#but hopefully it's legible enough to read : )

[vashs-turtleneck]

Deep Breath.

✧ Vash the Stampede fluff

Rating: G Summary: Surprising Vash with his birthday cake(s) on his special day. Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader Word Count: 1.5k Content: fluff, slight angst. Song Rec: Before We Drift Away - Nothing But Thieves

“Happy birthday to you~”

Your soft voice fills the air as you set a large, fluffy cake on the table in front of him before he hears you scurry back to the dainty little kitchen. In the days leading up to Vash's birthday, you had told him over and over again how excited you were to see him celebrate the date properly. You helped plan out your travels to ensure the two of you were settled in a comfortable, quiet town where he would hopefully not be chased out before his special day. While he admittedly wasn't too fond of the idea of taking a whole day to celebrate himself, and he especially didn't like that you were using up your time worrying about him, he didn't have the heart to shoot down your enthusiasm. Not when he saw you beaming with joy at the prospect of being able to celebrate with him. He'll do it for you, he told himself. To make you happy.

So here he is, sat in an old inn, on a rickety chair, in front of the cake you so lovingly prepared for him. The entire surface is covered in dozens upon dozens of mismatched candles, save for the parts where you wrote in crimson icing. Through all the flames (which he deems must be some sort of fire hazard), he makes out the two words you wrote:

‘Happy’ along the top.

‘Vash’ along the bottom.

Uh– he's a bit confused. Happy, of course, but confused, though he doesn't have much time to dwell on it before he hears your little sing-song voice again.

“Happy birthday to you~”

And he's certainly surprised when you set another cake down in front of him, another one completely stacked with candles, and he's starting to think about how dry and old the walls of the inn are as he reads the writing on this one too.

‘Birth’ at the top, ‘The’ at the bottom.

He sees where you're going with this, and your silly idea makes him snicker.

“Happy birthday, dear Vash.”

A third cake, just as aflame as the first two, and this time he can't hold back the laugh that leaves him, almost blowing out a few of the tiny flames as he does, and his chest is warm as he thinks about how long it must've taken you to set and light up all these candles.

‘Day’ written at the top, and of course, ‘Stampede’ etched beneath, the word barely legible from how you had to smush all the letters together to get it to fit along the bottom of the cake.

“Happy birthday to you!”

This is definitely different from the last time he celebrated his birthday, when there was just one little candle to share between him and his brother, and Rem's face was hidden behind a camera. He can feel the emotions these memories well up inside him, and he does his best to bury them back down. For your sake. He doesn't want to ruin this special moment you've worked so hard to give him, after all.

Your soothing presence stands behind him with one of your hands resting on his shoulder while the other traces the lines of his cheek and jaw, the gesture absentminded, but heartwarming all the same, like loving him comes so naturally to you. You dip your head down to his level, resting your chin on his shoulder and your breath tickling his ear as you speak,

“It’s supposed to say ‘Happy birthday, Vash the Stampede.’”

“I can read, mayfly,” he chuckles, tilting his head towards you and pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek.

“Just checking. Making sure you're not going senile on me in your old age.”

“Mhmm. Touché,” he says with a smile tugging at his lips, his cerulean eyes fixed on the hellfire in front of him, and the sight makes him snort a laugh again. “But mayfly, you didn't have to spend all this money buying me three cakes. One would have been more than enough.”

“Firstly, I'll have you know I made the cakes, thank you very much.” You stand up by his side, bringing a hand to your hip. “Secondly, even if I did buy them, it would be worth every double dollar. You deserve to blow out all your candles, and I couldn't fit them all on one cake.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you, a sly smirk on his face. “Or two cakes, apparently.”

“Do you know how old you are!? The candles were actually the most expensive part! I bled this town dry of birthday candles,” you retort, a little pout forming on your lips that he just wants to kiss away. You swat his shoulder, and he huffs out an ‘oof’ in mock pain just to see you smile at his dramatics.

“Enough about all that. You have to make a wish, sweetheart.” 

Oh. Right. You're supposed to make a wish and blow out all your candles on your birthday. Something he only got to experience once all those years ago.

Two human lifespans ago, really.

A wish, though? What's he supposed to wish for? You've given him so much more than he ever thought possible, and now he's supposed to ask for even more? Maybe he should keep it vague and simple and wish for love and peace? Ah, but that feels like the easy way out, and you clearly used too much of your valuable time on these cakes for him to cop out like that.

He's spent his long life with so little, trekked through valleys of sands all on his lonesome for so long, seen far too many people come and go for him to count, but he can remember the names and faces of each and every person he's had the pleasure (or displeasure) of meeting, all while his face has stayed the same.

Time has always been an enemy of Vash the Stampede. A human lifespan could never compare to that of a plant's, and humans are so much more… fragile. So, if he could just get more time with you. To hold you in his arms for just a while longer. A few more moments like this. A few months. A few years.

Would it be selfish to ask for a few decades together?

Would it be too much to ask for the rest of your time? 

Even if it means standing by as he watches himself lose everything, watching as you get swallowed up by the sands of time, all while his face stays the same?

“You know, I don't mean to rush you on your special day or anything, but I think this might be some kind of fire hazard.” Your words cut through the thick fog clouding his tumultuous mind, and he quickly shakes himself from his thoughts.

“Right, right. Sorry. Just thinking.”

“Nothing dumb, I hope?” you hum in response, and he chuckles out a little laugh. He hasn't laughed this much on a July 21st in a long, long time.

“Maybe a little bit dumb.”

“I'll allow it only because it's your birthday,” you say back, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

“Now, deep breath, angel. Show these candles why they call you the humanoid typhoon.”

He takes a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him. Three cakes, all covered in a comical amount of candles, and he doesn't doubt that you counted out exactly as many as you needed. As absurd as it all is, you did this. And you did this all for him.

He thinks about how this would've been a lot easier 50-something years ago, but he's going to give it his best regardless, because he really, really wants his wish to have a chance. Taking in the deepest breath his lungs can hold, until his chest is puffing out, Vash blows out each and every one of the dozens of candles you've so lovingly inlaid into his three cakes, until every last one bleeds out thin lines of smoke in the air, and for once he's thankful this inn is so cheap that they didn't bother with a smoke detector.

At his side, you clap enthusiastically at his rather impressive display. “You did make a wish, right?” you ask, and your head is back on his shoulder.

“I did. Don't worry.”

‘For many more birthdays with you,’ but if he says that aloud, it won't come true now will it?

“Good. You deserve it,” you say as you give him a hard, wet kiss to his face that smushes his cheek, and Vash feels his heart squeeze tight. “I'll cut you a slice, and maybe next year I'll make four cakes to spread out all the candles better. Hope you're okay with eating cake for three meals a day for a while, by the way.”

“You know there's candles with just numbers, right? Just use those next time.” And oh, does he hope for a next time.

“Nah, that's not as fun.”

A ridiculous idea, but he'll go along with it. For your sake, of course.

divider.

[hatterladz]

“Yes, dear,” Fanny said. A damsel in distress. A cussing damsel in distress. She didn’t need saving. She’d chosen this. Had Cup done the same? No, he was a child. It had to have been different. Was he waiting to be saved? Why couldn’t he save himself? Fanny spotted her reflection in the hallway mirror. Why couldn’t he save himself?

-Chapter 348: Rabbit Reflections

No Text and Rambles below

"Why couldn't he save himself?" / "Why can't I save myself?"

I jumped through so many hurdles to try to get this finished. From making an entire wallpaper pattern that I'd only fade and edit to my desires to having an entirely different drawing as a reference picture so I could figure out how to draw her all the way to looking up dozens of references in the 1920s. I was determined to finish this.

I would've used text but procreate doesn't have that? Not that I've found. So my handwriting it is. Hopefully it's legible, if not that's the quotes underneath that last picture. I went with color instead of grayscale bc I missed my colors... How am I supposed to thrive without my wacky colors?

Now to talk about Fanny, so headsup some mentions of domestic violence this does get a bit more serious.

This version of Fanny is my favorite character when it comes to depictions of abusive relationships hands down. I've been in a similar situation in my life before so to grow up, get older and understand these subjects and to see how well it's depicted and carefully it's treated has me jumping off the walls.

This moment specifically hit hard for me. The implied "why can't I save myself?" as she looks in the mirror, was painfully relatable. I don't think most understand how genuinely difficult it is to leave an abusive partner [especially as a woman in the 1920s!!! I hope Fanny gets out okay!] and how much more you'd have to sacrifice to get out of that situation

No matter how much support you have it will ALWAYS be hard. I especially love how Cup's relationship with Fanny has shifted from romantic to Cup genuinely trying to support her and how Vicious coached him. Because yes that's the correct thing to do. Which is to be there for them.

No matter how much you want them to leave them or for their s/o to drop dead or how frustrating they are about staying, the most important thing is to support them.

I hope I did this scene the justice I was thinking of giving it when I read this. I do love Fanny and hope to see her in a healthier situation and picking up better habits. Which might be the direction she's going with recent events, so that's exciting!

Anyway I've rambled enough lol hope you guys like this it felt like forever to finish it

[cutiewutiepatootie]

hello i saw that you have request open and was wondering if you could write about Jill having a massive lesbian crush on reader and how they get together please ?

yes hehehehehehehe

I couldn’t really write it from Jill’s point of view like it seemed you wanted me too so hopefully second person view is good enough 👍

I’ve been waiting to finally get a request if you can’t tell lmfao so this was made with in like a day of the request

Tags: very fluffy, love confessions, college setting, lesbian Jill & reader, not proofread

 Jill wasn’t a stranger to you, she started at you everyday during your classes. Although, she wasn’t slick at all to the point where you were contemplating whether she was trying to get you to notice her starring or not. The first time the two of you talked was when your teacher paired the two of you up for a partner project. You worked nicely together, so much so that you developed a crush on her, but after the project you really didn’t talk to her that much. Little did you know, Jill developed an even bigger crush on you way before the project.

Today was going to be the same as every other school day, or was it. You woke up and did your morning routine, as usual, got to your first few classes on time, and the day was going well. You went to your next class, one of the classes you had with Jill, pretty early and when you walked to your seat saw a note taped down to the desk. You thought that maybe it was from Jill, only problem was, Jill wasn’t here yet. As a matter of fact there were only about 7 people in the classroom, most of them being guys. As more people started flooding in you snatched the note up and shoved it into your pocket. You could barely focus in that class, luckily the professor wasn’t teaching anything too important, but you needed to find out what the note said. 

Right when you got back into your dorm you picked the note out of your pocket and started unfolding it, hoping it would still be legible.

“Please meet me at the park right outside campus at 3:35pm, I have something important to tell you. - somebody from Mr __ class” The note read.

“God damnit.” you whispered. One of the most important parts of the note, a hint to who this person might be, is eligible.

You decided that you would sneak around the area, you really wanted to see who it was even if it was a guy. It was already 3:30pm so you change your clothes and put on your shoes and swiftly go to the park.

It was a public park, so it would be a little easier said than done to just sneak around. To your luck, the park was pretty busy, so you could hopefully blend in with them. You hoped that you changing your clothes would keep you a little more hidden, and it did, because you saw a similar someone and they didn’t even notice you standing in plain sight. Jill. You saw Jill.

“It was Jill?!” You accidentally uttered. As you were just standing there, dumbfounded, Jill makes eye contact with you. You quickly come back to reality as Jill starts walking over to you with a cute little smile on her.

“Hey, I-uh didn’t expect you to actually show up.” Jill says awkwardly. So she was the one who wrote the note! 

“Well, you know, it was a last minute thing.” You felt bad for saying that, but you felt like you couldn’t stop yourself from talking. “The professor name on the note was eligible when I read it so naturally I got pretty curious.”

“Oh, I see, sorry, my pen must’ve smudged” Jill said nervously. You did regret saying that, but because it was Jill you did want to know what she had to say.

“So, what did you want to tell me.” You ask happily. Jill’s checks start to get red as she tells you something that you can barely comprehend.

“I like you, a lot, like way before that project we were ever paired up to do. You’re just so cool and pretty and for the longest time I was scared you didn’t like me back, but I decided I would just have to get my little confession over with.” Jill confessed, averting her gaze to anything but your eyes.

“I do like you back, Jill, how could I not.” You say as you put a hand on Jill’s check so you two are looking eachother in the eye.

You two stand there for a minute, in complete silence, you really did like her, you are just confused, but mostly relieved, that she liked you back. 

“Want to go to my dorm? This place is already busy so I really don’t want anyone from class to notice us.” You propose, kissing Jill on the cheek. 

“Sure, as long as your roommate doesn’t mind.” Jill says awkwardly, still flustered about the kiss.

“She doesn’t mind company if she’s away from the campus as long as they don’t mess with her things, and she just so happens to be away right now.” You assured Jill. “You promise not to mess with her stuff?”

“I promise.” Jill replied. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome” 

[allisonreader]

Here's the start of my @inklings-challenge story this year. Hopefully I'll be able to finish it, but as of the moment I'm stuck and still not fully sure of what the theme will end up being. Anyways I present the rough start of my story.

V.C.C.S- Vector Climate Control System

It was a cold blustery type of day like they hadn’t had in a while. It was a forbidding omen of the changing seasons as old ripped propaganda poster flapped with each gust of wind. The faded words speaking of the Vector Climate Control System still legible.

It always surprised him just how many posters and old billboards remained, proclaiming the wonders of how the VCCS was going to change the world for the better.

He pulled up his coat collar to try and block some of the wind as he made his way home from work. He’d have to remember a heavier coat with a hood in the coming days.

The wind was going to make his face as red as his hair with the way it was whipping through the buildings around him. The wind was gusting hard enough to rip down an old flyer and try to blind him with it. He huffed as he read it.

*A Revolutionary New World Is Coming! The Vector Climate Control System will eliminate the question of "what will the weather be like today?"

Once the V.C.C.S. is employed extreme weather will be curbed. No more droughts! No more hurricanes! No more tornadoes! No more blizzards!

Extreme weather will be controlled and moved where it is most needed and is safely out of the way.*

There was more that he could have read, but he didn’t need to. He scrunched up the flyer to dispose of it at home, putting it in his pocket until then.

He knew all about VCCS as they had learned all about it school. They had been taught all about the seven circuits of nine towers. How each system worked both in its own little loop as well as within the entire system.

But also how it failed.

There were both political reasons as well as technical factors. As the system did not work as intended or expected. Making a bigger mess than if it had never been set in place.

The towers still remained as they were too large to demolish with any ease. Finally he made it to the warmth of his home.

"Hey there Delilah, I’m home!" he called out upon entering.

"I hear you!" Delilah called back, coming out from the kitchen a couple minutes later. Which had given him a chance to remove his coat and take the flyer from his pocket, ready to recycle.

"Oh! Jake! You’re as red as your hair!" Delilah exclaimed, putting both of her hands on his; as expected, red cheeks. "What do you have there?" she asked when she felt the wad of paper in his hands as he hugged her.

"It’s nothing important. Just one of those old VCCS flyers that tried attacking me in the wind," he said.

"Well that was rather mean of it, after everything else that happened with that."

"Hmm, at least now there will be one less flyer littering up the place about it."

"There’s that I guess," said Delilah. "Let’s get you warmed up properly."

🌤️🌩️🌨️🌧️☀️⛈️🌪️❄️💨💦🌊

Over the next few days the weather grew more intense, more wild and unpredictable, until the weather casters were starting to speculate that there was a malfunction of one of the towers a part of the VCCS.

Complaints about the suspected malfunction grew day by day as the weather continued to get increasingly worse and more wild. Wind was practically nonstop and rain, sleet, and snow cycled through without a rhyme or a reason. Other than harsh winds, you never knew what you were going to get.

The weather casters were speculating/observing that from what weather conditions and patterns there were that it appeared to only be the one tower in the system acting up and it was the one closest to us. Which was still many kilometres away from where we were.

Messages were sent to those who managed the towers to see what was happening with the tower and what was going to be done about it. No response was ever received from anyone who anyone tried to contact. No one wanted to deal with the malfunctioning tower that was supposed to be shut down.

The weather grew worse until he was unable to walk to work anymore. Not that Delilah wanted either of them to go out in this wild and unpredictable weather.

[clarepreed]

Scorched

Story Summary and Content - 5,716 words. Will discovers Melanie has succumbed to heat stroke on her run. Hyperthermia, seizure, cardiac arrest. On-site resuscitation, Stryker LUCAS 3 device, ambiguous ending.

--

Will

“Are you sure?” he murmured, speaking close to her ear. Strands of her corn silk hair stirred with his breath. “The guys will be absolutely fine if you play disc golf with us. And maybe you shouldn’t get too hot. We started a lot later than we meant to.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. One more time to try to get to know them before I give up.” Melanie made a face, her freckled nose crinkling. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I don’t blame you,” Will said. For some reason, his friends Avery and Meegan didn’t seem to get along with his fiancée. Granted, he thought most of it was Meegan, with Avery not speaking up out of a misguided sense of loyalty.

We’re all too old to behave like that, he thought, angry and frustrated that he couldn’t fix the situation.

He didn’t understand how they couldn��t like Melanie. He was biased, of course, but she was wonderful. One of the kindest people he knew. That understandable statement about “giving up” was one of the strongest things she’d ever said against someone.

Will leaned in to give her a hug. Her skin was already damp and warm, her cheeks flushed. Petite and on beta blockers for migraines, the heat often got to her before he even noticed the temperature was unpleasant. “Drink plenty of water, find some shade, and I hope you have fun. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Love you,” she said, stretching up to kiss him.

Melanie 

She was lost.

After almost ninety minutes of thinly veiled disdain from Meegan and silent discomfort from Avery, Melanie really had given up.

She’d run out of water forty-five minutes prior and was obviously not close enough to the other women to ask for some of theirs. Nauseated and headachy, she didn’t think she could stand the two of them another minute.

“I’m going to head back to the parking lot,” she’d told them, leaning down to rub her cramping calf muscle. “I don’t feel very good.”

Avery stirred at that, asking: “Are you okay? You look like you’re getting a sunburn.”

Before Melanie could answer, Meegan made an annoyed sound and tossed her hair. “Let her go if she wants to go, Avery! Jesus!”

Melanie looked at Avery. “The two of you will be okay?”

“Obviously!” Meegan barked, making Avery blink at her rude tone.

Melanie shrugged, sighed, and left, fighting back self-pitying tears as she ran down the trail. Running was difficult and painful with leg and side cramps, but she knew she’d need to get back and drink some water before that would get any better.

At some point, however, she’d taken a wrong turn, or multiple wrong turns, and now she was lost, the sun beating down on her every time she emerged from the canopy and the humidity overwhelming her when she ran back into a wooded section. She wasn’t even on normal trail anymore; she’d ended up on a paved section that she kept expecting would terminate at the parking lot and yet somehow never did.

Melanie ran down the hill and stopped in the patch of shade at the bottom, dragging her phone out of the deep pocket in the side of her navy blue leggings.

Sweat made it hard for her to grip the phone. It poured out of her, dripping off her nose, trickling down her spine. She couldn’t get her thumbprint to read on the device, and then she realized she still didn’t have any service anyway, so unlocking the device didn’t matter. She shoved the phone in her pocket and shook her water bottle before remembering she was out of water and had been out for a while. The bottle slipped from her hands without her even noticing, dropping into the dead grass with only the quietest of sounds.

“I think there’s an intersection of trails up ahead,” she muttered, squinting through her smudged sunglasses. “And hopefully legible signs.”

The last signs she’d passed were too faded to read.

Heaving a sigh and feeling queasy, Melanie took off at a jog. The sun beat down on her shoulders and stung her scalp. She was sure she’d long since sweated off her sunscreen. The bottle was back in the car along with her day pack, since the plan had been to stay out fewer than two hours. Fair-haired and freckled, Melanie knew she should have known better.

She also should have known better than to be out there at all. The fact that she was the only one walking the cracked, paved trail told her everything she needed to know. Melanie increased her pace, hoping to get to the next intersection soon. 

If there had been anyone else out there, they would have noticed that she was all over the place, struggling to keep herself upright and moving forward.

Will

He was so shocked he repeated himself. “She just ran off?” He’d already checked his phone; no messages or calls from Melanie.

“Ave, you’ve been gone… hours!” Loren, Avery’s boyfriend, exclaimed.

“She doesn’t like us and she didn’t feel good so she said she was just going to come back here.” Avery shrugged, though she had the grace to look concerned. “I thought she knew how to get back! I did ask her if she was okay.”

Will ignored the comment about Melanie “not liking” his friends and reached up to grab his topknot. It was a nervous gesture. “She wasn’t feeling good? In what way?”

“It’s really fucking hot out here,” Meegan replied in an exasperated tone, fanning herself with her hand as she sipped water. “She was hot like the rest of us!”

“We should have come back with her,” Avery said, giving Meegan a What’s wrong with you? look. “She had leg cramps and said she was nauseated. Her skin was really red. She, uh, ran out of water really early, too.”

Will spat out a quiet curse and then said: “She’s on medication. She gets hot fast… what the hell, Avery!”

Avery paled, looking at her boyfriend.

“What do you want to do, Will?” Loren asked, shaking his head.

“Look for her! If the girls beat her back, something’s wrong or she got lost.” He gestured toward the parking lot. “I’m gonna load my pack up with water.”

“I’m sure she’ll be back any minute,” Meegan said, her tone saccharine and dismissive. “You shouldn’t have to give up your second round. I’m sure she’ll call.”

“None of us had service out there!” Avery protested.

“It’s too hot for a second round anyway,” their friend Bruce said.

Will slung his backpack of discs onto his back and jogged to his station wagon. Opening the back hatch, he dumped his discs in the car before filling his bag with Melanie’s sunscreen and water from the cooler. 

“Avery and I are coming with you,” he heard Loren say. “Just give us two minutes.

“Alright.” Will closed the back hatch and slung his bag over his shoulders. “And the others?”

“Bruce, Meegan and Doug are staying back in case she shows up here. Also, because Meegan is a bitch.”

“Melanie doesn’t have a problem with Avery and Meegan,” Will said, his tone harsh.

“I know. It’s just ‘cause Meegan wants you to bone her.” 

“That’s ridiculous.”

Loren shrugged and called out: “You ready, Avery?”

The three of them ran down out of the parking lot and onto the main trail. Will noticed the pavement shimmering ahead.

“Shit it’s so hot out here.” He cringed at the way the hot air burned in his chest.

He felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach.

 

Melanie

She wasn’t going to be able to keep up her current pace.

The sun continued to beat down on her, drilling into her skull and giving her a throbbing headache. And she was running out of steam; whatever energy she’d had earlier had drained away with the sweat.

She looked into the distance. The sky farther out was dark, looking very much like a thunderstorm was headed her way. She hoped it was moving quickly; in addition to the heat, the air was humid, and breathing felt a bit like sucking on the steam from a boiling pot of water.

She tried to remember the max length of the paved trail, but couldn’t. One arm eventually connected to the municipal Greenway. 

That thought made her stumble. She snatched her sunglasses off her face, tried to wipe them off on her shirt.

“I’m not on the Greenway, am I?” She muttered, looking around her for any markers that would identify where she was. There was a bench ahead on the right, but that didn’t help her locate herself; they were all over the place. “Dammit…”

She felt strange. Her heart was beating fast in her chest, and it was hard to catch her breath. She staggered to a stop.

Melanie’s eyelids fluttered, and the world around her canted dangerously to one side. Her right leg folded, and she fell over, landing hard in the broken asphalt running along the edge of the trail. Her legs burned with a series of scrapes and cuts, and she rolled onto her back, flinging an arm over her eyes to block the glare. 

Moving around like that made the nausea build and her mouth tingle. She laid there for a while, thinking the nausea would subside. Instead, it built, making her stomach pulsate.

Gagging, she pushed herself upright and tried to spit into the dirt. Her mouth was too dry, and she couldn’t pull together enough moisture to spit. 

Can’t stay here. She had a niggling feeling that something might be wrong with that thought, that embarking on what already felt like an endless search for the right trail might be a bad idea. She didn’t have the wherewithal to examine the thought further.

Melanie forced herself to her hands and knees, then wavered there for a long time before she gained her feet. She’d stopped sweating at some point, and her skin felt tight and hot. Standing took her several tries, but eventually she hauled herself upright.

Thirsty…

Hot.

She shuffled downhill, her thoughts a useless, whirring pinwheel. 

Will…

Melanie panted, feeling like each breath was incrementally harder, desperately trying to suck in another.

Her last truly coherent thought was that this had all happened faster than she would have guessed.

Momentum carried her down the slope until her legs gave out, and she muttered “Oops” as she landed hard on her knees. She tipped over, dumping herself on the hot asphalt. She hit on her right side, giving her temple a glancing blow, then sprawled on her back, eyes closing against the bright sun.

Will

“We’re going to have to split up when the trails do,” Will said, anxiety making his tone more commanding than usual. They’d been running for fifteen minutes so far with no sign of Melanie. “We don’t know which way she went.”

“How do you want to—”

Loren was interrupted by Avery, who came to an abrupt stop, nearly causing her boyfriend to run right into her. Before he could speak, she burst out: “Is that her?! Straight ahead and up the hill?”

Will squinted. The asphalt was still shimmering, and he didn’t see what she was talking about. He was about to call whatever she was seeing a mirage, when he blinked and the glimmering mirage coalesced into an identifiable shape. There was a small person laying in a crumpled heap on the hot pavement.

“Oh my God!” Will took off at a sprint, his feet slamming the pavement. “Melanie! Melanie!”

When he reached her, he threw himself down, his bare knees making contact with the hot asphalt. “Ah! Fuck! Mel?!”

She was sprawled on her back, eyes closed. Her face was so red he could hardly see her blonde eyebrows. He could hear and see her breathing fast and shallow. She’d been sweating heavily at some point, based on the stains in her shirt and the way the fine hair around her face stuck to her skin. When he touched her, however, her skin felt hot and dry.

Loren and Avery stopped close by, and he heard Avery say: “Oh my God!”

Will gathered Melanie’s limp body in his arms and staggered to his feet, carrying her a few meters away to a shadier spot in the grass. Loren helped him lower her to the ground, supporting her neck and saying: “Will, it looks like she hit her head.”

Loren was right; he could see an abrasion along her left temple.

“I’m running back for help,” Avery said. She held a sweating water bottle out to Loren. “That was frozen this morning, it’s still really cold. I’m going back to where I have signal and calling 9-1-1, she needs an ambulance!”

“Please,” Will said, shrugging out of his back pack. “Tell them she has heat stroke, she’s unconscious and breathing fast… She takes propranolol, it makes it hard for her to regulate her temperature!”

Loren cracked open the bottle of icy water as his girlfriend took off downhill.

“Melanie!” Will called, giving her arms and hands a quick squeeze. Loren poured water in her hair and over her neck. “Melanie, please, open your eyes! Dammit, we shouldn’t have even come out here today! Melanie!”

They soaked her clothing and tucked bottles still cold from Will’s cooler underneath her arms, hoping that would help.

“We can’t give her any unless she wakes up,” Will said. He was patting Melanie’s face, lightly slapping her. “Wake up, honey. Melanie!”

“You’re right.” Loren leaned back on his heels. “What else can we do?”

“We just need to keep her from getting worse while we wait on the ambulance.” Will watched her pant for a while, then slid his thumb up to her eyelid. He pried them open one at a time, but he didn’t know what he was looking for. Her light eyes stared up and through him before each lid slipped closed again. “Melanie!” 

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Jesus, I can’t tell if she’s cooled off at all. Do you remember what happens when someone has heat stroke?”

Loren crouched by Melanie’s head, looking almost as worried as Will felt. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. Just… if someone is red, dry, and unconscious, you call 9-1-1.”

Will grasped her shoulder and shook her. “Melanie!”

“Huh.” Melanie let out a grunt, and Will saw her eyelids flutter.

“Melanie, hey, open your eyes. It’s Will. I’ve got you and help is coming. Just open your eyes.” To his immense relief, she did. Her blue-grey eyes shifted restlessly, never quite focusing on him. She was still breathing fast and shallow, and he rested his hand on her chest, his touch feather light.

“Take a deep breath for me, Melanie. You’re breathing so fast, I bet it’s making you dizzy.”

“Wh… where…?” she whispered. He could feel her heart beating, so rapid it was hard for him to discern the individual beats.

“You’re still at the park,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. He pressed two of his fingers into her neck, feeling around until he found her pulse. “Just relax, Mel. Take a deep breath.”

“Unh…” Her eyelids fluttered, her face slackening.

“Keep your eyes open, Mel.”

Her eyes closed, and for a long moment all he could hear was the rapid pants of her labored breathing. As he watched her, her body stiffened, back bowing and a strange cry tearing from her lips. The whites of her eyes showed as her lids opened to slits. The panting sound stopped.

“Mel! Melanie!” He put his hand back on her chest. “Breathe! Can you breathe?”

She went briefly limp, then her body started jerking. He heard her breathe again, whistling through her clenched teeth.

“She’s having a seizure!” Loren exclaimed. “Like when my nephew had those fever seizures!”

Will wanted nothing more than to make it stop. He smoothed her blonde hair back from her forehead. She was making little grunting sounds, and a small amount of sticky white saliva frothed up between her lips. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay…”

The seizure didn’t last long. Her body relaxed, jaw unclenching. She was taking short, shallow breaths, though now they were much further apart. 

Will wiped the saliva off her face with the bottom of his shirt and then opened her mouth, trying to make sure she wasn’t going to choke on something inside. As he leaned close, she took a breath. There was a long pause, then she took another.

She let it out, and he waited. 

And waited.

“Melanie.” Will shook her shoulder hard.

“Did she just—”

“Melanie, take a breath!”

She remained unresponsive, her chest still. Will’s eyes darted across her face, looking for any signs of movement.

“No, no, no—” He leaned over and grasped her jaw, then pressed his mouth to hers and blew hard. He felt air escape her nostrils and belatedly pinched her nose before blowing into her mouth again. This time, her chest rose, one of her small breasts brushing against his arm.

He was at an odd angle, so he moved perpendicular to her body, tipped her head back, and forced another breath into her lungs. Her chest rose, but otherwise she laid motionless.

“Does she have a pulse?” Loren asked as Will was breathing for her again. Will pressed his fingers into her neck, felt her pulse flutter under his touch.

“Yes, but it’s so fast…” He kept breathing into her, watching her chest rise and fall. Her mouth was over-warm under his, and her skin beneath his hands felt feverish. “Take a breath, Mel. Come on, please.”

To his shock, she did, her chest rising out of sync with the breaths he’d been giving her. She exhaled, and another breath followed a few seconds later.

“That’s right, baby, just keep breathing in and out. Help will be here soon, and they’ll get you cooled off…” He clasped her hand in both of his, feeling her engagement ring against his palm. “In and out. In and out. You’re doing so good. In and out. I love you…”

Will scanned her with his eyes. Her lips looked dusky.

“Does she have any health problems?” Loren asked.

“Just migraines, but the medicine makes her kind of temperature sensitive. Fuck! I shouldn’t have brought her here today, and I should have called for help when she didn’t come back! Melanie!”

Her breaths seemed fewer and farther between, and he released her hand so he could tip her head back and rest his other hand on her chest. “You have to keep breathing, Mel. The ambulance will be here soon and they’ll make you feel better. Please, baby.”

He looked up at Loren. “How long do you think it will take them to get here?”

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” his friend reassured him. “There’s a hospital not too far from here!”

Melanie sighed, and he waited.

Several seconds passed and Will realized she’d stopped breathing again. He bent over her and pinched her nose, blowing a breath deep into her lungs. Then he pressed his fingers into her neck.

He adjusted his positioning once, twice. Waited.

“No…” The word was like an exhalation.

“What is it?” Loren asked, his voice sharp. “Will, what—”

“I think she just died.” His voice cracked, shock running through him like a jolt from a live wire.

Loren was silent for a few seconds, and then he burst into action, crawling around to her other side. “Will, if you mean she doesn’t have a pulse, then we have to do CPR!”

Will watched his friend bend over Melanie, hands clasping together before he pressed them to her sternum. His arms were straight and he rocked his shoulders over his hands, pressing down hard. Melanie let out a huff of air and Loren started counting, his compressions forceful enough to make her head rock and her feet sway.

“…four, five, six, seven…”

Will reached down and took Melanie’s hot, limp hand, squeezing it. Then he released her fingers and grabbed one of the water bottles tucked against her, already warm from her body and the air. He poured the water over her scalp, his hand making a gentle dam to keep the water off her face.

“…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Loren stopped pressing on her chest. “Will! Give her two breaths! Quick!”

Will dropped the empty bottle, noticing that Loren picked up the other. As he leaned over her and forced air into her lungs, Loren emptied the contents of the bottle over her chest.

“If we keep oxygen circulating, the medics might be able to revive her,” Loren said. “They have medication, and a defibrillator, and—”

He stopped speaking so he could start compressions again. “One, two, three…”

Will picked up his empty pack and used it to fan her, hoping the breeze on her wet skin would cool her off. He was trying to decide how long it would have taken Avery to get back to the parking lot, given she was headed downhill and not checking out any side paths. 

“…twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! Breathe, Will!”

Will complied, watching her chest rise with each breath and blinking back a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. Loren started compressions again, her shoulders twitching each time he forced her sternum down. Halfway through the set, Will heard a crunch, followed by a gagging sound from Loren.

“What was that?!” he gasped.

Loren was breathing hard and just shook his head. “…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! I think it’s normal, either way we can’t stop, Will!”

Will gave her another two deep breaths. It was disconcerting how warm and soft her lips were, even though, as far as he could tell, she was dead. He let his hand rest on her forehead, his thumb smoothing the fine hairs of her eyebrow. He thought he’d understood that anyone could die at any time, but looking down at her, thinking about all of the plans they’d made, he realized he hadn’t truly believed it. She was supposed to be invincible.

His head ached with regret and grief.

“…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

“Please,” he whispered. “Come back. Melanie, please come back…”

“…twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…”

He ran a finger down the bridge of her nose. She had a small nose with a straight bridge and the faintest of wrinkles near the tip from repeatedly scrunching up her face. Usually to laugh at something he’d said.

“Thirty!”

He pressed his lips to hers again and gave her his breath.

“One more round and then we need to switch, my arms are getting tired!”

Another breath. “Okay. You’ll let me know if I’m fucking it up?”

“Yeah—two, three, four, five…”

Close as he was, he could hear spurts of air escape her lips each time Loren shoved his hands down into her breastbone. The pressure made her throat click.

“…fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

“Please, please, please don’t die, don’t die… Please don’t die, Mel.” He made himself shut up and took a deep breath, tears pricking his eyes and a wave of dizziness rolling over him. She couldn’t afford for him to lose his shit.

“Thirty!”

Will leaned over to give her two more breaths, and then he shifted down her body, clasping his hands together and pressing the heel between her breasts. Loren reached out and pulled him forward so that his shoulders were over his hands, and then Will shoved them down into her sternum. Her chest gave to the pressure, and he felt a sick chill roll through him. He popped back up and then pushed her chest down again, noticing as he did so that her stomach bulged slightly with each thrust of his hands.

“…three, four, five, six, seven…”

“That looks good, Will. I think we’ve been doing it right, helping her right…”

“…fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…” What am I going to tell her parents? I’m supposed to protect her.

What am I going to tell MY parents?

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Will leaned back, panting more from emotion than exertion, watching as Loren tipped Melanie’s head and gave her two rescue breaths. Her chest rose and fell with each, and then it was Will’s turn.

As he started the new round of compressions, a sound pricked his ears. A siren.

“…two, three… Loren, is—”

“That’s the fucking ambulance!” Loren shouted. “Keep going, don’t stop, they’ll tell us when to stop—”

“…twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, if you can hear me, baby, help is coming… God…” He could feel himself starting to shake.

Loren cut in: “Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…”

Will took a deep breath and continued counting for himself as his hands forced her ribcage to flex. “Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” 

Loren’s breaths inflated Melanie’s chest, and then Will went back to compressions. The sound of the ambulance siren energized him, and he made himself compress her sternum hard and fast. 

“One, two, three, four, five—”

“I see it!”

“…seven, eight, nine, ten…”

The ambulance came to a halt on the path beside them. Will glanced up long enough to see Avery jump out of the passenger seat, her eyes huge as she realized that Will and Loren were performing CPR.

“Oh God, she stopped breathing?!”

“…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…” 

Someone touched his shoulder. “Sir, we’ve got her now. You did a good job.”

He glanced over. A dark-haired, female paramedic crouched beside him, already leaning around to press her fingers into Melanie’s neck. Will lifted his hands and then scrambled backward. When he tried to stand, he stumbled. A tall paramedic grabbed him under the arm, steadying him until he could stand on his own.

“Are you alright?” the man asked.

“Yes, I…” He felt like he was floating. His head pounded and his stomach throbbed, something that he hadn’t allowed himself to notice before. Everything started to spin and shimmer around him.

The medic squinted at him. “Let’s set you down.”

Will let the medic help him to the ground and then waved him off. “Help her!”

“Got another one, need to get them both in the air con…”

Loren crouched next to him, looking worried. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I went over for a second to check on Avery.” His girlfriend hovered at the tree line, her loud sobs cutting through the sound of everything else.

The female paramedic was giving Melanie compressions now, her back to the tree line. This meant he could see the effect the forceful thrusts had on Melanie’s body. She seemed to cave in around the woman’s hands, over and over again in a rapid assault.

The tall paramedic kneeled by Melanie’s head, opening packets and laying things out beside him. Will watched him grasp Melanie’s head and carefully thrust her jaw forward. He slipped something metallic into her mouth that turned on a light when he cranked it open.

The third paramedic, a stocky younger man, was starting an IV.

“Hold compressions,” the tall medic said. He threaded a tube down the length of the metal device, then retracted the device and connected a bag to the end of the tube.

The medic who’d been doing compressions pressed the bell of her stethoscope to Melanie’s chest while he squeezed the bag, then nodded and immediately started compressions again. The tall paramedic secured the tube with tape, then reached down to pick up a cold pack, activating it with a firm squeeze of his hands and shaking it. 

He tucked the pack under Melanie’s arm, then reached for another.

The paramedic with the IV began to apply electrodes to Melanie’s chest, working around the medic performing compressions. He connected the leads to a monitor and a high-pitched whine filled the air. Will heard someone say: “Asystole. Pushing epinephrine.”

More cold packs were applied to her body. The paramedic performing chest compressions switched off with the tall paramedic and started squeezing the bag.

Will clutched at his head, his breath coming fast. The paramedics were working quickly, but nothing they did seemed to change anything. The monitor whined. Melanie’s lips stayed ashen. Her body continued to limply accept the abuse, her shoulders twitching, small breasts trembling. The tube between her teeth swayed.

“Pulse check!” The medics all reached in, one pressing fingers to her neck, the other her wrist, the third pressing his gloved fingers next to her groin. After ten seconds, he heard: “No pulse, continue compressions, unpack the Lucas!”

The stocky paramedic got up and jogged to the ambulance.

“What?” Will asked quietly, glancing over at Loren. “What did they say?”

“They said they were going to ‘unpack the Lucas,’ but I don’t know what that means.”

Avery had stopped sobbing, Will realized. She was sitting much like he was, with her hands gripping her head, her eyes staring hard at Melanie’s lifeless body.

The stocky man ran back with a plastic case and set it beside Melanie. He quickly opened up the case and pulled out a yellow plastic board, which he laid on the grass above her head. Will saw him pull other equipment out of the case, but he didn’t have any context for what any of it was and he didn’t want to delay the medics by asking questions. 

The tall medic stopped compressions and the female medic slid an arm under Melanie’s back. She lifted, propping Melanie’s unconscious body upright. She was only sitting up for a short time, just long enough for the stocky medic to slide the yellow board under her back, but Will saw her face before her head sagged backward. Some of the red coloring had faded, but instead of red she was going purple-gray.

He would never be able to express what it was like to watch the woman he’d planned to marry flop limply as the paramedics laid her dusky, half naked body back down.

As soon as they got her flat, the tall medic started compressing her chest again and the female paramedic reattached the bag to the tube, squeezing it regularly. The stocky medic picked up something from the case, what looked to Will like a motor with two plastic arms that curved out from the bottom. The stocky medic clipped the arms into slots on the yellow board while the tall medic lifted his hands off of Melanie’s chest, reaching for what looked like a suction cup at the base of a piston. He directed the cup down to Melanie’s naked chest and then pressed a button on the side of the motor. The cup thumped down hard into the center of her chest, and a new sound joined the deadly whine: nn-hit, nn-hit, nn-hit. Will watched them fasten a harness over Melanie’s shoulders.

“Push another epi and then let’s get her on the bus,” the female medic said. While the stocky medic was giving Melanie medication, the tall medic took her right arm and strapped her wrist to the motor. Then the stocky medic took her wrist with the IV and lifted that arm, attaching the strap loosely and sliding his finger under the strap to make sure it wasn’t trapping the IV tubing. 

All the while, the machine pistoned itself with precision into Melanie’s chest as the remaining paramedic squeezed the bag. Will realized he could see Melanie’s engagement ring on her hand, glinting in the hot sun.

He scrambled to his feet, watching as the medics gathered up their supplies. The female medic disconnected the bag and reached down to support Melanie’s head; the others lifted from the sides. They moved her onto the waiting gurney.

Watching them move her, looking so small and vulnerable underneath the machine, Will felt something let go inside of him. He took a breath, trying to steady himself. His eyes struggled to focus. He raked his gaze across the tree line, over Avery, then back, his eyes finally settling on Mel on the gurney.

Loren reached toward him, his blurry face contorting. “Hey, you—”

Will collapsed, the world around him fading to black.

He woke an indeterminate amount of time later in the air conditioned back of the ambulance, to the sound of a piston and a high-pitched whine. Bright, artificial lights stabbed him in the eyes, and he tried to sit up, only to find that he was strapped down.

“Will? Just lay there and rest for me, alright?” an unfamiliar voice said. “We had to strap you to the backboard so you didn’t fall off. I put an IV in your arm and you’re receiving fluids. You got a little too hot and passed out on us.”

Melanie…

“Mel—” he twisted, looking toward the rhythmic noise to his right. 

“The Lucas device is pumping her heart for us.” The tall paramedic from before leaned over him. “We’re cooling her down and keeping her blood circulating so the doctors at the hospital can help her.”

Warm and dead, Will thought, shuddering. Did I hear that on television?

The paramedic seemed to be trying to block Will from looking, but he caught sight of her anyway. He could just see her profile, with the tube protruding from between her teeth. Further down, the device pumping her heart. It arched over top of her torso, rocking slightly. The suction cup punched into her sternum over and over again. He could see her breasts wobble and her stomach roll with each forceful, mechanical compression. Her pale legs rocked with the rhythm of the compression device; they’d removed the rest of her clothing and packed more cold packs around her.

“Do people survive… if you have to use that?” he asked, shivering, his voice broken.

The medic leaned over him again and removed the cold packs that Will hadn’t even noticed were tucked under his own arms.

 “Sometimes,” the man said, resting his gloved hand on Will’s arm. 

The paramedics continued to move about the small space, checking the monitor and administering more medication, even speaking directly to him, but all Will could hear was the whine of Melanie’s still heart and the relentless nn-hit, nn-hit, nn-hit of the machine pumping her chest.

[notafragileegg]

Ever felt extremely tired / straight up fell asleep due to boredom? Congratulations! You might have experienced this weird thing called "intrusive sleep".

(I am gonna link a few sources, it's a really fascinating thing) Intrusive sleep is such a weird thing. It happens particularly often in people with ADHD.

Our nervous systems apparently just disengage out of SHEER BOREDOM! It might lead to drowsiness or collapse on the spot due to abrupt tiredness.

Apparently, it happens because our brains see no point in "wasting energy" on the current task

Article 1 | Article 2

My personal experience with this is something I'd like to share. I luckily don't have the variant where I just suddenly drop to the floor and sleep. I occasionally get extremely tired and drowsy when I don't know what to do / get overwhelmed with a boring task. It's like an INTENSE feeling of tiredness that takes over my entire body and sensory processing. Things start moving slower, my thoughts start forming into dreams and I fall asleep within 1-2 minutes for a couple of minutes to an hour.

This is extremely difficult to handle when I have to listen to a monotone teacher, watch a documentary, or even read a book. My brain just goes "oh... well, fuck this" and just sends me to sleep.

The part that annoys me most is when I tell people about this problem I have, that's actually impacting my ability to live like I want to, some have told me that I should be thankful for being able to fall asleep on command. The thing is, this is not a restful sleep, nor is it like a nap, it's almost like I just lose all motor ability, skip a bit of time, and wake up like nothing happened. Maybe my hand is sore because I fell asleep on top of it, but that's pretty much the only change besides a bit of left-over drowsiness. + IT HAPPENS WHEN I DON'T WANT IT TO

I have only recently tried to do something against it after realizing it's most likely an ADHD thing - so I took the approach of pumping myself with AS MUCH GOOD STIMULATION AS I CAN HANDLE until I am awake; I put on some music, get some easy snacks, fill my water bottle with cold water and just hope, that that's enough to basically stop my brain from deactivating me temporarily.

Intrusive sleep is definitely something I want to learn more about and might make a follow-up post about. I just had this intense urge to write a post at 2am (this definitely doesn't help with my other sleep issues lmao). I just hope it's legible and hopefully somewhat interesting to read.

[im-a-matt-girl]

writing love letters to matt and hiding them in plain sight so he’ll never find them but one day he does and writes one back to you and leaves it on your side of his bed for you to find when you come over while he’s out.

"Origami"

I love origami. I have a stack of beautifully-colored origami paper in a box, and I'm practicing making my own heart-shaped pattern with them. I fold and I fold until I get it just right, and I'm happy with the shape of the heart. Then, I make more papers into that same heart shape.

Suddenly, I have an idea. I get out my pen and write down little notes on the papers. I put things like, I hope something good happens to you today, and, Dearest Matthew, you are so loved on them. I fold them up into hearts as well, and I take them to your room.

I look around for spots to put them in, where they will technically be "hidden," but where I know that you'll find them eventually; there are about ten hearts in all. Then, I wait.

A few days go by, and you haven't brought up anything about them. I don't know if you've read any of them yet, or even found them. Perhaps you've seen them, but simply accepted that they are origami hearts, and nothing more. They have nothing written on the outside to indicate that they have notes addressed to you within. Maybe my plan failed.

One day, I go to your house when you are not there. Your brothers greet me at the door, and inform me of your absence. "He just went to film a personal video, but he should be back soon," Nick tells me.

"Okay, should I come back later, then?" I ask him.

"No, that's okay, you can come in if you want," he says, opening the door wider so that I can come inside.

"Hey," Chris nods to me.

"Hi, Chris," I smile. I skip over to your room, and I check to see if the hearts are still where I left them.

They are gone.

I see a piece of white paper folded up into a square on the side of your bed that I use while I sleep over with you, next to Mr. Wrinkleton. I pick it up, noticing a heart drawn on it. It makes me smile. I open it up, and it has your handwriting inside.

I'm sorry I can't fold this paper into a heart like you did, but I found all of them I think. There were 10. So I thought I'd respond. They made my day honestly. I don't think I tell you enough that I love you. I really do though. I don't even know how to express it sometimes. I guess this is a good start. Everything you put on those hearts is something I want for you too. We feel the same way about each other. Hopefully you already knew that. If you didn't, that's my bad. You're my favorite person to be around. You make me feel happy and warm and fuzzy inside. I'm sorry if that's corny. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love you too.

I sit down on your bed, holding the letter against my heart. I want to cry; I love you so much. I don't care if your paper isn't folded into a heart, or if your handwriting is barely legible - I love you for everything that you are. I wouldn't change a single thing about you.

After a few minutes, you come back home, and I hear you coming up the stairs. I fold up the paper, put it into my pocket, and stand back up to greet you. As soon as you enter your bedroom doorway, I throw my arms around you and hug you. "Thank you," I whisper to you.

You gently return my hug. "You found it?" you giggle softly.

"Yes," I answer, wiping away the stray tear that escaped my eye. "It was very sweet. I love you so much."

You look into my eyes and smile. "I love you, too."

[just-call-mefr1es]

days four five n eight:3

hopefully my handwritings legible enough😭😭 sorry to those who cant read it i relate🤘🏽

[chromee23]

UPPER GARESSA Entering the mine complex itself may yield treasure, but a band of thieves has broken in first. While many have entered into the mines, none have left... what awaits inside? What caused the rioting amongst the residents, and why would they have abandoned the safety of the first floor for the lower levels?

While I am still going strong creatively for dungeon23, I definitely feel that my first drafts are in dire need of proofreading. I also am definitely going to abandon the current way I am typing up room descriptions- I am finding my plans too wordy to legibly fit in an image, and formatting the text on Dungeon Scrawl is not as easy as I had thought. I will instead be putting the descriptions solely on Tumblr under a read-more; hopefully this works better!

8. SECURITY CENTER 8a. Pit Trap The entry hallway has a 20 foot pit trap spanning its entirety. One of the looters left their familiar here to pull a lever to drop anyone following into the pit trap. The familiar will retreat after fulfilling its mission. 8b. Guard Post The guard post has a number of controls for the entry hallway- at the northern window a large crank to open the entrance door and a lever to activate the pit trap; at the southern window a large crank to open the door to the great hall and a smaller lever that opens the secret door on the southeast wall for access. The lever to the pit trap can also twist to swing a scythe trap when lowered. There is also a rune on the ceiling that, if a group of people without a security badge enters the post, will warn that they lack the requisite badge, and then will summon constructs to attack. This warning gives enough time for the intruders to leave if approaching from the hall, but not if they are entering from the pit. The summoning trap can activate once per hour, 3 times per day. The weapon racks have been mostly looted but they have crossbows, bolts, and various reach weapons. 8c. Barracks These bunk beds once housed twenty guards. The residents had to retreat further into the mines without returning for belongings, which a good investigation will reveal; a thorough search of the trunks reveals personal belongings; the guards were paid in scrip so there are no coins, but one of the trunks  a golden locket worth 10 gold.

9. GRAND ENTRANCE HALL This large 60 foot tall hallway has always had a few stalls for bartering between residents and visitors and vice versa. When refugees arrived many more stalls and even larger semi-permanent buildings for valuables to be traded for necessities. Most stalls have been looted of valuables but 4 of them still have some valuables on them-  each requires either a thorough investigation (which has a 25% chance of alerting the enemies in room 11 or 12) or a very good check. The stalls with valuables have 10d4 gold, or an equivalent amount of gems.  9a. Tailor This structure was recently made when a tailor capitalized on the new demand for new or repaired clothing after many displaced people arrived with only the clothes on their back. The owner trapped it when the residents retreated further into the mine, then the looters tripped said trap when they entered. all that remains is an exploded door and an opened safe. 9b. General Supplies Another recent structure, this building was a stall that expanded to accommodate the influx of visitors. This building was also trapped- the roof has a number of large stone blocks that will collapse loudly in when the building is entered (75% chance of alerting the enemies in room 11 or 12. There is at least 1 or more of any common supply, including 19 dried rations. The safe under the counter has not been opened, but it requires a very good check to open. Inside is 190 gold, 5 random valuables, and a magical ring. 9c. Smithy This building is one of the more permanent structures in the hall- one of the residents was a smith who could craft magical tools, weapons, and armor using the metals and gems acquired in the mine, and it drew in a lot of trade when the mine still ran. There is a rune carved above the doorway that will radiate a blast of energy when the mantle is crossed without the owner's keys within 30 feet. This rune can activate every 12 hours. Inside the shop is a number of usable pieces of armor weapons, and mining tools. There is also an enchanted pick that cannot be damaged, as well as a magically enhanced shield. The owner hid a large lock box inside the counter- it can only be found with a good check, and can only be opened with the owner's keys or with a good lock-picking check. inside is 220 gold and a few pieces of valuable metals.

10. MEETING HUB This room was where residents could socialize. There are benches lining the walls, which are intricately carved with motivational designs of miners, and there is a large statue of the individual who founded Garessa. 10a. Trap The short corridor connecting the Entrance Hall to the Meeting Hub is trapped with a magical tripwire- when triggered, an alarm sounds in the lower levels and a weak jolt of electricity hits everyone in the hall. This can trigger once an hour. 10b. Barricade The western corridor was once blocked by tables and beds, but it has since been pulled apart. There are blood smears where bodies were dragged from beyond the barricade down to the stairs to the lower levels.

11. ASSEMBLY HALL While this room was once used for entertainment, addresses, and speeches. Now it is filled with tents to house refugees. The tents have the clothing and bed rolls for roughly 150 people in cramped quarters. There are signs of mass panic throughout. One of the looters was chased in here by the spectre from room 12, slain, then reanimated as a weakened spectre. She now haunts the hall and will attack whoever enters. There is nothing of value amongst the refugee's belongings aside from some trinkets. The looter has a magical staff and a pack with 3 random scrolls and 5d6 gold.

12. DINING HALL This long room was the mine worker's cafeteria. It has a vaulted ceiling that raises up 30 feet at its highest point and at the southeast corner there is a window to the kitchen (12a) for cooks to distribute food to diners. 2 of the hall's 6 tables were used for the barricade in room 11 and the remaining tables have been used to make a secondary barricade, which has broken. Throughout the hall are signs of violence, and there are a few bodies that have been left to rot. When the mine was taken over by force many of the occupants resisted and were struck down but one of them, the head guard of the mine, rose as a spectre to haunt the hall. He regards anyone passing through as those who killed them and will attack. Any humanoid killed by the spectre will rise as a weakened spectre like the looter in room 11. The head guard's corpse has a badge to pass to the lower levels, and his corpse still clutches his enchanted flaming blade. He also has a  coin pouch of 8d4 gold. 12a. Kitchen This kitchen has been completely emptied of anything edible; all that remains has already spoiled. The insurrection among the occupants took everything down to the lower levels. Only tools for cooking remain.

13, LIVING QUARTERS These quarters housed the miners, janitors, and cooks. Each of the rooms has bunk beds to house 28 workers, though some of the bunks were dragged out to make the barricade. All the workers were paid in scrip, so the only valuables are trinkets worth 10 gold each. There are 5 trinkets in the western quarters and 3 in the eastern. It would take an hour to search each room, but a good check may yield a trinket quickly. 13a. Restroom Piping redirects water to this room from the river above the mine. The showers on the north wall have a guards corpse in it, but the looters already took the badge and other belongings. The privies on the south wall have a constant stream of water flowing below them to flush waste, but it has backed up and begun to flood. The blockage is actually a sentient slime that will emerge and try to digest anything that enters a privy.

14. STAIRWELL The stairs are carved into the stone and revolve around an elevator. They descend 200 feet. There are controls on the elevator and a lever that will call the elevator up. 14a. Door The door is magically locked and above the doorway is a rune that functions near identically to the one in 8b, but summons more powerful constructs. Both the lock and the rune can be bypassed with a guard's badge.

[floweredhusbands]

reading back this blog is an. experience. slash pos i think

Hopefully everything is tagged and organized legibly! There’s been a lot more posts lately but they should be organized enough to tell you what’s canon and what’s not. You can filter out anything you don’t want, too, or suggest new tags for better organization

[callipraxia]

okay I’m here to thank you. Do you remember that post from like a Long Time Ago where you talked about what inks you used to plan/outline fwjb on paper? well, a few days after I heard about that, I went to the nearest store and bought the shittiest composition notebook and highlighters you’ve ever fucking seen in your life. then I forgot about it for like a very, Very long time. that's important context.

I suddenly remember it existed three days ago. I picked it up, decorated it, and colored two full pages of marker because. because well why not. The first couple pages are soaked in ink my bad. anyways—I finally decided to start actually WRITING in it, in PENCIL, because while actual writing notebooks would be a lot better than a Fucking Composition Notebook, I’m pinched. so. I did that. and guess what?!? it helped! it fucking helped! my weird ass outlines On Paper! I figured out a WHOLE Three Act Structure for do you remember hanging up the stars, AND have begun loosely sorting all of the POVs I have in the search for future reference. like?!? oh god it’s so helpful to have something I can Look At. very shitty picture attached (ignore the gagging mess of handwriting, never grew out of third grade cursive hybrid lettering, you might not even be able to read it--) (this is for the stars)

so… thank you! this was very helpful and that wasn’t your intention with the post but fuck all I Listened. you’ve got organized writing a lot more than I do, lol. will possibly take More Notes in the future…! :)

oh Wow now im getting feelings from showing off my handwriting to a public for the first time. hopefully this doesnt unlock and unbridled the terrible ordeal of being known anxiety! /lh

Ooh, cool! And your handwriting’s quite nice and very legible, so don’t be anxiety about it!

Composition books are also perfectly valid forms of writing notebook. I’m writing the first draft of Tracey’s journal in one, actually, because that’s the kind of notebook he’s writing in in-universe, and the McGucket memoir’s on a purple legal pad. The FWJB outlines and notes, meanwhile, were written mostly on loose sheets of printer paper, gathered into a folder (which proved invaluable as a supplement for my memory, which went into full leaky-faucet mode for a while halfway or so through IE cos COVID/2022 being Just The Worst Year). Most of my one-shots are written in my tiniest handwriting on bits of scrap paper, including a number of those alignment sheets the printer spits out when you plug it in. As much as I love good-quality notebooks, they aren’t always the right tool for the job…especially if you just hoard them and never deem any idea good enough to ‘waste’ them on (I’m convinced that getting the FWJB notebooks on clearance sale was directly tied psychologically to my willingness to actually use them, somehow or the other).

[mammameesh]

Mournful Monday

@trickiwooao3 wants to know more about our writing challenges this week:

This MM I'm inviting you to share your toughest writing challenge--dialogue, plot, overwriting, underwriting, mechanics (grammar, punctuation)?

@smblmn, @ramonaflow. @jesuisici33 @a-noble-dragon @carolrain

I'm autistic so I'll use examples. I do feel my biggest challenge is the plot. For my Fantasy Motel, I just watched the new Fantasy Island and thought: What if the Motel granted wishes? Stevie is my favorite character so there will never be enough Stevie-centric fics. But I really don't know what happens in between. I've been going through Schitt's Creek Wiki, rewatching the show (of course), and know what people would wish for, but how do I turn that into a story? I have no clue. I'm currently writing my first long fic and that's based on prompts. Oddly, I think our weekly drabbles have given me more ideas than anything else. But then going from drabbles to long form is also a change up, and I don't play cricket. Tee hee. So I do think I underwrite a bit. I read a lot of beautiful descriptive fanfiction and I'm always like "Wow."

I'm also very bad at changing tenses mid-sentence, even though I have a thing on each page that says "Use Past tense". but it's still a struggle and something I notice when I'm rereading. I think dialogue for Schitt's Creek is easy for me. I've barely started branching out, and other characters of other fandoms I don't 'hear' the character's voice so clearly.

I think that's it. I mean I do use Grammarly so hopefully my grammar is at least legible.

[hoppip-haven]

Pelipper mail!

It's a unopened bottle of syrup and a bag of what appears to be pancake mix, with a note haphazardly stuck to it with a sticker of a magnemite with a train conductor hat, the note's handwriting seems to be a bit messy, but legible enough, it reads: "hey sorry I only could find stickers from my work so there's that I guess, I figured you'd have water so I just sent the mix, if you don't, shit, but hopefully you do! Just mix it until it's mostly thick but not heavy."

Oh, that's simple... I should be able to do that!

....now to herd the hoppips into the kitchen so that I can keep an eye on them while I do this.....

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter forty-eight // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - a voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 2.6k

warnings for this chapter: none

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Forty-Eight:

I’m not sure if I should be concerned or relieved by how easy it is to sneak out of the Manor after dark. The Disillusionment charm gives me some ease, but frankly, even if I didn’t have my magic, I’d still take the risk.

When I’d first read the note this morning, I’d had to reread it several times. The handwriting is barely legible, but I could make out that it said to meet in the same spot at eleven o’clock tonight. It was unsigned, but I’m assuming it’s either Caelan or Kyle. Hopefully not a mysterious third option.

The moon is bright enough tonight to light my way to the secluded clearing, but once past the brush, it’s even darker than before. I wonder if they’ll be within the fence or without. I don’t know what ancient protection spells surround the property, but I’d imagine they’d be more difficult to cross than whatever’s at the cottage that allowed Bellatrix, Caelan, and George to pass through.

At first glance, I don’t see anyone in the clearing. I focus on the area beyond the fence. A canopy of trees don’t block the moon’s light there like my side of the fence. A single tree stands some yards away, darkness swelling below its branches. Still hidden, I cast the illumination spell and send the ball of light to circle the trunk.

It revolves once, twice, before my eyes catch the outline of a human form fitted to the trunk.

“Homenum Revelio,” I speak softly, but swift. The effects are immediate, swiping away the wizard’s Disillusionment charm like pulling a sheet off of furniture.

It’s Kyle.

His look of surprise doesn’t go unnoticed before he steels his expression. Dressed down in jeans and flannel over a white t-shirt, he pulls his wand from his waistband, pointing it in my direction.

When I remove my own disillusionment charm, his stern expression lightens and he lowers his wand.

“How’d you know where I was?” he asks. The ball of light hovers between us as he approaches the fence. “I didn’t even see you.”

I shrug. “Casting and detecting a Disillusionment charm was part of the W.M.T.”

“Right,” he says and I can’t tell from his expression if he’s impressed or annoyed. Either way, he changes subjects. “How long have you had your magic? I’m assuming you arrive here the day Thomus left?”

“I got it a few days after that. It was three days this time, instead of four.”

“Are you due for another dose soon?”

I hesitate, pressing my lips together. “I don’t think they’ll be giving me any here.”

His eyebrows raise. “What? Why?”

I take a deep breath. I’m not sure why I’m hesitant to say anything. It feels like I’m about to reveal a secret that isn’t mine to tell.

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” I say. I recall Narcissa’s comment about how Hermione has different prerogatives than I do. “While I’m here, my treatment is the same as Hermione’s.”

“They’re not suppressing Hermione Granger’s magic?”

“… No,” I say slowly.

He tilts his head. “Do you think they’re playing both sides?”

“I think they’re closer to doomsday preppers than anything else,” I say. “Bargaining chips and the like.”

“When this… regime inevitably falls?”

“Exactly.”

Kyle’s eyes are on me, direct and contemplative. “Did you mean what you said to Thomus?” he says.. “That you’re just biding your time, playing along, waiting for this nightmare to be over?”

My eyes widen. “You were listening in the stairway?”

He laughs once, the noise dry. “You weren’t exactly whispering.”

I consider his question, looking away into the darkness. When I glance back, he’s expectant.

“I might’ve understated what I said to Thomus,” I admit. “I might be biding my time, but it’s not just for this to be over. I want to do what I can to help.”

“How far are you willing to go?” he asks.

“I’d like to kill Voldemort myself, but I don’t think I’ll ever have the privilege.”

“If you had the chance, would you?”

I give a modest smile. “There’s definitely not a shortage of people who’d take that chance.”

“Yeah, but I’m not looking for just anyone.”

“Who are you looking for? What do you even want?”

“It might be inevitable, but regimes don’t just fall on their own. It’s my job to ensure someone like you will be in position to have the most impact when the time comes. Maybe even deliver the final blow.”

My heart is racing. This is what I’ve been waiting for, hoping for, begging for.

“You just let me worry about the hows and the whens,” he continues. “I’ll keep you updated as things progress.”

“I haven’t said yes yet,” I point out.

“You also haven’t said no.”

“What’re you going to have me do first? Are you gonna whisk me away to plant me somewhere?”

He smiles. “No, not yet. Our first goal is ensuring the suppression potion won’t be an obstacle for you. Does Thomus suspect you’re becoming immune?”

“Not yet.”

“Good,” he says. “I’m going to bring you a batch of the suppression potion and leave it here for you by the morning. I want you to practice overcoming it until no matter how strong it is, it won’t affect you.”

I sigh. “That’s a big goal.”

“I understand it’ll take a while, but we need to start now.”

“So that I’ll be ready… when the time comes?”

“Exactly,” he says. “So is that… a yes?”

“Yes.”

~*~

I’d hoped that it would be easy, but I knew that it wasn’t going to be.

The potion that Kyle left isn’t as minty as Thomus’, but it still takes me two days to feel any sort of spark. I wait a day before taking the next one. After the second dose, my magic comes sooner, but flickers on and off like a light with a loose wire. It lasts for a few minutes to a couple hours before suddenly vanishing. It’s extremely discouraging and makes me reluctant to take the third dose.

Everything I need to develop the film finally arrives. Hermione shows me Draco’s potions lab where I’ll be able to work. It’s on a lower floor, so there’s no windows, which makes it basically perfect.

“Would you mind if I watched or helped you?” Hermione asks.

I smile as I light candles and the flame beneath a cauldron. “Yes, sure. I’d like the company.”

Making the developing potion is like making my favorite meal. I know the recipe by heart with knowledge of what happens if I make any mistakes or changes. With the potion being highly volatile, through many trial and error, I can make the potion knowing the exact minute that the liquid will implode on itself.

“What do you do to contain it?” Hermione asks. “Or can you stop it from exploding?”

“I can’t really stop it from exploding, no. Diluting it helps, but really it’s only a few ingredients short of an actual bomb.” I grind down the willow root and make sure my face is far away from the cauldron when I add it to the potion. It pops with a purple cloud of smoke. I quickly turn the heat down and check the color for the familiar dark purple like the skin of an eggplant. “Normally, wizard photographers use an enchanted box to contain the explosion, but I don’t know how to make one and I didn’t wanna ask Narcissa because they can be pretty expensive.”

“What’re you planning to do with this?” she asks, her tone wary, but curious.

I laugh once. “You’re not gonna like my answer.”

While letting the potion cool, I get the room ready. Hanging a string from one end of the room to the other, aligning the fixer, wetting agent, and stop bath next to the sink. I stuff a throw blanket along the bottom of the door and snuff out the candles, checking to make sure that the room is pitch-black.

“Lumos Rubrum,” I say and a ball of red light floats over the palm of my hand. I gesture  my hand for it to hover over the center of the room.

I pull out the film canister and get Narcissa’s roll ready in the film tank now that it’s not going to be ruined from candle light. I check the temperature of the potion and calculate how long the film is going to take to develop. With a small clock I’d stolen from Thomus’ room sitting within clear sight, I begin the process.

Hermione has few questions. She has a basic understanding of how it works, but she’d grown up with her parents already using digital cameras. With the exception of a disposable camera she’d been given for Christmas one year when she was five. I laugh with her when she recalls how many of those pictures were of herself, only her hair and a corner of her forehead within frame.

I go through the motions like I’ve done this a million times – because I have. Usually I’d have my wand to use as a timer, but with an analog clock, I have to pay more attention. All the liquids get poured into the sink, even the magical developing potion, but with cold water to running down the drain with it. The remaining developing potion gets poured into a glass vial.

I pull the film from the tank and snip the frames that hadn’t been used. Severing the rest of the film every frames, Hermione helps me hang them up on the string with bobby pins to dry. Once they’re all hanging, I bring the red light closer and shift the color to its normal white glow.

The twenty frames are sectioned into four strips of five, and I focus on the strip closest to me. There’s a blanket spread out in some grass, a baby maybe six or seven months, lies on their stomach. They wiggle around, hands reaching for a black cat curled up near them. It’s the wisps of dark hair that gives away the identity of the child.

Thomus.

The next he’s sitting up on the blanket, blinking at the camera with big blue eyes as he gnaws on the end of a toy wand. I find familiarity even in the baby version of his face. My chest tightens and swells at the same time with a multitude of emotions as I scan the small frames.

Toddler Thomus is standing, giggling at someone behind the camera. His little fists wrap tightly around feminine fingers helping him stand between two thin legs. Long dark hair falls and stops just above his head as he takes shaking steps forward.

The same black cat from before curled around a sleeping Thomus, it’s eyes blinking and tail swishing softly as it stares at the person behind the camera.

A young dark haired woman in burgundy robes holds Thomus in her arms. Her cheek is pressed against his temple as she tries to get him to look at the photographer. He’s clearly more interested in the stuffed badger in his hands, it’s limbs waving limply around as Thomus gets bounced on the woman’s hip. She gives a light exasperated look towards the camera, a smile never leaving her face.

It has to be his mom.

I move to the next strip and see Thomus a few years older, nine or ten, sitting with Lucius. Lucius’ white blond hair is already in a low bun and he relaxes in his seat while Thomus’ dark mop of curls hunches over a game of wizard chess. Thomus doesn’t see the familiar haughty side-eye Lucius gives to the camera. Or maybe the person behind it.

Thomus sits at an upright piano, legs dangling over the bench while his fingers jab wildly over the keys. He looks over his shoulder, beaming at the camera. The next frame his mom has joined him, camera sitting on a side edge of the piano. Their lips move like they’re singing as she moves her fingers over the keys with far more precision than his.

Another frame has Thomus shakily straddling a broom. A man whom I’d assume is Lucius, based on his hair, but his frame is unfamiliar, holds it steady for him.

Another strip contains another young Thomus, I’d guess six or seven, sitting in a large reading chair with a tiny little elf next to him. A book is open across their laps and Thomus flips the page, lips moving as he clearly reads aloud.

There’s a set of pictures clearly taken in close succession of each other. First is a children’s book, a feminine hand holding it open, her knees popping up on either side of the edge as she adjusts. Next is a thumb, right on the lens, appearing and disappearing within the time of the picture. Last is the camera turned and pointed up at Thomus’ mom, her long hair framing the view of the underside of her jaw. She notices the camera is pointed at her when she looks down and she smiles, the most loving and affectionate look in her eyes.

“Is that… Dobby?” Hermione gasps.

My eyes jump back to the picture of Thomus sitting with the elf. “I think so,” I say softly. I wasn’t all that familiar with what the elf looked like, but it would make sense.

“Also, do you smell that?”

I sniff the air and when my eyes find purple smoke leaking from the cork stopper of the vial, I immediately jump into panic mode.

“Let’s go!” I snatch the vial off the table and magically whip the blanket from beneath the door. “What’s the closest door to get us outside?”

“Uh-um, to our left!” Hermione replies.

The door swings open and I drop the illumination spell as I bolt into the hallway. Hermione’s at my heels, her steps longer as she strides in front of me to push open a side door. It opens to a short stairway that takes us to the vegetable garden by the kitchen. Elves heads pop up in surprise as we make our way on the gravel path around leading away from it. My eyes dart around, looking for the best place to do this.

I spot the pond and make a beeline for it. The white peacocks littering the edge seem to have some good sense to back the fuck away from me as I approach the shore. Vial in my hand, my arm rotates back as I side-step into what I believe is my best baseball pitching form. I throw the vial as hard as I can over the pond. It flies through the air, spinning on its head, a spiral of purple smoke on its tail. It splashes into the water and the smoke ripples with the surface of the water.

Breathing heavy, a moment ticks by with my eyes focused on where vial sank. A peacock screeches at me from the side. I blink at it, realizing that’s the bird noise Thomus used to make me take the suppression potion that one time.

“I thought it was supposed to explode,” Hermione says, her voice coming from a few feet behind me.

“It will,” I say, my eyes back on the pond. “In three – two – “

There’s a boom that shakes the ground beneath our feet, a geyser of water shooting far above our head. It sends the peacocks running and screeching, the elves in the garden give tiny screams that barely reach my ears. I look back at Hermione and she’d crouched down, her hands over her ears.

A belly wrenching laugh escapes from my mouth when I see her expression. “I told you,” I say, breathless. “You weren’t going to like my answer.”  

[beetlejuiceissmart]

I had an idea for a fan made Beetlejuice send off video to say thank you I guess. Or maybe just to express how much this how show means to all of us. Obviously since its a fan send off video, I need the fans, so here I am. I have ideas for all levels of anonymity, so if you don't feel comfortable showing your face, voice, or either, there are still ways you can participate. I'll need everything by January 7th for a 100% guarantee of being in the video, but I might still take things on the 8th. Yes I know its short notice I'm sorry. Anyways, if you'd like to participate, here's what you can do:Video. This would be a relatively short video, just you talking about Beetlejuice the musical, expressing thanks, whatever you want really. The only requirements for this is that it has to start with either "Beetlejuice" or "Beetlejuice the musical", almost like you're talking to the musical. For example; "Beetlejuice the musical, you have brought me so much joy throughout the years... ect". The video can be as long as you want, but depending on how many videos I get I'll probably only use 30 seconds to 1 minute.Picture. This could be any picture related to Beetlejuice. It could be you with your Beetlejuice merch, it could be you holding a playbill at the marquis, it could be you in Beetlejuice cosplay or costume. It would be of Beetlejuice decorations in your house. Anything to show your appreciation for the musical.Audio. This would be the exact same message as the video, except just an audio of you talking. Fairly straightforward. Again, this would have to start with "Beetlejuice" or "Beetlejuice the musical". You would also need to provide a name or username for the audio to be from. You can also add photo to go with the audio if you want to.Text. This option you be you writing out a message of gratitude, farewell, or anything else addressed to the musical. You can be specific with which font you want, or you can leave it up to me to decide. This would need to be signed with something, it could be your real name or a username of yours.Hand Written Text. This is the exact same thing as text but hand written. This is Just a more personal option. Also, this could be sent to me as a photo or printer scan. A printer scan would be ideal, but a photo is also great! Unfortunately this option may be a bit more difficult because you have to make sure your handwriting is legible in the photo you send.Logo Drawing. This would be a drawing of Beetlejuice the Musical's Logo. It can be on paper, Digitally, anything goes. For this, there are no expectations. As long as you can tell it's the logo, we're all good. It can be a 30 hour masterpiece, or it can be a 30 second doodle drawn on a sticky note. Anything goes. You can submit one, you can submit multiple, I'm happy to have them all. I'm going for quantity over quality for this option. No matter the quality of the logo you send me, it will be used.You can do as many of the above options as you like, any and all participation is greatly appreciated. You can reach me  through this email: anonymousonline197@gmail.com, Please title your email with whichever option you decide to submit just to make everything a little more organized. Hopefully I'll get enough submissions to make this happen!Thank you all for reading this post, please consider participating, and please tell anyone who might be interested

Please excuse my monstrous amount of tags, I just want to make sure this is seen by as many people as possible.

[unprocione]

hello, dear!

your study on leon is so well thought i am always left speechless as i read your posts. i am in love with how you portray him and how aesthetically pleasing your blog and writing is, making my little neurodivergent brain stick around and focus more easily.

i wish you a great day.

please, never stop writing.

softie.

thank you so much!! i've been seriously enjoying writing and thinking about leon & his point of view lately and i've been having a ton of fun with it behind the scenes, hopefully that post is one of many more to come because i have alot of ideas in store! i'm so glad that you're enjoying my portrayal and find my blog & writing aesthetically pleasing, because i put alot of time and thought into what i want on this blog these days, and what's helped me significantly is cutting down on what i reblog here and just setting up a separate spam sideblog for all of my fanart and etc. posts if they aren't related to specific character bonds, and i potentially have an aesthetic sideblog in the works too to streamline things more. i feel like i have a more concise place to write leon when i have everything organized, when i look back on my archives and recent posts now, i have like.. a sense of consistency? and it makes it so much easier to keep going when i feel concrete like that.

my friend over at blitzkriegers, ty, has been like... the tumblr version of marie kondo for me lmao, this 'does this spark joy' figure helping me sort out alot of my anxieties around being on this blog and tumblr in general, and writing overall, and has been a massive help in identifying all the little ways i procrastinate to put off writing because of some internal confidence issues. alot of that came across in constantly remaking graphics (ty actually made alot of material for this blog so i could focus on writing - if you like my icon borders i use for leon, those are all his work), alot of that was doomscrolling on pinterest, alot of it was just generally a bad mindset i had gotten into with the way the rpc in general, not just resident evil, functions - lately feeling very draining at times, learning how to navigate all of that w/ his support as a friend has been really positive for me.

so if you like what i put out on my blog here, i can't recommend enough that you check out his blog at blitzkriegers, where he writes karl heisenberg, as well as my other friend cj, who writes a splendid ethan winters on wintersdecay & a stunning ada wong, amongst other muses, over at greenherb. she does alot of study posts that are in significantly more detail than mine but far more legible, and her and ty's mutual worldbuilding is so easy to fall in love with. both of their blogs are more than great in my opinion if you're like me and have issues with focus but become super invested in roleplay and how people individually portray their muses, their blogs are very aesthetically pleasing to the eyes and their writing styles even more so. they're a joy to discuss headcanons and dynamics with, and alot of what i have on this blog i have built either with them directly, via their suggestion, or with them in mind! if you follow one i bet very soon you will be following the other lmao.

i hope i never do stop writing. it was tough going there for a while, but i feel like at least for right now i can reach that source of joy that i was out of reach from for a long time that inherently drives my writing. thank you for sending in such a sweet message!! it seriously made my evening to read it, and it really makes me proud to know that i'm putting time into one of my favorite hobbies and it's paying off not only for myself, but that someone else besides me is getting alot of enjoyment out of it too, and the reminder, the validation of that, is just always a wonderful gift to receive.

have a lovely day yourself! :) rian!