Did Anastasia!Dream have any opinions on Hob pre-fishbowl sledgehammering, or was he just One of The Guards?
>:3c
I never really intended to flash back to that part, but... this ask inspired me.
(Other Anastasia AU posts: Masterpost here!)
(Tagging @martybaker and @globglobglobglobob, let me know if you want to be tagged for updates too!)
Warning: this part is Dream POV of his imprisonment and suffering during it, in particular him slowly being turned human, so be prepared for it to get darker and read with caution!
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Dream is cold.
Once upon a time, he wandered the vacuum of space and the eternal ice of earth and the dying dreams of a polar explorer, and felt nothing.
Now, lying on glass and metal in a cellar, he is cold.
.
They come every day at dawn, when humanity wakes, and his connection to the Dreaming is weakest. They come, vile Roderick Burgess at their head, and light their candles, and write their symbols on the floor, and sing their chants. They burn incense and worse things, every dawn anew.
They hold their rituals, and they are beginning to catch, little magical hooks inside him, tearing at him, into him.
Changing him.
.
He feels the eyes of the guards on him at all times, feels their gazes never leave him. Cruel eyes, greedy eyes, hungry eyes, disinterested eyes, disgusted eyes.
Compassionate eyes, one pair of them, sometimes, watching him sympathetically.
But that does not matter. Many of them are compassionate, at the start. Either they rid themselves of their compassion, or they are gotten rid of altogether. Kind eyes, gentle eyes - they will fade.
None of the Burgess’ guards may feel anything but fear and hatred for Dream of the Endless.
.
The change is coming upon him ever quicker.
He has begun to feel hungry, last week. By now, hunger cramps wreak havoc on his body, leaving him shaking and shivering. It hurts, it hurts - everything hurts. His body aches.
Every dawn ritual makes it worse.
.
Soft eyes, guilty eyes. Darkly pleased eyes, greedy for his pain.
Dream hates them both the same, for neither does anything to save him.
.
They cut him, two dawns ago. A blade on a stick, shoved into his prison, carving a line along his ribs.
They cut him, and he bled.
Not much, but for one such as him, a single drop is already an anomaly.
The cut has healed in minutes, but there is a scar, pink, from his sternum to his waist.
They cut him, and left a mark, and Roderick Burgess grinned with triumph.
.
He fears.
He fears that he fears, an emotion alien in its sudden vehemence. An Endless’ fear is a distant thing - this is not.
He fears for himself. More than that, he fears for his siblings.
Was he the first they captured? The only? He hears them speak, sometimes, before and after the dawn, of efforts to pursue the other Endless, but never enough for him to know.
He fears for the ones he loves, and aches with it.
(At the start, he was only furious, indignant that greedy, cruel humans would rise up against him, against his siblings, that they would have the gall to bite the hand that has fed them all these countless millennia, to tear it right from the wrist with such boundless brutality.
He is still angry, and surely always will be - but this terrible fear is choking out all other emotions, and pain numbs the rest.)
.
Sad eyes, thoughtful eyes. Overflowing with pity.
Dream thinks that this is what should have been the Corinthian’s true purpose: to tear out the pitying eyes of those who see true agony and do nothing to help.
.
He draws breath slowly, in and out of his chest, in and out, in and out.
When Dream of the Endless breathed, then it was only for appearance’s sake. The air left his lungs unchanged.
But since after the last dawn, he can taste it, how the air is getting thinner and thinner, oxygen count decreasing molecule after molecule that stays behind in his chest. He is breathing, now, he has need to breathe - not much, but ever more with every minute tick-tick-ticking by.
And the air in his prison is getting thin.
Suffocation will not be a kind way to go, but neither will any other he can hope for, in this cellar, with Burgess and his mad cult.
.
Caring eyes. Dream does not know him. When he could have still Known, in the manner of Endless, he refused to regard his captors with such interest - and now, that sort of Insight slides through his fingers like water, like sand, and he cannot grasp it.
.
“It’s almost done, the ritual. Almost complete.” Burgess told him, last dawn. Hateful, spiteful, grief-mad and cruel eyes, staring down at Dream as if he is a sandcastle he itches to destroy. “Tomorrow, Dream of the Endless. Tomorrow, your time will come.”
Dream glares, and does not speak.
(But something deep in his chest sighs a soft finally)
.
On his final day, the world is blurry, faded. His vision distorts and fades in turns, and he cannot see far beyond his prison, the guards nothing but vague shapes in his periphery.
(He still feels the weight of their eyes on him, heavy, suffocating, hatredguiltdisgustworryfearhope, making his aching skin crawl.)
He meets his own gaze in the glass, and blinks, and finds not darkness and stars looking back at him, but pale-grey-blue human eyes, unfocused and bloodshot; blinks, and sees galaxies again.
He closes his eyes, and dares not open them again.
.
Compassionate eyes. Determined eyes.
Will they watch Dream too, at the end? Will they close, when the object of their fascination, their pity, is extinguished?
Dream might never find out.
He’s so tired.
Night is falling. Burgess said it would be his last.
Will you cry, kind-eyed guard? Will you mourn?
Will you remember, forever and ever, how you saw Dream of the Endless die?
.
All is very quiet - and then, all is very loud.
A shout, the crack of a fist against skin and bone. More shouting. Dream’s head is pounding.
Fierce eyes, frenzied eyes, get back from the glass, get back.
Kind eyes. I’ll get you out.
A grunt of exertion, the sound of air flowing past something heavy.
And then an earth-shattering crack.
The glass breaks, and Dream knows that it was too late in an instant.
To finish the ritual would have killed him - but so will this, the disruption of his prison’s confines like a physical blow to his chest, his changed body rending itself apart at the seams.
He screams, a sound torn from deep within him, hands clawing and scrabbling at the cracking and disintegrating glass around him, and it hurts it hurts it HURTS-
Shocked eyes, scared eyes, shielded from the glass shards behind a hastily-thrown up arm kind eyes kind kind kind so kind only kind thing he has left-
Dream’s cold and he’s hungry and he’s in pain and he’s choking and he’s bleeding and he’s dying and he’s huma-
And then
it
all
goes
.
.
.
dark
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Please, if you can, take a moment to read and share this because I feel like I'm screaming underwater.
NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) stigma is rampant right now, and seems to be getting progressively worse. Everyone is using it as a buzzword in the worst ways possible, spreading misinformation and hatred against a real disorder.
I could go on a long time about how this happened, why it's factually incorrect (and what the disorder actually IS), why it's harmful, and the changes I'd like to see. But to keep this concise, I'll simply link to a few posts under the cut for further reading.
The point of this post is a plea. Please help stop the spread of stigma. Even in mental health communities, even around others with personality disorders, in neurodivergent "safe" spaces, other communities I thought people would be supportive in (e.g. trans support groups, progressive spaces in general), it keeps coming up. So I'm willing to bet that a lot of people on this site need to see this.
Because it's so hard to exist in this world.
My disorder already makes me feel as if I'm worthless and unlovable, like there's something inherently wrong and damaged about me. And it's so much harder to fight that and heal when my daily life consists of:
Laughing and spending time with my friends, doing my utmost best to connect and stay present and focused on them, trying to let my guards down and be real and believe I'm lovable- when suddenly they throw out the word "narcissist" to describe horrible people or someone they hate, or the conversation turns to how evil "people with narcissistic personality disorder" are. (Seriously, you don't know which of your friends might have NPD and feels like shit when you say those things & now knows that you'd hate them if you knew.)
Trying to look up "mental health positivity for people with npd", "mental health positivity cluster bs", only to find a) none of that, and b) more of the same old vile shit that makes me feel terrible about myself.
Having a hard time (which is constant at this point) and trying to look up resources for myself, only to again, find the same stigma. And no resources.
Not having any clue how to help myself, because even the mental health field is spitting so much vitriol at people with DISORDERS (who they're supposed to be helping!) that there's no solid research or therapy programs for people like me.
Losing close friends when they find out, despite us having had a good relationship before, and them KNOWING me and knowing that I'm not like the trending image of pwNPD. Because now they only see me through the lens of stigma and misinformation.
Hearing the same stigma come up literally wherever I go. Clubs. Meetings. Any online space. At the bus stop. At the mall. At a restaurant. At work. Buzzword of the year that everyone loooves loudly throwing around with their friends or over the phone. Feels awesome for me, makes my day so much better/s
I could go on for a long time, but I'm scared no one will read/rb this if it gets too much longer.
So please. Stop using the word "narcissist" as a synonym for "abusive".
Stop bringing up people you hate who you believe to have NPD because of a stigmatizing article full of misinformation whenever someone with actual NPD opens their mouth. (Imagine if people did that with any other disorder! "Hey, I'm autistic." "Oh... my old roommate screamed at me whenever I made noise around him, and didn't understand my needs, which seems like sensory overload and difficulty with social cues. He was definitely autistic. But as long as you're self-aware and always restraining your innate desire to be an abusive asshole, you're okay I guess, maybe." ...See how offensive and ignorant that is?)
Stop preventing healthcare for people with a disorder just because it's trendy to use us as a scapegoat.
If you got this far, thank you for reading, and please share this if you can. Further reading is under the cut.
NPD Criteria, re-written by someone who actually has NPD
Stigma in the DSM
Common perception of the DSM criteria vs how someone may actually experience them (Keep in mind that this is the way I personally experience these symptoms, and that presentation can vary a lot between individuals)
"Idk, the stigma is right though, because I've known a lot of people with NPD who are jerks, so I'm going to continue to support the blockage of treatment for this condition."
(All of these were written by me, because I didn't want to link to other folks' posts without permission, but if you want to add your own links in reblogs or replies please feel free <3)
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