#i AM old enough to handle this show and i will not have nightmares like i did after watching silence of the lambs

[kazz-brekker]

in a decision that was frankly inevitable in some way i watched the first episode of hannibal and so far have 1. been like "ohhhhh i get it the reason every likes will graham is because he's not a cool detective he's a gothic heroine" after watching him be plagued by nightmares, have fragile nerves, and get his personal space invaded by multiple people including one trying to manipulate him, 2. burst out laughing when the streaming service i was watching it on played an ad for the show "nightmare kitchen" partway through the episode, 3. audibly said "oh no" when they went to duluth, minnesota, aka the hometown of my former college roommate who is also a white brunette young woman, and 4. informed my sister that the main character of the show i was watching had probably just eaten a human lung in his scrambled eggs. so, all in all, a very promising start!

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Home | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mention of parental death, mentions of abuse

Word Count: 4388

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You sat cross-legged on the floor of the boys’ motel room, sipping a coffee you’d run out to get earlier that morning. Dean was on his computer, and you were responding to the potential cases he’d found.

“A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali—” Dean started.

“Ooh, I like Cali,” you cut him off.

“—Its crew vanished.” He finished.

“And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” 

“Meh, that’s boring. Let somebody else handle that one,” you dismissed.

Dean noticed Sam hadn’t spoken in just about the last hour. He was frantically scribbling on a notepad.

“Hey,” Dean called to his brother. “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.”

He clearly wasn’t.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.”

“Ooh, I like that one,” you said. 

Dean leaned over and waved a hand in front of Sam’s face. “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows at his notepad. “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” you asked.

Sam got up from his bed and began rifling through his duffel bag. 

“What are you doing?” Dean eyed his brother strangely.

The younger brother pulled out a photo from the bag and held it up next to his drawing. You couldn’t quite see what he was looking at from where you sat.

“Guys, I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean asked.

“Back home. Back to Kansas,” he responded.

The older brother was surprised. “Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

He showed the photo to the two of you. “Alright, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?”

“Yeah…?” Dean still had no idea where he was going with this.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” 

Dean— as well as you— was still lost. “I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Okay, look, this is gonna sound crazy but… the people who live in our old house— I think they might be in danger,” Sam rushed out.

“Why would you think that?” you questioned.

“Uh… it’s just, um… look, just trust me on this, okay?” Sam turned away.

“Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?” Dean shook his head and stood to follow him. “Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give us a little bit more than that.”

“I can’t really explain it is all,” Sam shrugged.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do.” 

You turned to face Sam as he began to explain. “I have these nightmares.”

You nodded. “We’ve noticed.”

“And sometimes… they come true.”

Dean was stunned. “Come again?”

“Look, Dean… I dreamt about Jessica’s death— for days before it happened,” Sam explained.

“Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Dean sat back down on the edge of his bed. 

“No,” the younger brother protested. “I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

You felt overwhelmed, and so did Dean. “I don’t know.”

Sam sat down across from his brother. “What do you mean you don’t know, Dean? This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica!”

“Sam, slow down—” you urged him, knowing Dean was about to go through the roof.

Sure enough, Dean stood and started pacing. “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” you asked.

Dean’s voice broke for the first time since you’d met him. “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?”

Sam’s puppy dog eyes appeared as he spoke softly, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

Dean nodded. “I know we do.”

***

You looked out at the boys’ childhood home and followed them up to the front door.

“You gonna be alright, man?” Sam asked his brother who didn’t respond.

“Jury’s still out on that,” you muttered in response.

Dean knocked on the front door, and a young woman answered. You could see a look of recognition pass over Sam’s face.

“Yes?” the woman said.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—”

One Winchester cut the other off. “I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean. We used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

The woman seemed surprised and smiled. “Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She turned to you. “Are you a Winchester, too? I didn’t see a little girl in any of the pictures.”

You shook your head. “No, no. Just a friend. (Y/N).”

She smiled at you. “Nice to meet you. Come on in.”

Inside the home, a girl who looked to be around seven sat at the table doing homework, and a little boy who was presumably two jumped in his playpen.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” the toddler called excitedly.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie,” Jenny explained, taking a sippy cup from the fridge and bringing it to her son. “But, hey, at least he won’t get scurvy.” She walked back over to her daughter. “Sari, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). The boys used to live here.”

“Hi,” the shy girl said quietly.

You waved.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, from Wichita.”

“You got family here, or…?”

Jenny’s smile faded. “No. I just, uh… needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job— I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“So, how you likin’ it so far?” Sam questioned.

Jenny laughed awkwardly. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home— I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here—”

You discreetly turned to see Dean smile weakly. 

“But this place has its issues,” she finished.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

That caught your attention. “Oh, that’s too bad. What else?”

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement…” She trailed off. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”

Dean shook his head. “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

Jenny looked at him quizzically. “It’s just the scratching, actually.”

Sari tugged on her mom’s shirt, who stooped down next to her. “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asked.

“The thing in my closet,” she whispered as if the thing would hear.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny looked up to you and the boys. “Right?”

They shook their heads.

“She had a nightmare the other night,” Jenny explained.

Sari’s voice suddenly got louder. “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom and it was on fire.”

The boys seemed too shocked to speak.

You took over. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You’re okay now though, right?”

She nodded.

“See? It didn’t get ya. It was only a dream.”

You knew it wasn’t. A pit filled your stomach after saying your goodbyes to the family and heading out of the door. 

“You hear that? A figure on fire,” Sam reminded the two of you.

“And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?” Dean asked.

"Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true,” the older brother chuckled humorlessly.

“Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean responded.

The brothers were only making each other panic worse at this point.

“Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam inquired.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Both of you need to calm down,” you told them, simultaneously getting in the car. “We’re gonna get those people safe. Whatever’s in there is not gonna hurt you or those people.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” Dean remarked.

You snapped into a more intense tone, leaning over the backseat. “Look, dude, you’re gonna get your shit together. The two of you are only ramping each other up. Now, you are going to get a grip or I will do this job on my own.”

Sam and Dean both nodded.

“You’re runnin’ low on gas, Dee.” You patted Dean’s cheek before sitting back against your chair. 

***

“We just gotta chill out, that’s all,” Dean said as he pumped gas. 

“I’ve tried telling you that eighty times since we left that house.”

He ignored your snide comment. “You know, if this was any other kind of job, what would we do?”

"We’d try to figure out what we were dealin’ with. We’d dig into the history of the house,” Sam sighed.

"Exactly,” the older brother began, “except this time, we already know what happened.”

"Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?”

"About that night, you mean?”

"Yeah.”

Dean paused. “Not much. I remember the fire… the heat. And then I carried you out the front door.”

You looked at the floor, knowing how hard this must be for him to open up.

“You did?” the younger Winchester asked.

"Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

"No.”

“And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was— was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?”

“If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.”

"Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

You decided to add your two cents. “Yeah. We can talk to your dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Silence blanketed the three of you for a moment, the air feeling heavy. 

“Does this feel like just another job to you?” Sam piped up.

‘Of course, it doesn’t,’ you thought.

Dean kept quiet for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” he finally said. “I gotta go to the bathroom.” He walked away, and you watched him turn the corner around the gas station. He looked back for a moment, and you assumed it was to see if anyone had followed him.

You furrowed your brows. You allowed a few minutes to pass before you announced to Sam, “I’m gonna go check on Dean.”

While you turned the corner, you saw Dean exiting the bathroom door. He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. When he noticed you, he tried to shoulder his normal attitude.

“You stalkin’ me?”

“No, actually, I came to check on you.”

“Well, I’m fine.” He went to brush past you.

You grabbed his bicep. “Don’t lie to me.”

He stopped, looking you over. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Then what’s this?” you gently brushed your first finger under his chin, picking up a tear he had forgotten to wipe away. You held it up for him to see.

Dean opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut again. He gently pulled his arm out of your grip. “C’mon, let’s go.” He started walking away from you.

You caught up to him, asking, “Are you sure you don’t just want me to do this one by myself?”

He nodded sharply. 

Sam gave you a curious look while Dean got in the car.

You shook your head before the two of you ducked into the Impala simultaneously.

***

The three of you spoke to a man who had owned a car garage with John years ago. You learned how much John had changed before Mary’s death versus after, and you began to understand why Dean was the way he was. You also learned that he had been going to see a palm reader in town. Dean recognized the names of one of the palm readers Sam had read from a compiled list: Missouri Moseley. The three of you went over to her house and waited in her foyer as she finished with her last client.

She guided the client out of the door. “Alright, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.”

The man thanked her, and she closed the door behind you.

She addressed the three of you. “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.”

You giggled.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asked.

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news,” the woman explained. You stared at her, as did the boys.

“Well? Sam, Dean, (Y/N), come on already, I ain’t got all day.”

You looked at Dean. You knew you hadn’t told her your name. The three of you followed her into the next room. 

“Well, lemme look at ya,” she smiled at the boys. “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She pointed her finger at Dean. “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” 

You giggled again. You liked her a lot.

“Sam.” Missouri grabbed his hand. “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend. And your father— he’s missin’?”

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asked her.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.”

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean questioned.

Missouri’s smile faded. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” 

“Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air. Sit, please.”

You smirked at Sam and sat down.

Missouri snapped at Dean. “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything!” he responded.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, and you and Sam smiled.

“(Y/N), honey, I didn’t mean to completely disregard you,” she smiled at you. “(Y/L/N)... where do I know that name from?” She pondered for a moment and her smile faded. “I knew your dad. Mean ol’ bastard.”

Your throat clenched. You could feel the boys looking at you, but you kept your eyes on Missouri. 

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” she went on. “I’m just sorry about what he did to you. And your brother? You poor thing.” She tsked. 

Tears welled in your eyes. 

Sam knew he should change the subject. “Okay. So, our dad— when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him,” Missouri explained.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean questioned.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.”

“And could you?”

You tried to focus on the conversation, but your throat was still choked up. You could vaguely register them talking about what Missouri sensed in their house and how she had been keeping an eye on the place since Mary’s passing. All you could focus on were the memories you were being pulled back into. Memories of what your father put you through and how your mother just stood by. Memories of defending your brother against your father’s wickedness. You tried your best to pull yourself back to the light; you knew Missouri could hear what you were thinking. You wouldn’t let yourself be weak enough to let your father hurt you eight years after his death.

“Baby, you are not weak.” Missouri’s voice pulled you back to shore. “I’m sorry I brought all that up for you.”

You nodded at her, voice too weak to respond. Sam squeezed your hand, and you could feel Dean’s gaze boring into the side of your head. 

***

You and the boys headed back to their childhood home with Missouri. You still couldn’t register what was going on outside of your own head. You knew Missouri hadn’t truly brought anything up for you; these memories were all just buried under the surface for you. Hunting didn’t exactly leave much time for you to dwell on your emotions. 

Jenny allowed Missouri to come into her home and showed her and your trio into Sari’s bedroom. You were beginning to come back to earth and could focus on the conversation happening around you. 

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it,” Missouri explained, walking around Sari’s room. 

“Why?” Sam asked.

Missouri turned to him. “This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.”

Dean pulled out his repurposed walkman.

“That an EMF?” Missouri asked.

“Yeah,” Dean answered.

“Amateur,” she deadpanned.

You noticed the EMF was beeping frantically. 

“I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom,” Missouri told the Winchesters.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

She nodded.

“How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.”

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Not it.” Missouri opened the closer. “Them. There’s more than one spirit in this place.”

“What are they doing here?” Dean asked.

“They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected,” Missouri elaborated.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“This place is a magnet for paranormal energy. It’s attracted a poltergeist. A nasty one. And it won’t rest until Jenny and her babies are dead.”

“You said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.”

Dean’s voice became hard. “Well, one thing’s for damn sure— nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

***

After Missouri taught you how to pack small protection bags that you and the boys were to place in the cardinal points on both floors in Jenny’s house, you had to get Jenny and her kids out of harm's way.

“Look, I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you guys here alone,” she told Missouri.

“Just take your kids to the movies or somethin’, and it’ll be over by the time you get back.”

You could tell the woman was still unsure, but she followed orders anyway. And with that, the four of you got to work.

When you were halfway done with the job, things started to get ugly. Just as you were about to place your second and final bag in the wall of Jenny’s bedroom, a cord snaked around your neck and pulled tightly. You dropped the bag of herbs to the ground; unable to get it into the wall in time. You gasped for air, frantically reaching for the bag but the spirit’s hold was too strong. Your vision began to spot and your face contorted in discomfort; doing the best you could to get air in your lungs. It was no use. Just when you thought it was over, Dean rushed to your side.

“(Y/N)!” he cried, pulling at the cord with all his might.

You clawed at your neck with one hand and motioned to the bag of herbs with the other. Dean understood what you were trying to say, and kicked a hole in the wall. He quickly put the bag inside, and your neck was released. Your head fell to the ground gasping for air.

Dean pulled you into a fierce hug that left you breathless. He pulled back from you, holding your face on either side. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. He gingerly touched the place where the cord had undoubtedly bruised your neck. “Can you stand?”

You nodded again. With Dean’s help, you made your way down to Missouri and Sam who stood in the middle of an extremely messy kitchen. Jenny’s kitchen table had been turned on its side with knives driven through the top of it, assumedly by the ghosts. The refrigerator door was swung wide open, and various items from the pantry had spilled out all over the place. 

“You sure this is over?” Sam asked the psychic.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?”

Sam sighed in response. “Never mind. It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opened.

“Hello? We’re home,” Jenny announced when she walked into the house. She came into the kitchen, dumbfounded by the mess. “What happened?”

"Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this,” Sam told her.

“Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess,” Missouri added.

Dean stood glued to his spot.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.”

He glared at Missouri, but began walking away nonetheless.

“And don’t cuss at me!”

***

You remained confused by how Dean had hugged you for the rest of the night which you spent in the Impala parked in front of Jenny’s house.

“Alright, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asked his brother.

“I don’t know. I just… I still have a bad feeling,” he responded.

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.”

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.”

Dean slumped down in his seat. “Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.”

You slumped down in your seat, too, only to see Jenny screaming and banging on her bedroom window. “Guys, look!”

The three of you rushed into the house.

“You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny,” Dean said.

You nodded and sprinted to Ritchie’s room. The sleeping toddler was startled when you woke him up, but allowed you to carry him downstairs nonetheless. You met Sam by the front door who said to Sari, “Take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don’t look back.” She obliged and took the little boy from you. 

Before the two of you could do anything else, you were slammed to the ground and dragged backward across the tile floor. You could hear poor Sari screaming as you and Sam were dragged away. 

You were pinned to the wall by an invisible force and pushed up toward the ceiling. You could hear presumably Dean hacking away at the door, trying desperately to get in as a figure on fire approached you.

Dean made his way into the home and called your names frantically. He raised his gun at the fire figure when he caught sight of it.

“No, don’t! Don’t!” Sam cried.

“What, why?!” you asked.

“Because I know who it is. I can see her now.”

And then, the fire vanished revealing who you recognized from pictures as Mary Winchester. She was wearing a white nightgown and her blonde hair billowed softly around her. Her feet were bare, and her aging skin was only slightly wrinkled.

You could see tears rising in Dean’s eyes as he lowered his gun. “Mom?”

The woman smiled and stepped closer to him. “Dean.”

She walked toward you and her youngest son. “Sam.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked. 

She looked at him sadly, but said nothing.  

The woman turned to you last. “Thank you,” she said. 

You smiled back at her, though you weren’t quite sure what she was thanking you for.

She turned away and looked up toward the ceiling. “You get out of my house. And let go of my son.” Her hair and nightgown were swept up into flames once more. The fire licked up to the ceiling, growing larger before disappearing entirely. You and Sam were released from the wall at once.

“Now it’s over,” Sam muttered.

***

The sun had risen while you and the boys were in the house. You called Missouri back to the Winchesters’ childhood home, and she sat on the porch talking with Sam.

You were standing with Dean by the car looking through his old family photos.

“Thanks for these,” Dean told Jenny.

“Don’t thank me, they’re yours.”

Dean put the trunk of photos and family memorabilia in the car.  You and Dean bid Jenny, who thanked you, goodbye before leaning against the car together. The two of you knew you had a lot to talk about, but you weren’t brave enough to start the conversation.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked you.

You couldn’t look at him. “Why do you ask?”

“I think you know.”

You paused a moment before turning to face him. “I promise I’ll tell you, just… not today.” You stuck out your pinkie for him to take.

He chuckled at you. “What are we, five?”

“Just do it, asshole,” you smiled back.

He linked his pinkie with yours, shaking your hand back and forth lightly. The two of you stood there for a second, staring at each other and getting lost in the moment. Before long, you both realized what was going on and jerked away from each other.

Dean scratched his head. “Sam, you ready?” he called.

Sam nodded and came over to the car.

“Don’t you kids be strangers,” Missouri told you.

“We won’t,” Dean responded. 

“See you around,” the woman winked at you.

You smiled at her before getting in the car and driving away. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @doublecrazyyymofo

[coolingrosa]

ooooooo i love rs!ink he's so cute......could you, perhaps, speak about him a little more?? (I've heard he's very similar to Lilo too, would love to hear about his childhood a lil' bit more👀)

Sure! This gives me a chance to also say publicly that RoseVerse!Ink is CANONICALLY AUTISTIC. I stated this in the QNA livestream I did a while back, but I know not everyone watched that as it was mostly chaos. Most characters in Roseverse are not giving canon mental illnesses or mental disorders because anyone can project themselves onto these characters and find traits they can relate to. For example, Killer has no canon mental disorder and is only based on my experience as a 15 year old. Whatever you see fit to fit his mental health is uo to viewer interpretation. But Ink is one of the few exceptions to this as he is canonically autistic.

Now with that out of the way, what was Ink’s childhood like? This will be long!! Prepare!

Ink was created at three years old and was nonverbal up until he was seven. He hardly used sign language besides signing to show he was hungry, he wanted more of something, or to say yes or no. Error and Nightmare were always worried about this, and they did not have the resources to see a doctor to have help in figuring out why Ink wasn’t talking. They had to do with what they could, and learned to work with Ink’s lack of speech. He is capable of more sign language, and does use it when he wants to have a conversation, but that is not until he gets closer to six, where he gets more interested in joining in on talks.

Ink from the ages of 3-5 was very all over the place. He was blunt, and had many outbursts and meltdowns due to Error and Nightmare simply not knowing how to handle an autistic child. While he could not verbally communicate, he would get very frustrated if he wasn’t understood, and often resorted to tantrums and throwing his toys or food when he would want something and Error and Nightmare had no idea what to supply. He also was touch repulsed between the ages of 4-6, and preferred to do his own thing. He’d ignore when people would try to talk to him if he wasn’t in the mood for it, and Error and Nightmare learned to leave it at that. What he tended to do was draw, finger paint, solo play with toys, and sort things. Error once stole him many markers, and rather than jump to draw, he spent hours reorganizing them over and over into different shades and colors. (Based on a experience of my own childhood lol)

Error and Nightmare worked with Ink’s needs and unintentionally created a household perfect for neurodivergent children. The lights were dim, safe food was always in stock, loud noises were kept to a minimum, and Ink was given headphones and comfortable clothes to help his meltdowns.

When he hit seven, he finally started to speak verbally, and then never shut up LMAO. He also became hungry for touch, and was often jumping at Nightmare at random (since he knew Error couldn’t handle it) and climbing all over him. While with Error, he always made his presence known before latching on and not letting go for hours. However, he tended to like Nightmare’s hugs the most, since he’d place his tentacles over him and make a little cocoon of safety. This is also when he got the burst of curiosity for the outside and would run through the woods and grab random animals from trees and bring them home (much to Error’s horror). Think Ame from Wolf Children. That was very much how he was. A wild child who was always getting cuts and bruises but smiling big. Once, he even snapped his arm falling from a tree while in the care of Reaper, and Nightmare and Error couldn’t heal him enough. He forever sports a scar on his arm but continues to climb trees anyways.

When he got a bit older, ages 9-10, he mellowed out a bit with the understanding of his powers. Nightmare helped him a lot with the control of his abilities and magic, and with that came maturity and peace. He preferred to keep the house tidy and fetch dinner still, but in a much calmer way. He’d go out and catch fish or use his magic to catch squirrels. He’d always come home at a good time and would help Errror around the house. He wasn’t as loud and excitable, especially since he became aware of who he was supposed to be at ten, and had to come to terms with the fact that Error was meant to be his competitor, and they were breaking those rules.

Overall, he grows a lot and becomes a child Error and Nightmare are proud of.

Then, on his eleventh birthday, he disappears.

Tragic, truly. It’s a mystery of what happened to the poor kid.

[the-technicolor-whiscash]

pleaaaase tell us more about stupid breakdowns while working the pirates of the caribbean ride

The people have spoken. I shall answer.

This got long so get ready to scroll if you’re not interested.

Ok so I worked at pirates of the Caribbean at Walt Disney world in Florida for 7 months from 2021 to 2022 as part of the disney college program. This was a nightmare in a great many ways and it’s the reason I have trauma from fireworks and cannot handle being around fireworks shows but that’s beside the point.

Also to preface I call the ride a her because of boat lingo but no, the ride doesn’t have pronouns.

My main job was ride operation. I operated pirates. And I knew it inside and out. I could still to this day tell you how to turn off pirates tower at the end of the night. I still know what color the buttons are. Pirates was a machine, and I do machines well, so I understood it. I could run it by sound alone, from the splash of the boats behind me to the clank of the machinery.

Pirates is an old bird. At the time I worked her I believe she was 47? So she had problems. Many of them.

When I worked there, it was in the Chapek era. That meant cost cutting. And that meant rides were NOT being maintained properly. It meant electrical tape and pieces of wood level fixes.

This mostly impacted animatronic performance. When I worked there animatronic issues were a daily occurrence, though most of them were minor enough not to cause any major uproar it was just like, some chickens weren’t moving and hadn’t moved in two years. The worst animatronic failures I saw were when a goat fell off a bridge and was hanging upside down by its feet, when one dude’s head fell off, and when barrel Jack (the Jack in the barrel) was like sloughed out of the barrel leaning over the edge it looked awful it was awesome.

With serious show-breaking animatronic issues the ride goes down, but we get everyone off first. No evac needed.

With mechanical issues, that’s a whole other animal.

Around once a month pirates would go through a weeklong stretch of going down every day or every other day. I would check the Disney wait times app to see if we were open every single time I had a shift because there was like a 30% chance we were not. Then she’d pull herself back together for a bit, we’d have a good long stretch of working, and then bam, she’s down.

This could happen for any number of issues. The most common ones were the upramp, which brought boats from the lower to the upper building and sounded like a fucking performance of Stomp, and the down ramp, which is the little slide into the water. The boats would frequently get stuck on either of these because they are constantly taking on water. No that is not a joke, they are plastic boats and they take on water rapidly. Some of them I saw had more than 50 gallons before they were drained. And the ramps required the boats to have certain weights to be balanced, otherwise they’d fuck up.

They fucked up a lot.

And when a boat gets stuck, the whole ride goes down. These are free-floating vessels (within the confines of guide rails), and when the pumps stop, the boats just lose inertia and stop moving. This means we had to push the boats to specific exit points in order to get people to a place where they could safely exit them.

That’s where the hip waders come in. Because you’d have one person on shore, helping people disembark, and one person in hip waders. In the water. Holding the boat against the shore.

A fun fact about this is the fact a majority of the hip waders were in men’s sizes 10+. A majority of the people working at pirates were under 5’4”. There were some people who could not get into the water because they were too short to climb over the rails. I am 5’3”. I pulled a muscle twice climbing over these because I had to straddle them like a horse to cross.

Anyway you’d hold a boat to the shore and unload it from the ends to the middle in order to make sure shit stayed balanced and no one fucking capsized. This made guests mad.

Guests did not want to see things done in a safe and orderly manner. This was fairly recently after the parks had opened back up post-Covid. Guests were some of the worst people to ever walk the earth. They would demand you move them faster, because their dinner reservation is more important than the sobbing autistic child a boat ahead of them. “We have a pregnant woman on the boat” is she giving birth? No? Then you’re not going anywhere until we get these folks off.

There were times we had people try and jump off the boat to land. I did see a guy clear around a four foot gap, and then he had to get put on Disney’s shit list for behavior (cause that is a real thing disney has. A shit list. You can get banned for life if you do stuff that endangers yourself or others. Which makes sense. It’s not your god-given right to get smashed up in machinery).

The worst one I saw was when I was at unload and a coworker friend of mine had dealt with a guest who was screaming at her and calling her names and then just jumped off the fucking boat onto land, so we called one of our managers and he was going to come down to put him on the shit list. Problem was, it took our manager a while to get there cause he was dealing with the fact the ride was busted. So in that time, the guy tried to ESCAPE. I had to stand in front of the exit ramp and be like sir I know what you look like and I will call security because my friend is literally shaking because of how you treated her and it’s taking me everything I can do not to literally kill you right now.

When our boss finally got there he wrote the guy up and let him go and then got distracted telling me a story about a guy who got mine train shut down cause he jumped onto the tracks to grab his phone. Good times.

Anyway most of the stories are like that, just dipshits who think they’re good to jump off boats. Because shocker, it is not safe to do that. Yes, the water is three feet deep in most places. That is not everywhere. At the load and unload stations, the water is 8 feet deep and filled with machinery that can shred you. There’s a few spots throughout the ride with grates over similarly deep areas that you will fall into and will get stuck in and drown. In other places it’s not deep but there is machinery strong enough to crush a person. The upramp isn’t allowed to have people on it because it may decapitate you.

These may be children’s rides, but there is a lot of extremely dangerous machinery behind them. No, you are not getting your phone back.

Also to everyone who wants to drink the pirate water: the smell is bromine it’s what they use to keep it “clean,” but you still should not drink it because it is filled with rusty 50 year old machinery. You may get tetanus. If a cast member falls into the water and their head goes under, they are required to get a tetanus shot. Also there’s piss in there parents let their kids pee off the boats and there’s nothing we can do about it.

TL/DR: the pirate boats are free-floating and guests are extremely stupid. Do not drink the pirates water you will get tetanus.

Sorry this got long but it was a truly unhinged 7 months of my life. Only benefit to it is that it looks good on a resume and I got to go to the parks for free so I wasted the mouse like $10,000 worth of tickets since I went to Epcot constantly. Epcot is my favorite park animal kingdom second favorite. The most beautiful girl in school is the Epcot ball. My favorite ride is dinosaur no I have never been on Indiana Jones because I’ve never been to Disneyland. I don’t actually like riding pirates that much, my favorite ride at magic kingdom is big thunder mountain.

[shitty-davesprite-daily]

Give into the bird. It feels great. Create nest with blankets, stuffed animals, and pillows. Bring family in. Protect.

TG: yeah TG: no TG: im not doing that shit man TG: seriously why the fuck would i TG: like what am i some goddamn five year old that just had a nightmare and had to go running to daddy because im too much of a bitch to handle shit myself TG: frankly its pretty fuckin weird that youre just telling me to go do that shit dude who the fuck even are you TG: acting like you know whats best for me when really that just proves you dont know jack about shit because if you did youd know that dave 'sprite' strider is one cold motherfucker he doesnt need to get all fuckin buried in blankets and pillows and shit even though that shit sounds hella warm and soft and TG: like TG: the antithesis to him right he doesnt need that shit hes a stone cold motherfucker putting him in a nest is like putting a bird in a tank full of piranhas TG: hes not meant to be there it aint gonna go well for anyone and theres gonna be feathers everywhere TG: and dont even get me started on that last part dude holy shit TG: who the hell would i even drag in there TG: fuckin daddy bird? god knows where that asshole is he probably left to get bird cigs and milk and never came back yk TG: hes not just gonna show up so i can fuckin burrito him in blankets taco bell fuckin wishes their wrapping skills were as good as mine youll be at it for goddamn hours trying to unwrap him and every time you reach the end TG: surprise asshole TG: another layer of blankets TG: patented family recipe you gotta keep the fillings safe in their fuckin blanket straightjacket yknow

TG: ...

TG: dont even have enough blankets for one anyway

[otaku-tyriq]

Because someone already asked those questions about your fav anime/manga, can I ask your top 5 favorite western animations (can be movies or series)? Why love them?

Certainly you can dear anon ^7^

So some of my favourite western animations of all time include

1) Tangled

Why do I love it so much? Well it has been my absolute comfort movie since I was like 10 years old and watched this movie in theatres with my older sister. I also highly relate to Rapunzel, both due to her personality and her experiences with Mother Gothel. Also to this day I fully stand by the believe that Flynn/Eugene and Rapunzel’s relationship is the single most romantic and beautifully written Disney couple in this studio’s entire history. Lastly: THE ANIMATION IS GORGEOUS! And I think few people understand just how ground breaking this movie was in terms if 3D animation as back then animating hair, and most importantly that amount of hair that Rapunzel has, was a nightmare to animate in 3D, so the Studio had to essentially come up with an entirely new animation program specifically for the protagonist’s hair to move around in a natural way.

2) Lego Monkie Kid

Created by the Australian Studio Flying Bark Productions, the same Studio behind Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, this show means EVERYTHING to me. Because one thing rarely talk about on Tumblr: I am OBSESSED with Mythology. Greek Mythology, Roman, Mythology, Yoruba Mythology, Chinese Mythology, Norse Mythology etc. you name it. Like my bookshelf is nothing but Manga, history books and an astronomical amount of mythology and fairytale books. The show follows MK a hyper and optimistic boy as he is chosen to be the Monkey King Sun Wukong’s successor and learning to be a hero. So as you may have gathered this show is not only inspired by chinese mythology but essentially it’s equivalent of what Percy Jackson is to Greek Mythology. What I adore the most about this show are its characters and the GORGEOUS ANIMATION! I swear the fighting animation especially in this cartoon is smoother than butter!

3) The Owl House

Aka "What if Harry Potter was not written by a biggot”. If you’ve seen the pinned post on my blog, you know that Lumity is one of my absolute favourite sapphic ships. But honestly this ship is only the peak of the iceberg for why i adore this show. The beautiful artstyle, Luz’s character arc over the course of the show, EDA SIMPLY EXISTING AND BEING FANTASTIC, the beautiful world building and magic system, Emperor Beloz being an absolute irredeemable asshole in the most entertaining and bone chilling way. Srsly if you can dear Anon, give this show a watch.

4) Infinity Train

An Anthology Series who up until recently you could watch on Max HBO. This show is both delightfully funny and absolutely gut-wrenching and dark. The show essentially follows on a new set of characters each season who all end up getting trapped on a train with an infinite number of cars and they cannot leave the train until they essentially come to terms with and/or face some sort of trauma or other psychological issue they may be struggling with.

And as you may have guessed those themes of working through psychological issues is something that my mentally ill ass highly relates to. Not to mention these are some of the most well handled depictions of mental illnesses in animation i have seen in years. Especially given the show was originally targeted towards children and teenagers. I cannot recommend this show enough.

5) Nimona & Over the Garden Wall

I know you asked for only Top 5 Favourite western Animations but I seriously could not decide which one I prefered so they gotta share the spot. Hope you don’t mind 😊.

Starting with Nimona: I mean what else is there to say about Nimona that has not been said before? Fantastic and unique world building? Check. Absolute comedy gold? Check. Openly Queer characters? Check. Said characters also being absolutely loveable? Check. A heartfelt message for both adults and children? CHECK. Seriously this movie is just gorgeous and on Youtube FOR FREE! Like there is nothing stopping you from watching it right this instant.

Now onto Over the Garden Wall: I come from a country where we don’t typically celebrate Halloween. So due to a lack of direct cultural ties to Halloween I never truly had any super strong interest in Halloween movies and never had the urge around October to bundle up in a blanket and watch those classic Halloween movies and shows, like some of my friends do. The most I did was carve pumpkins with my sister and drink hot cocoa cuz it’s genuinly fun. Until this Mini Series came along. The atmosphere just absolutely perfectly manages to capsulate the feeling of autumn and the eeriness of that season. Far more than any other Halloween Classic in my humble opinion. Also again I’m a huge mythology Nerd and this show is basically Dante’s Inferno for children in very weird way. But yes ever since this show had come out I instantly rewatch it the second the leaves start to fall outside.

[tsintotwo]

[POV: You were born a Dream vortex, and Lord Morpheus has been watching you all your life. You meet, finally. What will your story be? Part 2. Part 1 here.

(This is quite long, and I could’ve made two posts. But to me this section feels like its own whole part/mini-arc, and I didn’t want to break it up. Anyway, please be warned, VERY DISTURBING THINGS! TW: Ra*e, child abuse, graphic violence.)]

I am sixteen, and the palace is no longer my home. I am to be wedded tonight. Then I will go away with my husband to his kingdom.

My father had certain requirements for my groom. A King, not a Prince. Rich. Powerful, but not powerful enough to attack and overcome us. His kingdom not so near that they could start encroaching on our borders when we are not looking, but not so far that we cannot keep an eye on them or take quick action. Then there was the question of dowry amounts.

Nobody asked me what I wanted.

As the old lady promised, they did start looking soon, and the first King passed all the requirements to reach the final stage two years ago. What he did not know, what nobody knew was this: I was prepared. Not to marry him or ‘please’ him (which I still did not fully understand even after staring at a book full of illustrations that the old lady gave me, it disgusted me and scared me more). As I left both my girlhood and my Dream Lord behind, as I realized I did not have anyone but myself on my side anymore, slowly the idea, the determination took shape in me: I would take matters into my own hands. I was not ready to go anywhere, let a King do anything to me. So, I was going to deter him. And I had a plan.

Something happened when I had been visiting the Dreaming regularly, something I learned. I was telling the Dream Lord about wanting stories, and ashamed, I confessed I was too stupid to read. He shook his head. ‘You are not stupid. It is a disease that humans do not have a name for yet.’ He was the first one not to blame me for lying about this, and I was still stunned when he hesitated before adding, ‘If it is stories you want, dreams are the purest of them, and you can explore. But be very, very cautious.’ He looked regretful afterwards, like he should not have told me this. But he made me remember that I could visit other people’s dreams, and realize that it didn’t have to be only people I knew of. After that, I tried to find the richest stories, the most vivid imaginations, and I could be in them and know them. I learned to navigate dreams I did not dream up. It is a skill I practiced and honed over the years.

So, the King who wanted to marry me- even from thousands of miles apart, I found his dreams.  And then I tried something I had never tried before. I tried turning them into nightmares.

I started easy. Walking around his dream, I touched a horse and imagined it to be a monster- gray, skeletal, sharp teeth. It became so. I touched a tree and made it die. I touched a beautiful woman, a courtesan- and all her teeth fell off as she laughed hysterically. In my mind I felt a leash, and I wrapped it around everything: nothing must escape my control, nothing must slip away to anywhere else, all of it must obey me.

And they did. Night after night, the King woke up gasping, and screaming, scared, bewildered- the nightmare assaults not so vast that things became too unstable for me handle, but relentless and consistent. He did not see me at first, but not showing yourself needs focus and one night, trying to control too many elements, I lost it. The King saw me, and he shouted at me, ‘Who are you? Who are you?’ He must have been shown my portrait, but my face would be covered, only my eyes would show. He would not know me here. ‘Do not marry the Princess’, I told him. ‘Do not marry her, and all this will stop.’

‘I cannot refuse.’, the King panted, ‘I cannot offend her father. I am on the verge of promising-‘

‘You will never sleep again!’, I screamed, things turning even darker around us, and tonight I struggled to focus and keep it all gathered, ‘What you will face in your sleep is worse than any war!’

Desperate, I started pulling in his deepest, darkest fears, beckoning nightmares I did not even know I could, and he gasped, ‘Okay! Okay! I will not marry her!’

Afterwards, I collapsed, exhausted, and I heard his voice- the Dream Lord. I had not seen him in a long while. I had felt him watching me. I ignored it. But that night he was there. He stood behind me.

‘These elements’, he said, voice stern, ‘Are not for a human to control. I am the shaper of forms. You are not equipped to-‘

‘Why can I do it, then?’ still catching my breath, I snapped. ‘If I’m not meant to, why do I have these powers?’

He was silent. I think he did not have the answer. I stood up, turned around.

Seeing him hurt. I had missed him so much. Everything that happened every day, I used to note down in my mind- this, this, and this I will tell him the next time I see him, and share this thought, and ask this question, and ask him to show me this- all that stopped in the space of one night, and I had since felt the empty space- the habitual noting down only to realize there was no point anymore- and it always throbbed with pain.

But I was grown, and I was strong. I did not beg for friendship. So I had kept my promise, and never tried to find him again.

Now, he spoke no words for a while, letting me breathe. Then he said, ‘If you become an active threat to my realm, I am bound to take action.’

‘What action?’, I challenged, ‘What will you do?’

He did not answer, and I remembered- ruling is killing. Just like my father, he was a King, and just like my father, when someone jeopardized his kingdom, he eliminated them. It was perhaps very dim of me, but I had never thought of this before. But as soon as I did now, it seemed obvious. Of course.

He had been watching me only to one day perhaps kill me. He had never been my friend. He told me this more than once, and I tried to accept it, but this was the first time I truly believed it. And I felt alone, deeply alone, all over again.

He saw the understanding and the pain dawn on my face, and I might be wrong, but I thought he lowered his eyes for a fraction of a moment in- what? Regret? Shame? Sorrow? I did not know, but he recomposed himself, and said, ‘Do not try this again. I-‘, in this momentary pause, his eyes met mine, and I suddenly, stupidly, remembered the ocean and his smile, and how it made me feel, ‘I do not wish to harm you. But if-‘

‘I will’, I told him the truth. ‘My father will find someone else for me again soon enough, and this is what I plan to do to them as well. And I can, I can do this. I can keep control.’

‘We cannot be sure about this. The risk—’

‘Kill me, then!’, anger flared in me, anger, frustration, and something beyond that I could not name. Why couldn’t he be my friend? Why couldn’t he be on my side? Why couldn’t anything be fair, ever?

I walked up to him. My body had grown since I saw him last, and now came up to his chest. Standing close, I challenged him, ‘If everything I do is such a risk, kill me right now, Dream Lord! For the first time in my life, I am trying to be strong, I am learning to survive, like you told me to! I cannot take everything they do to me quietly anymore. I would fight, and you have to kill me to stop me.’

The Dream Lord was still, looking at my face. His eyes looked like a storm coming, his lips pressed together rigidly. My words had been defiant. I felt angry, exhausted, and hurt. The one I thought friend, spent my happiest hours with, he shoves me away, then I see him after so long, and what he does then is threaten to take my life? So be it, then. Let him. But then I was afraid, deeply afraid. I had seen the Dream Lord’s power before, saw how he could unmake creatures into powder and mist with one movement of his hand. He could kill me, he could. And me- after everything was said and everything was done, I wanted to clutch onto my life. I was human, and I wanted to live more. I did not want to die.

I fled. I could leave dreams at will now, so I closed my eyes and willed myself awake.

It would not have been hard for the Dream Lord to find me in sleep and dreams that I had afterwards, though. But he never did. I wondered why. He had been right in saying that I was not perfect at controlling dreams, and if what he had told me about vortexes was true, I was dangerous. Yet he did not come after me. Did he not have to yet, my thought occurred, or did he not want to?

The King whom I scared, true to his words, refused to marry me. My father was furious. He did not declare war only because he did not want to spend the money just then, but it was a thought for later. I breathed a sigh of relief, and I felt powerful. They all thought I was pathetic, but I was not. I could do something for myself.

Eight months later, another King was lined up, and I went to work again. Or rather, I went to sleep. This time, it was easier. This King had terrible things in his past, things he regretted, things he was afraid of. All of it was served up in his sleep for the Dream Lord’s little nightmares just waiting to find him, and I only had to be there to guide them. But they would have found him anyway. I did not have to tell this King not to marry me because he went mad. I felt a little bad, but not very much. And I did not see the Dream Lord. Perhaps what I did this time was too small to register effects on the Dreaming.

My father was worried now. I was growing too old. So when he found a third King willing to marry me- which took some time- he did not pay heed to the reputation he had. This King was not known to be good or just or particularly capable. But he had riches to offer as dowry, and that was good enough for my father.

I received the news of my impending marriage calmly. Things would be progressed with haste this time, before this wedding too could be cancelled. Already the maids and companions in the inner halls murmured about me- a girl who got her marriage called off twice was as good as a pariah. I was not shunned only because I was the Princess. ‘Pray, girl’, the old lady spat at me, ‘You must be married this time.’

I had no intention of letting such a thing happen. So I went to sleep prepared- I would end this before it ever began.

The first thing I heard was a little girl whimper.

The first thing I saw was the little girl’s thighs wide open.

Then I saw the King between them, forcing himself, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. And the pleasure intensified when the girl screamed in unbearable pain.

This was not a nightmare. This was a happy dream for the King.

And it was true. It had been true many, many times.

I ran. Faster than the girl’s scream, faster than sound, I travelled through fragments of dreams of millions of people- I did not know where I was going, I did not have any focus. I ran, flew, travelled until I couldn’t anymore, and I when I collapsed, spent, I was near the Dream Lord’s space in the Dreaming. Underneath the memories I tried to bury, my heart still remembered it as my happiest and safest place, and with my guard down, it ended me up here. He found me shaking, arms around my knees, cheeks wet with tears.

He did not ask me anything. He always watched me, he knew what I saw.

‘H-how could he not feel it?’, I sobbed. I had been beckoning, working with, reshaping nightmares for a while now; worse than the worst things done and faced by Kings in their lifetimes- war and torture and murder and betrayal and cruelty- I had seen in mere nights. I had stepped on rivers of blood, smelled the graying tongues and decaying mouths of hanged men, touched the still-warm slit throat of a dear friend, heard heads of children cracking open. But every time what helped me shape nightmares, what made them be nightmares was guilt. Guilt and shame and regret and fear – deep underneath every terrible thing the Kings did and justified before the world, in their heart they knew those crimes would circle back to find them because they deserved it. But this one- this one did not have any of that. And that was what made me so deeply shaken and afraid. ‘How can he not feel anything?’ I could not stop sobbing, ‘Any guilt, or regret- even deep as I explored? How can he not have a conscience?’, the face of that little girl, the fear and pain- it was plastered inside my eyelids.

In the green meadow, on the wooden tree-branch bench, the Dream Lord sat down beside me. ‘All humans are…’, his voice was heavy, ‘Not.’

I looked at him. A grey melancholy wrapped around him, and it was pulpable through even my own grief. ‘How can he have these dreams in your realm?’, I demanded, ‘How can you allow it?’

‘Human affairs are to be left to humans. To intervene in creatures’ dreams is not my function.’, he still sounded sad, but there was no uncertainty in his answer, ‘It is to contain them.’, he sighed, and looked at me. ‘Even my nightmares cannot defeat this man. You cannot make him a mirror, Princess. He would not see what he should. He will have his judgement in Hell. But until then, he is free.’

‘What should I do, then?’, I asked the Dream Lord, helpless.

He stood up, ‘Go back.’

‘Go back? And, and-‘, the end of the thought was incomprehensible, ‘Marry that man? That is what you want?’

‘What I want or do not want is immaterial.’, he did not look at me, and his voice was even deeper than it always was- as if it was keeping something buried-, ‘I have my duties, and I shall have to fulfill them.’

I opened my mouth- to cry out, protest, scream, be sick- I did not know which. But before I could, he banished me away with a swipe of his hand.

I did not try to find the King again for a while. I tried to think up other plans- impossible, fantastical. I would run away (I had never truly set foot outside the palace, and did not know how to survive there; and then, who was to say other men like the King would not capture me?), I would stab the King in the wedding night (they would hang me, and wage war on our kingdom, thousands of innocents would die), I would beg my father for mercy (this was the most futile of these thoughts- mercy was not something my father had.)

No other way. No escape. So I spoke brave words to myself, tried to harden my resolve to stone, and entered the King’s dreams again. I was powerful, wasn’t I? I could be powerful enough. I could defeat the King. I could make him see and feel what he deserved.

I could not. I was affected by his dreams- not just the infliction of violence on the helpless, but the utter remorselessness of it. It diminished my power. Things would not remain in my control; the elements would not obey me. The King was strong in his subconscious. In his staunch belief that he should not suffer, he did not. Desperate, I called on nightmares, strong, and they came- not of my making, but the Dream Lord’s- they came from others’ dreams, from everywhere in the world, and they brought fragments of those dreams with them. I tried not to let them loose at once, but I could not control them, and it all started to slip and swirl and blur and whirl and-

‘Enough!’, the Dream Lord was here again, and he shouted at me, ‘Stop! Stop now!’ I thought I couldn’t, but I just could, at the edge, and now that he was here, he could exert his authority over his creatures as well. We sensed each other’s energy, each other’s aura of power, different but similar, and I pulled in my rein, as tight as I could, while he banished the volatility, sending back the stray Dreams and Nightmares. ‘Wake up!’, he said, ‘You are making the realm unstable at this state. You need to wake up!’

I did, but I thought I didn’t, because the Dream Lord was still here- in my palace, in my room. I blinked, I shook my head, but he did not disappear. For the first time ever, he was with me, physically, here, in the real world. His cloak looked different- still long and black but made and worn in the style men in our kingdom wore them. His ruby hung on a chain designed with the kind of flourish you would expect in the palace.

‘I warned you.’, he said standing by me bed, thunder in his voice, ‘Yet you tried to shape dreams you had no business shaping, futile and reckless-‘

‘I had to try’, I whispered, a deep sorrow wrapping around me. I had lost this time. There was no way left now.

Quietly but visibly, the Dream Lord exhaled, ‘This shall be your last warning. I cannot have another close call like this. Try such a thing again, and I shall end this.’

‘End me, you mean.’, I could not even manage to feel anything about it at that moment. I was so defeated.

His eyes closed for a fraction of a moment, ‘Yes.’

Not in the liquid world of dreams, but here in the calm of the solid world, I met his deep blue ocean eyes, and things I had tried not to think of, learned not to think of came rushing back to me. Me at four, looking, yearning for these eyes in the waking hours, me at seven, holding his hand, looking up, ‘You are my friend, aren’t you?’ and him saying no, he had never said anything but no, but he comforted me when I sobbed on his shoulder, he let me be in his company, he listened to me even when it looked like he didn’t- I knew because he would ask related questions months later, surprising me- he showed me the things and places he designed, and sometimes he even talked to me- and never like I was a child- as much as he called me a child, he never talked to me like I would not understand. He would never admit it, and I would never ask him to again, but despite himself, he had been the only friend I ever had.

I did not know what he saw in my face as I looked at him, remembering, regretting, but his eyes flickered, muscles around his mouth moving only the slightest. Then he said, slowly, almost haltingly, ‘If you died in your sleep…’, he paused before finishing, ‘your soul would be released in the Dreaming. You could stay there afterwards.’

And then he was looking at me like it meant very much- what he said, this offer- and almost relieved, or even hopeful, that this solved everything, this was a way. And I felt things inside me slowly harden. Maybe it would have meant the world to me too- when I was younger, and begged him to claim me, keep me with him in the Dreaming, when I did not even know or understand death or dying very clearly. Maybe I still did not, but what I really did not know was living.

‘So I marry a monster, or I die. I do not get to live. Never.’

He did not say anything, he did not have an answer for me.

‘And having me go on as a ghost is your kindness for me.’

‘I can only offer what is within my power.’, he sounded strained, like I didn’t understand, but he was the one who did not understand.

‘You only offer what is easy for you.’, I said, feeling strangely calm.

‘Easy?’, his voice shook slightly and his eyes flared, ‘You think.’, he enunciated every word, deep and cutting, ‘Having to kill y- a creature is easy?’

‘It must be easier than finding a way around it. Tell me Dream Lord, have you ever tried that? You must have access to all the knowledge in the world. Have you researched, travelled, asked questions, tried to find out if it was possible to resolve the threat of a Dream vortex any other way, if it was even possible to join their power with yours, to train, control, harness it? Maybe not, maybe killing them is the only way, but have you tried any other? You have known me all these years. You haven’t even asked me a single thing about any of this, ever. You know what you know, or what you think you know, and you do what you do- eliminate vortexes. One human life to save the universe. One choice that is easy.’

I could see him affected by my words- usually so stoic, he was visibly breathing now, his lips slightly parted.

‘Thank you for your offer, Dream Lord, but I do not accept.’, I was sitting up on my bed, I lied back down. ‘Kill me when you have to’, I turned away, my back to his, ‘And forget me afterwards. If I was never worth saving here, I do not want to be saved after I die.’

I could still feel his presence, the weight and energy of it, heavy and raw and not calm but crackling, but then he was gone, leaving behind only his parting words, ‘Every living thing everywhere is dependent upon the Dream choices you make. It is not just you who could die. Remember that.’

The next day, my father called me to his chamber. He was a man of few words, and he did not waste time with formality or delicacy with me. ‘Certain information has come to my attention.’ he told me. ‘The Kings who refused your hand at last moments- they had nightmares. Their physicians were consulted, that is how I know’

Of course my father had physicians of foreign Kings on his payroll. He likes to strike when they are the weakest. Example: an older king about to die, princes vying for their place- this is when you drive your wedge.

‘I do not like coincidences.’, my father continued, ‘So I arranged for receiving updates from the physician of your betrothed. And he mentioned the King had not been having restful sleep like he used to.’ He leaned in and looked at me, ‘Explain this.’

‘M-me?’, I sounded guilty even to myself, and my father was not fooled. I knew how I looked- sallow cheeks, dark circles under my eyes, hair hanging limply, hunched. I looked like a witch, and that was what he thought me.

‘My own daughter, when we have been stoning and burning witches in this kingdom under my rule…’, he looked stunned, ‘Where did you learn it? The Dark Arts? Who taught you? When?’

‘Nobody! I don’t know anything, father! I swear!’

He pressed the inner corners of his eyes with his fingertips. ‘Perhaps I should have exiled you to a farming family as soon as your mother died, remarried. I could have more children, useful children. But her father would not-‘, he stopped, ‘No matter. I do not have time for this. But this stops now.’

His eyes burned as he locked his gaze with mine, ‘Whatever you think you can do, giving people nightmares or whatnot, know that you are no match for the mages I can call upon. They will do what they need to do- exorcise you, wash or burn away the dark magic from you, and I would arrange for that right now, except I need this allyship with your betrothed King. I need this business, and also I need this marriage to happen, because already the people are talking about the King’s unmarried daughter.’ His face twisted in disgust at the words. He took a deep breath, ‘You will marry him, and you will stop your unholy practices that are damaging your senses and judgement- targeting perfectly good kings who were willing to marry you! I-‘, he looked like he could not believe anyone would be so utterly unreasonable, then composed himself, ‘I do want you married and a queen, but if your missteps cannot be controlled, I will not hesitate to make an example out of you, be you my own daughter or not.’

I could not find a single word to say. I could not find a single way to stop this. And this is why I am standing here right now, in my wedding outfit that is so colorful and festive, ready to give my hand to the King that everyone sees and the monster that I know him to be. Perhaps I should cry. But I do not. If trying was futile, crying now is even more so.

_________________________________________

The wedding procession was large. The ceremony was solemn. The celebration was boisterous. The travel to the new kingdom was long. But three days later, all of it is done, and I am in my new bedchamber in a new palace, and I am being torn open.

Finally free of his alcohol haze and alone with his bride, my husband the King wants the pleasure that he thinks is due to him, and he is extremely vexed to find me neither demure nor obedient. I scream wordlessly, tears wetting my face, as he enters me without any restraint, applying all the force he has. He is not satisfied- I am too old for his taste. Not only that, I thrash about, inconveniencing him- I am not small enough for him to press down and fully keep under control with his body. His dark eyes crinkle in annoyance, and he flips me over. Then he enters me from behind, and from the pain- pain like which I never knew could exist- I slip into unconsciousness. But he does not stop.

I sob.

I bleed.

I scream into pillows until my throat is raw and my voice is broken.

I choke on my own tears.

My husband is disgusted with me. Before a month passes, he leaves me alone. He does not come to my chamber anymore. And I know he has found other girls, little girls, to keep him satisfied. That almost makes me go find him, beg him to come back, do whatever he wants to do to me. But I am craven, and I am weak. All my resolve and all my fight that I had before feel like fairytales. I do not even make dreamscapes anymore- awake or asleep, I just let my mind wander in a shapeless, meaningless gray. Sometimes I think I hear a voice- resonating, familiar- ‘Not now’. ‘But my Lord, this piece needs attending-‘, ‘Not now, Lucien!’- but none of it means anything to me.

I am just starting to breathe, just starting to find the tiniest fragment of myself again, when it really begins- the end. The King leaves for a war. And my son comes home from hunting.

My ‘son’ is my stepson from the King’s previous Queen. He is older than me, and as soon as he lays eyes on me, his mouth curves into a smile that makes my blood run cold. ‘Lovely to make your acquaintance, mother.’, he bows, mocking, ‘My father left me behind to watch over the Kingdom. That includes his Queen, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, I will-‘, he leans in, his hot breath in my ears, ‘take care of you.’

He comes at night. It begins, and it is relentless. My husband was old, and there were limits to how long he could last. My stepson does not seem to have any concept of any limit, and he enjoys inflicting pain as much as his father does, if not more so.

‘Listen, mommy’, he spits as he enters me, yet again, panting, ‘I have it all planned out. I have my people in place. I have the weapons stored and the attacks ready. My father will not come back to find his throne again. He will be banished in the dungeons, if he is lucky enough to survive the bloodbath.’, it makes him laugh, the thought of the blood and death, ‘So you might as well be my whore now. And-‘, he drives into me more forcefully, making me whimper in excruciating pain, ‘I am not afraid of your father. I will make that kingdom mine too, just you watch-‘, he puts his hands on my throat, and starts pressing on with his fingers, ‘if you are still living then, that is.’, I can’t breathe, and watching my blue face and gasping lips brings him to climax. For me, everything goes dark.

The Prince was not lying about his influence because I am unprotected and helpless. My maids part ways for him, guards who were meant for me give him access, chamberlains and servants turn blind eyes. He keeps coming back, and no one stops him.

Once I am able to form thoughts, make decisions that feel conscious, I think of fighting back again. Find his dreams, do things I could… but I cannot sleep, and always I am in pain. Unfocused and weak, even in the hours of fitful sleep I have, nothing in dreams makes sense anymore.

I try clawing at him with my nails. Biting on his ear. Kicking him. But I am not strong enough. He enjoys it, the challenge, my final helpless submission.

But I have to be, I have to strong enough, survive, and tonight, I wait. I wait until he is on top of me and not looking. Then my hand wraps around the small but heavy vase I hid behind the pillow, and I break it on his head.

Stupid, stupid useless me, the blow should have had more force. He is hurt, he rolls away, staggers up, but he is not dead. He is furious. He is shaking, but it is a calm fury. ‘You bitch!’, he hisses, ‘I wanted to spare you. But I need not bother.’

I try to run, but he catches me, half- choking me to unconsciousness. In the few dark minutes, I am floating, painless, in a gray haze, and suddenly I feel eyes on me- does that not feel familiar, this feeling? But who, what- I have no thoughts, no anything, and I awake, finding myself tied to the bed. The Prince is waiting, barely controlling his rage, and with his knife, he makes a long, slow, slanting slit on my skin. Then he makes another. Another. And another, the cuts getting deeper. Every tiniest fraction of the knife drag is agony beyond measure. My blood soaks the bed. I can feel the Prince panting, he loves doing this. And then he picks up a candle. He will burn me, he will burn every bit of my skin and then the whole of me.

With the very last of my strength, I writhe. He left the knife. If only I could free one hand, if only-

My scream is so loud and air-shattering I am sure everyone will run into here right now, the whole palace, but no one comes, no one comes to save me, and I do not exist anymore, I am agony, pure agony as the Prince holds the candle under my feet. I can smell burning skin and flesh, and I jerk so violently- yes!, my hand, it is free, the knife-

But it slips from my hand, and he has seen me. I pick it up and throw it towards him, and it leaves a slash on his cheek as it flies past. He cries out, and there is no control now, he cannot control his rage. Putting down the candle, he grabs my wrist, and I hear the crack as he breaks it. Then he shoves my head in the bedpost, and I am- what, what is- no thoughts, nothing, only pain, and he is hitting me, all over, I cannot breathe, something wet and salty in my throat, in my mouth, choking me- blood, and he picks up the candle again, his face of a monster, and I see the flame coming closer to my face, my hair- and he will set me on fire, now, this, this is the end, my life-

Then there is a golden haze over my face, but it is not from the candle, it is fine and powdery, and it is sand.

I sob with relief at the sudden painlessness. I am here again, endless gray haze- am I dead?

But I see the Dream Lord. And I see the Prince too. The Prince looks confused, looking around. And the Dream Lord- I have seen so many terrible things, but I have never seen anything so terrible as him at this moment. Fury is etched on every smallest line of his face, his eyes burn like blue wildfire, he feels like deep and frozen and ancient violence wrapped in the barest human form. Wordlessly, he waves his hands, and monsters come out from the dark- such monsters I cannot describe, and he sets them upon the Prince. I can see them latching on, starts feeding on him as he is lost under them, screaming in agony, disintegrating, and I cannot watch anymore, I cannot bear any more violence- but then the Dream Lord touches ny forehead, gentle, and as I slip away, I hear him murmur, ‘Sleep, Princess. Sleep, and do not Dream.’

Time passes. I have no sense of it. I am lost in an endless fog of pain that is punctured by moments I find incomprehensible. People screaming, murmuring words, ‘-discreet’, dialogues, 'My, my, sweet sibing, what is this that I hear of you intervening with the human world, such days!- ' and I do not know where they come from. People taking care of my body, wrapping me in clean bandages, trying to give me food- I don’t feel most things, and I don’t know how to think anymore. Often I see the Dream Lord by my bedside, and is that here or in the Dreaming? Am I awake or am I asleep? I can make no difference. He sits quiet, watching me. Once I think I feel his fingers lightly touch my forehead, but then everything is shimmery and gone, and maybe he is not here, maybe he was never here, it was all me in my own feverish delusions.

Slowly, things come into focus. My thoughts start making sense. It has been a month. The Prince was found unconscious in my bed chamber, he remained so for days. Since coming awake, he is deranged. He screams in terror at invisible things at all hours and is kept locked up.

I am a prisoner as well, though that is handled more delicately. With the King and his most important envoys gone on a war, and the man who was meant to be in charge suddenly insane- his people and plans bewildered and scattered- no one quite knows what to do with me or this situation. Ministers the King left behind must have decided on this- try to heal me, have me as the King left me, but keep me ready for the King’s judgement. No one yet knows which way the blame will fall, but I am sure it won’t be long before they do. Messengers must have been dispatched.

Within a month, they know, and I know, for I am thrown into the dungeon, all niceties and secrecy about my imprisonment over. The King will return from the war, I am told, and judge my trial. What they do not say is may be he will not return, the war will be lost, and this palace will burn, and I with it.

Eight months later, the war is won, and the King is back.

It is cold here. It is dark. But I am left alone, and nobody touches me. I am at peace.

My body heals slowly. I can think again. So I think.

I am informed that I will have a public hearing tomorrow. The guards are excited, murmuring. The Queen- yes, I am still the Queen of this kingdom after all- having a public trial! Bare faced, in front of alll the men! It will be a spectacle. I do not doubt this is the intention. Absorbing another kingdom, the King is more powerful than my father now. He means to offend him, he means to provoke, he means to go to war again.

 The day is cloudy, still I cannot open my eyes fully. I have not seen the sun for so long. And I have not slept for three days and three nights. Whenever sleep tried to pull me under, I pinched myself, slapped myself, stood up, walked. I did not sleep.

The courtyard is filled with people of all ages, and I can feel the pulpable anticipation of high drama. The King sits on a high throne, two of his most trusted ministers beside him. I am not shackled, but I am held tight by guards.

The charges against me are read out loud. I am a witch, a practitioner of unholy satanic magic. I lured the Prince to my bedchamber, and I drove him insane. I meant to capture the kingdom in the King’s absence.

‘What do you have to say for yourself?’, the King asks me. His face is an image of impatient fury. He would burn me, and he would rather do it sooner than later.

‘I admit to being a witch.’, I say, my voice sure and clear. ‘I did not lure your son to me, he came to me, he forced himself upon me repeatedly, he tried to kill me. And he was conspiring against you.’

Every sentence I speak elicits gasps from the audience, and at the end, the crowd breaks out in loud murmurs. Order is not restored. The King stands up. ‘You-‘, he is stunned, and he is even angrier now, and yes, yes, I too would do this sooner rather than later.

So I close my eyes, and I take a deep breath, and I feel the wave of exhaustion- so tired, so sleepy, and right this moment, I am not quite asleep, but not quite awake. I can access the Dreaming, and I can still be here. When I open my eyes again, a little girl is standing near the king. She is naked, bleeding from between her thighs, and her mouth is twisted in a silent scream.

The minister to the King’s right jerks violently, his face going white. ‘M-m’, he cannot finish his sentence.

‘He was your friend, the King, when he was a prince, wasn’t he? And this is what he did to your daughter. He told you it was a soldier at the border who stole her away? It was him.’

‘Witch!’, the King shouts, ‘Black magic! Do not believe a word she says!’

But blinking, not falling asleep but not awake, I pull in more and more of them, from the Dreaming, these images of the girls the King hurt, bloody and twisting in pain, and the guards back away from me, and the crowd too, and there is gasping as members of the court recognize some of the children, and darting eyes as others who knew, who helped, are faced with the reflections of what he did with them.

‘H-hang her!’, the King shouts again, ‘Burn her! She is-’

But no one will come near me, and I walk slowly towards the King, and images of the girls, I make them walk behind me. Good thing these are just images from the Dreaming- no soul, I would never have done this to their soul.

‘Yes’, I say, ‘I am a witch. And I will capture this Kingdom. But I will not end you. Your people will.’ I face the crowd, with my army of images.

‘I am not lying’, I make sure I do not sound drowsy, make sure everyone hears every word,  ‘This is your King, and this is what he does to your children. And you- he has been spending on wars, but who gets the riches of it? Do you have food on your table? Do you have a roof over your head? Are you not worked relentlessly by the lords in his favor, only to earn mere pennies, and are you not whipped when you demand more? Do you not freeze in winter? What do you gain, by being loyal to this king here?’

I learned about this kingdom as much as I could before marriage, and I can see in the crowd’s faces that the truth has not changed.

I let go of the girls’ images, and all of them disappear at once. ‘Follow me!’, I command, ‘You shall earn fair pay, you shall feed and clothe your children, and I shall protect you. And if you do not, well-‘, I raise my hands to the sky, ‘I am a witch after all.’

From the Dreaming, I pull in lightning, and thunder, and swirling darkness over my head, around me- none of it is real, all images, but it looks real, and I scream- ‘Follow me! End the king! NOW!’

The minister whose daughter the King hurt- he moves. He moves, and the King was not ready; all it takes is one stab of a knife and he falls down, clutching his throat, blood spurting out, eyes wide in disbelief. The other court members, the guards, the crowd watch this scene, speechless, and then there is a wave and with a sinking feeling I realize there will be a stampede- I have caused chaos, everyone is confused and scared, and this is no way to start a revolution, bring change- haphazard, ill-planned, messy. Maybe they will burn me right now-

But then, it rains gentle sand, and everyone, whoever it was, whatever they were doing, is asleep. All is still and quiet.

I am the only one awake, fully awake now, and the Dream Lord walks the real world, coming to stop before me.

He glances around, taking everything in for a moment, then looks at me. ‘This is what you have done.’

‘Yes.’, my voice trembles just slightly, ‘You watched me practice.’ I have not seen him since he saved me from the Prince, keeping aside when he was by my bedside- I am still not sure those times were not delusions. And I did not try to find him. But I knew he always watched, still.

‘I watched you manipulate single contained elements in the Dreaming. Had I known it was for this, for merging them with the waking world, I would not have allowed it for a mere second.’

‘Too late now, isn’t it?’, I say. I was careful hiding my plans from him- barely even a plan, since I did not know it would work. I deliberately had not slept the last three nights so he could not watch my unconscious. Moreover, I had felt I needed to be between dream and reality for my plan to work. ‘And it is fine. I-‘

‘It is not fine.’, his eyes flash, his voice is rough, ‘Look around you. You have caused chaos in the human world using material from the Dreaming. This is never, ever meant to happen-‘

‘But it did, and it will again if it needs to.’, I close the gap between us, going to stand near him so that I can look into his eyes. ‘I know I don’t have this situation as ideal, but it’s not because I could not control the dream elements. I could, and I can now. I practiced, I learned, I am better than ever before. You know.’

Nearly seventeen, I am tall now, and I almost come up to his chin. Never could I look at him this close before, and with his face pale as moonlight, hair black as the oldest darkness, eyes hard as twin jewels, jaw sharp as a knife, he is terrible, he is beautiful, he is endlessly other. And I see it now, I understand what I fully did not as a child- that he is not merely a Lord, the King of Dreams, but he is it. He is Dream, and he contains all of it- every time I travel through, merge myself in, pull from the Dreaming, it is him, all him. Dreams are sunken in my blood and bones, and so is he. And he may still kill me, but I am not afraid. I have had enough of being afraid.

‘I am a Queen,’, I tell him, dipping each word in determination as I say them, ‘and I shall be so. I will rule, and however bad it looks now, I will bring it all under control. But I will do it my way, and you will not stop me.’ I don’t take my eyes off his, he needs to understand I mean this, ‘I am better with my powers- abilities- and I will use them sparsely. I will not use them at all if I don’t have to. I don’t want the universe to end, everything to disappear,’, I pause, feeling the truth, ‘you to disappear. I will be careful. I can do this. Trust me.’ He watches me, intent, still. I breathe, ‘I am not a child anymore, Dream.’

For Dream, I have always been a problem that needed attention, and even when he has been kind to me, despite himself or on purpose, this truth has always been behind his eyes, this concern, and I felt it. But right now- when I have never perhaps been a bigger inconvenience, bigger problem for him- astoundingly, I do not feel it, for the first time. Dream's eyes are fiery, and I have not seen the sun for months, have not eaten a proper meal or had a proper bath in that time, and I am far from the well-groomed, rosy-cheeked, lush-haired Princess that I used to be, but those eyes look at me like they would look at beautiful things. What I think I hear behind the restraint in Dream's voice is pride.

‘No’, he murmurs. Lifting his hand, he touches my chin, feather-light with his fingers. ‘You are not.’

[Update: Part 3]

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

Tag asks: @libra207, @asexualaromosafezone

[mdhwrites]

Can you elaborate on your comment on Discord that "[TOH characters in general] get a lot of backstory but little connects with their present character"?

*looks at every Hunter fan out there* How do we feel about the fact that this kid was literally raised to kill wild witches and be the Golden Guard but the only fighters in the main cast who are worse than him are the literal child and the illusionist?

Hunter is easily the most obviously egregious one but also the one that actually has a potential magical slide. After all, we don't actually know if Hunter has been alive for sixteen years. He potentially could have been alive for probably only five, thus making it so he has time to be trained and indoctrinated but was also 'old' enough to be easier to handle, left alone, etc. like that. Of course... That doesn't really fix the larger problem with Hunter's backstory versus his present day character, is it?

See, this is how I would breakdown what the theoretical present day concept for each character is that Luz meets versus the backstory version: Eda: Irreverent criminal who is only out for herself and probably would just be committing larger scale crimes for funsies if not for the curse. Backstory: Lovable scamp with a heart of gold who only ever does jokes, nothing actually bad and look at this child she adopted and totally won't threaten with rent later on.

Amity: A driven, goal obsesses girl who will do anything to be the best. Even simply losing the title and not being made to look like a fool is enough to warrant someone needing to die and she bullies the weak for fun and superiority. Backstory: Felt bad for hurting her teammates for personal glory and victory (those same teammates she will tell to eat a dick in that same episode), only bullied Willow for her own sake, frankly would rather just be a little goofball than actually succeed at anything.

Lilith... Okay, frankly it's more that S2 Lilith makes absolutely no sense with S1 Lilith. If they hadn't entirely warped her character, her backstory is actually pitch perfect for her grown up self, even down to being a little silly and caring about her sister. A LITTLE silly mind you.

Golden Guard: Actually fits the backstory as the rage and confidence of youth mixed with too much power and indoctrination make for an incredibly dangerous, close to unhinged Kylo Ren clone who will go from joking to I WILL MURDER YOU! if you don't take him seriously or annoy him.

Hunter: I'm just a widdle silly guy who can't even gut check a girl and force her to give me my staff. I am all for wild magic because maybe it can save my uncle, despite my uncle's problems being caused by wild magic. I will literally never win a fight alone except against Kikimora, the closest to a true, reoccurring gag villain that the series has.

Now yes: A character can grow and change as they get older. It can be a fun joke to have a prim and proper character have been a nightmare as a toddler. But this isn't how TOH portrays these backstory moments commonly. Much of the time, the backstory is meant to effectively be in the place of real moments in a character arc.

Take Amity's moment with Willow. In a normal character arc, this is the chance for the character to prove that they have a good heart and are maybe not as mean as they seem. However, Amity already has done that at least once with confessing to not wanting to see Luz hurt in Adventure in the Elements, if her diary didn't already do this in combination with not holding onto her rage against Luz there in Lost in Language. So they HAVE to put it as a backstory moment or it wouldn't be notable. Except... It would have? Hell, they even try to frame it as a kindness to Willow at the beginning which is a good idea because Amity's first appearance was being cruel to Willow but now that she's changed some but hasn't interacted with Willow since episode 6, she needs to show some kindness to her. But it's ALL kindness because they've already fully transitioned into good girl Amity so rather than feeling like a growth moment, it's to justify what they're doing. To say "Of course her development isn't this rushed because it's not development! It's just the old Amity coming back out."

The moment with the Thorn Vault is similar. A character like Amity SHOULD have a moment where she decides success isn't everything and steps back so as to allow someone else to take the spotlight if it means doing less harm. It's a good idea for a moment in her arc. But again: Amity has already moved past that part of her arc. She hasn't been focused on success or being the best since her SECOND APPEARANCE. And this is her last one in S1 so it goes into the backstory to show that she does understand the consequences of her actions rather than having it be a part of her arc.

Frankly, this stuff is just a part of a different blog I need to make about how Amity episodes are strangely NOT about Amity. She actually doesn't factor into them much so her arc feels bad because even episodes like Lost in Language or Adventure in the Elements only have five minutes of Amity at most.

Meanwhile for someone like Eda or Hunter, it's retcons. Eda needs to be convincingly like Momma Eda so making her actually motherly with King when they first met is a good idea... But it contrasts all they did in S1. Hunter is meant to show the cruelty of Belos but they want him to already be the sad but mad boy by the halfway point of the season (which btw, halfway through S1, Amity was already borrowing an Azura book from Luz showing compromise, kindness and connection, much like Hunter connecting with Amity's fears, almost giving into her speech about kindness and adopting Flapjack. There's a reason I say the shortening did fuck all to these character arcs because they follow the same god damned patterns) so that stuff needs to be in the backstory, like his scout training.

And to me, that is the antithesis of a backstory. Unless the point is that they're different from who they used to be, which it's often not for TOH, it should reinforce what we know about them. How did they get to the point they're at. It's actually one of the only strengths narratively of Them's the Breaks because the final challenge by Terra is a good moment to make Eda start rethinking her long term goals and if she likes the coven system at all.

It would just work way better if her present day character was anti-coven because it pits people against each other and tears the Isles apart instead of just "It makes you way less cooler than me because I can do ALL styles of magic." As such... It's them acknowledging what a good motivation in the setting and plot would have been but recognizing it too late so they have to add it as a retcon.

And you can only get away with that trick so many times before it feels like your story is a house of cards trying to pretend it's made out of stone.

==========

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead, If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

[darkthingshappen]

Baby Steps: A Brother's Keeper story

Things have been rough for Ben lately, so I thought he could use some future comfort. This is set a few weeks after his rescue and before his eventual recapture. Zoe is a new favorite character. She's just soooo good for my sweet Ben.

CW for alluded to past noncon, torture, and abuse

Tagging List: @i-can-even-burn-salad @peachy-panic @deluxewhump @arwenadreamer @whumpcereal @melancholy-in-the-morning @dont-touch-my-soup @whumpsday @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert @melennui @susiequaz12 @morning-star-whump @crystalquartzwhump @whump-and-other-things @mylifeisonthebookshelf @reflected-pain @hold-him-down @quietshae @sparrowsage (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone - please let me know if I am and I’ll fix it. I’m still getting used to this) 

Thanks again to the AMAZING @whumpcereal for being the BEST BETA IN THE WORLD!!!!!

Zoe stood looking in on Ben.  Like so many days that she had come to visit him since he came home, he was curled up in bed, staring at nothing.  He wasn’t literally catatonic, but he couldn’t engage.  It had only been a few weeks since he’d come home and she knew the basics of what had happened to him.  No one wanted to tell her, but she’d insisted Jake tell her.  

He’s my boyfriend, Jake.  He’s been my best friend since we were sixteen years old.  I have a right to know.  

No you don’t.  He wouldn’t want you knowing.

Jake, he’s fucking catatonic!  I can’t help him if I don’t know what he’s been through.  I love him too, you know.

I know you do, but… Jake’s voice had faltered.  Zoe, it’s really bad.  Like, he’s been through literal hell. 

All the more reason for me to know.  He’s going to need me to find his way back.  Honestly, Jake, just tell me.  I can handle it.  And it can’t be any worse than what I’m imagining.  I’ve seen some of the marks on his body.  They didn’t come from just a beating.

Jake hung his head and relented. 

It had been as bad as she’d imagined.  Worse in so many ways.  Jake flat out refused to show her the pictures, but she didn’t need them.  She read through the file, the abuse, the torture, the ways he’d been used.  The way he’d been found.  She’d had her own nightmares since then.  It wasn’t like reading a story or a news article.  It was real.  This happened to her family.   

Her sweet Ben, the man she loved who would never have hurt anyone ever, the man who held the door open for her, the man that had always treated her with such tenderness.  Her sweetheart since they were sixteen years old, had been so brutalized that he was a shell of himself.  Her heart broke for him every time she saw him.  

He looked so small in his bed, the covers pulled up to his chin.  She didn’t have to see to know what he’d be wearing - a giant oversized long sleeve t-shirt, baggy pajama bottoms that swallowed him, every inch of his body covered to hide the brutal scars and marks of his captivity they all knew were there.  She could still see the scar on his cheek from where he’d been hit so hard or so many times that it had opened up and never healed properly.  

She wanted to take his broken body in her arms and hold him until all the hurt was gone.  But life was never that simple.  He desperately needed a kind and gentle human touch, but every touch terrified him and threatened to send him back to that place.  For a moment, a fury washed over her that was almost overwhelming.  She hated the men that had done this to her sweet Ben.  Who could look at him, could know him, and ever want to hurt him?  What kind of person did that to another?  Alexsei fucking Volkov, that’s who, her brain supplied unhelpfully.  

God, if she could get her hands on that man she was certain her fury and vitriol would be enough to give her the strength to tear him apart, to rip his body to tiny little pieces and then feed them to the fucking dogs.  And even that would be better than what he deserved.  A small, very violent part of her, wanted him to have to suffer the same way Ben had suffered.  But she didn’t want to dwell on that because then she’d have to think about what that monster did to him.  

She slowly walked into the room, not wanting to startle him.  There had been several occasions where one or all of them had accidentally sent Ben spiraling into a flashback.  The visits were hard, but she made herself keep coming.  It wasn’t a chore, not really.  Not for Ben.  She’d keep trying to get through to him for the rest of her life if that’s what it took.  

“Hey, Benny,” she said lightly, sitting slightly away from him on the bed.  

Ben’s eyes seemed to suddenly focus, and they found hers.  HIs soft brown eyes that used to be filled with lightness and mirth were haunted and filled with fear more often than not now.  She could see the moment that he realized it was her and not them in his room.  His tense muscles relaxed slightly, and he smiled sadly at her, like he’d done something wrong. It made Zoe’s blood boil to see Ben’s shame. He didn’t deserve it. He was innocent. He’d always been.

“Hey, Zo.”

“How ya doing today?”

“Oh, um…”  

Words were no longer easy for him.  He struggled with expressing basic thoughts, which never used to be the case. Probably had to do with so much time spent gagged or muzzled.  Who fucking muzzles a person?  Who would muzzle Ben?  Why?  Why would anyone want to silence him?  Zoe shoved her anger back down.  

“I, I, I…” Ben huffed out a frustrated breath.  “I’m.  Okay.”  He had to say each word specifically.  But they both knew he wasn’t okay.  It was just the expected response.  Polite, appropriate.

“Are you?”

He looked at her again, sad eyes that used to dance.  

Zoe swallowed and gently touched his hand, even though she knew it was a risk.  He stiffened for a moment and then relaxed and returned her grasp.  

“I know you’re doing your best, Benny.  But you can’t do it all on your own.  W-will you let me help you?” she asked quietly.  

“I don’t know if you can.” Ben turned back to the wall. “The doctors said I’m fine physically.  But, I’m never going to be the same again.  I’ve said it before, Zo.  I think you should move on.  I’m no good for you anymore.  I can’t be the man you deserve.  I-I-”

“If you say you're broken or ruined one more time… I swear to God I’m gonna-”

Ben shrank in on himself a bit at her words and frustrated tone.  “It’s true,” he whispered.  

Zoe took a deep breath through her nose.  “Ben, if the situation were reversed and I was the one that was abducted and… and… and.. went through what you went through, would you stop loving me?”

Ben’s face paled and he looked like he might be sick.  Then anger flicked across his expression and then a cold resolve.  She understood.  He’d had a brief flashback but had seen her there instead of him.  The thought clearly horrified him, made him sick and angry.  She could read him so well, even after all of this.  

“I never stopped loving you.” He looked back at her. It was the strongest and most defiant voice she’d heard from him since his return.  

“I know, love.  But would you think I was a lost cause if it were me instead of you?”

Again the horror and fear and anger crossed his face at the thought of someone doing all that he’d endured to her.  His hands clenched into fists.

“Never.”

“Then why do you think I should leave you behind?  I could never do that.  You’re my best friend, my first and only love.  You’re the man I want to grow old with.”

“But I don’t know that I can be that man for you anymore.  Zoe, the things he did to me…”

“I don’t care.  I just want you.  Even if it’s just to sit with you, or to lay next to you at night.  I just want to be with you.”

“But you deserve more.”

“No, I deserve you.  Because you are the man I love.  The one God brought to me.  None of that has changed.”  She moved her hands slowly, so he could see, and took his face in her hands, her thumb just barely caressing the scar on his cheek.  “I love you, Benny.  Just you.  It’s always been you and will always be you.”  She leaned forward and barely touched her lips to his forehead, his eyelids, the scar, the tip of his nose.  

When she pulled back, he had tears running down his cheeks.  Her thumbs wiped them away. .  

“Was that too much?” she whispered.  “I’m sorry, Benny.”  She started to let go of his face but he reached up and grabbed her fingers.  

“No.  No, it’s not.  Please.”

“Please what, Benny.  Anything you want, just say it.”  Her voice was soft, like the barest breath of wind.  

“Stay with me.”

Zoe smiled sweetly at his request, but that wasn’t what her goal was for the day.  She looked him over, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the too pale skin.  No, she wouldn’t let him languish in this room all day everyday.  He had to get out.  It wasn’t good for him to hide from the world.  Still, baby steps.  Tiny, fractional, microscopic baby steps.  But always moving forward.  That’s what she could help him do.  Move forward.  

“No.  You’e coming with me this time,” she said with her own playful grin on her face.  

“Wha-?”

“Ben, you can’t stay in bed all the time, come with me.”

“No… No, I can’t.”

“You can.  Just hold my hand.  Don’t let go.  Come on.”  She held his gaze gently.  “Trust me,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.  

Zoe pulled him up gently.  His shirt slipped up slightly as the blankets shifted and she caught sight of the scars and ink that covered him.  Fucking Alexsei Volkov!  Ben tugged his shirt down hurriedly, glancing nervously at Zoe.  She just smiled and pretended not to see.  

She leaned her head against his shoulder once they were both standing.  “I love you.”

He leaned his head down on top of hers.  He’d forgotten how perfectly they fit together.  “Love you too,” he whispered as if nothing had changed.  “I’m still kinda weak, so… where are we going?”

“Just down to the garden.  You look like you could use some sunshine.”

Zoe led them down to the back door, holding Ben’s hand the whole time.  She paused to grab a blanket off the back of the couch.  

Zoe let go of his hand just long enough to spread the blanket out on the grass.  The day was warm, and the flowers were blooming in the afternoon sun.  She sank down onto the soft blanket and pulled Ben with her.  

She held him against her and whispered in his ear.  “Just relax.  It’s warm, you’re safe.  Feel the breeze on your face, the sun on your skin, the softness of the blanket under your fingers.  Listen to the sound of my voice, the birds in the trees.  Smell the flowers in the garden, the fresh cut grass all around us.  See the blue sky above you, the colors in the flowers of the garden, the stone wall surrounding us…” she trailed off quietly and gently rubbed his arm with just her fingernails.  

“And what am I supposed to taste?” he said, smiling up at her, and for a moment it was almost a real Ben smile.  The Ben from before.  There was the barest hint of mischievousness in his eyes.  

“What do you want to taste?”

“I… I thought a lot about your lipgloss when I was gone?”

Gone. That’s how he always said it. Like he’d just been away on a trip. But they both knew there were parts of him that would never come home. Still, Zoe forced herself to smile. 

“My lipgloss?”

“The watermelon one.  You know.  That one that was your favorite and that when they stopped selling it you went online and bought every tube you could find.”

“I still have it.”

“Are you wearing it now?”

‘Yes…”

“Then… then that’s what I want.”  It was hesitant and with a question in his eyes, but also bold and beautiful.

Zoe smiled down at him where he lay across her lap.  She leaned down and brushed her lips against his and then pulled away.  She watched him lick his lips and taste her.  They both knew they were waiting to see if he had a flashback.  

“Breeze in my hair, sun on my face, birds in the air, and your taste on my tongue.  Can… can we do that again?” he asked quietly.  

“As often as you want, my love.” 

Ben reached up and pulled her down towards him, the kiss was longer this time.  Zoe felt Ben’s tongue just barely touch her lips.  He didn’t push further and she didn’t ask for more.  It was enough for now.  

*!*!*!*!*  

Maria Adkins smiled as she looked down into the garden from the second story landing at the top of the stairs.    

“What ya looking at mom?” Jake asked.  Maria jumped slightly, she hadn’t realized her oldest was upstairs.  “Oh, nothing.  Just a nice day.”

Jake, sensing that wasn’t exactly true, stepped up next to her.  He smiled warmly when he saw his brother on the grass below.  “A nice day indeed.”  

Maria put her arm around his back.  Both her boys were taller than her, but she found it didn’t matter much. They both still needed her so much. Jake leaned against her, and she felt his breath hitch beneath her arm.

“I’m sorry, Mom.  I know I can never say it enough.  But I really am.”  

So much had happened since that day with the FBI where they’d learned what had happened.  So very much.  And she knew her boys adored each other.  Jake may have been the connection to that monster, but it wasn’t his fault.  She knew he’d have traded places with Ben in a heartbeat to save him from what had happened.  If anything, this had made Jake finally straighten up.  

She missed the humor and swagger that he’d often carried about him.  In many ways, both her boys were broken by this common event.  She could read it in Jake’s eyes, the guilt, the horror.  He’d bear that for the rest of his life.  There was no way he could have known.  No way for anyone to have known what lengths that bastard would take.  She’d long forgiven Jake for his role, but it would be a long time before Jake could forgive himself.  

“Stop, Jake.  Let’s just enjoy this for now.  Today is a good day.  We’re together and we’re safe.  Let’s just be glad for that.”

Jake leaned down and bumped his head against his mom’s shoulder, and she squeezed him around the middle.  They heard the front door open, and when Jacob Adkins announced he was home from work, they let him know they were upstairs.  

He joined them on the landing and smiled at the sight in the garden.  If his eyes grew glassy and moist, no one called him on it.  

“Come on,” Maria said softly.  “They’ll be okay.  Let’s go get dinner ready.  Jacob, I need the trash put out; and Jake, you can set the table.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both answered and turned to give the couple in the back garden some privacy.  

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

The Temptation of the Immortals (3)

Warnings: cursing, canon typical violence for the Percy Jackson series, spoilers for the Percy Jackson series, nightmares, the gods being absent parents, references to Greek Mythology, mentions of starvation and trauma.

“Reading is boring (Name).”  Alexander complained once he’d eaten his lunch and after you asked him to choose his book.  The sudden change in mood startled you – when you introduced yourself to him, the boy was so cheerful and he had spent twenty minutes showing you all of his toys.  He had explained which ones were his favourites and which ones he loved to cuddle with.

“Why do you think it’s boring?”

Alexander scuffed the toe of his shoe across the floor, “It just is.”

“Okay.”  You selected a book at random and opened to the first page with pictures, “How about you tell me what is happening in this picture?”  You asked, pointing to a picture of a boy walking a dog under a blue sky.

Alexander glared up at you, “I’m six not stupid!  The boy is walking a dog and there aren’t any clouds in the sky.  Then later in the book, the boy gets wet.”

You frowned, “How does the boy get wet?”

Alexander shrugged, “I don’t know.  He just does.”  When he finished speaking, Alexander decided to stare out of the window as if whatever was on the other side was more interesting than your conversation.

“The letters float off the page when you read, right?  That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek.”  The words that Annabeth spoke an eternity ago when she was explaining your place in the camp to you sounded in your mind as clear as if she were standing right next to you now.

“It’s a long shot but I wonder….”

“Do you have paper and a pen to write with?”

Clearly confused, Alexander nodded slowly and walked away from you.  You barely had enough time to figure out what he could do while he waited before the child returned clutching a writing book and a pen which he handed to you.

“This isn’t going to take me long,” you promised as you flipped open the book and began to copy the sentence out in ancient Greek.  “While I do this, do you have a favourite animal?”

Alexander nodded again and you smiled encouragingly at the boy.  You sat down and he mirrored your action, sitting cross legged opposite you.

“What’s your favourite animal?”

“I like dogs.”  The boy stated immediately with all the conviction a six-year-old could possess.  “They never lie and they always tell you how they’re feeling.  I wish we could get a dog but dad says no.”

“I wanted a pet when I was your age too but we didn’t have the space for one.”

“The place you lived in must’ve been tiny.”

“It was,” you agreed, knowing that Alexander’s understanding of the word tiny and yours were probably very different.  “We had enough space for my mum to buy ivy that lived in a pot plant so I looked after that instead.”

“What are you writing?”  The boy asked.

“Have a look,” you suggested and handed the book over to him while you fiddled with the pen.

“The boy is taking the dog for a walk outside.  He is wearing a red t-shirt, blue shorts, and a hat.  The dog’s fur is brown.”  Alexander read haltingly.

“That’s good!”  You praised when he finished the last sentence.  Inwardly, your heart sank.  “I can’t believe some of the Olympians are still repeating the same patterns of behaviour.  Is it a five-thousand-year-old habit?  Or an unwillingness to change?”

Then another, worse thought occurred to you, “How am I going to tell them?  They’re going to think I’m insane.”

“I did it!  I can read this!”  He cried happily.

The rest of the afternoon passed in the same way.  You would write a sentence from the book and Alexander would read it.  As the book progressed, Alexander grew more and more interested in reading and when he finished reading the sentences that you had written, he looked up at you as if to say, “Is that it?”

The door handle turned and Alexander jumped up happily.  The door cracked open and Alexander launched himself over to it as quickly as his feet could carry him, “Dad!  Dad!  I did it!  I read a book!”

Bryan must have been used to his son’s energy because he opened the door fully and scooped his son into a hug, “That’s my boy!  I knew you could do it!”

Feeling like you were intruding on a private moment, you climbed to your feet.  The movement drew father and son’s eyes to you, “It’s not often that I’m impressed.  You’ve done a good job today.”

“Why don’t you tell my dad what you think of him?”  Alexander recommended, resting his head on his dad’s shoulder.

A fog descended over your mind and all you could think about was telling Bryan how handsome he’d looked in his suit when you first met.  The fog felt invasive yet familiar and you bit down on your tongue in an effort to control yourself.  The sting of your teeth on your tongue sent a spark of pain through you and the fog cleared.  At the same time, you realised why the fog felt familiar and your heart sunk even further.

“I should be going,” you replied.  “It’s not fair if I leave Piper to close up the museum by herself again.”

Alexander was looking at you with wide eyes and you could feel his gaze on you even as you left the apartment and heard Bryan telling his son that he’d found a new school for him.  When you returned to the museum to find Piper locking up the doors a few minutes earlier than your usual closing time, you forced a smile and told her that Alexander was a bright kid.

“See?  I knew it would be all right!”  Piper crowed triumphantly.  “I do have good ideas!  Say it!  Say it!”

“You have good ideas, Piper.”  You admitted.

“And you should have more faith in me.”  Piper added as she linked her arm through yours.

“Piper, I trust you with the world and with my life.  Is that not good enough?”

“It’s more than good enough.”  She affectionately flicked you on the nose and grinned at the face you made.

You wished her a good night and then the two of you parted ways.  In your apartment, you stared down at the water streaming from the kitchen tap and into the sink.  Fumbling behind you, you grabbed your purse and pulled out a drachma.

“O Iris, Goddess of the rainbow, accept my offering.”  You prayed before flicking the coin into the stream, “Show me Chiron at Camp Half-Blood.”

For a moment, nothing changed.  Then the water shimmered and twisted becoming similar to a TV screen yet the image was still blurry.  Calling on your last shred of patience, you waited for the image to clear and when it did, you recognised the surroundings immediately and the occupant of the Big House.

“Hi, Dad.”

[nzn43]

Little experiment AU

So I did say i had this new AU idea but this time it's not just MT angst but everyone angst as well so let's get into it :D

Little experiment AU is where the everyone is around the age 10-20.

The Oldest to youngest in order-

Victim-King-Lime-RB-Orchid(The fan made wife Lime for those who don't know, I am adding her in for plot)

Dark-Chosen(Twins)-Second

Gold-Purple-Blue-Yellow-Green-Red.

In Little experiment AU everyone are adoptive siblings with each other with some exceptions like the opposite couples(Lime King and RB Orchid)

Plot summary:

Everyone is experiment different ways, thinking with enough stress or abused that they would finally unlock powers.

-Chosen and Dark are put into a different part of the section, they will be experimented together as to see how the twins power works -Was about to take Second into another but King got a bit protective, let's leave it at that -Both Lime and Orchid are dead, King stays with the rest but RB will be put somewhere else after showing violence against Purple(adoptive sibling but now adopted into the King's siblings) as well as the co-workers. -Something stirs in each sibling and has been yet discovered. -King always seem to have nightmare, calling out the name that has died for a long time. -Red is the youngest of out everyone, it's hard to get to him if everyone always blocks the path. No matter, once he grows old enough, he can handle on his own with our test

[danceswithdarkspawn]

Trick or treat!

I took a while to answer this because I had no idea what to reply with lmao

Soooo...I think I'll do a few things? Kind of like a full-sized candy bar.

Some (hopefully) fun facts about Broken Bird:

Many of the chapter names come from The Chant of Light, a religious text within the universe. Some of these include: For Darkness, Light; Hushed Whispers; Turning of Seasons; and With Passion'd Breath.

Similarly the chapter The Dragon in the Chantry refers to both the actual dragon that appears in the nightmare at the start of the chapter, as well as the hypothetical dragon that is Ariel being down bad, in denial about it, but it's super obvious to everyone else. (Its like an elephant in the room but it's a dragon because Dragon Age haha I'm funny)

Despite not being particularly religious (and in some cases showing disdain for the Chantry) Ariel's name is Hebrew in origin, meaning lion of God. I apologize to any of you who think of The Little Mermaid when she's brought up.

Ariel is shorter than Leliana. Do with that what you will. (guess which one likes to be the big spoon)

I unfortunately don't have much new to share of the upcoming chapter but I do have scraps of things I had ideas for and wrote ahead of time (I'm so sorry in advance for this one oh my god):

She rolls off, laying into my side, slurring apologies and laughing as she brushes the hair from my face. And then her touch slows, searches, lingers before coming to rest against my cheek. My heart starts to gallop as I stare up at her against the darkness, watching the tilt of her head. From here, I can almost feel her breath against my skin, smell the wine that lingers there, and my mouth goes dry as I wonder what succor tastes like. "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?" she says just above a whisper, and I swear she comes closer with each word. My head works against two brands of drunk, but somehow I sober enough to become acutely aware of the way her body is pressed into and draped over mine. I have to clear my throat to respond. "Other than old women trying to be nice to me, you mean? Not really, no." A long breath passes; the pad of her thumb drifts over the scar on my face. "You think they're beautiful?"

Finally, from something else I am (very slowly) chipping away at:

He studied her for a long moment. "Look, boss, you've been acting all...I don't know, twitchy, since shit went down at Haven." Elisabeth quirked a brow and carefully turned on her seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Please tell me you didn't bring me here to tell me I fucked up. I already have people for that." "Actually, I thought you handled it just fine. Could've gone completely ass over tits, but it didn't." "So?" Bull made a motion for another drink. Elisabeth watched with a mix of disgust and awe as he downed it. "You're a dedicated woman," he said, and she let out a humorless laugh. "Anyone who can face down an ancient magister asshole and live to tell about it has my respect."

[comradeocean]

Andor ep 11 spoilers

as a faildaughter/failgranddaughter, having family members die before you could belatedly fulfil a single aspect of long disappointed hopes is a nightmare I am continuously living through, so the episode ending was instant waterworks for me.

just to torture myself, I went back and watched all the Cassian Maarva scenes and was slightly relieved to discover it wasn't just some weird emotional imagined over-identification on my part (I mean, it is obviously, but it's also a key aspect of the actual characterization from the show). like, from ep 1, Cassian is the quintessential bright but angry and troubled kid getting mixed up with local ne'er do wells, making rash decisions, breaking hearts left and right, and just generally having a rough time of it because life served him a shit sandwich from the get-go. which, as a ne'er do well smuggler herself, who literally, you know, abducted the kid, Maarva has enough personal experience with, and is self-aware enough, and decent enough, to be able to handle it the best it could be handled given the circumstances (that she had no small part in creating): a door that is never locked, a bed laid out for him, and the awareness that she's in no position to judge. which she couldn't always do, obviously, because she's prickly and judgmental and had all kinds of opinions about his friends and the girls and how he spent his time and money, and nagged him about it and complained to anyone who would listen and probably lots of people who preferred not to. so she wasn't nice about it. but she tried. and her love was never in doubt. never conditional or predicated on what he got up to or what he made of himself.

which he must have known and felt at such an intrinsic level and loved her back just as instinctively and intrinsically, because even as he was forever helplessly making Maarva fret, he was doing his utmost to hide the worst of it from her because it's not like he wanted to cause trouble. he was just trying to survive, to the best of his ability, the way life and Clem and Maarva taught him, to the bests and worsts of their abilities. whatever their history and their temperaments, there's nothing more he wanted than to be able to take care of his ma and make her proud. which he's never fully been capable of, and definitely not both at the same time. until now. but she's dead. and that's just life.

the first time, maybe, he had to try to be the only one who could do something for her, was to end the physical horror of Clem's body hung up and swinging in the square. and he failed, probably, because he ran up to those troopers with nothing but his old wooden blow-gun from Kenari. Only made things worse maybe, because he probably got locked up for it and Maarva lost him for a time too, in addition to losing Clem.

and the last thing he ended up being able to do for her, even if he didn't set out to do it, was to banish the metaphysical horror of Clem's body in that square. forever! for good! and she'll never know. he had to make sure of it. and their last conversation was a fight. a point of seemingly-fundamental contradiction that was not resolvable but that she had hope could be resolvable even if he did not and which turned out to be eminently resolvable but is no longer resolvable because she is dead. and that's just life.

[some-creep]

🙏 I am respectfully begging you to pls write more hotaao, literally any scenario with them, that recent thing you wrote was fucking incredible 💖💚

Hey anon I want you to know when I got this I screenshot it and showed all my friends because I was really excited to see it. I know it took a while to respond but that's because I wanted to write something in honor of this ask,,, :')

-----------

Marie took any excuse she could to go to Callie's house. Her own house didn't feel safe, even when she was alone. It was fun to run off to her aunt and uncle's house and pretend everything was normal and no one was cruel to her and her mind was quiet. If she was alone for too long, her mind started drifting to dark places. If she thought about Callie in an attempt to feel better, then it went somewhere worse.

Years ago, and she would never tell a soul, Marie had become particularly attached to one photo of Callie from her family vacation to a small, not far off amusement park called The Salty Ink Boardwalk. Marie had never been. They had a small water park area, and one of Callie's parents had taken a picture of her by a swimming pool in a cute two piece bathing suit.

It was the first time Marie had ever really noticed girls. Or anyone, for that matter. She was fixated on how looking at it made her feel, until one day, she did the unthinkable. She touched herself while staring at the picture on her phone. She knew she'd crossed a line that she couldn't come back from, and vowed never to do it or think about it again. Most importantly, the real Callie could never know it happened! She didn't delete the picture until several months later. Just in case.

Callie was alone tonight, with her parents out on an anniversary date to some fancy hotel. Callie's parents loved each other…she was lucky. They loved her, too! They liked Marie, but not as much as their own daughter. She was just the weird little niece who came over way, way too much.

"But Marie! Isn't that a scary movie?" Callie whined when she saw Marie's idea of evening entertainment. She always liked it when Marie came over, but sometimes she was a little odd. It was dark out, and they were totally alone in the house. Callie wasn't confident she could handle something like that without having nightmares. Maybe if Marie stayed in her room she'd feel better. And if they could leave the overhead light on all night.

"Yeah, that's why I brought it. It's seasonal! Besides, aren't you a little old to be scared of horror movies?"

"No. They're scary. That's the point! To be scared and afraid."

"Those mean the same thing. C'mon, I'll make popcorn and you can hide under a blanket if it's too much~."

Food was always a quick way to win Callie over, especially when it was something she couldn't easily get on her own. Which was most things. She was talented in many areas, but the kitchen was not one of them. She reluctantly agreed to Marie's offer, and soon enough, she was sitting on the couch with a large bowl of popcorn and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

"Why'd you turn the lights off too! It's already dark outside!"

"You're basically an adult and you're still scared of the dark?" 

Callie huffed, hugging the bowl to her chest, "all mine now. Meanie." 

Marie flopped down next to her, shoving her entire hand into the bowl and spilling several kernels onto the blanket and floor. "Gimme."

She shook her head, turning away. "Watch your scary movie, I'm busy," Callie said, back to Marie.

Marie knew it wouldn't last long, and Callie's curiosity would get the better of her like always. 

A few minutes in and Callie had already turned back around, setting the bowl on the table to share, if Marie really wanted.

"Hey, is that that one actor?"

"Who?"

"That guy! He was in…that one movie! I like him, he kinda looks like you, don'tcha think?"

Marie shrugged, "I dunno what you mean."

"Well, he's always got a really serious expression and those really pretty gold eyes."

She blushed, brushing off her comment with only silence. She did her best to look interested in the movie, but now she could barely process what was being said.

Things only got worse when a fake jump scare was enough to startle Callie. Instinctively, she jumped to Marie for comfort, holding onto her arm and pressing up against her. Marie held her breath until she calmed down.

"Scaredy Cal."

Despite the insult, Callie didn't back down. She leaned on Marie just like she used to do when they were younger. She could smell Callie's body wash this close. Melon of some variety, she thought.

She let her mind wander, indulging in the fantasy that Callie was doing this on purpose. That she knew how Marie felt. Definitely not possible.

"Snuggle better." Callie demanded, pulling Marie's arm around her shoulders. "You're supposed to be protecting me from the scary stuff."

She tried, and failed, to relax. It was obvious how tense she was… Hopefully, Callie would think she was just freaked out by the movie that she had long since stopped watching.

Marie began slowly rubbing Callie's arm over the blanket. It was a gesture she seemed to enjoy as she snuggled up closer, nearly in Marie's lap now. When Callie reached up to grab her hand, she was certain she was going to stop her. Instead Callie just held onto it. No way it was a coincidence..! She wanted to push her luck, just a little.

As subtle as she could manage, Marie rested her other hand on Callie's thigh, deliberately not taking her eyes off the TV. Callie didn't seem bothered. A victory? She was feeling confident now, for a brief, thrilling moment.

They sat together like that for a while, in comfortable silence. Callie had her head resting against Marie, still holding her hand. It was nice, while it lasted, though not long enough in Marie's mind. A rather abrupt sex scene caught them both off guard. They both tried to act disinterested so as not to seem weird to the other. In an attempt to look at anything but the screen, they mistakenly looked at each other, freezing in place.

Callie had a peculiar look on her face as she peered up at Marie. She was thinking about something, or maybe trying not to think of it. Marie didn't have a chance to do anything before Callie quickly, wordlessly, kissed her. Less than a second worth of contact. She bit her lip, waiting for Marie's reaction, holding her breath.

Marie blinked. Then stared. She opened her mouth, wanting to say… something. She didn't know what. Nothing.

She grabbed Callie's face, kissing her like she'd never kissed anyone before (she hadn't). Don't think about it, don't think about it. She tasted like sugar, likely from all the candy she ate when she thought no one noticed. But more importantly, she tasted like Callie. That was enough to make her dizzy. 

Was she doing a good job? Did Callie like it? What if she wasn't good enough? Callie had kissed people before! She could judge her performance. Would she do that? Was that a thing people did? She had no past experiences to know what was normal. All she could think about was Callie. How much she wanted Callie. Needed Callie. 

Kissing Callie felt like home. She was so warm and soft and safe. But Marie was miserable and greedy. She'd never had anything and now she wanted everything.

Callie didn't.

Marie snapped back into reality when Callie grabbed her wrist. She'd pushed it up under her shirt, but didn't get far.

"Ah, hey, hey, Marie. Not so fast…"

She froze, realizing what had just happened between them. She wanted to cry, but not in front of Callie.

"I gotta get home. My parents are gonna wonder where I am." She didn't and they weren't.

Callie didn't argue. Marie pulled her shoes on, sprinting into the blankness of Calamari County.

[energywarning]

can i have ripley/agent 3 headcanons pspsps ( btw i fucking adore how you draw the agents so much OUGH )

(TYYY😭😭.)

yes. Let us fucking go babey...

-Semi secret nerd. Its not that they hid it . Like for a while they just forgot what hobbies they have. Engrossed by agent work they p much only did tht and it kinda it took over their life ? I mean not that they were very social (they werent .... at all) but like theyd at the very least go walk thru the city, look up new shows to watch n shit at the video store. When alex, them n eight start talking to eachother on the regular alex asks them what they enjoy doing in their free time and they just go "uh." Cus they forgot what they liked at this point they dont do shit. Agent work+ turf war when they can (which is rarely, so they got behind on bills etc. Wrote abt that already i think ). Eat and then sleep lmao.

Fave viddy game :metal gear solid 2, tekken 4.

Fave Music: a few machine girl songs. Some linkin park. like 2 songs. Initial d love is in danger eurobeat types. Asura... Dare i say some sleeping at last even .they Listen to the ultra sappy songs and Think. If anyone were to learn abt that theyd be pretty embarassed though probably.(author note :those artists /viddy games etc exist in sploon somehow. Cus i said so though any reference to animals that do not exist in sploon are like. Changed up and all lol. Solid snake might be solid eel for example)

- raised w the "pull yourself by the bootstraps bitch" mentality. Result is ?? Bad? Thinks... badly of themself. has way too much trouble asking for anything to ppl they care abt bc the "deserving to do so" bar they set up for themself is quite literaly impossible to reach . Will Push Themself till they break, "BOOO I SUCK i am not good enough i am not trying hard enough *going above and beyond*" 0 respect for themself. *like. dying or smth* no no its fine i am Fine.

.. Stuff like that.

They are like self aware enough that its not a good thing to do to others but not enough to know they dont deserve to treat themself that way as well most of the time.

-managed to have this p funny dynamic w marie when they started out as an agent where they did whatever was asked of them (3 go on this mission now yes i know its 4am. Also go buy a crusty seanwich for gramps, also can you buy me a lottery ticket-) but behaved in a way equivalent to a rock Emotionally .To the point where they got labeled as a brat/bitchy(ripley wasnt meant to know about it but callie talks... A lot.). When they didnt really do anything lol??? Resting bitch face+lonely+bad at talking rip. Mentioning it bc it makes me laugh + marie feels so guilty still about it. Marie feels guilty about a lot actually.

- barely moves in their sleep. is also a very light sleeper. Used to sleep with one eye open like they say... has trouble falling asleep . Often, somewhat. Nightmares and all, if the nightmare is p bad enough to wake them up theyll just curl up and try not to shake/cry too much.

- has a knife under the mattress /couch w the handle poking out for quick access. Just in case someone breaks in... or smth. Alex thinks this is . Peculiar as hell but ripley has always done this so they dont see the issue.

- horror viddygames/movies doesnt scare them... if anything it makes them laugh ("Wow the ink there is really badly done... haha").

- an excellent cook, makes food for eight and alex whenever they can. Goes to the market to get the freshest ingredients and all the sellers are afraid of them. What can i say they Love Haggling <3 .

- fashion is not their forte. I mean they have a style... sorta, not really. Likes comfy clothes, sportsy a bit. Casual shirts and all. Maybe a bit of casual whatever the fuck its called...military ish ? Very-Old-grandfathercore clothing even. but just looks at those types of clothes from afar (eight looking at ripley in the background taking notes of what theyre looking at so that she can buy those for them later LOL). ( they do not like buying themself things, . "I have clothes that are still in wearable state. Somewhat. why would i buy anything rn do i even have enough money for this"). Almost Any nice/fancy clothes they have, were bought by eight, or alex, or pearl actually. But mostly eight.

- likes collecting small rocks from when they go on hikes lol.

- talking abt hikes. And camping. Theyre pretty ultralight about this. And by that i mean the only things they bring are:

a raincoat (if they know its gonna rain), something to disinfect small cuts, A sak(swiss army knife), a lighter, their walking poles.

And a pocket blanket, re usable survival blanket bag style .

Glamping for them is sleeping on a hammock.

Now of course if they go camp w eight its not the same bc eight wont let them sleep on the ground ??? Duh??? "You go in the tent with me now ripley thank you" "but its a 1 person tent there will be condensation-" "now please! :)"

-cant fake smile... does so anyway, a bit awkward for them .they look in pain if anything, even if they are not and just trying to be a normal person and flash . A Normie smile that people have.

- Sneezes like an old man or whatever you know those sneezes that wakes the dog up n shit.

- when they got back from agent work and went on their way home at night, sometimes they said fuck it and took a detour, or stopped a few bus stops before and just walked, not so safe sure but the sights sure are pretty, the cold air felt (feels) nice. After enough walking they bought a soda and just chilled on a bench, they either got up and went home for real or fell asleep there if they wer3 too tired. A small indulgence but it broke from the work eat sleep thing they had going on. Starts to do this w 8 and 4 too shortly after they meet+talk to eachother(the walking at night part not the sleeping on a public bench), its a nice moment to have and to share.

I probably had more in my head but u kno. I forgor like they say. Also im not rewritting anything else i posted abt b4 in full cus im lazy hhah.

Ty for the ask feel free to send another one if u have other questions ^_^

[edogawa-division]

ARB Birthday Special: Kanra Akemi

~~ March 14th ~~ 

“Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle.”

Login Lines:

“Huh? A gift for me? Thanks! But…what's it for?”

“My birthday? Ah! I forgot all about it! Thanks for reminding me.”

Voice Lines:

“I’m a little sad. None of my classmates wished me a Happy Birthday today, they were all too busy with the fact it was White Day. I didn't even get any chocolate from that either.”

“Some of the gangs I've beaten up came up to me to wish me Happy Birthday. They kept mentioning something about swearing fealty. I'm not sure what they mean by that.”

“I'm 17 now but I think calling myself 3 years old fits better. That's how long I've been “Kanra Akemi” ya know.”

“Yuriko-san and Kaoru found me today too. They thought I was a corpse someone abandoned in the middle of an alleyway. So it surprised them when they saw I was still alive.”

“I…had another nightmare last night. I usually don't remember much of what happens but this time I remembered someone calling me nothing more than an empty doll.”

“Thanks, Yuriko-san. The years have gone by pretty fast, haven't they? Hm? Did you say something? Don't remind me. I don't want to think about college anytime soon. *pauses* Are you tearing up? *pouts* I'm not a baby.”

“What did you get me? Sweet! It's a guitar! I've wanted to learn how to play one for a while now. I promise! Hopefully, I'll be good enough to play it for my song on our next album. *hugs* Thanks, Mom!”

“ABBA? Really? It's a classic for old people like you. No, wait! Kaoru, I'm sorry! You're not old! Yes! What did you get me? What do you mean it's outside? Okay, they're closed.”

“Woah! Is that a motorcycle?! Hey! It's not my fault I'm small, but I barely managed to reach the gears when Aranai-senpai showed me how to drive hers. Really? What she'd say? Yep, that sounds like Aranai-senpai. Oh yeah! Let's go! *grabs keys* Thank you Kaoru! *hugs* Ah! Sorry!”

Yuriko Lines:

“Happy Birthday Kanra. It seems like it was just yesterday when we first found you. God, you looked so much like a corpse. It was nothing dear. Oh in just a few more years, you'll be a fully grown adult. Next thing you know you'll graduate high school and be off toward college. My baby is growing up, isn't she?”

“Now I got you a gift for the occasion. I know you've been wanting one for a while now so I got you this. Now promise me you'll be gentle with it. It's not meant to handle your strength. *crack* Y-y-you're welcome, dear.”

Kaoru Lines:

“Happy Birthday Kanra! Young and sweet! Only seventeen! Hey ABBA is a classic. Oi! Who are you calling old? Anyway just for that I'm not gonna give you my gift. *snorts* Hahaha! Okay, I'm not that mean. Come on, it's outside so close your eyes.”

“Ta-da! I know you've been wanting to get one but considering how tiny you are it's been kinda hard finding one that fits. So I built a custom one for you. I even got Aranai's advice on what to include in it. She told me and I quote “Make it fast enough that no cop can catch her”. *holds out key* So how about it? Wanna take her out on a trip? Kanra wait! *crunch* N-n-not again.”