#and sometimes there is dissonance between the souls and the bodies they floated into when the person was born

[theitalianscribe]

I can't wait to see more of Owen Nicholson and to write him into fic's because the dissonance between my interpretation of him and how he is written in cannon just shows how I am probably watching Welcome to Dreamworld for the wrong reasons.

Cannon Owen:

"A man is some day going to outlive his father, but it shouldn't be this soon. And not like this."

Serious character. Has kind of film noir vibes.

Is in a tragic situation even now and is understandably solem about it.

Currently being gaslit while in spider robot purgatory

Owen when I write him

A bit of a goofball but very supportive.

Is super supportive of Wiatt.

He made a hat with a pun on it to congratulate Wiatt on figuring himself out and picking a name.

Is either a streamer, a blogger, or journalist.

He is so proud of his son (and maybe his son's sister Sara depending on the au.)

Is aware of the spooky shit going on but pretends to be oblivious and is trying (but unknowingly failing) to keep his kid(s) out of it.

If he is a journalist/news reporter, has the tagline of "This has been News with Nicholson, where you always get more than my two cents!"

Come to think of it, I may be basing him heavily on Patton Sanders. That probably means that he also is masking depression which would make sense now that I think about it.

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until  Forever - Sirius Black

After a while, I have finished this chapter - it’s small but cute; I think. Also, since I have been away for a long time, just comment below this if you want to be tagged! The next chapter will be out withing this week. As always, my English is a warning by itself!  MASTERLIST  Prologue | Mercury | Delicate | Blue | Running | Aftermath | Stardust | December | Nightfall | Revelations  | Friends

Chapter 12. Resolutions.

             Twenty-two years should be enough time to feel like she belonged and that there was a place of her own. But twenty-two years have not been enough for her, and she had resigned to think that maybe no amount of years will be enough. She could not, after all, force a home to happen.             Her definition of “home” had been blurred, lost even. Instead, “home” floated between the longing for an unnamed place and a stubborn determination to make this place a “home.” This was not to say that she had never felt at home here. She had. Not always though. Other days she was a foreigner here and everything outside her window begun to look strange and dissonant. It was a bit of a paradox. Home had never been geographical for her. It was everywhere and nowhere.            Waking up in the same room, same bed with him was beautiful and terrifying because it felt familiar and hit her close to heart. She had drifted off to sleep without realizing that Sirius was afraid to close his eyes – how could he?            His wounds were bleeding badly, just by looking at her but at the same time it felt as if roses were spilling their sweet water down his spine – a chilling sensation run through his veins. For some reason he wanted to think about her loudly. He had thought about how hungry leaves looked right before a storm – wanting to live but desperate to die within the swirling sensation of the tornado. She was a loud thought. He could try to think of anything else – cookies or how tender flowers were and then she became the only thought in his mind. She swelled up and blocked everything else out. She became the sun, the moon and the stars – and he had loathed the stars, even his name, thanks to his parents, but of course, she was poetry in motion just like the tattoo she now had. She felt as a ringing in his ears, all sweet in its siren, all fluid, all open ache. In the middle of movies, of conversations, of collecting his life, she simply slipped in between the cracks.

           And he was thinking about her again – but looking at her made his mind stop for one moment. He had nothing to be afraid of, even his house felt distant. He knew how incredibly wrong it was but the world had seized to exist.             And now it was her turn to notice him in his sweet serenity and glory – but she couldn’t for if she focused her thoughts solely on him, she would cave in and ignore all the signs telling her to stop, including her own mind. She felt him turning, waking up and pretended she was asleep again with hitched breath, something he did notice. He had never slept so peacefully in his life but he knew that the night was gone and their time was running out. He didn’t know what to do nor how to act around her this time. It felt vulnerable as a moment. The frozen sun softly illuminated the room and the tender stillness gently reminded him that she was out of his reach. He tried to pretend she was asleep; it would be so much easier for both of them. But it was fake and with her around he couldn’t fake anything anymore. She had gotten under his skin and the truth was he didn’t want her to leave.            She never was in one place and he had finally understood why; a soft lover hidden behind cold lies to keep everyone in a safe distance; a rose appearing as a thorn rather than the delicate blossom. There was something in her eyes, as she dared to look at him, that made him question the universe itself. She indolently stretched her limbs and his eyes followed her body. Her eyes met his and the tension was so thick, she could cut it with a knife. She smiled kindly. Trying not to be too blunt about the fact that they shared a bed and much more intimate thoughts the night before, she decided to say a simple good morning instead of prolonging the inevitable, hoping for the lesser evil...            She did try to say it but the words were caught on the back of her neck. She wanted to make it less awkward but once her mind started racing, she would shut down and not be able to function. Instead, Sirius was the one to break the ice. "Hello sleeping beauty. James and the guys are waiting for us. Maybe we should get going. Whenever you are ready" he reminded her. Not having to conceal her tattoos anymore mainly because Sirius and Remus already knew... allowed her to see that things could move forward. As she moved forward she did hoped that she could have the courage to do things differently, to be the kind of a person who took the risk, who led with her heart and showed up in her life with a ruthless dedication to learning and growing and enjoying the hell out of her moments here. She knew that she had to trust the part of herself that felt there was more out there for her that was easy to quiet when she was trying to live by the rules and the expectations of a world that has bred so much dissatisfaction and sadness. She never liked the rules anyway. She wanted to free herself from the boundaries that could hold her no longer.            “Sure… just give me an hour to pack a couple of things and grab a shower, okay?” she boldly asked him as she climbed down from her bed, trying to stop her eyes from catching Sirius’s staring. He had a wicked smile plastered on his lips but agreed with her nonetheless and leaving her be.                                       “I’ll be in the common room. One hour” he chimed cheerfully and walked out of her room as if nothing had happened. She rolled her eyes and grabbed a backpack, charmed it to fit all of her things and threw everything in – the dress, the shoes, a pair of pajamas, a pair of jeans, a comfy shirt, undergarments, a pair of flats and her makeup bag. She always liked to be prepared for everything. She didn't want to go but after a night with him, she found herself persuaded... And the thing was he hadn't even asked her.            After her shower, she got dressed in the simple pair of jeans and a sweater, threw her hair in a bun, grabbed her bag and went downstairs to find him. He was there just like he had promised her. Exactly an hour ago. He was sitting next to the fireplace which was burning brightly, eyes lost in an invisible horizon, absentmindedly rolling a cigarette, his mind traveling miles away in the speed of light. She could almost see his brain thinking and twisting and swirling around - what, she did not know.                Watching him completely unaware of her stare made her realized how vulnerable he was, how soft and tender... and broken. She shook her head trying to stop her mind from wandering around the same old thought and instead focused energy on the one thing she knew she was going to go... She didn’t dare think she would enjoy it.            She would be lying to herself and everyone else if she was to say that being here, in that particular moment, having met the people she met, enjoying something that everyone else could only read, having the chance to be in fictional world, was merely okay... It was terrifying. She didn't believe she would characterize and label it as scary exactly because it was so beautiful an innocent and raw. But it was terrifying, knowing how the story ended, knowing that Sirius would end up in Azkaban, knowing the James and Lily would die before they could reach twenty-two, knowing that Remus would end up believing that he was all alone - but most importantly knowing that she could not change a single detail.            Looking at him was like a war. It felt violent and without escape. A star bathed in blood, tormented by the demons of his own existence. Demons that had escaped the gates of hell, a place she knew rather well. Eyes like spilled Mercury, fists covered in Ares' bruises, mind ruled by Athena's strategy and Pluto's deception. She couldn't speak of his heart; she didn't know if it was sacrificed to Aphrodite or given willingly to Persephone. Sometimes he felt like Hades to her. Dark, soft, bruised, wickedly sinister, broken, desperate for love, incapable of forgiving himself. There was a sad smile forming on her lips... She knew him all too well.            She was looking at him the way she had been wishing for someone to look at her; like the sun wasn’t bright enough; like the moon wasn’t soft enough; like the stars weren’t there anymore. Maybe she was biased. Maybe his eyes were whispering long-forgotten tales to her soul.           “You have that strange look, I cannot decode” he told her as he turned to face her. She just smiled, not hiding behind thin lies.            “Such a plot twist, you are” she whispered as he approached her. Her answer took him by surprise. They were used to playing a game of hide and seek – but she didn’t want to hide any longer. Her eyes spoke a million truths; all those answer he was searching for.            “Who are you?” he faintly asked her, playing with a strand of her long hair.                            “I thought I knew” she admitted. She didn’t know who she was but she knew that she was no longer the same person.            “You fell from the sky and turned my life upside down” he told her with a hint of anger in his voice but she merely chuckled.            “How do you know your life wouldn't be better turned upside down?” she quoted a favorite abstract of hers. He was about to say something but suddenly he stopped. He thought about those words.            “We should go” she softly reminded him.

              James was the kindest person she had met. She remembered him being described as a bully – he had never been one. Maybe he was voicing his dislike in a bit of extravagant way but he never bullied anyone. Okay, yes. Severus had been an exception – when they were 13. Stupid kids, not knowing how to properly react. Who could hold that against him?            He had been the perfect gentleman, as he helped her with her bag and showed her to the guestroom. She hadn’t even thought about a room – but his house was a mansion, a small detail that the books didn’t mention. The room was twice as big as her old one, with an en-suite bathroom.            Seeing Remus, practically stumbling upon him once she left her room, felt like a punch to her chest. He was so tragically beautiful, she thought. Strange, how she could get attached to two different people. But then again, maybe they weren’t so different after all. She saw the questions burning in his eyes. She wanted to tell him everything but how could she justify her selfish actions?            “You came” he looked at her in an almost surprised way. She contemplated her options. Of course, he was surprised. Who would have the nerve or the audacity to face their ex on such a short amount of time? Trying to find the right words to say, she realized that she was still very much drawn to him. Shit.            “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I really am, Remus” she found herself apologizing but what for? He saw her shift and smiled warmly. Fuck those amber eyes.        “There is nothing to apologize for, love. Just some things to clarify” he led on. She knew that he had to be aware of everything, she just wished that he wouldn’t want answers. But, who wouldn’t?            She pushed the door of her temporary room open with her hip and showed him in. It would be as easy as breathing to be honest – and as difficult as suffocating underwater. He had every right to know, she thought. This was his story, his life…

              Remus had never been stupid – he observed everything and everyone from a safe distance. With her, it had been different from the very beginning. He knew she had secrets and big ones, for that matter, but never had he expected to be told that she was from another dimension – or as she had labelled it, another possibility.              She gave him time; time to get himself together, time to understand her words, time to accept that maybe she was indeed honest, time to connect every bit of information. He was the one who pushed her for answers. He had to be ready to accept them. Yet, everything she told him seemed like a made-up story but he couldn’t shake that damn feeling that she was telling the truth. She hadn’t changed the subject, she hadn’t avoided a single question, she had told him every little detail that would be impossible for her to know otherwise. And he knew that she was special, he was aware of that. He knew that she was different – but how could he imagine that she was from a distant future – from another place, entirely, one he was a character in a book?                His mind was screaming at him for a breather but he refused – he needed to ask more questions but at the same time he already knew the answers. He was battling a losing fight inside of him; betrayal and understanding. She had chosen to hide the fact that she knew about his life and his entire future, yet how could she reveal it to him? It was obvious to him that she acted the exact same way he would have. He understood now the side glances, the soft but sad smile that was always on her lips whenever she’d see him, the inevitable of it all and how doomed everything mush have seemed to her.              Remus had never been stupid – he observed everything and everyone from a safe distance. And then she had come along, shaking his very core, only to reveal something unfathomable. He noticed her eyes again, slowly regaining focus as he tried to gulp down every bit of information. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of his and he felt that maybe, just maybe, history wasn’t written in stone – maybe this once. She had that ability – to change his mind almost instantly, to make him question the principles of nature and life itself. And then a tiny little voice, told him that he wasn’t the only one being affected by her presence.   Afterall, if everything she had told him was true, his friend did need her, and quite frankly deserved her, a lot more. How wrong of him, to objectify her and think of her as a need. She was happily unaware of those last thoughts, he knew.                    “I don’t know how to process this – or rather, how to deal with this’ he truthfully told her and her smile told him that she was expecting that very answer. Absentmindedly, she squeezed his hand and didn’t let go.              “I don’t know how difficult it must be for you, I can only guess. Listen, I could have lied, and believe me, we both would have been in a better shape, but to you – it feels impossible. Lying doesn’t work on you. You already know. And that’s why, I think, you are going to deal with this, one way or another; because you already knew. I know that it’s a lot and I am so sorry. It’s your life, your path, your decision. You can either ask me to obliviate the shit out of you or you can keep it to yourself, or even discuss it with the others” she offered him exactly what he needed. Solace.                      He thought about it for a moment and he knew that the moment would turn into many sleepless nights. How could he ever say those things out loud? How could he accuse one of his best friends that he would kill another? But then again, how could he not? He simply nodded, fully aware of the huge weigh on his chest – and painfully aware of her lips, inches away.          

[andwinterfell]

#9 - blinded

from goretober 2020 prompts characters included: μ mossell, emmeray holt, & laylah du golgota (with guest appearance from finnegan aendryr since it’s kind of a continuation from here, kind of) warnings: eye horror / eye trauma, violent loss of a limb, blood, dissociation, etc

1539 words

It hurts. He’s never felt pain like this before. There were other pains (broken bones, insect bites, poison), and if he survived this there would be many more. But somehow this was so different.

It was a strange feeling, like floating, like dreaming. Strangely serene when the blade slipped between his eye and skull, causing a ringing in his ears that makes him stop squirming under her grasp. The woman’s long, dark hair fell like a curtain over the two of them, contained. He looked up at her - cold slate gray eyes carving out his amber - and the way she was gritting her teeth, like trying to force a smile. There’s an unbelievable burning, slicing through his skull. It stopped his heart, it caused a hitch in his breath.

What a strange sort of intimacy.

“It hurts,” he chokes. His hand goes up to the collar of her dress.

“It’s supposed to. That’s the point.” She’s being careful with the blade, she’s making sure she gets it all.

***

He’s rarely afraid, even in the face of the worst dangers, even when threatened with death. Ray always chastised him for it, getting closer to monsters in the swamps, climbing weak looking trees or crumbling cliffs to get this or that thing.

When they found the open convent, Ray had snatched μ up like a cat and set him onto a lower branch on a tree. “Climb up there, wait until it’s safe, then go find those druids again. I think this here’s what they were talking about.” He’d discounted μ’s curiosity, he’d discounted μ’s reaction to something so different he just had to look, he’d discounted how attached μ had grown to him, and he probably hadn’t even imagined what form fear would take in μ.

To be fair to that last one, even μ couldn’t imagine that until just now.

He’s rarely afraid, but the sound of Emmeray screaming in pain is just terrifying.

(He rarely shouts, yells, or screams. His voice is always an even monotone, except when he’s telling stories. Always even, always controlled. Even in a fight, even in pain.)

Instead of going to the druids, he instead bolted towards the sounds of screaming.

***

(We existed in peace with them for many years, despite their preferences. Their desire for chaos came with the requirement of there first being a balance to tip, and a cycle of that. Just as we believe: growth and decay.

Until recently…)

***

He’s stuck between something contradictory. On one side, there’s a deep fear that shakes him to his bones, a despair that makes him want to fight and crawl away, to either find some form of sanctuary or a place to lay until he bled out and his body broke down into fertilizer for the soil. Something rock bottom. On the other was a sort of ascendance of the soul, where his mind slips away from the searing pain to wonder and wonder and question these new feelings, this strange intimacy. Something that wanted to stay right here and let it happen so that he could pull this moment apart, understand it, get to the guts of it. It wants badly to see through those gray eyes, to have someone else’s mind and work through it, to slip away.

It might be a different sort of fear.

A fear of being afraid.

If he survives this, he doesn’t want to walk away afraid. So instead, he questions.

“Why, why why why wh -!”

(He realizes he’s screaming, has been for a while now most likely.)

***

(What changed with them? We don’t know. We don’t ask.

Like the town that sent you, we too have had siblings of our circle come back with missing limbs, missing tongues, missing eyes, missing organs, missing lives. We will say this: we do not work with them. But, nor will we actively seek to destroy them.)

***

It was a stupid thing to do. He’d had nothing on him but the small blade Ray was still teaching him to use and a little bracelet made of delicate fern leaves from the druids he and Ray had gotten direction from. And, when he finally finds him, he’s out in the open. One small gnome standing in front of four figures with robes and habits that were going from white to red with each cry his friend let out. One small gnome running towards four figures with robes and habits and knives that glowed around the red of Ray’s blood. He’s easy to grab.

One of them snatches him up like a cat, and then slams him down to the ground. The fern bracelet tears from his wrist and - though he does not see it - dissolves into the ground. Rapid decay.

***

(However, you’ve helped us, protected us. So we will help you in return.)

***

He focuses on the thing right in front of him. The thing - woman - with cold gray eyes that puts a hand on his throat, forcing him to look straight up to the gleam of the knife. “If you move too much, the blade will slip. It’ll hurt even worse.” She sounds just as bored as Ray always does, but there’s an edge, like there’s someone she’s trying to impress. Someone watching. (Who’s watching.

Who are you doing this for?)

“Ray!? Ra - ouch, ah -” he’d turned his head, looking for Ray, looking for whatever it was that wanted this. The knife slid, and opened up his skin so easily, like it was paper.

“See. Keep still.”

When the vines rip out from the ground it knocks the thing on top of him over. Things are light again, he can breathe again, the sky is wide and open and

he’s stuck between something contradictory. The feeling of loss (liquid seeps down his cheek in a steady flow that’s so foreign it feels nothing like tears) the feeling of loss (that confined little space with gray eyes and a silver knife in front of him) the feeling of loss (the mystery of it) the feeling of loss (the reason behind it) the feeling of loss (one bloody eye with muscles and nerves still attached in strings in the hands of a woman who swings a silver bloodied knife behind him) the feeling of loss (she never answered his question

why?)

The feeling of gain (is he really alive?) the feeling of gain (the plants that carry him to the arms of the person behind him) the feeling of gain (he sees Emmeray too, pale and bloodless but still breathing, and moves to his side - he still has herbs and salve deep in his pockets, and though his hands are shaking and he can hardly see and he feels like he’s about to pass out, he starts to tie a tourniquet over the spot where the figures sawed Ray’s leg off, starts pulling out herbs and salve while Ray keeps choking idiot, idiot, idiot, lay down, you’re still -)

the feeling of loss (Emmeray’s leg, the bone splintered and cracked from where they gave up sawing and just twisted, the places where skin and muscle and meat was turning black from some poison or magic, his blood pouring out and feeding the earth itself

the feeling of gain (new knowledge, what it’s like to fear, what it’s like to feel something cut from him so easily, what Ray looks like when he’s so afraid he’s angry, what Ray looks like without his leg)

the feeling of loss

(The eye, the leg. What are you using them for?)

“H-ey, hey! H- wh-at are you u-s-using th-em f -” he tries to choke the words out, but the thief is already gone, and he’s being hoisted into someone’s arms like a child, and the vertigo it all causes him to black out right then and there.

--- --- ---

μ finishes his story surrounded by the eyes of Savras in Finn’s small cabin. He ends the note on a laugh, one that’s more hollow than Finn is used to hearing from him. “Where I grew up, they called me the Bonesaw, you know? Wonder what they would have thought of those guys.” Strange that he’s still smiling, strange that he’s still laughing. “I still want to see her again. I wanna ask what she did with my eye, and Ray’s leg, and all the other parts they stole from people.”

Why are you like this?

“I guess I’m more afraid of being afraid than I am of her. If I stayed afraid of her, of them, then I’d never want to question or explore anything ever again. She could kill me, she could torture me

but being frozen in fear for the rest of my life?

For me, I couldn’t handle that. For me, that’s worse than death, or pain, or torture. So -” he shrugs, “- I decided to force myself to want to see her again.”

“Uh… I see?”

μ hums, “it’s okay if you don’t get it. Sometimes I don’t even get it. Ray told me it sounded like some sort of cognitive dissonance.”

“Well, at the very least I can tell you it doesn’t surprise me. Not coming from you.”

“Should I say thanks to that? Or: well that’s mean?”

“Either. Let me fill up your glass.”

“Thank you!”