#name still work in progress

[ask-viggo-dagur-and-eret]

Dagur: How dare you!?

Eret: My, all points fit. Should I start courting Hiccup?

Viggo: Don't forget there's two of us in this category. But I'm willing to share.

Eret: You might have to. I take 5 times a week, you get weekends.

Viggo: I beg your pardon?

Dagur: I wanna share Hiccup too!

Viggo: We should think about it first and consult it with Hiccup.

Dagur: And if we end up dating him all together in one big poly, we at least don't have to be ashamed of each other nude in bed after that-

Eret: Dagur, we agreed to not talk about the New Years party night.

Viggo: He has a point Eret. However, we might have to talk about it.

Eret: Do we? It's already awkward even now.

Dagur: For fucks sake, so we had a very drunk and very passionate three-some one time, grow up!

I can't help, but think:

~ dark hair

~ brown eyes

~ strong/ muscular

~ tall

~ handsome

~ probably big-dicked

Hiccup seems to have a type is all I'm saying

(Dagur stays forever mad about not fitting the type)

[astrolavas]

rare non-fanart... redesigned my 2020 lesbian OCs recently

[everotten]

i created more creatures

[pallanophblargh]

I feel like I owe everyone an explanation for my near social media death (hiatus is a better word I guess). Suffice to say my motivation/focus hit an all time low, and a couple of very well placed distractions didn’t help keep me on track. On the other hand, despite all of the… shit out there… my mental health otherwise feels better. Or as well as it can in the absence of energy and motivation. Can’t have it all!

I have managed to get a little done after all this time. Two comms on the slab and a new friend on the way. My fingers are crossed for a lot of things, and I gotta fight to keep putting in the work!

[toads-treasures]

"You touch me like I am everything you asked god for. Underneath your hands I become poetry. This is the alchemy that you do."

—T. James

These two would either have the fanciest, the biggest the sappiest wedding Waterdeep has ever seen, or they would have the DND equivalent of a Vegas wedding. Maybe I’ll draw that version later.

[fishluring]

WP, how do you spend your time nowadays?

normal iterator things mostly

lore dump below!

@403-418 WP is a mostly normally functioning iterator, yes.

While the WP project was still in its planning phase it was decided by the ruling council of that time to bestow the honor of designing Winding Pathways in most of its entirety, structure and puppet, to an artist that had become extremely famous and influential. This was meant as a show of goodwill towards WPs future citizens, as there had been increasing complaints about the councils leadership. The Artist was well liked among the people, so they hoped it would make them feel more included and heard when it came to the new iterator project. The Artist being one of the top sponsors of the project certainly helped with that decision as well.

The Artist, in turn, took this as an opportunity to create her magnum opus. A (near) eternal monument that not even the cycle could change.

So, WP was built to be as labyrinthian as possible, to represent the struggle all life had to go through to escape the cycle and ascend, so the Artist claimed. How should an iterator find an answer if it could not experience the maze? The council couldn't really back out of the deal at that point, and the people seemed happy, so as long as the iterator still remained functional, they let it happen. There had been some major frustration among the construction crew, however.

WP is made up of hallways and chambers that change places and lead in nonsensical directions constantly, the lights are disorienting and it echoes in ways that makes you think someone else is calling to you from deeper in the structure. This doesn't really impact their ability to iterate. But sometimes some parts get lost, temporarily

[c00kietin]

I'm sorry <3

[chiropteracupola]

Nuestra señora.

[ivyrosebeep]

They proceeded to have Heket work in the nursery for the week since she thinks babies are ‘too easy’

[eyndr-stories]

(throws this meme at you and scurries away)

[ghostieblr]

Untitled | Part 2 ->

It feels like an entity of his own, the way his blood rushes inside his body, the way his bones and flesh too small to hold what he's feeling. It feels like he's one of those poor people the alien's egg is going to incubate in, tear through him to become the deeply terrifying, shapeless, haunting monster.

This feeling is overwhelming, something he can't really name. But it's not unwelcomed. It is, in some fucked up way, like a call to him — he feels that rush of power, of trust, too. The call to his magic. The way his breaths come out calmer.

He can't really name it, not really, but he knows this feeling is the most important thing he possesses.

So it's not really a shock when the demon looks at him and only him, one arm out like he's going to snatch it without permission, a sharp grin on its borrowed face. "You," the demon beckons, and Derek snarls, protective. Derek moves in front of him, like it's going to stop the demon. Like there's anything they can do except take this deal. The demon laughs, reedy and evil, and he's sure the person doesn't sound like this; this demon has taken over completely, and Stiles doubts they can save the man who is being possessed at the moment.

"What do you want?" Derek's fang slur his question, but he's understandable, and Stiles puts his hand on Derek's shoulder, pulls him by his soft henley. They were on a walk around the preserve, a routine perimeter check, but here they stand now, in the middle of this clearing where kids had definitely messed around in and found the fuck out.

The camping bags are still warm, but the trail to the kids has gone cold. Unless they take this deal.

"I told you, wolf," the demon sing-songs, and Stiles wonders where he got this body from. The man is clearly in his 30's, light brown hair, hazelnut skin, brown eyes. He cannot be one of the people who summoned the demon, here. "I want what's most precious to your pet."

Derek's been growling all this time, but now he roars, all restraint broken under the clearly verbalized threat.

Only Stiles' hand on Derek's shoulder stops him from leaping at the demon.

"Derek," he says, concerned. They have no idea how to deal with demons that aren't evil fox spirits. "Maybe this is the only way."

And he wants out. He knows what are his most precious things — his feelings. Especially for him. He wants to get rid of it, because there's rarely anything as painful as feeling like your world tilts on its axis when you know theirs stays the same. They're friends, and pack, and that is all they can be.

It would be okay to lose these feelings.

"Listen to him, listen to him!"

"Stiles, don't you dare move!"

Stiles moves around Derek and is again in front of the demon. "Will you leave, then? Never to come back?"

"I'd do you one better — I shall forbid any other of my kind to come back here."

Derek doesn't grab him back, but he does verbally accuse Stiles of being stupid. Stiles is grateful for their relationship to have come to a point where Derek knows better than to stop him when he's set his mind, and he's really fucking gonna miss his bubbling mess of a heart later.

"Deal," he says, and there the lips come, cold and cruel; a quick, dirty kiss that leaves Stiles gasping for breath.

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, it's to Derek hovering over him worriedly. It makes Stiles feel packed, so he pushes Derek backwards, and stomps his way back towards the Loft.

Derek follows suit.

[improbable-implosions]

This one's kinda funny, I went into affixing that patch SO sure that the design of that sword of mine, Arma, would be plenty for that patch, but the longer I stared at it doing other mends for these pants, the longer I felt it needed _something_ else, you know?

First up, we've got to stitch on the patch itself! I did some nice even straight stitches, because initially, I was planning on a little area of sashiko mending.

But, in looking at the size of the chunk of dissolvable backing I had cut, there wasn't really any patterns immediately springing to mind that'd work at a scale that small, or, so I thought after seeing how that basketweave pattern came together on an earlier piece. For context, the whole patch is roughly the size of the palm of my hand, at 3.5 inches square.

So, instead, I decided to try something a bit more complex to render than I'd really tried out before, this art of Arma! (Despite the sword's design being my work, the art in question is by @razzmatazic, who I did ask if I tried to trace, and she had no problems!) And so trace I did, tracing the outlines of the major features of the piece, namely, the outer lines, and the shapes of the gemstones.

Unfortunately, in my haste (and, admittedly, my focus, since this was much higher detail than I normally tackle around here), I didn't grab any in-progress shots of this. Still, I actually really enjoy how this came out looking, even if it doesn't perfectly evoke the design or detail of the original piece, it certainly emulates the look of Arma well enough I recognize it, and very visibly reads Cool Sword, y'know?

Next up were a few colorful rims around the edges of the front pockets! They were fraying pretty significantly, so not only does this add a fun splash of color, but it keeps me from picking the edges of these seams apart while I'm not thinking about my hands. Initially, I was going to pick a different set of colors than that turquoise and purple, based on a fun fact about my hometown, but that color scheme was just calling out to me! I decided to lean into the somewhat royal vibes and went for a different, lighter purple, with two little bits of yellow thread, which, fun fact, I actually dyed with some yellow flowers I foraged back in the boston area!

As for these two little spot-mends, they were really more an exercise in frustration. Really, I'm mostly miffed the thread broke on the original patch in the one place the hole kept trying to expand through, but hopefully that little bit of randa stitching (which looks MUCH more like randa stitching should than my previous efforts, namely on my wallet and that previous pair of pants that we detailed, the ones with the segaihana sashiko) alongside some additional reinforcement along the edge of that original yellow patch, made from some thread I scavenged from a fraying bit of denim, should keep this particular pair of shorts from getting any more fixes right on the edge of the patch that has misbehaved TWICE now!

Last but not least, while I was wrangling those pocket rims and the spot mends, I really just had the feeling that Arma would look kinda... lonely, I suppose? Centered in the framing straight stitches like that, so I improvised a little open book next to her! (She's not a sword-girl, promise, it's she/her like you'd she/her a boat) There's actually some really nice dimensionality to the book, too, with some looser stitches to emulate ruffle-able pages, and those two knots along the spine make for a pleasant, crinkled texture to the cover lines! Can you tell I'm pleased with myself for getting that just so, without any guides?

All that said, hopefully that's all the mends my poor poor jean shorts need, I swear, just as I get one set fixed, the other winds up with another hole! Don't get me wrong, I'm starting to enjoy the whole almost boro-like vibe they're developing, with all these overlapping mends, but I'd like them to develop it slower, thanks! (And yes, I do plan to wear these at LEAST until they look like I've quilted them back together, they're comfy!)

[yuurionviktor]

15 years later I’m still not normal about them

[tojiscrack]

holaa sumayaa!!

first of all - I absolutely adore your works! you are probably the reason I fell back into reading fanfics after a very dry era, and with good reason<3 I LOVE liar liar sm it's almost pathetic, but I digress...

as others have mentioned, we have gotten fluff and slice of life till now, but there will be heavy angst 😟 does this mean you have written most of the story already, or is it just your general outlining of the fic? 👀😳

anyways!!!! THANK YOU FOR SUCH AN AMAZING FANFIC, TE AMO!!!!

love, ana<33333

liar, liar masterlist here:

HOLA 🤭 (got excited seeing the spanish as if my gcse spanish at grade 5 for foundation is gonna be of any relevance here 💀)

‘you are probably the reason i fell back into reading fanfics after a very dry era’

…

i’m gonna cry that is such a unique thing to say and the absolute sweetest thing i’ve seen today 😭❤️❤️❤️

i’m so glad you’re enjoying it??? and i love you more than u’ll ever love liar, liar??? and let’s get married soon??? 🥹

but alas, we return back to the angst scare…

to answer ur question, unfortunately, i have not written any of the chapters further than chapter 6 (which is halfway completed atm). but i do have all the chapters up until chapter 17 PLANNED in my notes:

i have another file for events that must occur (e.g. how i see them conversing during the angst, how i see the other characters’ reactions to the angst, the narration points that must be mentioned, etc).

so while none of the angst has been written yet, it’s very much been planned already (written down and also mentally prepared). the parts that haven’t been included in a chapter yet will be formed and built together as the story progresses.

this story will have way more than 17 chapters tho. wayyy more than 17 chapters. so… fear not? or maybe you should. idk.

i’m really excited for you to see it all come together… 😋

[the-gayestidiot]

Tamperings of an Ill Heart on Society Chapter One: Tristan, Future (Read tws in tags before reading)

It was dark in the room where he lay. Light from the moon casted onto the floor and partly on Tristan’s bed. It was cold, probably about thirty degrees since it was winter. Tristan lay awake, staring at the ceiling. It was a night where guilt from past actions seized his heart and refused to let it go. Cold. It was very cold, he thought. Possibly as cold as all those nights of the year before, but he couldn’t think about that right now. Not when he was already feeling so guilty.

Then, he heard the screaming. Tristan bolted up in his bed, heart pounding. No, it couldn’t be. They weren’t here, they couldn’t be. But it was all he could hear, all he could think. Tristan didn’t know what he could do. He clamped his hands over his ears, breathing heavily and quickly. His heart was pounding, and it felt like it would beat right out of his chest. Yet the screaming continued. He couldn’t stop the noise that was cluttering his mind.

“Your fault, you fault,” The whispers in his brain spoke, their voices filled with poison that planned to seep into his brain until he could believe that he was worth nothing more than a small bug. Still his breathing was heavy. One of his hands moved down to clutch at the nightshirt he was wearing right about his heart as if that would stop the screaming, stop the venom that had taken over his mind. It didn’t work, not a single bit.

The screaming continued, his thoughts kept throwing accusations of the guilty at him. Tristan couldn’t escape the cacophony of noise he heard. He felt like throwing up, but he knew that even if he wanted to he couldn’t. Nothing could empty the amount of guilt he felt for all he had done, for all he had committed. A monster, that’s what his brain had made him out to be. He was convinced it was true, how could something like him be something humane? Surely that title was meant only for the worthy, and he was not.

“Save us! We have done no wrong!” The screams of the innocent kept getting louder and louder. It was all too much for Tristan to handle, the voices shouting and accusing him was too overwhelming. He then decided to leave his bed, walk around to try and clear his mind. Slowly Tristan stood up, little regard for the blankets now thrown on the ground instead of neat on his bed. He passed his bed stand, the digital clock standing on it stated the time 5:27 Am.

He opened the mahogany of his door, stepping out into the hall. It had several doors leading to other rooms and many mirrors. Tristan avoided the mirrors, though. He couldn’t bear to see his face right now, so sure that if he were to look something inhuman would look back at him. The accusations would get worse, and the screaming louder. He could still hear it even now. Poor souls were screaming out for his help, but he couldn’t save him. Maybe if he were to be able to find them, he could save them. Yes, that’s what Tristan would. He’d search his house until he found everyone.

For once, Tristan was sure he would save them. He stepped into the kitchen, stumbling slightly as he was extremely exhausted from not getting any sleep that night. The kitchen was dark, so he almost ran into the counter. Tristan flicked on the light, blinking to get adjusted to the light that almost seemed to blind him. Left overs of the pizza he had the night before sat left out and forgotten on the table where he ate. His mind was foggy, still not fully there as he had always struggled dealing with a brain fog of sorts. It was even worse now due to the screaming that seemed to have never ended.

He stumbled, knocking a plate that was teetering on the edge of the kitchen counters. It shattered as it hit the floor, which seemed to cause all the more screaming in his mind. Everything was going wrong, and his heart rate picked up again. Tristan dropped to his knees and frantically began to grab the shards of glass. They cut his hands, blood staining the fine craft along with his hands.

All of it was collected in a mere five minutes, and Tristan brought the shards to the trash and threw it away. It was then that he finally registered the blood, the pain that came along with it. No, it reminded him too much of the incidents. He closed his eyes tightly and looked away, standing up and walking out of the kitchen. Blood got on the walls, his hands pressed firmly against them so he wouldn’t fall or get lost.

Tristan knew this house like the back of his hand, he grew up in it after all. If and when people later visited they would see the blood on the walls in the shape of handprints and originally think a murder had taken place here. They would be convinced otherwise once they saw Tristan’s hands and went through the house for evidence. He grabbed onto the door handle tightly, hissing in pain from the cuts on his hands.

Once he stepped inside, he slunk down to the ground. Tristan finally allowed himself to start sobbing, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and dropping onto his shorts. It left small wet spots on them, darkening the fabric. Bloody hands pressed against his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears. It didn’t work, though Tristan didn’t care. Not about the blood over his eyes now, not about the blood also staining his walls out in the hall. He didn’t care much for anything other than the people he could hear screaming.

Tristan had failed at saving them. This was just the final price he had to pay for it. He stayed there for hours, falling asleep at one point. Nightmares played out in his mind, the same ones he’s had every night since all the incidents. Screams of bloody murder, people begging to save him. Blood. So much blood. Everything made him feel like he was going to throw up, but it wouldn’t stop playing.

Finally, it was the worst one that played out. It started out sweet, it always did. Her smile warm and comforting, like a warm hug on a chilly day. Oh how he missed her, but it was long too late for him to do anything, too late to see her ever again. The two would go throughout their day, spending it laughing and hanging out with each other. When it got dark was when the dream got gory.

Oh god, her screams were the worst of them all. The most prominent one he could hear. It was her same voice who could find occasionally taunting him, calling him cruel and a monster. He couldn’t bare it even in his sleep, a gaping chasm formed in his chest and stomach and swallowed all other feelings. A gasp erupted from him as he awoke, a sheen of sweat covering his body.

The blood on his hands were dried, and the screaming had quieted now. Tristan took a deep breath in, then out. He repeated this process until he felt it was alright for him to stand up. He was a bit shaky as he stood, but it was okay. Tristan gripped onto the white sink as he stood up, running the water now. Cold water poured on Tristan’s hands, washing all the blood from his hands.

It reminded him of times in the past. He decided not to think about that now. Hunger ate away at his stomach, so Tristan walked back to the kitchen to eat something. The first thing he saw was the leftover pizza still in the box, so he ultimately decided on that. He grabbed a piece as he sat down. Thoughts were pushed all the way to the far corners of his mind. And that was when he realized that Tristan had forgotten work today.

“Crap!” The man exclaimed out loud, scrambling to find his phone. It was on the table luckily, so he didn’t have to search that much for the item. Tristan quickly texted, ‘So sorry I forgot to tell you, but I’ll be missing work today because I’m sick.’ It was a blatant lie, but Tristan would do anything to save him from some sort of punishment. He also didn’t feel well enough to go to work anyways.

A ping came from his phone that showed he had gotten a text back from his boss. ‘Don’t worry, it’s alright. I’ll be covering your shit.’ Tristan sighed in relief. Thank goodness he had such a kind boss. He set down his phone after a quick text of thanks. God, this day had already been stressful.

Tristan took a deep breath in, then out through his nose. He had no plans of what to do in this day. Maybe he would try to get more sleep, that sounded nice. Tristan felt bone tired. Perhaps if he took some of the melatonin he had in his household that would keep the nightmares away. It always made his dreams a bit more dull, it was wonder how Tristan rarely used it.

He got up to once again walk, forgetting his original goal of eating his first meal of the day. He opened a cabinet that had a plethora of different kinds of medicines. Ibuprofen for his headaches, melatonin for his sleepless nights, claritin and benadryl for when his allergies got bad, and tums for his heartburn. Tristan was sure he had much more than just those, also keeping a thermometer in that cabinet to check his temperature when he was sick, but that’s all that was noticeable immediately.

He opened the childproof bottle, then poured out at least three of the gummies onto his hand. Tristan preferred the kind used for children since it was easier to take. The taste was also a bit pleasant, so that was also an advantage. Tristan tilted his head back and let the gummies fall into his mouth. He was soon done with chewing and swallowing them. The effect doesn't take place immediately, so he goes to lie down.

Once he got back into his room, Tristan layed down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling of gray above him. It was easy to space out like this, no thoughts passing in his mind. After thirty minutes, his eyes fluttered closed and he drifted off into a serene sleep.

This time, Tristan had no dreams. His peaceful sleep wasn’t disturbed by any horrid nightmares or screams, just nice, and frankly weird, ones. In one of them, there was a cat. Except it wasn’t a usual cat. It had vibrant red eyes, and its fur was green. If you asked Tristan, it was really weird. The cat led him into a forest where little goblin-like creatures hosted a tea party.

Tristan usually couldn’t remember dreams like these ones, but this time it stuck. Three hours had passed since he slept. His mind was hazy, but Tristan still got up. Maybe later he could call his boyfriend and tell him about his dream. Yeah, that would be very nice. Would he give off that beautiful soft laugh of his, the one that Tristan associated with the feeling of soft flower petals and a cool breeze? Would he smile as bright as the sun like he usually did? Who knows, perhaps Tristan would find out later.

For now, he went to the goal of actually getting up. It felt like Tristan didn’t have the energy to get up, or do anything really. He decided to just lie in bed until he felt that he was able to get out of bed. So he stayed like that for a while, and a few hours went along. By the time he had sat up and got out of bed, it was 10:00 PM. Once again, Tristan went through the familiar routine of leaving his room, avoiding all the mirrors and pictures that hung on the wall, and walking to his kitchen.

He stopped for a moment where the stain of blood on his wall was and frowned slightly. It wasn’t like he was fond of the wallpaper or anything, it was just the fact that it would be exhausting to get cleaned up. Tristan figured he could do it later. A slice of pizza was still waiting for him on the table, uneaten and cold by now. He grabbed it and put it on a paper plate. It was set in the microwave to heat. Tristan set the time to thirty seconds then sat down on the floor to wait.

The stars twinkled from where they were visible from the windows, the moon full and bright. Tristan was fond of the moon and stars. They were oh so pretty to him, and the night sky was calming. The microwave beeped, signaling it was done, and Tristan stood up to get his food out. As expected, the food was hot, the sauce of the pizza practically burning by this point. Tristan didn’t mind though. Heat had never bothered him that much. Besides, pizza was delicious, so it was well worth it.

He took a bite of the food and sat down at the table, grabbing his phone and scrolling on the internet. Most of the content was repetitive, trends that had no soul to them kept popping up. Every so often, an animation graced his recommended page, which seemed to be the only thing that had any soul now.

It was entertainment enough while he ate, and it kept his ever running mind busy with something. Though, like always, his mind buzzed with harmful thoughts he can’t control. Bright, poppy music dulled them though as he plugged in his headphones and listened to his playlists.

Tristan sighed and held his head with his hand. It was loud, but that was alright. Sometimes Tristan liked loud, as long as it was a good kind of loud. Music was a good kind of loud, his thoughts were a bad kind though. That didn’t really matter currently, his thoughts were quiet and the music loud. That was good.

Even taking that into consideration, Tristan couldn’t help the feeling of a pit growing inside his stomach. Why was he feeling like this? He couldn’t answer. He stayed at the table until he finished eating his food. The plate was discarded, thrown in the gray trash bin. It was going to overflow soon with the amount of garbage it held, but Tristan supposed he could take care of it later.

Now he didn’t know what he felt. Sure, there was a sinking pit in his stomach, but at the same time his mind felt numb and hazy. It was as if a thick mist was hanging over his mind. A sharp, stinging pain hit his hands as he stumbled back into the bathroom. Tristan was still neglecting the open cuts on his hands. Although they had stopped their bleeding, the blood dried and crusty now, it still hurt and was at the risk of an infection.

Slinking down to the floor, Tristan held his head in his hands. Almost no part of his face was visible now. There were so many conflicting feelings right now, memories flashing through his brain. He wanted to shut his brain off, it was getting to be too much. Living had become so exhausting recently, Tristan felt like he didn’t even deserve to live after all his actions.

Slowly, he breathed in and out. Hands fell down, pushing him off the ground to stand in front of the sink. A stranger stared back at him. Their hair was messy, dark bags under their eyes, and clothes too baggy on thin limbs. This wasn’t Tristan, at least he didn’t think so. This person was him, and it would never be.

Where was the real him? He couldn’t find an answer. No matter what he did, Tristan always felt alienated from his sense of self. Nothing fit the him he felt he was. This had always been true for Tristan, it was one of the key factors he avoided hanging out with people. Would they see a monster instead of the real him?

This was true until his boyfriend, David, and his old best friend, Delaney. He shook his head. He couldn’t bare to even think of the two right now. Fingers pulled at the side of his lips, morphing it into a facade of a smile. It looked wrong, so very wrong. His teeth were stained yellow due to the neglect of them.

Days spent in bed where he wasted away, his health and hygiene neglected. Little things like that didn’t seem to matter anymore, a single meal eaten each day. It was so hard for Tristan to even get out of bed. This fact only made his thoughts scream louder at him for being lazy and worthless. He felt numb from that, though. He knew that he wasn’t worth anything to others.

Tristan took a few deep breaths in, then another. There was a cabinet that could be opened by pulling the handle on his mirror. Inside, there was a single bottle of pills. It was a kind of sleep medication that doctors had prescribed him. For a few moments, he was tempted to take many of them so that he wouldn’t wake up. He reached for the bottle and picked it up slightly. Tristan thought more about it, though, and decided to set it back down.

He wouldn’t do it, not now at least. Maybe tomorrow, or next week. He didn’t feel like taking anything right now, his mind was much too hazy. So, he crept out the still open bathroom door. Before he went back to sleep, Tristan went to the kitchen and grabbed his phone. The battery was low, and the time was 11:48 PM.

The floorboards creaked in the hallway, and this time he stopped and looked at his reflection a few times. Despite making sure, Tristan didn’t fully feel like he was existing right now. Perhaps he was a ghost, or maybe a shadow. Whatever he was, it certainly wasn’t a person currently. He opened his door, avoiding the clothes and trash on the floor that he’s sworn to clean up so many times.

Blankets were discarded on the floor, so he picked them up. It looked so comforting right now, so welcoming. Tristan wanted to lay down and never wake up again. Sleeping for a long time would be quite nice, it was distracting. He felt too exhausted to dream, anyways. His slumber wouldn’t be disturbed then.

The blankets were tossed lazily on the bed as he climbed in, pulling them over him as he set the phone on his nightstand and plugged it in to charge. For once, sleep washed over him easily. His mind and body were so exhausted despite not doing much and already sleeping most of the day. It was almost like a drug; once he got it, he needed it more and more.

It was an odd thing to compare something as simple as sleep to, but it fit for Tristan. Hours sped by, the night turned into morning, and his alarm clock went off. Tristan turned it off, not bothering to get up yet. He rolled over to lay on his back, arm coming up to fold over and cover his eyes.

Currently, it was 8:00 Am, though Tristan didn’t feel like getting up. Motivation practically didn’t exist to him; it hardly did anymore. The sun shone through his bedroom’s window and got in his eyes. Tristan squinted, trying to get it out of his eyes. Right now he decided to try doing some self reflection.

Why didn’t he save all those people? Their screams haunted him daily, even back when he kept making those stupid decisions. Everything was just so confusing, he hated himself for what he did. It was clear that the guilt he felt wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, so Tristan decided to take action.

For a moment, he considered the rope hidden in his closet as he sat up in his bed. Ultimately, he decided against it. If he did it that way, it would be painful, so he thought of another way. The kitchen was far enough away that Tristan didn’t want to get up to walk over there. Eventually, he decided to walk over to the bathroom.

Before he did, though, he decided to write a letter. Tristan would leave it in an envelope in his hands so that would be one of the first few things somebody saw. Usually, his boyfriend, David, came to check up on him every few days. Tomorrow he should come over, which provided Tristan with a perfect opportunity right now.

So, he took a pen and paper, and began writing. The letter went like this: To anyone who sees this first. Hi, I really hope you’re David. If you’re reading this, dead. I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone before doing this, I’m sorry for not talking to anyone, it’s just that I’ve been going through a lot and I can’t bear it anymore.

He went on to confess what has made him resort to this, the reasons for the screaming he heard almost every day, and for the reason he was always either late to or missing work. It was hard writing this letter, and Tristan had to take several shaky breaths to calm down. Before he decided to leave his room, he decided to call David one last time.

Tristan dialed the number with shaky hands and held his phone to his ear while he waited. After a bit, David answered. “Hey, darling, are you alright?” His voice was full of concern. God, how Tristan loved his boyfriend. He was always so caring towards him. He sure would miss him after he went. “Yeah, I’m alright. I just wanted to let you know that I love you,” His voice trailed off, and he heard that hearty laughter as bright as the sun coming from his partner’s lips.

“Yeah, I love you too, Tristan. Stay safe, okay? I’ll visit tomorrow.” If only he knew that for Tristan, there would be no tomorrow. Instead, he forced a smile and responded happily. “I will, Dave. Can’t wait to see you again.” He tried, and succeeded at hiding the shake in his voice. David suspected that nothing was wrong. “Can’t wait too, honey. Goodbye,” David said cheerfully, and Tristan couldn’t help but lighten up a bit. “See ya.” And with that, he ended the call and took a few deep breaths in.

Alright, he was ready now. He had everything prepared, the note, he made a call, and he knew how he was going to do it. Slowly, he crept into the hallway. Now, finally, he looked at the reflection in the mirrors of the hallways, and saw himself. It was ironic, really, that the only time he felt completely right was when he was so close to death.

The bathroom door was ajar slightly, so all Tristan had to do was push it open. With his note in hand and with a single goal in mind, he walked in and opened the medicine cabinet. He grabbed his pills without hesitation this time, opening it and setting it down on the sink.

A cup was by the sink, so he took it and filled it with water. He put a pill in his mouth, then swallowed it with water. Tristan did this eleven more times, taking about twelve pills in total. Soon he felt drowsy and stumbled to sit down against the wall of his bathtub. Note in hand, he closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, for everything I’ve done,” He whispered, though he knew that nobody ever hear him. It still brought him some comfort, though. His eyes shut softly, a small smile on his face. This way he could atone for his sins and grant his mind peace. Maybe this way, he could see his older sister again. He would know soon, but for now, he drifted off into a sleep that would last forever, and the screaming finally stopped.

[novella-november]

Is this fanfic friendly? I feel like an outlier.

I guess this is my sign it's time to throw together a FAQ post to link to lol.

Yes, every event for this blog is fanfic friendly :D

Though as I mentioned on my Ominous October post, for events that include multiple short stories, I encourage everyone to flex their creativity and take one of their planned short story fanfics, and at least *attempt* to turn one of them into something entirely original; rebuilding a character and story from the ground up to stand on its own two legs is no easy feat, and that is what makes it so fun!

It really gets your creative gears turning, to make an "au of an existing material" to be something entirely original, and you can be pleasantly surprised about the things you come up with!

As a few people say, its not just a matter of "filing the serial numbers off" -- you have to add in just as much *or more* as what you take out when you are turning a fanfiction into something that is original and completely divorced from its original source material / inspiration, and that is a hard, but very rewarding challenge!

Obviously, this is not a requirement (there's no hard requirements for any of the challenges, other than no cheating, including no using AI),

but if you would like an extra challenge for the short story events and you're planning on doing entirely fan-fiction, I highly recommend trying it out at least once, and seeing where it leads you--

you may find yourself pleasantly surprised by what you find down that rabbit hole!