locations being rattled back and forth and over one another enough that Bruce had to bark at everyone to shut up and let Oracle dictate orders.

"Batgirl, en route?" Babs asked.

Steph wanted to snort at her. Of course, she was en route. She had been from the second she asked about Cass. She wouldn't have asked if she hadn't known on some level that something was wrong.

Cass was quiet, but she still communicated on the comm. Even if it was just to click or to laugh or to play a little bit of wind or music across the line. Steph knew that because she knew Cass better than anyone.

"Almost there," she answered, the golden paint of the Monarch Theater already coming into view as she swung around to get to the right street. Normally the theater would be lit up with big spotlights, but on a dangerous night like that night everything was dark.

Steph dropped from a dangerous height directly into the claustrophobic small alleyway behind the theater. She shot her grapple off at the last second and let it yank viciously on her arm to slow her descent for a brief moment before releasing it and landing with a splash in a suspiciously green, slimy puddle.

She had barely straightened her knees before she spotted the lump of black fabric tossed haphazardly against a rusty green dumpster by the back door of the theater.

"Batgirl," Steph gasped, dropping to her knees beside Cass and splashing down into what was probably garbage juice and not giving a single fuck.

Very cautiously, she took Cass by the shoulder and pulled her over to lay on her back. She groaned, a gratifying sound to hear, but the next sound wasn't nearly so reassuring.

Cass started giggling, just a little, but it sounded convulsive, like hiccups. After a few halting giggles, Cass swallowed a small sob.

"Shit," Steph spat, feeling close to tears herself. "Shit shit shit."

"Batgirl, report," Babs barked into the comm.

Steph looked around the alley with a new thrill of fear running through her already thrumming body. She pulled the joker venom antidote from a small pouch on her belt, looking at the green puddles in the alley with a new sense of foreboding.

"Joker venom," Steph whispered into her comm while carefully administering the antidote to a small triangle of gray fabric on the inside of Cass's left arm. It was the only gap in her armor, left there specifically for administering meds in the field.

"Get out of there," Bruce barked through the comm. Steph didn't need to understand him to read the fear in his voice.

"Don't gotta tell me twice," she grumbled while moving Cass onto her shoulder as carefully and quietly as she dared. Cass hiccuped, giggled and sobbed in that order as Steph carefully maneuvered her.

Steph grimaced. "Don't worry, I've got you. You're safe," she whispered and shot her grapple toward the roof of the Monarch just as an eerie and unfortunately familiar cackle of unhinged laughter echoed nearby.

Her shoulder absolutely screamed from the strain of carrying both her and Cass's weight up to the roof, but the new wash of adrenaline that laugh sent through her body was more than enough to carry her through it.

She started running, her heart beating rabbit fast in her chest. Cass was a reassuring weight on her shoulder as she ran and jumped.

"Joker's still nearby. I heard him," she panted into the comm once she was reasonably sure that she was far enough away to be safe.

"Get to safety. Let me handle Joker," Bruce rumbled into the comm, all traces of fear gone from his voice. Not that Steph cared. She had Cass safe in her arms and the giggles were already tapering off.

"Fucking help yourself," Steph snapped and then muted her comm.

She was taking Cass straight back to the Watchtower and probably not detaching from her side for a week. Sometimes she hated this fucking job.

[justafoxhound]

Falloutober: 14. Afterdamp

From @falloutober 's prompt list. Here is Amata (featuring a little in my fic) during 101's troubles.

Everything changed that day. How could it not? It wasn’t just that the Vault, after over forty years of never planning for it, suddenly needed a new Overseer, that it happened so abruptly and violently. Everything was upside down for Amata. She had lost her father, her friend, what little trust in the foundation of their society she had still clung onto, in her own judgement. Her father’s security had beat that out of her, and her own bullet finished it off. The Vault was quiet now; everything changed so fast, and after James and his daughter were gone and locked out, the bodies were not long cremated before the Vault splintered and people entrenched themselves on two sides of the infrastructure. Nobody willing to parley, but having little appetite for more fighting… Yet. Everybody could sense it. They were doomed. The heavy silence of many wrestled with the upstart of opinion from others, who was to blame, who should be in charge, what should happen now, but none of it compared to the weight of everything that Amata carried within her. She knew her father was out for blood that day. She tried to help, but got him killed instead. How could she not know her friend would choose revenge before safety? But how could she know another when she didn’t even know herself? She killed a man that day too. At least Talia had the guts not to make excuses. No, she was being unfair. There was so much to understand first, what happened, why, the secrets and lies she’d discovered after the chaos, the grief and anger and confusion and fear all jostling for attention amid the more pressing issues of how the Vault was going to survive if it didn’t tear itself apart first. Some people were looking to her for answers..! Others were calling her a rebel, as if she had wanted any of this! She just wanted to lie down and sleep. A blank, dreamless, long sleep, to wake up from the nightmare. She just needed time to process things. But there was no time. There was no air, no space to breathe or feel or think. The people wanted answers from her, even if they didn’t say anything; the weight of their silence was suffocating. She knew the vault was in a dangerous place, even if she couldn’t understand exactly how just yet. She was never quick on her feet, but if she could get some space, some distance, maybe she could fix what she and her father broke. She sat down in the communications room and set the radio to the emergency frequency. It was a long shot but she couldn’t think what else to do. She leaned in to the mic and addressed the one person who had always had an answer to all her problems. “It feels like you left home along time ago, but I know you’re still out there. I just hope you’re still alive to hear this...”

[oogaboogaspookyman]

WHY NOT LMAO

[TRINITY]

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

FUNISINFINITE

[1]

Stuck inside a fake cartridge of a game that can't exist

Waiting for someone to play my thrilling game!

*hoo boy*

(do you know what it's like to see the world spin around you)

(over and over again, until you puke, and then start over from scratch like it's nothing)

Fun is infinite!

Said the Majin himself!

Fun is infinite!

None can compare!

*hoo BOY*

(fun is infinite!)

(said the Majin himself!)

None can compare for i am the only true game master in the room!

.

HILL

[2]

GREETINGS AGAIN, I'M ECSTATIC TO SEE YOUR PUNY MORTAL FACE ONCE AGAIN

*AYO*

(IT'S BEEN LONG ENOUGH WE HAVE PLAYED THE SAME GAME AGAIN)

*THE GUY!!!*

LET'S GET THIS GAME OVER WITH FOR ONCE, IT'S GETTING TIRING TO CHASE YOU ALREADY.

*HE*

LET'S SEE WHAT ELSE YOU GOT TO OFFER, I'M WAITING FOR SOMETHING NEW, PUSSYCAT

LET'S SEE IF YOU CAN BRING BACK THE SPICE TO THIS DEAD OLD GAME WE HAVE PLAYED FOR TOO LONG.

.

[3]

FUN IS INFINITE, NONE CAN EVER COMPARE

FUN IS INFINITE, NONE CAN EVER COMPETE

*WHAT THE ACTUAL SHIT*

(FUN IS INFINITE, NONE CAN EVER COMPETE FOR I AM THE ONLY ONE TRUE GAME MASTER IN THE ROOM)

SEGA ENTERPRISES WILL NEVER BE TAKEN DOWN

WE ARE GODS IN THE WORLD OF GAME PRODUCTION

*WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU BOTH*

(FUN IS INFINITE, NONE CAN EVER COMPETE FOR I AM THE ONLY ONE TRUE GAME MASTER IN THE ROOM)

.

.

.

DESIRE

PRAY

ANGER

FEAR

JOY

DISGUST

DESPAIR

i cAn't wAit

t0 tAke y0u h0me

thEre's s0 mUch t0 sh0w y0u

afTEr ALl

whAt aRE frIEnDs f0r?

.

[4]

I have been waiting for so long

*who the FUCK*

(for so long)

There's so much to show you, look at us now...

All grown up, up!

*WAIT*

There's so much to show you, after everything in the past...

*WAIT A MINUTE*

.

[5]

It's been so long since i had tortured a soul in the old fashioned way

Do you have any idea how long we were gone?

Remember?

.

LORD X

IAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0DIAMG0D

.

[6]

MY OLD FRIEND

WE MEET AGAIN

AFTER YEARS OF RADIO SILENCE

*LORD X??*

(AFTER YEARS OF RADIO SILENCE)

DO YOU REMEMBER ME? ALL THOSE SCREAMS OF PAIN FROM THE OTHER SOULS?

*IT'S LORD X!!!*

I'M STILL THE SAME AS EVER, I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN MY MANNERS

I'M STILL KING OF THOSE OLD ROTTING HILLS, MY POWER CANNOT BE COMPARED EVER

I STILL REIGN TO THIS DAY!

.

[7]

Fun is infini-i-ite!

None can compa-a-are!

*WHAT*

Listen to the Maji-i-in!

I AM GOD AND YOU'RE NOTHI-I-ING.

*THE FUCK*

.

3

2

1

:)

.

[8]

Hey there pal!

Hey there!

We meet again!

Once again!

Again!

*what*

Do you know my name?

'Course you do!

'Course you do!

It's just me, everybody's favorite!

The blue blur!

*NO YOU'RE NOT*

It's just everybody's favorite!

It's just me!

Good ol' me!

*SHUT THE FUCK UP*

.

HAHAHHEEEHEHEHEHAHA-

HAHAHHEHEHEHHAHAHAHA.

.

.

.

.

AUGH-

Let's play a game

You can choose your favorite thing

This cliche never dies

You can't run and you can't hide

REWRITE

.

[9]

*WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK*

*WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS*

*JESUS CHRIST*

Let your spirit leave your body

I AM GOD AND YOU'RE NOBODY

*MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT*

*DAWG WHAT ARE YOU DOING*

*WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING MAN*

I will take you to my

WORLD

And i'll leave you without word

Hide and seek!

Can't you see?

Boyfriend is nothing for me

You're the one i'm looking for

Through the screen i can see more

Play the notes

It's so fun

Sonic loves to see you run

From a fate you won't escape

WHEN YOU DIE

WE MEET AGAIN

*WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING FR*

*THIS AIN'T NO FUCKING JOKE ISTG*

*WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT BITCH*

*HOLY SHIT WHAT IS GOING ON*

⭕

.

.

.

.

.

.

notoveryet

[10]

This isn't over just yet!

This is so far from done!

It's not over just yet, friend!

I really hope you did enjoy the expirience, player!

There is way more coming your way!

This isn't over just yet!

This is so far from done!

It's not over just yet, friend!

I really hope you liked the expirience, expect more coming!

But for now, stay hyped my friend!

Signed REWRITE.

.

[SEE YOU NEXT TIME]

[avenyl]

Hello.

Is saying hello even appropriate at this point?

Uh, hi. I’m not back yet, I think. But I’m working on it. I’m sorry for the radio silence on literally every front but I’d be lying if I said I knew why it happened.

I just want you all to know what’s up in case that’s something you’re curious about. For those who are, read on. Those of you who aren’t, that’s alright. I’m glad to have you around anyway.

TL;DR I tell you what’s up but in like, ~700 words because I have no self-control.

I’m pretty sure my last login was sometime around February 2022. Can’t believe it’s been over a year and a half! Feels so weird to acknowledge that I’ve been away from art, something that’s been a constant in my life up until this point, for almost two years! Wow!

Those of you who saw the last of my posts already know what my mindset was like at the time. Honestly, I can’t really say it’s improved much, if any. Looking at the art I’ve put out so far makes me feel miserable, for a lack of better word. I’m not gonna elaborate on the feelings because I’m certain all of you have had them at some point. I had hoped they would vanish in time, but they did not.

I can’t tell if these feelings are related to what was going on in my life at the time (they probably are but I haven’t connected the dots yet), mostly because I don’t feel like anything particularly bad happened that could’ve boosted these feelings for me. In fact, a lot of good things happened. Some bad things happened too, as they usually do in life. So, to spare you the details:

-I met someone and we’ve been in a relationship sinch March 2022 (he’s great and we’ve been living together for almost a year now);

-I failed to graduate in 2022 but I managed to fix that at the beginning of July this year (finally!);

-I worked three different jobs in the meantime (not simultaneously) to afford rent, and those took up most of my energy;

-I’ve been on and off different meds while trying to figure out what works for me;

-A lot of family-related events happened in the year I’ve been gone and I’m sure there’s more to come;

-I’ve been reading a lot, and I honestly feel like that sort of became my outlet when drawing felt like too big of a challenge;

-I’ve become even less interested in pursuing the major I’ve been working towards so far, and I’ve decided to stop at my bachelor’s and maybe try my hand at some other profession somewhere along the line.

The last one did me in, honestly. Seeing all my colleagues and friends graduate while I sat back really took a toll on me and I don’t think I’ll be able to recover from that one for a while. The inferiority I felt regarding my art and the progress I’ve made so far combined with not being able to do the one thing everybody around me seemed to be able to do almost effortlessly and, well… it didn’t feel very good.

I believe this is what made me disappear. Honestly though, I’m not 100% sure—it could’ve been something else, and it feels weird to blame my sudden departure on something like my mental state, given that I don’t feel much different now, and I didn’t feel particularly different then. Just existing and getting by has been challenging for years.

But I feel like I might be ready to try drawing again sometime soon. I’ll probably expand my horizons a bit. Don’t get me wrong, dragons are fun and I won’t give up on those, but you’ll probably be seeing a bit more variation from me in the future. I might even give humans a go! Oh boy!

(Not yet though. But soon, hopefully.)

Lastly, I think I want to rebrand my online presence. I feel like I’ve changed quite a bit since I opted for this username, and it no longer feels like me. So, if you see a stranger on your dash, fear not! It’s probably me, trying out something new. I think that’s going to be my first move.

It’s a start. It’s more than I’ve had for over two years, and I might just give it a go. I hope to see you along the way!

[feynavaley]

Wow, it has been quite a while, hasn't it? I'm sorry if my unannounced radio silence has worried anybody, I hope it wasn't the case. 😅

I think I have already mentioned that my new job and living arrangement leave me quite busy, but it isn't only that. Truth be told, I'm in a better mental place than I've been in a long, long while.

First of all, I love my new job. I like what I'm doing, there are constant updates and challenges so I don't feel like I'm stagnating, a machine always repeating the same actions over and over without ever being able to give my own input. Moreover, my superiors often praise me for my work and they're trusting me with more important matters, which, I'm not going to lie, is pretty nice as well and does contribute to my general well-being.

Of course, my new job has some downsides as well (first of all, the salary, lmao) but perfection doesn't exist. Not to mention, I fit in pretty well with my coworkers, which is another important factor in my opinion as we cooperate a lot, which ultimately makes everybody's work easier and creates a pleasant environment. The coworker I share my office with, who also happens to be my direct superior, can only be described as an angel.

In a more unexpected twist, I've also met a group of people whom I would actually call "friends" and I've started having a social life as well, which, well... I'll always be tendentially introverted and I don't mind my alone time, but spending time with some people I can truly connect with also does wonders for mental health.

But why am I writing this down? What I'm trying to get to is that, with my real life being more satisfying, I've felt the need to turn to online platforms a lot less than I used to, which is probably the main reason I haven't been very active here.

Even so, I do miss it a bit. In particular, I really miss writing – and everything else (posting short headcanons to flesh out the characters, analysis, reblogging stuff I found interesting or even just funny, art) was, in a way, connected to that. (Not to mention, I feel like my English is deteriorating, while keeping a bit active on tumblr allowed me to exercise as well.) I want to get back to this.

Let's be real, over the last three years, I've done many attempts to go back to writing and they all failed. Still, I feel like trying again. Who knows what will happen this time?

Cheers!

~Feyna