Sylph's Writing Blog

A side blog for @sylphidine, where you can find fanfiction and alternate universe works. Archive Of Our Own handle is "sylphidine_gallimaufry".

[sylphmacabre]

This being a writing blog...

My askbox is open for questions about my characters, my headcanons, my one-shots, my longfics, and my series.

Ask me anything!

I write for the following fandoms:

RISE OF THE GUARDIANS

DELTARUNE

NIGHTMARE DORK UNIVERSITY

[sylphidine]

[Fic] CALL SIGNS, Chapter 50

Banner art by @trestrestr-es

Fandom: Deltarune [human AU, college/university setting, canon-divergent, can be read fandom-blind]

Characters: Spamton Addison, Swatch Paletta, T.M. Tinker, Eos Addison, Ballew Addison, Sienna Addison-Timothy, Saffron Timothy-Addison, original characters.

Chapter notes: Content warnings for classism and implied disapproval of polyamory.

Chapter summary: The first night of Spamton's birthday weekend shows some of the oddities of the Addison household to those who didn't grow up under its roof.

===============

At the very last moment, Spamton lost his nerve and let Sienna show Swatch and Trez to separate guest rooms.

He hadn’t been expecting Sienna to be the one to greet them when they arrived; he’d thought Eos would be the one acting as host. But his sister was the only one in the hallway as he, T.M., and Swatch brought in their bags with Ballew’s help.

Ballew didn’t seem to notice, but to Spamton’s eyes Sienna seemed to be a bit on edge.  Oh, she was sweetly welcoming to his beloveds, but her voice was higher-pitched than usual.

And Saffron was nowhere in sight.

---------

The slim woman with the strawberry-blonde mane was stronger than she looked, as she hefted Swatch’s duffel bag and T.M.’s suitcase with one hand and Spamton’s in the other, leaving them each to carry their own garment bags to the second floor.  

Swatch took the time to observe Spamton’s only sister, as the three followed her up the long staircase and along the gallery. Far from the serene presence he always described her to be, Sienna seemed… well, “brittle” was the first word that came to mind. She kept up a steady stream of conversation about how lovely it was to have “Gainsboro’s friends” here for a visit, sounding more like an elderly aunt than a close sibling.  She emphasized the point that both guest rooms were “not far” from the bathrooms, and if either of them needed anything to just “sing out”.

It was, quite frankly, a relief to duck into the room where they were expected to stay.

Although it seemed they were expected to stay there without Spamton.

---------

Is this woman for real, with her tour guide persona? This place looks more like Downton Abbey than like somewhere real people live. 

This is bizarre. Would everyone hate me if I took an Uber to the train station?

T.M. was apparently getting shown to her room first because she was the “girl”... Sienna actually said that out loud and with a straight face. Swatch caught her eye and gave her a look that was just short of an eye-roll… it was good that someone else thought there was something off with Spamton’s sister.

So much for women’s lib… 

Once she was alone, T.M. unslung the garment bag from her shoulder, making sure the pocket with her hat was on the outside and not getting crushed.  Her suitcase had been placed on a wooden rack that looked like it actually belonged on ANTIQUES ROADSHOW. The rest of the furniture seemed to be a little more modern, but it was made of more solid-looking wood than she had ever seen in her life.  “IKEA this ain’t,” she muttered to herself as she laid the garment bag on the bed and unzipped it.

---------

I’ll see if I can find the kitchen, Swatch thought to themself. That seems like a logical place for people to hang out.

I’ll see if I can find the kitchen, T.M. thought to herself. That seems like a good place to dig up some dirt.

Let me see if anyone’s in the kitchen, Spamton thought to himself. That makes sense that they’d both head there.

---------

Blinding white light reflected off surfaces of marble and chrome.  Two people were there, neither of whom were T.M., Spamton, or any of the Addison siblings. And they didn’t look like Addison relatives… neither of them had the long pointy Addison nose.

The two women both wore white chef uniforms. One was unpacking containers of meat and vegetables and pasta from a trolley onto counters, while the other was unzipping a suitcase that held cooking utensils that were obviously from one very expensive manufacturer.

Swatch tried to back out so they would not be in the way, but the taller woman with the dark braids noticed them and said with a smile, “Come on in, we don’t bite. Not hard, anyway.” 

“As long as I won’t be in the way,” Swatch replied, and sat in the chair that she pointed to, part of the set for the table in the corner. “My cousins are going into the hospitality industry when they graduate, so I’m always interested in watching professionals work.”

“Well, it’s more than our jobs are worth to tell houseguests where they can and can’t go,” said the other woman, a thin freckled redhead who had just finished offloading the last insulated food box. “You ARE one of the houseguests, right? One of Stanton’s friends?”

“Yes, that’s me. I’m Swatch Paletta.” They weren’t sure whether to identify themself as Spamton’s partner; there already seemed to be a layer of reserve by being identified as a “houseguest”. The use of the name “Stanton” also hadn’t escaped their notice.

The redhead nodded and commented, “Please don’t be insulted if we don’t shake hands. Again, more than our jobs are worth, damaging the tools of our trade, so to speak, and you look like you’ve got a powerful handshake.”

That was a subtle way to bring up Swatch’s size, they surmised. “I take your point,” they replied. “And the appetite to go with it. That all looks like some wonderful possibilities for meals.”

“Oh, you flatterer,” the dark-haired woman chuckled. “Anyway, I’m Bonita and that’s Jen. Of Bonita and Jen’s Household Meals. You can make yourself useful by telling us some of your preferences, as well as what the other guests like to eat.  Usually we deliver premade meals for the two guys here, but this weekend we’re cooking fresh for a house party, and that changes everything up.”

“Other guests?”

“Well, yeah. The sister and her wife, and the other one of Stanton’s friends.”

“Oh!”  For some odd reason Swatch had made the assumption that Sienna and Saffron lived here too. The house was certainly large enough.  Spamton had mentioned that there were ten bedrooms and seven bathrooms.

They collected themself, realizing Bonita was waiting for an answer.

“Well, T.M. - that’s my and Spam- I mean, Stanton’s friend - she’s pretty much a fan of anything except shrimp. I don’t know much about the other two other than they’re both vegetarians.”

“Yeah, we did get that memo,” interjected Jen. “What about you, big guy?”

“Me? Well, I guess if I’m getting asked, something I can’t cook myself? At home, I tend to do Italian or stir-fry, so I don't know… maybe fish?”

Swatch was delighted to actually be asked for their preferences.  They wondered whether Spamton still got the same thrill at the possibility of choice, or whether he took it for granted.

And if the thought of Spamton summoned him from the ether, their partner’s voice could be heard from the door that led to the outside. “D-Did someone say fish?  That sounds d-d-delicious!”

T.M. stood in the doorway on the opposite side of the room, her expression carefully blank.

---------

Spamton wasn’t sure why, once he’d made up his mind to head to the kitchen, he ended up detouring to the greenhouse instead. It wasn’t that there was NO greenery in Mrs. Anselmo’s backyard; she had rambling wild roses, a butterfly bush, and a dogwood tree.  But something in him was calling for the pots of violets, primroses, begonias, and kalanchoe that Kip the gardener set up every year and brought out to the stone-flagged patio each summer.

He’d hoped for a few minutes of solitude before he had to be sociable. But there were already people there, by the sound of raised voices.

He took his hand off the glass door and turned away, not wanting to interrupt.  

Back to the kitchen it would be, then.

As he crossed the lawn to get to the rear of the house, Spamton noticed that the van for Bonita and Jen's Household Meals was parked there. He wasn’t surprised, when he walked through the French doors, to see Swatch sitting and comfortably chatting with the two chefs. He caught the tail end of what Swatch was saying and added, “D-Did someone say fish?  That sounds d-d-d-delicious!”

Across the room, he could see T.M. standing in the main doorway, a peculiar expression on her face, as though she’d stopped herself from saying something she’d regret.

---------

T.M. looked back up at the curving gallery from where she stood in the foyer, trying to count the number of closed doors. She took a rough stab at guessing this place must have a dozen bedrooms and probably just as many bathrooms. Her room, and presumably Swatch’s, were in what Sienna had called the east wing, whereas the family’s rooms were at the other end. T.M. assumed that meant she’d get sunlight in the morning.  That would have been her preference anyway. If only the house itself had not been creeping her out so much.

Oh well.  Best not to linger here as if she were casing the joint.  Logically in a place like this the kitchens were probably tucked away out of sight. “Further on and further in,” she muttered to herself as she picked a likely direction.

At least the doors down here were open and she could see inside. A room with a fireplace, big overstuffed leather chairs, and walls full of books looked friendly. A big open space with a grand piano and an entertainment center with very expensive-looking stereo equipment also seemed promising, and not as intimidating as the VERY formal dining room. That room had built-in hutches with a terrifying amount of china, plus a sideboard with enormous platters stacked on it.

Again T.M. was struck by the excess of it all. How had Spamton grown up in this house and come out even vaguely well-adjusted?

She heard voices in the next room down from the dining room, including the blessed familiarity of her bestie. They were talking about food with two people she couldn’t yet see, but could hear, and were being asked about… her?

“Well, T.M. - that’s my and Spam- I mean, Stanton’s friend - she’s pretty much a fan of anything except shrimp. I don’t know much about the other two other than they’re both vegetarians.”

“Yeah, we did get that memo,” said a sharp female voice, continuing after a miniscule pause, “What about you, big guy?”

“Me? Well, I guess if I’m getting asked, something I can’t cook myself? At home, I tend to do Italian or stir-fry, so I don't know… maybe fish?”

T.M. inched into the doorway, ready to jump to Swatch’s defense, but stopped herself when she saw the smile on the speaker’s face, The thin redhead apparently just had one of those dry voices.

She saw Spamton step into the room from a glass door that led onto a patio and caught his eye, trying to look normal.

She came all the way into the kitchen then, and blurted out, “Shit, this place is HUGE, Short Stuff!”

Great. 

She wanted to die of embarrassment.

But it seemed to be the perfect icebreaker, and T.M. found herself sitting down with Swatch, Spamton, and the other two, who introduced themselves as Jen and Bonita, sampling a dish of what the chefs called Brown Butter Almond Salmon.

She didn’t want to get too used to this… she still thought it was ridiculous to have catered meals rather than takeout.

But damn, this tasted awfully good.  

---------

The rest of the night turned out to be much less formal and more fun than T.M. expected. 

Although there was one bit of unexplained tension.

After the chefs had chased the three of them out of the kitchen once they’d finished their “tasting”, Spamton had unerringly led T.M. and Swatch to where the rest of the family were… a living room that T.M. had missed.  The couches had plastic slipcovers and the coffee table had a wooden bowl in the middle, filled with bead-encrusted velvet fruit. Carved wooden cherubs flanked several mirrors on the walls, catching the light from the Tiffany lamps on the various end tables.

The enormous flatscreen TV made quite a contrast with the rest of the kitschy decor, and reminded T.M. that yes, the Addison family was made of money.

Spamton had introduced Saffron, his sister-in-law, a toned, tanned, and athletic-looking blonde, and re-introduced Eos, who had a sweet and welcoming smile for them all.

Once he heard where they’d been, Ballew made a snarky comment about children spoiling their dinners, to which Spamton snarked back about Ballew and Eos keeping Bonita and Jen’s cooking all to themselves for long enough.

Almost apologetically, Eos seemed to feel the need to explain that, due to the hours he and Ballew pulled at work, it was just easier to have prepped meals during the week. “But it’s all healthy stuff!”

Sienna patted him on the arm. “Hey, I checked in on them earlier, and their vegetarian stuff looks divine. Thank you for thinking of us.”

She seemed a lot more relaxed than she had earlier. Until her wife spoke up, at any rate.

“Anyway,” Ballew said, and all heads turned to him. “This weekend we’ll all be eating together. Do we want to have a quick hand of cards, and then a movie after dinner?”

“That sounds great!” Swatch started to reply, whereas, almost at the same time Saffron said, "My God, not Nutdealer again. Can't we do something else?"

"But we always—" Sienna interjected before she got cut off by Saffron saying, "Sweetheart, if I hear one more 'but we always', I'll scream. Just like I did in the greenhouse."

"And we can't have that now, can we?" Sienna's mouth was smiling, but her eyes were not.

“Let’s not bicker in front of the company,” Eos said mildly.

“Awwww, you’re no fun anymore,” Spamton interjected in a silly, Monty Python-esque voice.  

T.M. couldn’t help but giggle. Swatch smiled, and that gave her the courage to break the ice with her suggestion. “Maybe rummy? We don’t have to worry about how many people we’ve got, and it’s less bloodthirsty, from what I hear about you all.”

“Now that I can get behind,” Saffron replied with a grateful look. “Although I don’t know about the ‘less bloodthirsty’ bit. These guys are sharks.”

“So am I,” T.M. grinned back.

Ballew got up and pulled a card table and folding chairs out of a rack that leaned against a wall. There were multiple sealed decks of cards that he fetched from a built-in drawer in the table. “Glad to have that settled,” he commented drily. “C’mon, gather ‘round, cats and kittens. The birthday boy gets to be the dealer for the first hand.”

“You don’t trust me?” Sienna asked, good humor apparently having been restored.  

“Not as far as I can throw you.”

The game went smoothly through three hands of cards before dinner was announced by Bonita.  Dinner, as T.M. had expected, was served in the formal dining room, but it was set up in a buffet style on the sideboard, which relieved some of the stuffiness. In addition to the salmon dish she’d gotten to nibble on earlier, there was a beef dish in a creamy pasta, an absolutely kicking chicken curry, something that looked like a shepherd’s pie made with just cheddar and mushroom, and a coleslaw dish made with avocado, mango and coconut. There were side dishes of plain rice and noodles, as well as chopped butternut squash and steamed green beans, with separate serving utensils for everything to avoid cross-contamination between vegetarian and not-vegetarian dishes.

Spamton’s style of eating seemed to be accounted for here… everyone had divided dishes rather than flat plates, and no one raised an eyebrow when he took little portions of everything, rather loading his plate with one of the meal choices.  T.M. privately thought that was rather sweet, and wondered whether the family had started to do that after his homeless stretch, or whether he’d adapted later in life to something that had always been there. 

She wasn’t sure what to expect for choices for the after-dinner movie, but when RISE OF THE GUARDIANS was suggested, she gladly put in a “yes” vote.  It was by the same director as Swatch’s and her beloved SPIDER-VERSE movie, done more than a half-decade earlier, and the sheer love for beautiful detail shone through.  T.M. 's favorite character was Sandy, not just for his silent sass and subtle badassery, but because every bit of animation of his dream-sand was a work of art. She’d found out from a Google research rabbit hole that the movie company had actually commissioned NASA to get some of the textures right.  

Eos and Ballew disappeared into the kitchen and came back juggling several massive bowls of popcorn. T.M. happily plopped herself on the living room floor, leaning against Swatch’s legs as Swatch sat cuddled up with Spamton on a loveseat, same way she would have done back at the Tibbetts Avenue townhouse.  

She did notice that the two married folks weren’t sitting together, but she put it out of her head and lost herself in the movie.

---------

When it came time for the party to break up and the various family members headed to bed for the night, Spamton led the way to his own bedroom [after making sure that he knew where the rooms for the other room were]. “I m-may not have had the chance to - to play the p-piano for you tonight, b-but I’m not going to miss out on our b-b-bedtime reading.”

“Damn straight,” Trez said. Swatch stuck their tongue out at her.

Spamton’s childhood bed was a full-sized one, nowhere near as big nor as long as the king the three of them had gotten used to at Mrs. Anselmo’s. He felt the need to apologize for it, but Swatch waved it off. “This is fine, my dear, at least for tonight’s reading. I am going to commandeer the backrest, though.” And they suited action to words, crawling onto the bed and propping themselves up. Trez positioned herself between Swatch’s legs and laid her head on their chest, while Spamton slotted himself on Swatch’s other side.

The old-fashioned language of L.M. Boston’s GREEN KNOWE book flowed off Swatch’s lips like raindrops, and Spamton let the words he could quote from memory relax his body and mind.

“I'm glad this house is stone,’ said Tolly. "It smells of stone. When you come back to any house that you know, it has such a special smell. Do you think when they built this they put in some magic somewhere to make it last? Because it has lasted so much longer than houses do."

"I am sure they did—or something magic. It was a custom going right back to the first house ever made. Generally it was something under the threshold, or on the roof, or perhaps under the hearth—the three most important places."

"Have you looked?" Tolly was patting and stroking the walls as if they were alive.

"No," the old lady said. "I haven't disturbed anything. Whatever is there is working very well." 

The entrance hall was delightfully enclosing and reassuring, full as always of flowers and birds' nests, the lights relayed from mirror to mirror all down its length, and all the scatter of happy living—secateurs, baskets, books, letters, and anything-to-hand lying on the tables. The coloured stairs led up invitingly, but to get to the attic you had to pass through the Knights' Hall, which, if it had been alone for some hours, had a habit of slipping back to its own century. However much you loved it, Tolly thought, it always needed a little resolution to break away into its privacy at night. 

Just as Swatch was going to end the chapter, there was a knock at the door.  Spamton raised his head and looked at the other two for confirmation before calling out, “It’s open!”

Saffron was the last person he expected to see poking a head around his bedroom door. But there she was.

“Hi, I know it’s getting late, but I’m glad I can catch all three of you at once,” she said, hovering on the threshold. “Can we talk?”

“Sure, c-come on in,” Spamton replied. He sat up and waved his hand towards the wing chair off to the side of his desk.  The other two rearranged themselves so that they were sitting up, as well.  

His sister’s wife came in and sat down, crossing her legs and clasping her arms around her knees. “Well,” she started, “I was going to ask if any of you wanted to come on a run with me tomorrow morning.”

That, too, was unexpected. Spamton couldn’t remember ever being invited anywhere by Saffron, let alone on what was usually sacrosanct time between her and Sienna.

Blessedly, Swatch stepped in. “I most certainly would be interested. A three-mile circuit?”

“Yeah, how’d you guess? Down that ridiculous driveway and around what passes for a block in these fancypants parts. And I’m happy to do a shorter distance or a jog if that will tempt you other folks.”

Spamton’s curiosity was even more piqued. “Why d-do I get the f-feeling you’re angling for something, Saffron? Are you - and Sienna g-going to g-gang up on us? I’m n-not the athlete in - in the house.”

Now Saffron looked awkward. “Hardly ganging up, Stanton. In fact, Sienna probably won’t even be there.  I don’t know if you noticed at dinner, but things are a bit, shall we say, uncomfortable with us right now.”

Trez had been watching the exchange in silence, but spoke up. “It’s not like I have a yardstick, but yeah, I was picking up some hinky vibes. Is it because of us?”

“Not directly. But maybe, kinda. I don’t think so?” Saffron ran her hands through her short hair in frustration. “I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea—”

“Hey,” Spamton interrupted. “I c-can only sp-speak for myself, but that f-fact that you’re t-t-talking to me at all is a big fat m-m-m-m-miracle.  I’m actually kinda - kinda honored, for a change.  Sure, we’ll all g-go for a walk tomorrow morning… and have a t-t-talk too.”

That seemed to ease Saffron’s mind. “Good. I’ll look for you all around back at seven o’clock then, before breakfast?”

Trez groaned. “I’ll be there, early but not bright.”

“Oh, it’ll be good for you, Moggy,” Swatch soothed.

“Says you, Birdman.”

Saffron got up, looking as though she wanted to say more, but then just left the room, closing the door behind her.

All three of them looked at each other with varying shades of alarm, not knowing what they'd let themselves in for.  Finally Swatch said what all of them were thinking. “What was that about?  She didn’t call you ‘Gainsboro’, she was practically friendly…”

Spamton chewed that over before answering, “I’m n-not sure. B-But it won’t surprise me if Sienna tries to g-get us alone for a t-talk, too, some t-time this weekend.  I d-d-don't turn 25 every day.”

Trez stretched and swung her legs off the bed. “Well, I’m going to head to my guest quarters before anyone starts doing bed checks. I assume that’s a thing here.”  Her tone was light, but it sounded like she meant it.  She leaned over and gave Spamton a goodnight kiss.

Swatch got up as well. “I’ll walk you there, Moggy. At least my room has a queen-size bed. I love you, Spamton, but if I slept here I’d be a pretzel by daylight.”  They kissed Spamton as well before heading out with T.M.

Spamton was left wondering what the morning would bring.  He looked at the closet where his zoot suit hung, as though it held the answers.

[sylphmacabre]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36720883/chapters/227961536

Now on AO3.

[sylphmacabre]

I'm about to commit an act of meta.

[sylphmacabre]

I have committed to finishing three works for @wipbigbang.

FLEECY SHINY GLEAMING STREAMING / GIMME A MARE WITH HAIR... a friendship AU story between Pitch Black and Jack Frost from RISE OF THE GUARDIANS, where Jack met Pitch in the 1960s.

ECDYSIS... Piki Black's recovery from his nervous breakdown after Jack Sickle disappeared. Set in the Nightmare Dork University fanverse.

COSINES... the sequel to CALL SIGNS, set in my Deltarune human!AU.

The "rules" of the WIP Big Bang challenge are to finish your WIPs before the end of the calendar year.

My askbox is open to any and all questions about these works.

---Sylph

[isabellebissonrouthier]

how many actively-being-written wips do you have right now

none

one

two to five

six to ten

more than ten

Voting ended onApr 29

[sylphmacabre]

I have four, two of which I'm trying to finish during the @wipbigbang event.

CALL SIGNS [almost finished]

A CITIZEN OF THE UNIVERSE AND A GENTLEMAN TO BOOT [possibly might finish by the end of 2026]

ECDYSIS [registered for the WIP Big Bang]

FLEECY SHINING GLEAMING STREAMING / GIMME A MARE WITH HAIR [registered for the WIP Big Bang]

I could definitely using some cheering on to complete these... kudos and comments welcome.

[jeaniefranklins]

Sex scene as character study is so good. What is your relationship to your body? What is your relationship to your partner? What lessons have you absorbed from the culture about yourself as a sexual being? How much do you have to trust someone before being comfortable with intimacy? What fears and insecurities come to the fore for you when you take your clothes off? It's so good.

[abandoned8394928477-deactivated]

A quick warmup of big shot spamton !

[sylphmacabre]

need to use this as reference for "Sammy" when I finally get around to the Tenna flashbacks in COSINES.

[creatingblackcharacters]

“Romance Will Not Solve Racism”- Interracial/Biracial/Blended Black and White Relationships and Families

I broke this lesson on white/Black interracial relationships and identity off from my multicultural lesson because this is one that demands its own talk. People think that the existence of interracial relationships, biracial children, and blended families means that we are “moving forward as a society”. While admittedly it’s no longer illegal- and the fight that went into it for the right was very important- it doesn’t mean that the world is “getting past racism”. Far from it, if I’m being very direct.

Tokenism

“It’s a given that they’re not racist, they’re in a relationship with a Black person.”

Some of the most antiblack racist people I’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing are the ones that think they ‘could never be racist’ because they draw “Black” characters, reblog “Black” posts, or “enjoy” Black characters. What I need you all to understand, going into your creation, is the proximity to Blackness does not mean antiracism. In reality, they are usually just tokenizing Black characters and people.

Tokenism: “the practice of making only a perfunctory or symbolic effort to do a particular thing, especially by recruiting a small number of people from underrepresented groups in order to give the appearance of sexual or racial equality and equity within a specific societal system (workforce, school, university, movie, tv-show etc.)”

In other words, the token Black friend/partner/child/favorite character is the person that white people will point to, to suggest that they are not racist because there is someone Black that they can stand to be around. They value them as pawns, not as people.

This can and often does apply in these scenarios. A white partner that might be nice to their Black partner may switch up one day if said Black partner doesn’t act the way they want (‘you’re not like other Black people’), revealing a side they hadn’t before. Many white spouses have rejected their spouses’ Black biracial children or treated them less in comparison to their own white children. It has been noted that white foster families will adopt Black children for the money (because they’re ‘cheaper’) or performance value, since people don’t adopt Black children as much (one family even murdered all of them in a murder-suicide).

Meanwhile, the whole time, they ‘seemed so nice!’ Racism can come from ‘nice’ people. So moving forward this is something we need to keep in mind. If anything, you need to be even more aware of this when writing, as these characters supposedly have a close relationship.

“What are you mixed with?”- Colorism

It’s also not coincidence that many of the acceptable, “beautiful” Black biracial people are the Zendayas of the world. Light skin, looser textured hair. These are the Black biracial people that are brought to the forefront, but they are not representative of every Black biracial person!

Now, this is one of my biggest pet peeves, both in character design and in life, so say it with me:

BEING BIRACIAL DOES NOT AUTOMATICALLY MEAN LIGHT SKINNED, AND BEING LIGHT SKINNED DOES NOT AUTOMATICALLY MEAN BIRACIAL!

I want to bite everyone that thinks this lmao. People will see lighter-skinned Black people and ask “what are you mixed with?” It infuriates me, the idea that we are somehow more beautiful for that proximity to whiteness. The idea that being Black alone is not enough to be beautiful, there must be something else in you that makes it that way.

(I’ve also known some unattractive light skinned and mixed people so… It’s just not true.)

This belief easily permeates society, and that includes artists and writers who want a specific look for their characters. Every mixed child is NOT going to be light skinned!!! LET IT GO!!! “I want my character to have long, thinner textured hair, but I want her to have a natural ‘tan’ (their brown skin) so by being mixed, I can have that! How beautiful!” No. It’s very racist. If your goal is to obtain Eurocentric beauty standards for your character, but to ‘claim diversity and benefits’ in their Blackness, that is very much racist. Y’all gotta catch yourselves on that one!

"Passing"

I want to reiterate a point, that you’ve likely walked past many a Black biracial person and just assumed they were Black. Blackness is not just a skin color, but a measure of social standing as well. We have been socialized to think of Blackness as less than, so once someone has been perceived as Black, someone’s perspective will be affected by antiblackness, regardless of their complete background.

But, when it comes to being biracial with whiteness, there’s also the concept of “passing”, where you might have assumed they were white!

Now, this is a controversial, and U.S. American-centric, view that I’m about to express. People will disagree with me, and that’s fine. Colorism does offer privilege to light skin. But I am of the opinion that if you have to ‘pass’ as white, you are not White. White people don’t have to pass. They just are. No matter what other marginality they are, that whiteness is the one thing they can lean on. If you can have that whiteness and the privilege that comes with it revoked by sheer awareness of the Blackness in your genetics, you are not White, because white people can never have that happen to them. So you might be able to get away with whiteness, as long as no one knows!

It’s why things like the One Drop Rule, the Paper Bag and Pencil Test, and terms like quadroons, octoroons, creoles, mulattos and such exist.

Strong dependence on the Mammy stereotype in this movie aside, one of the main plot lines of Imitation of Life is a Black woman, Annie, and her mixed daughter Sarah Jane. Sarah Jane is beautiful, but most importantly she can pass as white (the actress is Jewish). But Sarah Jane struggles with the reality that her society treats her better when she’s ‘white’ but will immediately and violently turn their back on her when she’s revealed to be half-Black. She hides and rejects her Blackness to protect herself from the pain, but rejecting her Blackness means rejecting her beloved mother, and everything she’d done for her. Annie dies of illness and heartbreak, having accepted that this is the choice she’s made.

(also, Trouble of the World by Mahalia Jackson is one of my favorites)

Fetishization vs Reality of Black biracial children

Again: people like to place a lot on the existence of Black biracial babies. They think the existence of a Black biracial child means that race simply isn’t a factor. They’ll seek the ‘beauty’ of mixed children, plus the performance points of ‘non-racism’ because they exist. Imagine your own parent- whom you’re supposed to love and trust- treating you as violently as the world outside; treating you like those puppies people get at Christmas where it was fun as a concept but ready to toss by Easter because they’re no longer titillating. Black biracial children are not toys, and they are not symbols: they are human beings!

If you plan on writing a white parent to a Black child (biracial or not) that is a GOOD parent, then they need to be aware of their child’s specific needs! There are still things that will apply to your Black child character that are different from a white one that your white parent character needs to know. Otherwise, your Black and Black biracial viewers will notice that this kid would not realistically be safe, healthy, or happy.

This includes learning to do their hair, or where to take them to get it done; recognizing when some conversations just aren’t ones they can have on their own, when they are treating their Black child like their life experience and day to day needs are that of a white child’s. I recognize that every story isn’t going to center racism, but if your story does want to acknowledge it, this also includes learning how to catch when their child is being discriminated against by their own white family members (just because THEY as a parent are okay, doesn’t mean their families are), in school or in other social spaces. That child might be in danger, but if their white parent does not recognize that, they will not protect them!

Antiblack racism from white parents has been spoken about often amongst Black children. Children of color in general adopted by white parents can speak on it. The rapper Logic has rapped often about his white mother calling him slurs. You can tell when a Black biracial child’s hair is not being done properly because their white parent does not care to learn, and is trying to physically force whiteness upon them via assimilation. It can actually be incredibly damaging for a Black biracial child to have a white parent that does not know how to take care of a child that will face the world far differently than them.

This can include feeling excluded from certain parts of your identity, just because you aren’t “enough”. One example multiculturally is the pressure to assimilate. For example, some Latino families not teaching their children Spanish, or Kenyan families not teaching their culture, to assimilate in (white) American culture.

Very often, white people no longer in a relationship with their Black partner will isolate their Black biracial child from their Black family, thus cutting off access to half of their heritage. Thus, many Black biracial kids find themselves confused about that line. Ideally, their parents will be healthy enough to have those conversations and strengthen their self-identity, regardless of their relationship with one another.

So when you’re writing your character, they should not be telling them that ‘we don’t see race’, or any other things that imply that the Blackness within them is somehow shameful or doesn’t need to be acknowledged.

How to actually treat a Black partner

Any Black person (with any self-respect, let me clarify) will not want to be with someone that’s racist. This doesn’t mean that their white partner will be perfect immediately, but they should still come in with some decency.

I personally do not find it romantic teaching someone how to treat me like a human being. I’m passionate about these topics and education on them, but there’s still a distance between you and I, reader. You are a person I don’t know, that could either learn from what I teach (which is good!) or decide to… Well, stay racist, and be treated as such 🤣 But I would never give my heart to someone that I’m unsure of. It’s far safer to be with someone that has already done much of the work on their own, or at least has put the effort in and will continue to do so.

Black viewers do not want to spend time watching a white person realizing they’re a human. Partners are supposed to be a space of respite and security. How can you be safe and comfortable if someone’s always throwing microaggressions at you (unintentional or not), refusing to or incapable of understanding your perspective when it counts, only understands your experience on a surface level, or is determined to ‘make it not matter’… and then call it love?

Like if a white character is giggly because ‘omg they’re listening to “Black” music they’ve never heard before’ or ‘eating “Black” food’ because of their Black partner, that’s… god I’d close the book immediately. We’re not a different species. That’s not romantic, it’s just weird. You can have a new experience without treating it like your white character is going to the zoo and reading the exhibits.

Your white characters should be learning and applying constantly- consent to touch hair and body, learning what not to say or when it’s not their space to speak on a topic, learning about how the world treats their partner so that they can understand. This includes their own friends and family- why would a Black partner want to be with someone that doesn’t defend them from racist family members?

Your white character may not always get it right, and that’s fine*. But one thing I’ve discussed in a prior ask is that the bar for knowing if your relationship with a white person is a safe one (at least, at that moment) is if you can correct them. If you can tell your white person that they have done something wrong, something racist, or that there’s something they should know to continue this relationship, and they react well? Okay. That’s an opportunity for writing character AND relationship growth!

*There’s levels to this; obviously there’s some things you can’t (or shouldn’t) come back from

Depicting this may be hard for someone that… that hasn’t had that conversation. I have been able to write that sort of scene. But if you’ve never had that conversation, you won’t know how it goes. I have to be honest with you… This is where it would be good to have Black friends that feel comfortable enough to have these conversations with you. I mean, you shouldn’t go make friends just because you want to use them for creation. That would be disrespectful. But if this is something that you want to write, I would highly suggest that you grow familiar with microaggressions and acts of antiblack racism, so that you can understand WHY they are a problem. Can’t really apologize and “not do something again” if you don’t know what that something is.

Fetishization of Black Partners

The Jezebel and the BBC stereotypes come into play often via the idea that a Black partner is something wildly exotic and can be used for sexual experimentation. ‘Wanting to know about big Black dick’ or ‘if all Black girls squirt’ is objectifying. You can write us in your sex scenes- many of us do enjoy sex and can even be kinky! But watch that you’re being respectful, from your descriptions to your dialogue. We’re not raging sex beasts and sex toys for your fantasies. We deserve care and our needs met as well.

There’s also this thing where white girls will date a Black man to ‘spite daddy', and when they’re done rebelling, that Black man is left in the dust, maybe even accused as an aggressor to excuse her ‘leaving’ her own (he manipulated her, tempted her away from the right path). We may side eye you if you have a white character ‘fake dating’ a Black person or ‘friends with benefits’- not because these tropes are racist, but often can be written that way if you’re not paying attention.

One controversial example is that of Rege Jean-Page’s character in Bridgerton. There’s a scene where his love interest essentially forces him to come inside her during sex. Now, there are people do enjoy consensual-noncon. The issue is that 1) some Black viewers who watched felt disturbed at the imagery of a Black man being forced to breed, especially given that historical context, and that it wasn’t treated as seriously, and 2) this scene if he had been the one forcing her would never have been received as well, especially with a Black male lead- it would not have been received as ‘spicy CNC’.

Interracial relationships- specifically with a white woman and a Black man- may also be looked upon with worry by Black family members. There is a history of Black men (and their surrounding Black community) being lynched for ‘defiling white women’. It’s not unusual for us to worry that we will not be safe in a white partner’s homes or lives, and will be asked to leave our information, who we’re with, and what part of town we’re in or going to. Get Out was a fantastic example of this; of how the only reason Chris escaped was because a friend of his knew where he was and came to get him. Otherwise, he would have been body snatched. So your ‘fake dating’ interracial AU might seem silly and fun to you, but a Black reader might look at it and go ‘wow, I would never put myself in this situation or deal with this sort of treatment without extra planning’.

As a side: the gigantic Black/Brown man in chains and a tiny white man holding those chains as symbolism for BDSM or 'possession'… Yeah that’s usually just racist beast and slavery imagery recycled. Please. I beg. I’ve almost never seen the opposite in fan art, and we all know why. There’s got to be something else we can use.

Black Parent, White Child

This is one that I almost never see talked about! Partially because our society deems any child of a Black person also Black, but there are blended families where there will be an existing child- and that child might be white! But we don’t see white kids adopted by Black families as much as we do the reverse, and there’s a reason for that!

There’s a difference in the dynamic! White parents with Black children are often seen as ‘saving’ them. I was once friends with a nice, older white (also racist, as it turned out) neighbor of mine, and people would often look at me like I was some poor, piteous negro child when we went to the store. But if my 50+ year old father were to walk around with a preteen white girl, people would react far more defensively.

Think about this: toddlers have tantrums, right? The world is ending in a heartbeat, that’s just where they are mentally. You’re ready to leave the store, they aren’t: boom. Tantrum.

A white toddler falling out into a tantrum and getting hauled off by a Black parent could very well get that parent arrested or killed if someone, misunderstanding due to their pre-existing biases, calls the cops for ‘kidnapping’. And that white toddler might not know that, but that’s the amount of power that they hold over that Black stepparent as a BABY.

There was a Black Twitter thread that discussed what Black people would do if a crying white child came up to them and looked lost, and part of the discussion was that people were genuinely afraid to be seen with this child, because someone might assume that THEY made the kid cry, and it would get them hurt. Has nothing to do with not liking white kids, but the fact that we live in a world with a literal hair trigger on us- the last thing we need is to be seen as a threat to a white child.

Viewers will be affected by this bias as well. White parental characters to Black child characters will be given more grace and understanding versus the opposite.

A good example (of parental figures/mentors) is from Across the Spiderverse, with Peter and Miles vs Jessica and Gwen. Both mentors were a part of the Spider Society, both were in the wrong about how they treated Miles (damn near the whole Society did, which is another message on how we treat Black and Brown kids there!), and with how they treated their respective mentees. But Peter is treated with far more grace, despite his actions symbolizing that disappointment that Black kids often experience from white adult mentors that we’re supposed to trust, than Jessica Drew, who treated Gwen like the business mentor she was. Jessica was not motherly (remember that Mammy stereotype?) to Gwen because it wasn’t her job to be. But people were furious at her not ‘treating Gwen better’, for ‘putting her own child in danger’ and ‘not considering how Miguel would react’. But they were not as angry at, or offered more potential forgiveness, to Peter, who failed at the very same things with Miles.

Writing a Black Parent

Okay, so yes, there is ‘Black parenting’. To be honest, you’re not going to be able (and shouldn’t attempt) to write that, because it is a very specific experience that you’ll only know if you were brought up in it. Bringing up Jessica Drew again, another perspective to consider is that people thought she was a ‘bad mentor’, but as far as how my Black childhood went, she was quite gentle and firm.

Black parents are still humans, and parenting is still parenting. Be normal about it. All you need to do is keep in mind that we’re offering all of these characters and their relationship dynamics the understanding and writing they deserve.

If you’re writing a healthy relationship, there needs to be a sense of trust and respect between everyone involved, and that can reveal itself even in small interactions. If you’re writing a complex or negative parental relationship, that’s fine, but you’ll have to avoid certain overarching stereotypes of Black parenting styles (The ‘ghetto welfare queen with six kids’, the ‘absent thuggish father’, the ‘overaggressive woman that beats her kids’, the ‘Strong Black Mother who don’t need no man’). Make sure they’re a complex or bad parent because they suck, not because they’re what you think of when you think of Black parents.

Conclusion

There’s no free passes from antiblack racism just because you’re close to Black people; there’s no ‘invite to the cookout’ just because you don’t say slurs. This applies to your writing as well. It is not a given that your white character is in the clear just because they have a Black partner, children, or friends. If anything, they’ll need to be putting in extra work to maintain that intimacy. These are different forms of love, but all love takes effort, and it certainly won’t hold if they’re not being considerate of their loved one’s identity. By incorporating this level of thought into your writing- however subtly- it will show your Black viewers that you as the writer are aware, that you actually thought about us in these more intimate settings. Because as you and your white characters need to know, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[sylphmacabre]

In CALL SIGNS, I have been trying to work through each of the lessons that Ice has been laying out in their blog, and I hope I had some success as a writer. I've two examples that relate to this lesson...

1] Regarding fetishization: POV Swatch, a nonbinary biracial person who has a very formal speech pattern both vocally and in interior thoughts, thus my narration here...

They freed one long-fingered tawny brown hand and pushed their dual-toned glasses up on their long nose for what felt to be the thousandth time. They wished they'd thought to wear their basketball goggles, which always stayed put no matter how much they sweated. At least they had remembered to wear a headband to keep their twisted ringlets out of their face. They made a mental note to get a haircut in the next few weeks before the practice season started.

Indigo and Catechu had no such problems with their own hair. The twins sported the "shaved back and sides" look, with just a fade of short springy curls on top.  Seen together, the resemblance between the three cousins was more marked, especially the strong angular planes of their faces, inherited from their Congolese-Italian mothers, who were sisters.  But Indigo and Catechu shared the blocky frame that their dad Julius had, as well as his darker brown skin.  Swatch was not as tall, but their lankiness made it seem that they were.  The olive undertones of Swatch's skin and the hazel in their eyes were a legacy from the person they considered to be no more than a sperm donor, since there was certainly no one in Swatch's life to fill the role of "father".

Some days Swatch could take pride in their appearance and play it up; the colored lenses in their glasses, one lens orange, the other gold, was one affectation.  Other times they tired very quickly of how others would view them as "exotic", a genetic anomaly rather than a person, something to be fetishized. 

2] Regarding one Black parent, his white girlfriend, and his white-passing child getting suspected of kidnapping... POV GiGi the white girlfriend who is autistic and has a pronounced speech tic, thus the capitalization of her words..

"They Wanted To Call Child Protective Services When They Found Out I Wasn't A Relative. Then They Gave Leroux A Hard Time Not Believing He's Lance's Father. Because Leroux’s Black And I’m White. This World Sucks And I'm Going To Change That."

”I know you will, GiGi. If anyone can, you can.”

I worry about that second one having "white savior" overtones when read out of context.

I had one reader thank me for helping them feel seen, so maybe there's hope for me. But I know as a white writer i have a long way to go.

[elumish]

This may be a very lukewarm take, but I think one of the most important ways to establish tension in a story is to give actions consequences.

Not every consequence needs to be negative, and not every negative consequence needs to be catastrophic, but one of the easiest ways to kill the tension in a story is to teach your reader that it doesn't matter what the main characters do because everything will work out for them, and any setbacks won't have long-term consequences.

Because once you've taught that to the reader, then why should they care what the characters do? What does it matter whether they make the "right" decision because every decision will ultimately be the last one.

And once you've given your reader that for long enough, you can't really go back, because that will feel like a betrayal. You can't give the first negative consequence 3/4 of the way through the story, because you've already set up the story as one where actions don't have (negative) consequences.

When you're thinking about how to give actions negative consequences, consider that there are a many different types of consequences, including:

Physical (death, injury, disease, etc.)

Emotional (fear, concern, anxiety, sorrow, guilt, PTSD, etc.)

Social (loss of a relationship or friendship, mistrust from other characters, etc.)

Temporal (loss of time trying something that didn't work, additional time required for recovery, etc.)

Locational (loss of territory, displacement to somewhere else, etc.)

Autonomous (arrest, detainment, kidnapping, loss of ability to act of their own accord, etc.)

It can make the story more interesting (and more realistic) to not just focus on one type of consequence but instead to consider different kinds of consequences (positive and negative) a character would face for their actions. Maybe they end up better physically than they would otherwise--but they lose other people's trust by their actions. Maybe they save someone but lose time.

Make your characters' actions matter.

[sylphmacabre]

I'm trying to do this in CALL SIGNS.

Spamton started the story in late August with PTSD centered around touch. In May of the following year, when the story is scheduled to conclude, he still has PTSD centered around touch, despite being involved in emotionally and sexually healthy relationships. But he's more open to giving and receiving touch, even if he has to brace himself for it.

Swatch tried alcohol for the first time a few chapters ago after hating the stuff for what it did to their mother. They don't intend to try it again, and they're still angry at their mother's addiction, but they've loosened up a little bit to the point where other people drinking responsibly won't set them off on a tirade.

Kirov should and will face consequences for what he tried to do to Spamton and did do to Lance.

Realism is important, because as OP says, actions MATTER in trying to flesh out characters.

[sylphidine]

[Fic] CALL SIGNS, Chapter 49.

Banner art by @trestrestr-es

Fandom: Deltarune [human AU, college/university setting, canon-divergent, can be read fandom-blind]

Characters: Spamton Addison, Swatch Paletta, T.M. Tinker, Julius Dyer, Desiree Dyer, Claudine Paletta, mentions of other characters.

Chapter notes: Content warnings for discussion of traumatic brain injury, classism and racism, and biphobia.

Chapter summary: Spamton's 25th birthday... milestone or millstone?

===============

Swatch got to cash in their raincheck for their celebratory lunch on Sunday. When they got to the Dyer apartment, Uncle Julius had gotten takeout from Nneji, and Aunt Desiree was dishing it up with a side of gossip.

Over hearty servings of beef stew, lamb shanks with yassa, and harissa chicken with okra, Swatch listened while Aunt Desiree regaled everyone at the table with the story of the huge commission she’d landed this past week, on a property that she was sure would have been a white elephant for the next decade, but which she had closed on in record time.

Putting on what she called her “hifalutin” voice, she read out the description.

“ ‘This stunning, light-filled three-level co-op features a private entrance surrounded by lush greenery, creating a serene retreat from the city below. The first level welcomes you with a gracious foyer leading into an expansive living room, where dramatic river views and a newly installed modern wood-burning fireplace set the stage for unforgettable sunsets and cozy winter evenings. The oversized eat-in kitchen offers abundant custom cabinetry and flows seamlessly to a large stone patio overlooking the river—an exceptional setting for outdoor dining and entertaining. A powder room and generous coat closet complete this level.

“ ‘The second floor is anchored by a spacious primary bedroom with custom closets, two additional bedrooms—one equipped with a vented washer/dryer—two full baths, and ample storage throughout. The top level is a beautifully finished flexible space, ideal for a home office, guest suite, or creative studio. Both upper floors enjoy breathtaking river vistas, flooding the home with natural light.

“ ‘ Recent upgrades include a new fireplace mantel, ceiling fans, all-new window treatments, fresh chimney work, new carpeting, overhead foyer lighting, custom closets, a new vented washer/dryer, and updated heating and cooling compressors—ensuring modern comfort while preserving the home’s timeless character.

“ ‘Just moments from the Metro-North station, this exceptional residence offers a rare combination of tranquil, countryside living with the convenience of reaching Grand Central Terminal in approximately 20 minutes. With remarkable views, historic charm, and an unmatched sense of calm, this is a truly special opportunity. ‘ ”

Aunt Desiree finished by slapping her hand on the table; everyone's glass trembled, but no spillage occurred. “And baby. I sold it!  Not that the old man needed much convincing. You might know him, Swatch… he’s the great-uncle of that girl Terese roomed with.  And he’s planning to move his great-niece and her fiance and the fiance’s little boy and the little boy’s regular babysitter in.  Presto, brand-new family!  And bang zoom, a big fat paycheck for me. So we all got something to celebrate."

Swatch took note of the address to pass along to Moggy. It was within a few blocks of the city steps where Swatch and Spamton had had their life-changing talk back in February. Definitely a step up for Leroux and his son, although probably not for GiGi, if Swatch had to guess. 

Uncle Julius was smiling just as much as Aunt Desiree, pleased for his hard-working wife’s success. 

Swatch had a momentary twinge of seeing something that their mother had never had… a supportive partner. 

And if reading Swatch’s mind, Aunt Desiree switched gears and asked gently, “How did your visit with Claudine go Friday? I hope that boyfriend of yours behaved himself and didn’t upset her.”

“Spamton wouldn’t ever upset anyone—”

“Maybe not on purpose, but he might not have known how to react—” “He did just fine. Better than fine," Swatch reiterated fiercely. "I think he even got Mom to smile.  I mean, sure, it could have been anything, I’ll never really know if she understands us, but if she does, then she definitely liked meeting Spamton.” 

In Swatch’s opinion, Spamton had been nothing short of magnificent. And he hadn’t even been trying to be. 

He had sat down on a chair near to Swatch's mother where she was sitting in the common room, while an aide hovered nearby. He didn’t try to take her hand or touch her. He didn’t speak in an unnaturally loud voice or try to stare into her face to force eye contact.

He just talked, the same way he would have to an able-bodied person.  He introduced himself, gave some background about the earliest months he’d spent in the dorm with Swatch and Indigo and Catechu. He recounted how he and Swatch had gotten closer after Swatch’s accident, the same way he would have told any casual acquaintance of his.

And then Spamton slid in something that took Swatch completely off guard. Between mentioning how much he enjoyed cooking together with Swatch and telling her how much he enjoyed watching the twins play basketball, he said, completely naturally, “I love your child, and I’ll do my best to be good for them, since right now I think that’s what you want for them, for those times you can’t both be together.”

It was at that point that Swatch thought they saw their mother smile.

Even if she hadn’t, what Spamton had said was something they’d remember for a long, long time. 

A random thought struck Swatch now.  Was there any way they could do something similar for their partner? Although it would involve finding out where the Addison parents were buried, which might be ticklish for the Addison siblings, or for Spamton himself.

--------------------

“Birthday. Desires. Plans. You have thirty seconds. Go!”

“Now that’s not fair, Moggy.” Swatch reached over Spamton to ruffle T.M.’s hair.

From their position in the middle, Spamton added, “Yeah. What they - they said.”

“Okay. Ten minutes, then, but I have the feeling your family has made plans for you, and I wanted a chance to make a counterattack.”

“You’d b-b-b-be right about them making plans. And I really w-w-want both of you to c-come up north with me.”

The three were sacked out on Sunday night, lying on the living room floor and digesting the leftovers Swatch had brought back from Queens. Spamton took a sighing breath and outlined what the Addison siblings had arranged for next weekend. He explained that Friday and Sunday would be just lowkey hanging around the house in Purchase, but that Saturday night would be a lot more formal.

“F-f-first off, this wasn’t m-my idea. Twenty-five is, like, the- the b-big number in my family, because of the whole trust f-fund thing. All my siblings have d-d-done this big splashy p-p-party thing that my Uncle Sam started for Eos… he’s his g-godfather, you know, and was - was the executor for him and the other two—”

“I can’t believe you actually have an Uncle Sam,” T.M. interrupted.

“Somebody had to have an Uncle Sam sometime, otherwise there wouldn’t have been an Uncle Sam type,” Swatch pointed out.

“Impeccable logic as always, my dear Birdman.” She pouted for a moment, and then went on to ask, “So how big and splashy is this do? Like ‘rent out the whole country club’ big?”

“W-well, yes.”

“Oooh, so I’m going to get lynched if I show up in black denim and fishnets and rhinestones, huh?”

“I w-wouldn’t care. I j-just need you b-both with me.  I wouldn’t c-care if you showed up in - in a zoot suit, Trez.”

Swatch said, “Now there’s an idea. Why don’t we ALL show up in zoot suits?”  

“Really?” T.M. practically squealed in delight. “That would be so boss.” 

They both rolled towards Spamton to get a better idea of what he thought of their silly suggestion. From the ever-growing glow of the expression on his face, he loved it.

“I w-will have to give Eos and B-Ballew some w-warning, but I think they’ll g-get the joke. My sisters m-might squawk at f-first, but they won’t m-make too much of a scene.”

"Let's see what we can rent, but in the meantime pack a regular dressy outfit," was Swatch's ever-practical advice.

"Oh, you're no fun," T.M. complained.

"Oh yes I am."

"Oh yes they are," confirmed Spamton.

He did ask one more time in a hesitant voice, “So you’ll - you’ll both c-come up to Purchase with me?”

“Yeah, Short Stuff.” “Indeed we will. You’ve got us.”

The rest of the evening devolved into yet another three-way makeout session with T.M. in the middle, before Spamton called it a night, claiming an early class.

-------------------

And so it came to pass, two days later on a Tuesday, that Spamton Addison did his last radio show of the semester on the night of his 25th birthday itself. 

It hadn’t been deliberate, and he’d been asked by both Trez and Swatch as to whether that’s what he really wanted.

He’d started out the day by giving identical bouquets to each of his two loves.

Hyacinths. Peonies. Daffodils. Gladioli in an outer ring. In the center, an inner ring of brown-eyed susans surrounding a single sunflower.

Once Spamton had the first one assembled, the second went faster. 

The florist had helped him pick the flowers out, but the design was all his own.

When he presented Trez and Swatch with their bouquets, Spamton was greeted with a raised eyebrow from Swatch and the inquiry “Why are you giving us flowers for YOUR birthday?” from Trez.

“B-b-because I wouldn’t have made it to THIS birthday without - without you t-two.”

Constancy. Prosperity. Rebirth. Strength. Encouragement. Loyalty.

Love.

He found himself crying multiple times during his talkbacks. It was only with all his self-imposed training that he kept his voice steady, although the vocoder helped. 

While he didn’t come out and say it on the air, he was dedicating every song he played tonight to his two loves. He was emotionally pulling out all the stops, and was hoping that Swatch and Trez could hear everything he was trying to express through music.  He knew they were both listening - Swatch downstairs at Plato’s, Trez next door in Prodo.  He knew they’d both be there for him later tonight, but for now he was happy to just let lyrics and melodies stream through his fingers.

The tracks flowed from Raymond Scott’s “Powerhouse” to “Safe and Sound” by Capital Cities, from Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down” to “Runaway Train” by Soul Asylum, from Strawbs to R.E.M. to Booker T. to Supertramp to The Cranberries to Disturbed to Peter Gabriel.

The tears flowed, too.

Spamton didn’t want the groove to end, but he also couldn’t wait to get into bed with his beloveds. 

He wanted to stay in bed with them forever.

This coming weekend was going to be interesting, to say the least. He’d already told his siblings that he was bringing Swatch and Trez to Purchase with him to the family gathering that Eos and Ballew had arranged months ago for his coming-of-age.

He hadn’t asked permission.

It was going to be cramped, trying to fit the three of them into his own bed in his old bedroom. But if Swatch and Trez could stand it for two nights, he certainly could.

Twenty minutes to go until he signed off for the summer. Time to do his final talkback as DJ Dreamweaver until September.

-----------------------

T.M. had never been further north in Westchester County than New Rochelle, attending a party when she was ten for a great-aunt she didn’t remember. She remembered the trip across the drawbridge and the castles on the beach much more clearly. 

She also remembered not being allowed to bring her friends Swatch, Catto, and Indo, and being sure it was because they were Black, even though her parents sputtered something like, "Why would you think that?"  But there hadn't been a single Black person at that party except the waiters.

She was getting the same uneasy feeling, the further north that Spamton’s brother Ballew drove towards Purchase. Not that Ballew himself was giving her that feeling. He was being polite and keeping conversation going.

But the cars around them on the highway had nothing but white faces in the front and back seats.

She hoped that she was just being alarmist, but she knew she was gonna have to cut a bitch if either Spamton’s sister or the sister’s wife was snotty to her Swatchy. 

T.M. was fairly sure that Spamton’s brothers were cool, from the one time they’d met.

She would have been much happier, though, if Swatch were driving them, in case they needed to make a quick getaway. But Swatch’s car Bessie was in the shop for a brake job.

This had been Spamton’s idea, to have her and Swatch at the family celebration for his big milestone birthday. Was it a chance to share something, or was it Spamton needing moral support? She wasn't used to the whole "being brought home to meet the family" thing.

T.M. sat in the back seat with Spamton, while Swatch rode in the passenger seat up front. Spamton and she occasionally held hands, but she didn’t want to initiate any other public displays while they could be seen in a rear view window by either Ballew or Swatch.

The conversation seemed to flow well, Ballew gave the appearance of being interested in hearing radio station stories, but the longer the ride went on, the more T.M. wondered, yet again, where she fit in. 

Would the Addison family really understand that she genuinely cared about their younger brother? 

Or was she there in their eyes as Swatch’s friend, and did they see Swatch as Spamton's “real” partner, the way things had been when she met Ballew and Eos in January?

Well, the die was cast, and some moments of truth were about to be launched. Ballew announced if anyone needed the last pit stop before they got off what he called “the Hutch”, speak now or forever hold their peace, and that they were about twenty minutes from “home”.

T.M. opted for the bathroom break, just to clear her head.  

-----------

Swatch looked in the rear view mirror at one point and pretty much knew exactly what Moggy was thinking. She was second-guessing why she’d come, and how she was going to get through the weekend, zoot suits or no zoot suits.

They wondered whether it would actually come down to a judgement being made by any of the Addison siblings, about whether the two white partners made a "better" couple than Spamton and themself. Not to mention that, to all appearances, the white couple was a hetero male and a hetero female, both passing as normal and inoffensive. 

Swatch giggled to themself. If the last two weeks were anything to go by, normal was the LAST word they'd use to describe what Spamton had told them about Moggy's bedroom preferences.  

Swatch was just happy that Moggy had gone easy on them during their one night. And she'd assured them that she never pushed Spamton's boundaries. He set the limits. 

Teeth were definitely NOT in Swatch’s comfort zone, whether using them on someone else or getting teeth used on themself.

It explained some of the more... interesting... marks they’d seen on Spamton’s back in the mornings.

Ballew wasn’t narrow-minded, Swatch was certain, despite the stern demeanor Ballew wore like armor. The two office assistants Swatch had met at Addison Cybernetics were a dead giveaway. But accepting gender nonconformity in the workplace and supporting a poly relationship in one’s own family were different animals. They might have had their own personal twitchiness if Indigo and Catechu had both been dating Kendra, they had to admit to themself.

Eos Addison was still mostly an unknown quantity to Swatch, and Spamton had said that his eldest brother worked hard on his bit - being a chameleonic people-pleaser. But Spamton had also said that his eldest brother and he had had a long conversation about how Spamton loved both T.M. and Swatch, so there was at least one Addison, maybe two, onboard with the idea of a polycule in the family.

And why should a polycule of a cis bi guy, a cis bi girl, and a gay enby be harder to accept than a duo with any or all of those combos?

Unless it was because the people who might balk were the lesbians.

Swatch shook their head in frustration and tried to tune back into the conversation Moggy and Spamton were having in the backseat.  Probably best not to borrow trouble. Maybe everyone named Addison would be welcoming.

But having MET Saffron, Swatch wasn’t so sure.  And everything that both Saffron and Spamton had ever said about Sienna made her sound like a too-pure-for-this-world cinnamon roll.

An accusation that Swatch got thrown in their own direction more often than they liked to admit.

They were looking forward to the challenge of getting to know the Addison sister for who she really was.  If she’d let Swatch get to know her, that is.

The time for rumination was over. Ballew was turning the car into one of those mile-long driveways like the one at that other party last December.

Showtime.

[sylphmacabre]

Can also be read on Archive of Our Own.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[sylphidine]

[Fic] CALL SIGNS, Chapter 48.

Banner art by @ne0nwithazero

Fandom: Deltarune [human AU, college/university setting, canon-divergent, can be read fandom-blind]

Characters: Spamton Addison, Swatch Paletta, T.M. Tinker, Indigo Dyer, Catechu Dyer, Desiree Dyer, Julius Dyer, Seam Docherty, GiGi McCray, Leroux Kaard, and introducing Ambrose Gerson.

Chapter notes: No real content or trigger warnings for this chapter.

Other than the author getting quite verklempt that the tale is winding down.

Kudos and comments welcome.

Chapter summary: Three about to graduate.

Two about to start their married life.

One about to navigate a new world.

==================================

After fifty years, Ambrose Gerson was a free man.

Ten years studying law.

Fifteen years practicing law.

Twenty-five years teaching law.

He’d technically retired in December, but had taken on one more student to tutor for the February bar exam.

It was now late April, and his ears were still ringing from the delighted screams of Gabriela Ortiz, who had just gotten her test results and phoned him.

“You’ve the one who earned it,” Ambrose told her, once he could get a word in edgewise. “I just helped you structure what you already knew.  You’re gonna be great, kid.”

Some of his colleagues might have chastised him if they’d heard him referring to Gabriela as “kid”; from a certain point of view, it was just not politically correct. But Professor Gerson’s favored students knew that word was a badge of honor.  He only used it for the best and the brightest… for the ones who’d penetrated his tough shell and got to see his paternal side.

The few who’d seen the Ibanez Iceman guitar in Ambrose’s study, the one he called his “Justice Axe”.

The fewer still who’d heard him play.

Those were the students he called “kid”.

None of those, however, knew how hard he was trying to fill the hole in his heart, where his own flesh-and-blood “kid" had once lived.

It was late April now, a Wednesday night, and his obligations in Chicago were at an end. 

Ambrose was free now. And the first thing he was going to do with that freedom was to visit someone else who’d earned the nickname “kid”... his grand-niece Regina.

He’d already made hotel and restaurant reservations in New York for her graduation in May, but the restlessness that had become a chronic thing these days put another idea in his mind.

Why wait until May? Why not head into the Big Apple a little early? Regina had mentioned April 27th in her last email as the date of her capstone presentation. That was only a week away.

Humming the bassline from “Talk To Me”, he put through a phone call to The Melrose Hotel in the South Bronx and changed his arrival date from next month to tomorrow night.

---------------

Spamton thrust a bag of leftovers into T.M.’s hands as everyone got ready to leave for classes on Friday morning. Swatch had already shoved their share into their backpack.

“D-Don’t forget, m-me and Swatch will m-m-m-meet you at the dorm at 4 to help you bring your stuff here.”

“Sounds like a plan. Have a great day, guys.” She gave Swatch a peck on the cheek, gave Spamton a longer kiss on the lips, and skipped down the sidewalk towards campus.

Swatch clasped Spamton’s hand as they walked them both to their car. “Now before you ask me for the ninth time, let me shout it from the rooftops. I’m perfectly happy to have Moggy live with us for the next month.  But are YOU okay with giving up your Eyrie?”

“P-Perfectly okay. If she wants t-to sleep with us, the option’s there, b-but she should have a space that’s j-just hers.”

“Indeed.” 

Spamton laid his head back on the car seat and yawned, then caught himself. “It’s n-not the company! Life’s just been a b-bit full.” “No offense taken. But speaking of full, next week is capstone week. How about we all make this weekend a slug weekend, not do anything except go to the park if the weather’s decent, sleep late, stuff like that?”  

“That sounds like a b-bit of heaven to me.”

“Then it’s a date. That isn’t really a date.”

Spamton made a snorting noise. “That’s almost f-funny, since I’m t-taking Trez out on a date n-next week. Or she’s taking m-me. We haven’t d-d-decided.”

“Oh ho. Do you want me to do your hair and your nails?”

“W-Would you, please? That would be n-nice.”

Swatch grinned as they pulled into a parking space. “Any excuse to get my hands on that luscious mane of yours.” 

-----------

On Tuesday afternoon, Indigo squeezed T.M.’s hand as she got up from her seat. “Proud of you, sis. Knock’em dead.”

Further down the row, Catechu sat with Swatch and Spamton. All of them had smiles of encouragement for her as she made her way to the podium.  

Disguising her nerves with a wave and a wink at her audience, she adjusted the mic and began, “Thank you all for coming to my presentation. Today we’re going to discuss how radio and social media can be joined as a superhero team-up in terms of urban renewal.”

Thirty minutes later, T.M.’s capstone project was done and dusted, to the sound of applause. She found herself with tears running down her cheeks, as she had expected. She thanked herself for having had the foresight to wear waterproof mascara and eyeliner.

End of her undergraduate career, except for graduation day.

End of an era.

Blinking her eyes clear, she got hugs from her posse and also from GiGi and Leroux, who had snuck in a few minutes late.

Hanging back slightly, but obviously accompanying the other two, was a man who looked like a cross between Billy Joel and Friar Tuck, wearing a burgundy tweed suit but giving the impression he would have been just as comfortable in a monk’s habit.

A few strands of pinkish hair were combed over an otherwise bald head which gleamed a burnished brown under the fluorescent lights. T.M. couldn’t see a resemblance, but the way he looked at GiGi was a proud and happy one. She stepped forward as the man extended a hand for her to shake.

“So you’re Regina’s friend. Heard a lot about ya, and yup, all before ya ask, it was all good, Miss Tabsy!”

T.M. couldn’t help but giggle at his gallantry, even as she tamped down the urge to correct him on the name. 

She knew who he was now, the second he opened his mouth. If she closed her eyes, she could hear New Jersey routed through Toledo.

“A pleasure to meet you," she purred. "GiGi didn’t tell me that her godfather was such a handsome devil.” 

He did something T.M. thought people only did in books… he threw his head back and laughed from his belly. 

“Regina was right… You really are a pistol! And which of you lucky fellas am I going to steal this girl from tonight?” 

He waved his hand in the general direction of the crowd around her. 

Catto was grinning and Indo was trying hard not to laugh at the gobsmacked expressions on Swatch’s and Spamton’s faces.  

GiGi herself came to the rescue and tucked her arm into the crook of her … uncle’s? great-uncle’s? … arm. “Tabsy You Did Great. Uncle Ambrose You Know You Are My Guy Tonight Along With My Sweetie Gravy Roux-Roux—” T.M. spoke at the same time. “I’m so sorry that we couldn’t make your presentation, GiGi—” 

Her old roommate replied, “No Worries I Would Have Died Of Nervousness If You Had—”

“It went quite smoothely, my queen, and I’m sure thou’rt glad it’s overeth,” Leroux interjected. “We are just gladde we could maketh it here for THIS one, Terese. Susie and Ambrose did not want to end their ‘jam session’, which madeth us late.”

T.M. tried hard not to laugh as Ambrose smacked Leroux on the back hard enough to nearly send the spindly man flying. “What this young man said… no worries! But now it’s time to try some of this Sicilian pizza that Regina tells me is better than the ol’ Chicago deep dish. You’re all invited, my treat.”

Swatch looked alarmed, and protested, “That’s very kind, sir, but we can't just bust in on your family party —"

"Horsefeathers. My party. My rules. You're all coming, capisce?"

And so two tables of four got shoved together at Luigi's for a merry group of eight. And several to-go bags went home with each and every one of them, no matter where they were heading. Tibbetts Avenue. 238th Street. Independence Ave. The Melrose Hotel.

-----------------

Last week, T.M. had decided that she wanted her first real date with Spamton to be at the Alamo Drafthouse, and Spamton had agreed that Thursday, the day after her presentation, would work. “B-But not t-t-too late, I wanna be fresh for Swatch’s presentation too, and I still have assignments to t-t-turn in, even if - even if you two d-d-don’t.”

Taking that into account, they got tickets for a 5:30pm show and took an Uber downtown.

T.M. opted to have them have their appetizers at The Backlot bistro before the movie, but now that they were seated in the theater proper, she took over the ordering for both of them, in the form of pasta and wine to be delivered to their table about half an hour into the movie. 

She was enjoying his reactions to the place, especially the decor, and was fairly sure she knew the answer, but asked anyway.

“Have you ever been here?”

“N-no?  I didn’t even know this was - was a thing that places d-did. I grew up with d-d-dinner theatre, but that was really THEATRE, like - like Br-Broadway and off-Broadway. Not d-d-dinner and a movie literally in the same spot.” 

Spamton leaned over and kissed T.M.’s lips. 

“Mmmmm. You not only have g-good taste, you taste good.”

“Smooth, mister, smooth. That’s the sauce from our steak tips. But let’s not get thrown out, the movie’s going to start and they’re really strict about not talking or texting..”

The lights dimmed, and the curtains parted to show the opening of WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT in all its cartoon glory. 

--------------------

It was Swatch’s turn on Friday to take their place at the podium in the Aud.

"Thank you all for coming to my presentation. I'd like to especially thank two members of the audience, my uncle Julius Dyer and my aunt Desiree Paletta Dyer, for their love and support of my career goals over the years. I'd also like to take the opportunity to acknowledge the love and support of two people who cannot be here today… my mother Claudine Paletta, and, most especially, my grandmother Fairlight Marchione Paletta. I wouldn't be here without all of you. Without further ado, I would like to present my paper on “Home Automation Systems With Voice Control And Their Place In The IoT Ecosystem” .

From the front row Spamton’s eyes, behind the ever-present round glasses, were positively gleaming with love and proud tears. Swatch smiled back at him, let their gaze drift past him over to their aunt, their uncle, their cousins, and their best friend, and began.

When it was all over, Swatch found themself smothered in hugs.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to take you out to lunch, sweetheart?” Aunt Desiree asked.

“I appreciate it, but can I have a rain check until Sunday? I wanted to bring Spamton to meet Mom, and this is the only time we can both get away.”

“Oh. OH.” Swatch’s aunt squeezed their hand, and then impulsively hugged Spamton for good measure. “Oh.” She seemed unable to say anything else, but her approval needed no words.

---------------

“Seam!  We need something to burn.”

At the sound of the young woman’s voice, the junk shop proprietor walked out of the backroom, brushing aside the long strands of the beaded curtain that hung in the doorway to the main part of the shop.

“What’s the occasion?” Seam replied, looking over the tall blonde, the even taller brunet with coppery ringlets, and the comically short one with the salt-and-pepper mullet. “And do you need a witness or an alibi?”

“This guy,” declaimed T.M., pointing at Spamton, “only JUST got around to telling me the other night that somebody I wanted the privilege of killing myself died EIGHT MONTHS AGO!”

“Hey, at - at least he died p-p-painfully,” offered Spamton. “From wh-what I hear, p-pancreatic cancer is agonizing.”

“Not painful enough.”

Swatch just rolled their eyes.

T.M. leaned on the counter. “So. Since we can’t get a permit on a Saturday to exhume the corpse that’s buried in Calvary and desecrate it,  we need to have a bonfire so we can roast the bastard and give him more pain in his final moments. You know, in a metaphorical, symbolic, ceremonial kind of way, so that no one gets arrested. Because I looked up the laws. I remembered you had those theater lobby standees.” 

She batted her eyelashes at Seam, who smirked back at her and said, “You can use the barrel in the backyard. Just keep the flames under three feet high, there’s a good lass. Since it's a Satuday and all.”

Seam waved at a pile of cardboard leaning against one wall of the “seap”. An assortment of black-and-white cowboys and pinup girls rested cheek-by-jowl with colorful Disney heroes and villains from the animated movies. “A buck apiece, cheap at the price.”

“Really?” Swatch commented. “These go for a lot more down in midtown.”

“Got’em at clearance when Sounds closed down,” was the reply.

Spamton’s expression became pained. “I didn’t know Sounds was g-gone,” he muttered. “All g-good things c-come to - to an end, I guess.”.

“Hey, no sad faces today. We are gathered here to celebrate and incinerate, not to mourn!”  T.M. declared. “Gentlebeings, grab your partners and get this pyrotechnic catharsis party started!”

“Oh, you’re playing too, Moggy? Can I have three guesses as to who you want to cast in a central role in this fire sale?”

“That would be telling.” She squeezed Swatch’s arm.  “You should pick one too, Birdman. Three’s company.”

Swatch protested. “I don’t know that there’s anyone I hate enough to want to see them go up in flames.”

“Doesn’t even have to be a person. Can be an idea.”

“Hmmmmm. That could work.”  

The three of them turned to the serious business of finding the perfect flammable avatar for each to burn.  Not surprisingly, Spamton came up with his choice before either of the other two.  He started to dig into his belt pouch for his wallet and then nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder.  

“Dr. Facilier, huh?” Seam commented. A flicker of interest, a raised eyebrow. The next words came out in a rumble. “No charge.  No charge for any of you. Just bring me something precious next time. I’m off to unlock the back gate.”

The atmosphere in the storefront grew heavy, relieved only when the seapkeeper went into the back room, the beads of the curtain clacking loudly.

“Wow,” T.M. breathed.  “It’s like Seam knew exactly who you’re trying to exorcise, Short Stuff.”

“Indeed,” Swatch added. “But this is Seam we’re talking about. I doubt there’s much that Seam doesn’t know.” 

After another few minutes, all three of them had cardboard cutouts ready to lug out behind the building, where Seam had lit a barrel fire and was leaning against the building, looking much more placid.

T.M. 's choice was Gaston, which she claimed could do double duty for both her mother and her father in their individually narcissistic ways. 

Swatch’s choice was… odd, to say the least.

“Tom Cruise ruined your life?” 

Spamton silently thanked T.M. for asking what he wanted to.

“No, Tom Cruise didn’t ruin my life. I just couldn’t find any other bartender in that assortment. And yes, I’m well of the irony that I’ve been working as a bartender for three years.” Swatch smiled at both of them. “I don’t hate bartenders as such. But I’d like to stop being angry at my mother for her addiction, and this can be a symbol. You did say we could burn an idea, Moggy.”

‘Definitely.” T.M. stretched up on her toes and gave Swatch a kiss on their cheek, and then rubbed Spamton’s back, saying, “You first, almost-birthday boy.”

“Hey, I j-just remembered, it’s B-Beltane tonight. We’re - we-re not st-st-stepping on any traditions we shouldn’t b-be, are we, Seam?” 

“No, young one, but kind of you to ask,” Seam replied. That strange rumble was still there. “If you’ve got determination, your heart’s intention will come through.”

Spamton stepped forward, lifted his standee over his head, and slam-dunked it into the flaming barrel, yelling, “Go to hell, Mike!”

Not a single stutter.

Swatch and T.M. repeated more quietly, “Go to hell, Mike.”

The flames licking the cardboard had a bluish-greenish tinge from the colored inks, but they didn’t last long. The whole thing fell to ash pretty quickly, making black flakes fly upward.

Everyone was quiet for a few minutes, until Spamton broke the silence. Grinning, he said, “That f-felt DAMN GOOD.”

“As it should. Toldja, toldja, toldja,” T.M. commented in a singsong voice.  “My turn!”

She was a little gentler with her standee than Spamton had been with his, holding it at arm’s length over the edge of the barrel and dropping it in gingerly. The colors showed up again, and it seemed to take slightly longer to burn than the first one had. When there was nothing left of Gaston, T.M. said, “Not that I wasn’t an independent kinda gal before this, but I feel truly ready to face the world. No family ties except the ones I’ve made for myself.”

“Hear, hear,” Swatch answered her and bent down to hug her.

“H-hey, m-m-make room for me,” and Spamton wrapped himself around T.M.'s waist.

The three stood there for a long moment, while Seam watched them.  

Swatch broke the hug first. “I guess it’s my turn.”

They hesitated, and then turned their standee around so that the blank back was facing them. “I can’t look this guy in the eye and take this seriously,” they admitted.

“No worries, Swatchy. Take your time.”

“Yeah, n-no need to - to rush. Do what f-f-f-f-feels right.”

Swatch nodded, put their standee in the barrel, stepped back, and closed their eyes. Spamton grabbed one of their hands and saw T.M. do the same on Swatch’s other side.  

He wasn’t surprised that no words seemed to be forthcoming; Swatch was not the kind to make dramatic declarations. Spamton poured his silent support into hand squeezes.

Once again, ashy flakes rose above the flames as the cardboard burned to cinders. 

Seam went back inside for a moment and came back with a bucket full of water, which got poured into the barrel and doused the flames. Spamton started humming something that only Seam seemed to recognize and acknowledge with a nod.

As the three of them walked back to where Swatch had parked, T.M. asked, “What was that song, Short Stuff?”

“It’s from Jethro T-Tull. It’s c-called ‘Old Ghosts’. From the - the ‘Stormwatch’ album.”

Swatch hummed a lick, and said. “Appropriate. Seems to be a theme this month.”

[sylphmacabre]

Can also be read on Archive Of Our Own.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36720883/chapters/93941119

[sylphmacabre]

Ask Me Anything About… ECDYSIS!

[photo of a townhouse on East 69th Street in Manhattan from Zillow]

My inbox is open for questions about ECDYSIS, a Nightmare Dork University multi-chapter fic.

Influenced heavily by NDU writers and artists such as AmandaTheAngryGirl, Bowlingforgerbils, Dildarium, Fearking, GretchenSinister, KSClaw, MiraEyeteeth, Neyiea, Nightmareships, NightmareJockstrap, Peachsweater, Samafox, TripleTrilby, and more, it tells the story of how a self-destructive playwright clawed himself back to humanity with a little help from his godparents Tallulah and Anton, his old nanny Phoebe, and a mysterious entomologist named John.

Nightmare Dork University is an AU of an AU of the movie RISE OF THE GUARDIANS, which is itself an AU of the book series THE GUARDIANS OF CHILDHOOD by William Joyce.

I am challenging myself to finish ECDYSIS for this year's @wipbigbang.

Read it on Archive of Our Own!

SUMMARY:

ec·dy·sis /ˈekdəsəs/ - the process of casting off the outer cuticle in insects and other arthropods.

The “un-snobbing” of Piki Black over a period of three years, following his breakup with Jack Sickle. A Nightmare Dork University tale that lays the foundations for the “Footlights & Frontispieces” AU.

I look forward to your inquiries!

—Sylphidine “Vivacious Anodyne” Gallimaufry

[i-will-write]

do you know if any blog does writing or well publishing in this case polls? For fanfiction here. I'm curious what people think of writing a multichapter, if one should only post it once it's done or post it chapter by chapter as they're written.

From the top of my head I do not, sorry. But I can post it for you anyway, let's see

If you are writing a multichapter fic, you...

wait to have it finished before posting

post it chapter-by-chapter as is being written

Voting ended onApr 1

[sylphidine]

For the ten-plus years I have been writing fanfiction, I have been posting chapter by chapter.

I've noticed a shift in my readership since i started writing CALL SIGNS, and that shift has made me think that I should have its sequel COSINES entirely written before I post it... that readership might improve with a regular posting schedule.

[sylphmacabre]

Reblogging here to add... since I am the world's slowest writer...

... I'll be taking a chance that Deltarune Chapters 5 through 7 will already have been released by the time COSINES is finished being written.

That means there will be likely be the same kind of disproved canon in COSINES as there ended up being in CALL SIGNS... most specifically the Mike Cowley material.

But what the hell. I'm a canon-divergent writer anyway.

Long live the Studioverse, and its few but fiercely devoted readers.

[sylphmacabre]

Ask Me Anything About… CITIZEN!

[ROTG movie concept art by Perry Maple]

My inbox is open for questions about A CITIZEN OF THE UNIVERSE AND A GENTLEMAN TO BOOT, my fix-it fic for the disappointing end of the movie RISE OF THE GUARDIANS.

It is a sequel to another AO3 author's fanfic called "Learning To See" by EmeraldDawn, where Jamie and Sophie Bennett's mom adopts Jack Frost. My fanfic opens several years after that and expands it to the Bennett family providing aid to Pitch Black, who has had a rough time since his defeat by the Guardians.

This was the very first fanfic I ever wrote, and more than ten years later, it's still ongoing.

Read it on Archive of Our Own!

Summary: Thanks to her children and their friendship with Jack Frost, Emily Bennett has met any number of beings that society would tell her were merely tales from folklore. But there's one more she has yet to meet... a spirit about whom she's curious, and for whom she feels more than a little sorry.

I look forward to your inquiries!

—Sylphidine “Vivacious Anodyne” Gallimaufry

[sylphidine]

sylphidine

Sylph, otherwise known as AuntUncle Macabre. My fanfiction for Deltarune, Nightmare Dork University, and RISE OF THE GUARDIANS can be found

I have revived my Pillowfort account as a backup for Tumblr. Feel free to add me there.

I'll mostly be using it as a warehouse for my writing, and for the fanart I've received.

[emryses]

listen to me. this is my final message to you. when you are at your lowest a fictional guy will come to you and when that happens you must start putting them in situations. this is the meaning of life.

[sylphidine]

This is why I have the Tumblr tag "fandom saved my life".

In 2015, a truly low period of my life, that character was Pitch Black from RISE OF THE GUARDIANS. I have put him into nearly one hundred situations in fanfiction, whether canonical or in AUs. A huge chunk of that second category is my contribution to Nightmare Dork University, which features four versions of Pitch and its own version of Jack Frost. Piki Black remains my favorite NDU version of Pitch to write for.

In 2021, I was still writing about Pitch, and still am... special interests don't disappear for me, my heart's big enough to share!

I was at another low in my life and another set of fictional characters grabbed hold of my heart and have never let it go. That set of characters are Spamton, Swatch, and Tasque Manager from Deltarune Chapter 2. I've put those characters into situations a dozen times so far.

Your AuntUncle Macabre sez: take the advice of the OP... open your heart when you're blue, allow a fictional guy in, and put them in situations.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylphidine_Gallimaufry/works

Life will be richer for it.

[sylphmacabre]

What has been your favorite arc to write in Call Signs so far? Any specific group of chapters or even just a character’s own growth in general?

Thank you for your question!

I've got a two-part answer to this.

I'm proudest of the arc in which Spamton flashes back to his Big Shot days, from chapters 27 [The Wrong Way On The Escalator] through chapter 31 [Trash Landing, Part Two]. I think I made a very believable fanon interpretation of Spamton's canon backstory, although a lot has been undone with the newest game releases. But since this is an alternate universe, the "Mike Cowley and the GASTER project" arc can still exist on its own.

As far as character growth goes, I am most surprised, as the author, as to how much more fleshed-out than originally planned GiGi [Queen] and Leroux [Rouxls Kaard] have become in my mind. They were both originally just meant to be incidental, and comic relief at that. But each has progressed to become real to me, with their own arcs, and more stories to be told about them as a couple and a family with Lancer.

I appreciate your interest!