#so I might have to clean this up later

[cerealforkart]

Why did princess sparrow doom the realms? Was it also for hero and normal's sake like in the podcast?

Yes it was! Okay, this is gonna be a bit of a long one because I need to explain how magic works and the whole setup for the AU which I kind of avoided putting into words until now because... lazy...

But anyways!

The way the world used to work was that there were countless realms that used mystical gates to share, borrow, and give energy to each other which manifested in the form of magic. The gates were understood to have always existed, as no one had any record of when they came to be, they were just always there, and the universes were created in a perfect balance. This changed when Lark was tricked and discovered an ancient forbidden magic to make a new gate. Sparrow helped him build the new gate, and the two of them accidentally linked all realms to the Doodler's fucked up eldritch horror realm, a realm of infinite raw chaotic magic that no other realm was strong enough to endure. The Doodler's realm immediately started poisoning and destroying all other realms, particularly targeting more powerful realms with their own innate magic like the faewild.

The gate to the Doodler's realm was Pandora's box, and it was pouring out too much chaos to fight back and close it again, the twins and Henry had different ways they wanted to handle the problem. Henry insisted they had time to find a way to properly close off the Doodler's realm again, that the faewild was strong enough to endure the brunt of the Doodler's chaos until they could figure something out. Lark and Sparrow didn't believe they had this sort of time, and instead found another forbidden spell that would enable them to close off all gates other than the Doodler's realm.

Henry didn't like this idea, because while the faewild would be mostly fine without the other realms, that wouldn't be the case for the majority. Things like Erin's buff trees would all lose the magic that made them alive and die in an instant, people with friends, family, lovers in other realms would be cut off and never see each other again, realms like hell wouldn't be able to get new residents when people died, souls would just be lost to the ether, and other big life-ruining changes that would happen if all the gates were closed and sealed off. Summed up, Henry's plan would result in maybe all life in all realms being slowly devoured and destroyed someday, and Lark and Sparrow's plan would result in many people certainly dying, but they, their family, and many other realms' survival would also be guaranteed immediately.

The twins begrudgingly follow Henry's lead until Sparrow catches Normal being tempted and tricked the same way Lark was by the Doodler and forbidden magic. She acts immediately and perhaps hastily and opposes Henry and enacting her and Lark's plan. As a side effect of using this particular spell and sealing off all the realms, she also lost most of her magic and banished herself to a random realm which was earth oops. She's also the only person who can undo her own spell, so fast forward to Nicky showing up, he wants to restore the realms (mostly just hell, but he needs to fix everything to do that) and has to drag Sparrow along to regain her magic so she can undo her spell while she still believes she did what she had to and doesn't want to help him.

[crowkip]

slides u some timkon wip scribbs

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes]

Pre-AA Virgil save me

Save me

Save me Pre-AA Virgil

time taken: 2 ½ hours

[signanothername]

Very sketchy Ratchet and First Aid

The grumpiest peepaw with a big heart and his lil son with an even bigger heart <33333

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

Brb gotta just yell into the void

[yakool-foolio]

Little pen doodle of Phoenix Wright as a SeaWing I drew when my family went out to dinner earlier today

[the-way-astray]

fuck this stupid project. starting flashback anyway

[sirenvrse]

Sj2 au where bugs didn't come back for MONTHS

[iyuray]

Low quality ray fanart

[danielnelsen]

peach (my cat) is having a full-day vet appointment to scan and possibly remove some teeth (the perks of only being allowed wet food)

completely unrelated, but anything regarding peach’s health or her being somewhere else or anything even mildly off with her routine or behaviour is probably by biggest anxiety and panic trigger

[undefeatablesin]

Pls enjoy this fun sketchathon of my good hunter Ruza 👏🖤

[bri-does-art]

i know this probably won’t do much, let alone anything at all, but i’m sorry for the stress this site has caused you and so many other creators here. i’m not asking for you to stick around on here, but i hope you know just how meaningful you and your art have been on here. you’re amazing. /pos

Hey, this ask has done a lot more than you would think. Thank you, you are very sweet. <3

I've kind of made up my mind about what I'm gonna do for a while now, but I've simply been... too busy and overwhelmed to take the time to let you guys know. I'm not going to delete my tumblr, there's just. Too much here that I don't want to lose.

So far the game plan is: keep my tumblr. But do not upload anymore art or writing on it - not because it's gonna get scraped, because it was already getting scraped anyway, AI company deal or not. It's pretty much unavoidable at this point, unfortunately. I simply do not trust Tumblr with my data, if they're going to sell EVERYTHING, including private messages and such, so I'm not going to give it anything worthwhile to profit off of. Instead, I'm going to start uploading my art exclusively on Ao3, for now. I'll answer any asks I receive here on there too, as well. I'll figure some kind of system out. 🤔

The cool thing about uploading to Ao3 is that anyone subscribed to my profile or to the containment series I will make will get a notification anytime I upload something new. Having my art and writing in one place is likely going to be more convenient for you guys too, since you won't have to move across platforms to get the full experience. 😄It'll be different... but a platform getting too greedy for its own good won't stop me from finding ways to share my stories with y'all. I'll just find another solution.

(I've also been entertaining the idea of joining or making my own Discord server but. That one is a little more delicate. The idea of joining a server that has hundreds of members like a lot of this fandom's servers have, just. Makes me break into hives, lmao. (I am in the Ghost in the Machine fic server. I muted it an hour into joining, it was way too intense for me. |'D) That is way too many people, I simply cannot handle it. I'd be way more comfortable in a smaller group with a less rapid-fire rate of posting and conversation. I am also. Very picky about which servers I join, which makes asking for recommendations doubly awkward when I shoot them all down, haha... And making my own... Err, I can hardly keep up with a server I helped create for another fandom and mod for, I don't think I could handle two of them - I would need other people to handle the moderation for me, and I wouldn't trust just anyone to be a mod. I'd need to know them well enough to know I could trust them, and I... do not really know anyone in this fandom well enough to do that, sadly. I take server moderation very seriously, as someone who has had experience modding for forums back before social media was a thing. I do not know if that would make for a fun experience for everyone, and anyone who hasn't known that kind of supervised experience. It is comforting to me. It may be intimidating for others. So that's still a very hand-wavy, 'eehhhh' kind of thing still.)

All of this to say, that this isn't the last you'll see from me, far from it. I'll restrict my creative output to Ao3 for the foreseeable future, and I'll let you guys on here know when I make a new upload, so those of you who do not have an Ao3 account know when something new has happened.

So there you have it. 😊

[ayyponine]

maybe i am gods favourite little bitch after all..

[pilonciillo]

on another note

[eryanlainfa]

Learnt about Welcome Home lore litteraly just yesterday... SO HERE IS MY OC!

Their name as a whole is Weekly! They have a dissociative identity disorder, making them multiple identities within a single body.

(Disclaimer : my OC is in no way a good/realistic exemple of DID. This is a fictional fan-character for a fictional story about a fictional show.)

In a universe where the show aired other days than just saturdays- Weekly is a reccuring neighbour who seems to be a different person depending on which day of the week we're in. Always taking after one of the other neighbours (except Wally) they seem to always be assisting one of them.

Each identity refers to the others as if they were all members of the same family, insisting they are all different people with different lives, and calling you crazy if you dare insinuate otherwise.

They all have different relationships with the neighbours, and different preferences and way of thinking. Some of them do share memories with each others but not every identities will remember the same things.