#so perhaps you have a chance

[skygodtraumabond]

Ray.

I have no qualms with you.

Please. Do not hurt my love. He made a mistake.

I beg of you to not.

- @professorsreserch

... I'll consider it. But not for either of your sakes.

I still need to heal. It will be a few days. We'll see by then how this all plays out.

We will see if the Guardian's spirit will choose grace or wrath for you all. In due time.

[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.

[featherymainffins]

I hate to say it but I might have to admit that Redditors can be pretty based sometimes

[gd-dollopole]

Arthur’s last wish was to comfort Merlin as he died

Arthur couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Merlin knowing that he would be sad.

Arthur cradled Merlin’s head in his hand, with a small smile on his chapped lips, trying to reassure Merlin, knowing what was to come, and aware that Merlin would have been destroyed by Arthur’s death.

So not only Arthur let himself be held, because he wanted to, because, finally, he could ask that of Merlin, but he gently caressed Merlin’s hair too, and we can see how much Merlin had longed for Arthur’s tender touch.

Merlin rolled his head back to feel Arthur’s palm on his scalp, although the hand was covered by the glove.

Merlin knew, in that moment, when he finally had Arthur in his arms like he had always wanted him, but couldn’t have him and only stared at him from afar, when he let himself be touched like he had craved for all those years, that Arthur wouldn’t have been able to caress him anymore.

So Merlin leaned in the touch like his life depended on it, and we can see him wavering by the tiny, yet enormous gesture.

And Merlin knew he wouldn’t have had the hand in his hair ever again.

It wasn’t only Arthur’s wish.

All Merlin had ever wanted of Arthur was to be held by him too.

[lala-blahblah]

I will never make this because it would be for an audience of one (me) but ever since reading "If we Were Villains" (story about serious drama kids in college who perform shakespeare and deal with a murder) I have been entertaining the thought of a crack fic crossover with High School Musical The Musical The Series where the staff decides they will no longer put on shakespeare after the tragic accident that happened at Thanksgiving, because Shakespeare plays would only increase the tension and drama. So they hire Ms. Jen who decides their spring play will actually be High School Musical (which exists in the 90s in this universe) and it ruins the vibe so much that everyone gives up on being dark and mysterious because they're universally pissed at Ms Jen for making them learn choreoraphed basketball dancing.

[age-of-moonknight]

Werewolf by Night: Red Band (Vol. 1/2024), #2.

Writer: Jason Loo; Penciler: Sergio Dàvila; Inkers: Jay Leisten and Aure Jimenez; Colorist: Alex Sinclair; Letterer: Cory Petit

[storywestistrash]

i am actually so tired of the way westerners treat eastern europeans

[a-gay-bloodmage]

Short Breeches

(Blackwall x Mallory Trevelyan, Sera & Mallory Trevelyan)

Sera figures that at least half of the Inquisition has a crush on the Inquisitor, Mallie. As a gift to the people, Sera devises an ingenious prank—seal Mallie's wardrobe and leave her with nothing but a tank top and a pair of homemade shorts. The Inquisitor, Mallory Trevelyan, does not exactly appreciate trying to keep up a fake female identity when nearly everything is on display in front of the Inquisition and the Warden Blackwall.

[mechahero]

There's a whoooole bunch of undead guys in Motor City! And while I can't go over every single one of them, here's a small selection of zombies you'll see here! You don't have to use the nicknames for them though, we are all aware of how dumb they sound.

YOU try coming up with a way to tell different zombies apart without sounding like a complete dumbass though. >:/

ROMEROS- Your classic zombie. Slow, shambling and trouble in large crowds. These guys outnumber most of the zombie types here 2 to 1. Compared the zombies they're named after, they're far more smarter than them. While you won't catch them using a rock to bash open a window, you'll at the very least be able to hold normal conversations with them as they're well... normal people still more or less!

You could always ask one what brought them back and sometimes they'll tell that it was due to a satellite that came back from Venus. Don't take it to heart though, it's mostly a joke.

LANDERS- Said to be the victims of a disease (probably rabies or mad cow disease or something, we don't fricking know), these zombies are bit uh... complicated. These guys take the longest to get back on track and get them acting like the humans they used to be. It's no fault of their own obviously, but man is their particular strain of zombification a complete BITCH to work with. It makes them bitey, spew-y and all around JERKS the first few months of unlife.

They're alright once you get them back down to normal but you really gotta stick it out through those months to do it. And the kicker? They can only make more of themselves via biting. Or if they've got a cold and are inconsiderate enough to not cover their mouths when they sneeze. Not that you'll catch any of the ones here biting people though. That's rude and they're more likely to be chowing down on junk food than people. They looove stuff like Ding Dongs and stuff like that.

Not every Lander is the same though, since some of them seem to act completely differently to the regular Landers. One of them snuck up on me the other day, it wasn't fun.

TRAINRUNNERS- Okay, forget what I said about the Landers. THESE guys are complicated. Kind of, I mean. They're fast, super durable for the most part and their strain is also spread through bite and boy, does it spread FAST. It's probably for the best that there's so few of them living here. That's nothing against them, of course but uh... it's not fun to deal with?

And if takes a while to get a Lander back on track, then it takes even longer for a Trainrunner. Which is not as pleasant as you can imagine when they get out of control but hey, we push through. Some of them are kind of prickly people to deal with though. We're not sure if that's because of the way their strain affects their brains or if some of them are natural born jerks. But either way, if you see some literally rotten looking people with varicose like veins and wearing sunglasses (their eyes ARE kind of gross looking), then you're seeing a Trainrunner. Just be cool around them and you'll be okay.

I dunno who originally coined their nickname though. We don't even have trains here?

NEWDEADS- A sort of catchall term for zombies that don't fit in the standard definition of zombie but are similar enough to their regular counterparts to qualify as one. It's not too uncommon to see a Newdead with a pulse (That's me!) but as long as they have a couple of traits seen in either Romeros, Landers, or Trainrunners, they can count as a Newdead. The one difference between a Newdead and the other zombie types though is that Newdeads don't have to worry about losing control and going on a complete rampage just to eat some dang flesh. Newdeads are kind of like humans the most? But also kind of not? They're stuck in a weird in between of being both and neither.

Don't ask how a zombie can have a pulse though. Yeah, I know it doesn't make sense but we're all made and sometimes rot and decompose in different ways and you'll break your brain trying to understand it so don't fricking question it. We're all kind of dead and that's just it! :>

Anyways, that should be just about every type of zombie seen here mostly! Might have missed a few but I can always edit this thing. Or just make new pamphlets. Either one. Next one's going to be about vampires and let me tell you that one's gonna be wayyyy easier! Well bye! ^_^b <- (me giving you a thumbs up)

[hsslilly-blog]

thinking about the fallout au and my beautiful princess claire swanson as a vegas showgirl

[br1ghtestlight]

i dont actually know when the american election is just sometime within the next few days right

[hopeinthebox]

tagged by my beloveds @cordiallyfuturedwight and @aprylynn for the july list <33 i'm terribly afraid the glen powell of it all got to me this july and thus..

you can find this country music for beginners playlist here and check out lizzy's guide to the delicate art of making a playlist for a breakdown from yours truly if you feel so inclined <33

tagging my musical favs if they haven't already: @thvinyl @kimtaegis @jihopesjoint @visionsofgideontheninth @hoseeok @eoieopda @monismochi <333 and your lovely self reading this also

[absentlyabbie]

i've developed some interesting methods of handling having a relationship with my mother who made my childhood/teen years misery and committed more than a little abuse.

as an adult, we have a very different dynamic, her daughters (sister and i) have confronted her with a lot of her bullshit and the things she both did and enabled. for some she has been sorrowful and even sometimes apologetic. she's a better mother to me now than she ever was when i most needed one. so i'll never actually trust her again, and she'll never be much deeper than surface level in my life, but we have something mostly good now, and on my terms.

however, she is very definitely one of those "i don't remember it that way" and "i did the best i could" mothers in a lot of areas, and has also always been the type to (probably unconsciously) emotionally manipulate the people she's hurt into catering to her hurt feelings about it instead.

over the years i've learned to get really comfortable with just not indulging it.

is she having a bad day, seems sad and upset? i'll give her a hug, try to make her laugh. if she throws broad hints it's a surge of hurt feelings about having driven one of her children to cut her off? well i'm just gonna stand there and not acknowledge or entertain it.

"well, apparently i was a bad mother" or shit like that? i'm just gonna look at her for a second, and i might either shrug or even nod, but i'm not saying a damn thing. i'm not awkwardly, uncomfortably, painfully contorting to her guilt trip nonsense. i'm not apologizing or trying to soothe her or reassure her or minimize it.

like, yeah. you really were. you know it, glad to hear it. we've definitely had that talk.

best kindness, most generosity i can offer her in times like that is not maintaining eye contact to bluntly tell her "yeah, you were." she can go ahead and feel bad about it.

it's not on me to make her feel less bad. she should feel bad. and i am definitely not someone she gets to seek comfort from about it.

hopefully someday she'll inch past just "poor me, i'm so sad and angsty about it" towards, like, examining the whys and acknowledging what she actually did wrong and work actively to be be better. in a few places, some of that has happened.

but that's her work. her job and responsibility. she can do that shit on her own time.

i say all this to offer a shoulder of solidarity to others like me. if you maintain a complicated relationship as an adult with the parent who hurt you and did you wrong as a child, that is okay. you get to choose how and if to thread that needle.

but you don't have to accommodate emotional manipulation and guilt trip garbage. stonewall it. walk away if you need to. don't apologize. don't try to make it better. that's not on you and it doesn't have to be. it's okay.

[the-mirror-sunflower-owo]

My bestie and I went to see the fnaf movie premie in the cinema those 3 weeks back (it was on the 2nd of November here). It took her at least a week to shift back into her fnaf phase and recently partially infected me with it, so I DUG UP my old William After design and re-drew it. Have a wonderful day/night (it's midnight for me)!! :3

It's just a lil silly sketch, but I enjoy it nonetheless, heh

[tokutaiseichan]

i know i said Haku is the most suspicious but that doesn't mean i don't have other suspects in my mind. anyway! here's my list of spy suspects → 1) Haku 2) Rui 3) Tohma

if you let me go even more wild with my ass-theories, i'd say even Kaito can be a spy candidates if the writers are into the whole "guy who spents more than half of the story being a cowardly underdog is actually super smart and works for the enemies" trope.

or Haru if they're into the "shady fox eyes" trope.

(※ don't take this seriously, they don't call me Detective Reaching #2 for nothing)

[tenwhiteandalusians]

is episode 8 the domitian arc ? more on this and EVEN MORE narratives i’ve been ignoring that the show said “actually,,,” about in 5