#oneiroi collective

[zal-cryptid]

SCP-2901 and SCP-1498

[hisclockworkservants]

SCP Foundation art, logo design for "Lotus Eater" and "Cicada Protocol" from the tale Black Lotus.

Black Lotus by Crayne, faminepulse, and SoullessSingularity: https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/black-lotus 

Patreon | Author Page | Art Hub | Twitter | DeviantArt

[technomanceer]

websurfer gets fucked up off the grimace shake, causes worldwide pandemic across the hippo-campo-sphere

[mxmasters]

SCP-2444 is a recurring physical manifestation which links mainline reality with extradimensional space. While active, SCP-2444 resembles an indoor flea market stocked with anomalous merchandise (designated instances of SCP-2444-1) and populated by vendors (SCP-2444-2).

The Flea Circus is back in town! Step inside. Look around. Talk to the vendors. Search for the thing you most desire. You won't find it, but since you're here anyway... you might as well keep looking.

A rewrite of a classic Series 3 article, originally published by an anonymous author on the SCP Wiki.

[dzthenerd490]

File: .Flow

.

This File contains mentions of Su1c1d3, readers digression is advised.

.

SCP#: AIP

Code Name: Sabitsuki, The Dead Goddess of Dreams

Object Class: Neutralized Masvae

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-AIP is within the subconscious realm acting as a guardian for the Global Occult Coalition for the sake of the only allies she has ever known. Because she is associated with the Global Occult Coalition, no containment procedures will be made by the Foundation.

Description: SCP-AIP was originally a young japanese woman named Sabitsuki, her exact age is unknown. Like SCP-AFI, she possesses the ability to alter the area around her when she sleeps, summon strange and sometimes hostile entities, and even be able to activate powers in the real world. However unlike SCP-AFI, the only way for SCP-AIP to summon her powers in the real world is to have them placed within her computer which is labeled as SCP-AIP-1. SCP-AIP-1 is on all aspects a normal desktop computer of unknown brand, however within SCP-AIP-1 is a folder that holds all of SCP-AIP’s abilities. 

Should SCP-AIP use the computer to select her abilities she will be able to manifest them in the real world while she is awake. However, once she does this she will only be able to manifest them in the real world, never the dream world again. Thankfully SCP-AIP has made up for this by creating a number of abilities that revolve around weapons and defending herself. Most notably of these abilities is her Pipe form, Gun form, and Robot form.

Pipe form is a form similar to SCP-AFI’s knife form, the only difference from her normal self is that she is holding a pipe. The pipe cannot be taken from her grasp and is seemingly a broken pipe but is strong enough to badly dent a tungsten ingot even if SCP-AIP hits it with minimal effort. SCP-AIP’s gun form is a form where she is holding a common pistol that only holds six bullets, she only needs a second to reload and has unlimited ammo. Finally, there is the Robot form which gives her great strength and makes her durable form physical attacks, projectile attacks, and even energy-based attacks. There are many other abilities SCP-AFI possesses but these are only the few she uses in the real world to defend herself. 

Unfortunately, SCP-AFI was not only suffering from depression and by result became a Hikikomori, but she was hunted by the Group of Interest: The Black Queen’s Insurgency as well. It is believed that they hunted her because of her abilities and it’s also because of the GoI that the Foundation was unable to find SCP-AIP until it was too late. 

SCP-AIP was discovered in 2009 by the Foundation though apparently she was discovered by the Global Occult Coalition in 2007. It’s unknown how, but the Global Occult Coalition managed to have a few agents meet her in an online chat room where they talked. She explained her abilities and how there were men and women in black and white as well as monsters that kept hunting her in her dreams. The agents tried to encourage her to tell them where she was but every time, she either refused out of fear or the information was corrupted. 

Since trying to find her proved fruitless they instead asked for more information leading to them helping SCP-AIP learn the full extent of her anomalous abilities. Because of this she was able to fight against the monsters and agents of the Black Queen’s Insurgency thanks to their guidance. However, this also caused the BQI to strike harder and stronger with overwhelming numbers. Eventually they started hunting her down in the real world as well. SCP-AIP panicked and told the GOC as much information as she could about her apartment building while trying to evade the BQI forces who were infiltrating her building and slaughtering everyone who got in the way. Unfortunately, by the time the GOC arrived SCP-AIP had already jumped off the roof to escape the BQI forces. GOC forces stormed the building but found nothing and could retrieve nothing as SCP-AIP-1 was destroyed. 

SCP-AIP came to the agent who messaged her in his dreams and started talking to him. It eventually led to them becoming true friends even more so than when they were in that online chat room. He eventually explained to his superiors that SCP-AIP was alive, and she revealed herself by invading the dreams of more agents, scientists, and representatives of the organization. Since she was on friendly terms with a majority of them and had no desire to harm any humans she was declared an Allied Threat Entity by the Global Occult Coalition.

For those that don’t know, an Allied Threat Entity, or ATE for short, are Anomalies identified by the GOC as still a possible risk but one that can benefit humanity if they prove to be on the side of the GOC. They are essentially the equivalent to the Foundation’s Thaumiel Class Anomalies. SCP-AIP is considered an ally, a friend, and sometimes even family by the GOC. It should be noted that despite the GOC recklessly destroying anomalies, especially those they don’t fully understand, they tend to share a camaraderie among one another that makes their teamwork and overall work efficiency stronger, sometimes even stronger than the Foundation. The Ethics Committee has pointed this out many times to the O5 Council’s annoyance. 

SCP-AIP, though known to the Global Occult Coalition as ATE-ΥΜΔΔ-Dream Goddess, is their protector against overwhelming threats. As of 2009 she has not only regained her abilities that she lost to her real world along with SCP-AIP-1 but has gained numerous others including a newfound confidence and ability to appear semi-transparent to those who are awake. She acts as a defender of the GOC against spectral and subconscious threats that would otherwise be able to breach even the most heavily defended GOC bases and secret locations. SCP-AIP feels she owes the GOC a great debt as its agents were the only ones who reached out to her during her time of depression and tried to rescue her when the Black Queen’s Insurgency, even if they failed. As such not only does she protect such high-ranking locations and even VIP’s she has vowed to never expose any secret information she is aware of. 

Because she is a conscious anomaly that feels indebted to the GOC, Protocol “United Hands” will not be implemented by order of the Ethics Committee. Though the GOC has allowed the Foundation a Threat Assessment Report regarding SCP-AIP to help the Foundation understand her better. Please see Addendum X-65 for details.

***

Addendum X-65

The following is the Threat Assessment Report created by the Global Occult Coalition in regard to SCP-AIP.

Threat ID: ATE-ΥΜΔΔ-Dream Goddess "Guardian of the Subconscious"

Authorized Response Level: 5 (Irreplaceable Asset)

Description:

ATE-ΥΜΔΔ-Dream Goddess is a Type Green Humanoid Anomaly who has the ability to manipulate herself and her surroundings when she sleeps and when she is awake. She seems to be able to collect and manifest abilities to make herself stronger by unlocking new skills with each one. Originally while she was alive, she possessed a computer where she could store these powers. However, she has recently died, and her computer was destroyed by the Severe Threat Organization, the Black Queen’s Interagency. though in reality, she has not died but instead become trapped within the dream plane of our reality.

She found us, more specifically, agent [data expunged] who made first contact with her and has been trying to get our organization to meet with her through online chat rooms. There she met with more and more, a majority of which ended up meeting her with kindness. Though it is our mission to protect humanity from the anomalous threats of the unknown by exterminating them, we do make expectations for those anomalies that are willing to save humanity if given the chance, ATE-ΥΜΔΔ-Dream Goddess is one such anomaly. 

Utilization: 

ATE-ΥΜΔΔ-Dream Goddess guards Coalition VIP’s and locations from entities that reside in the dream scape or any other Type Cyan entities. In order for this to continue all members of the GOC are to show their appreciation for ATE-ΥΜΔΔ-Dream Goddess and occasionally have talks with her about what she likes or even do little games with her. Any agent or even higher ranking operative that dares to show her hostility or disgust will be reprimanded with a demotion and possibly complete expulsion from Coalition employment forever. ATE-ΥΜΔΔ-Dream Goddess is one of our only weapons against Unknown Threat Organization the Oneiroi Collective, to lose her or worse have her lose her faith in us will allow a crack in the Coalitions armor and possibly be the first step in our downfall. 

***

The Foundation has requested to have SCP-AIP and SCP-AFI meet one another in hopes of lifting the spirits of both girls. Especially since SCP-AFI still suffers from depression and night terrors, though notably not as much since her containment. The GOC is considering this as they see the benefit but fear the Foundation might try to use it as a long plan to eventually convince SCP-AIP to join the Foundation instead. Though this would be favorable, some of the Administrative Staff and the Ethics Committee have reminded Foundation staff that to remain on friendly terms with the GOC even at the cost of obtaining more valuable SCP’s, should always be prioritized. Though regardless the request is still pending.

.

SCP: Horror Movie Files Hub

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE TRAITOR'S SOULMATE (2/2)

Summary: Humans once had four legs, four arms, two heads, and two hearts. For humanity's hubris, Zeus struck them in two. You and Luke Castellan are determined to find your way back to each other, but before that can happen, there are things the two of you need to do.

[Part 2 to The Hero's Soulmate]

Soulmate AU: You meet the future version of your soulmate.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word Count: 7378

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, I use the spelling 'mom' because the series is American but I - and I cannot stress this enough - am not American, she a long one.

A/N: I've loved reading your comments, thank you so much for all the support in part one. I hope you enjoy, because we all deserve a little Luke Castellan every now and then!

Masterlist

Amphitrite had been gifted a premonition and the world was all the worse for it. The dream had come from Apollo or perhaps the Oneiroi or whatever great heart pumped blood and Gods and monsters out into the world.

It did not matter to the Goddess from whom the vision came, for in this dream Amphitrite had watched her husband fall in love and sire a child to a mortal paramour. A precious boy that Poseidon might even one day love, with a taste for the colour blue and a heroism that would grow to rival his namesake. And for the Queen of the Seas, that simply would not do.

It would not be the child’s nor his mortal mother’s fault – she was not Hera after all – and so she would have to punish her husband for the blame would be his. But how was one to punish a King among Gods before his crime even came to be? Why to beat him at his own game, of course.

So, Amphitrite set out to sire her own demigod with the mortal man her husband would hate most. A devout catholic.

Amphitrite stayed with her mortal lover and their half-blood daughter until the girl was all but five.  Far longer than the greater Gods were wont to spend with their offspring. But what a precious babe she had bourn and what a traitorous husband she had back home.

But fate and prophecies and soulmates were such funny things. Inciting chaos. Inviting paradox. Introducing dangers untold.

It took Amphitrite all those years – though seemingly short in her immortality – to realise her fatal error. She had been the one to leave Poseidon. She had been the one to sire a child. She had been the one to drive her husband to the surface and his mortal. And so, the blame was hers to shoulder.

Amphitrite decided that she would be a self-fulfilling prophecy no longer. It was time to venture back below the surface.

In a last fit of guilt, she bestowed her first and final act of mercy unto her mortal lover. She told him everything.

When finally, she had gone back to the sea to reconcile with her husband, the catholic man took his turn to bestow his first and final act of mercy unto his young demigod child.

Against all the teachings of his faith. He abandoned his young daughter at Half-Blood Hill. And let the devil-spawn keep her life.

The Spirit of the Hudson River never did learn to like you. You with your greedy hands, snatching debris from its murky waters. You and your strange sea creature friends who would not dare brave such pollution were it not for your presence. Your pile of war spoils tossed aside like children’s toys. Your strange little bubble of air on the sandy floor of the river, where you stowed your treasures and slept bracketed by water. Were it not for the pollution that slopped against the edge of the river as if it were trying to escape you, the Hudson River Spirit might have chased you and your sea friends and your collection of trinkets out of his waters. But as it were, you made a strangely amicable tenant for a demigod. So, as long as you paid your dues the spirit let you keep your little underwater oasis.

For your first years living there, you made your way in New York City by selling lost things dredged from your river home. Bikes and old weaponry and tarnished jewellery and buckets of coins from across the world. You were careful and you coveted your few precious belongings, but with the rivers bounty, you rarely went hungry.

By the time you were fourteen, you found you could venture further into the city without as many questions. You had met an odd assortment of people whilst selling the lost and unloved things of the river; all who knew someone, who knew someone, who needed another set of hands and so you offered yours. You babysat and cleaned, worked in delis and sandwich shops, helped old women with their groceries and young families mend their clothes. A retired teacher gifted you packets of schoolwork and with little else to fill your hours under the river you took to learning. Your numbers came easier than letters and reading always gave you a hard time but the activities she gave you each time you tended to her balcony garden gave you something to do when the sounds of the city kept you up at night.

All the while you followed Percy Jackson from the recesses of the Hudson. Shuffling your little bubble and its blessedly dry treasures up and then back down the river as he was bounced listlessly from school to school. Watching over him as the mythosphere tried desperately to barge into his little mortal life. Feral harpies that tried to snatch him into the air, great snakes that tried to sneak through air vents and all manner of underworld-born sea creatures that sought to pull him below. You had wrestled and dismembered and slayed them all. Adding their feathers and scales and great weapons to your dragons-hoard.

You were sixteen when you finally knocked on Sally Jackson’s door to introduce yourself. You had spent weeks working yourself up to it, planning your outfit and then fussing over each piece. All your clothes had been gifts and were often a size too big or printed with some generic tagline like Spread peace not hate!; or made entirely from yarn that the old woman whose meals you prepped at the start of each week had gifted you after she had taught you how to crochet; or like the dress you wore now, were sown together from thrifted fabric scraps and embellished with pretty shells and baroque pearls. You had planned the time you would arrive down to the minute so that her oppressive husband would be out, but the hour would not be so late as to make an unexpected visit threatening. You had planned to keep Percy safe while you were away from him by entrusting your friends Clarence the Crab and Emily the Squid to supervise him for the evening.

What you had not planned for was the possibility that Sally Jackson would be the most lovely woman you had ever met. You had been struck dumb by it the moment she opened her door and greeted you with a kind smile. Couldn’t your mother have chosen a mortal as gentle as she to be your parent? Alas, the Gods had never done a thing for you.

“Can I help you, lovely?”

You tried not to burst into tears as you asked, “Mrs. Jackson?”

“Are you alright?” She opened the door wider, leant out and scanned the corridor behind you. “Is there something you need?”

“No ma’am. I’m here about your son, Percy. His father sent me.” A good ambiguous statement that would pique her curiosity but let on nothing about the Gods. Allowing you to spin your tale – that you were Percy’s long-lost step-sister, come to reconnect. 

“Poseidon?” Alas, the Gods had truly never done a thing for you. “Is something wrong? Is Percy, okay?”

“He’s fine Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been keeping him safe.” 

She scanned the hall behind you once more, “You best come in.”

Over a cup of tea, you told Sally Jackson everything.

You liked your home under the river. For lack of a better term, it allowed you to remain liquid. You could follow Percy wherever trouble took him. You could stay up until the city grew quiet for that brief moment before dawn. You could train with the Hudson River Spirit, even if he only entertained you because he enjoyed winning.

You liked your bed made out of stacked wood pallets and a mountain of blankets. You liked your wooden chest of draws stuffed full of trinkets and weapons and the precious few items you owned. You liked this place that you had carved out with your own two hands.

But you also liked your home in the Jackson household. Where there was always music playing. Where it was always warm and dry. Where there would always be some blue-ified food in the oven or blue candy in the mason jars by the sink.

It became your job in the summers to babysit Percy, to keep him away from Gabe and from danger while entertaining his endless need for motion. You took him to art galleries (which he hated) and aquariums (which he loved), to craft fairs (which he tolerated because he liked the things you made) and swimming pools (which he only liked when he won your swimming races).

“What even is a soulmate?” Percy had asked you one day at the park.

“The person with the other half of your soul,” You scrunched your nose up, “Or well, that's what people say.”

“You’re saying I’ve been walking around with half a soul?”

“I didn’t say I believed them,” You rattled your water bottle in front of his face until he took it. “Stay hydrated.”

He frowned at you, “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Of course I do, but it's a little more complicated than that, kid.” You took the water bottle back and played with the cap for a moment while you thought. “Think of it like this. You can have two different puzzles that are cut the same way, right? So all the pieces from one will fit with all the pieces from the other. But that doesn’t mean they belong together, the picture doesn’t come out quite right because even though the pieces fit, they don’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. Maybe that’s what it was like for your mom, like she couldn’t find the pieces that made up her picture and so she went with the ones that fit at the time.”

“You don’t think my mom and dad were soulmates?”

“I never met your father.”

“But he’s your dad too.”

“He’s my mom’s husband. Maybe my mom and dad are soulmates.” Percy didn’t seem to like that answer.  “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe your mom and my mom each have pieces that fit into your dad's puzzle but neither match his picture, or both. Maybe his picture is a year with your mom and a lifetime with mine and having you. Maybe he needs to collect all those little pieces at the right time when they’re the right shape or he’ll end up with a completely different picture at the end.”

“I kind of understand.” But he gave you a look that said he probably didn’t. “What picture are you making?”

You hid your smile behind the lip of your water bottle, “My soulmates about yay-high, pretty as a magazine cover with dimples and all. I’m collecting my puzzle pieces with you and your mom and this city so that I’ll have half of his picture.”

“If you know who he is, why don’t you just go find him now?”

“Still looking for some pieces, I guess.” You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “Souls are fragile. If you go rushing in and trying to jam the pieces in when they’re not shaped right just yet you could damage them.”

“What happens if you do that?”

“It’s probably harder to find each other in the next life. You’ll chip pieces away and your souls won’t fit right.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your cardigan and pulled out a sandwich, you gave Percy the bigger half.

“Who taught you all this?”

“My mom used to tell me and well, I've thought about it a lot.” You tugged Percy by the back of his shirt so he didn't go stomping through a puddle, he glared. “But anyway, some people think it’s just fate. That you find your soulmate no matter what and it’s a perfect fit either way.”

“It would be easier that way.”

“Sometimes that’s just not how the story goes, kid.”

Percy thought that was the most important thing anyone had ever taught him, but he figured some of the other stuff you taught him came in handy too. You taught him the tricks you learned to work around your dyslexia. You taught him to skip stones and to not throw rocks at seagulls. You taught him to flip off the Empire State Building but only when his mom wasn’t around. You taught him to knit and do a cartwheel and make a good cup of tea to take his mother in the morning. You taught him to chew with his mouth shut and to sword fight with wrapping paper rolls. You taught him to braid hair and throw a punch and say all the swears in Ancient Greek.

And then one day, a Satyr came for Percy Jackson, and there was nothing left for you to teach. 

You wrote Sally a brief letter of warning, picked your way through seven years’ worth of belongings and collapsed your life into a backpack. You said goodbye to Clarence and Emily with a brief promise to visit, pushed a final wave of pollution from the waters and thanked the Hudson River Spirit for his hospitality. He gifted you sixteen perfect round pearls and insisted that he never wanted to see you again. You spent the bus ride to Long Island threading them into a necklace made of fishing wire, tying off each pearl with your teeth. 

It was a tentative tradition between demigod soulmates to exchange gifts upon their first meeting. So few and far between were the possessions of a half-blood that even the smallest bauble would likely mean the world. The practice had died out some over the centuries as the Gods received fewer offerings from mortals and turned to their children for sacrifices. Gift-giving to your soulmate as a demigod became all but synonymous with spitting at the feet of the divine and loudly proclaiming you would make offerings to your soulmate instead. A pearl necklace would be an excellent final addition to the collection of small gifts you had assembled over the years. Let the Gods weep at your feet and beg for scraps if they needed them so much, you would ignore them just as they had ignored you. 

You arrived at Camp far sooner than you might have liked, a few hours past mid-day when hopefully the rest of your ilk would be occupied with meaneal chores and activities. You considered waiting at the crest of the hill for someone to notice you only to find a pine tree planted firmly at its peak where you might have stood. Instead, you make the alarmingly easy trek down to the Big House.

“Chiron!” He had always been your favourite of the two men, currently sat on the porch drinking juice and playing cards. 

“Yes, my girl?” He barely spared you a glance as he shuffled his cards between his weathered hands. He stilled for a moment and then tossed his head back in the way a horse might toss its mane. “My dear!” 

You raised a hand, halfway between a salute and a wave, “Nice to know I haven’t been totally forgotten.”

“Au contraire.” Mr. D stuck his nose up at you. “Which one are you again?” 

“The little one that went missing some seven years ago,” Chiron stood as you climbed the stairs onto the porch. “How are you, my dear? Where have you been?”

“Shouldn’t you be at Yancy Academy?”

Mr. D’s eyes turned sharp in the way that had once made your friends whisper that some days, he was more maniac than man , “And how do you know about that little girl?”

“Percy Jackson is at Yancy,” You smiled at him, all teeth, “How did you think he survived long enough for your baby satyr to find him?” 

“You have been protecting young demi-gods?” Chiron asked wearily. 

“Percy Jackson is a full-time job, I’m afraid,” You tugged at the strap of your backpack, praying you could keep control of the conversation. You had a lot of time under the river to think and this was one of many things you had spent countless hours mulling over. Weighing and considering what story you would tell them – to tell the truth of both your parentage and put Percy in harm's way or to lie and balance your life on its sharp edge. “I found him in Manhattan, he was like a magnet for mythological activity. By the time I’d had enough of rebelling and wanted to come back to camp, I was protecting him from attacks every other week. He wouldn’t have lasted a month. I came back as soon as I could.” 

No matter how many times you played it out in your head, the lies won every time. 

“Kids.” Mr. D threw back the last of his juice.

“Perhaps you should settle back into the Hermes Cabin, dear.” Chiron smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes pinched, “You’ve given myself and Mr. D much to talk about. We’ll settle the issue of your paperwork tomorrow.”

“Of course.” You rustled through your bag, digging up a palm sized statuette that you set onto the table. “Before I forget, I brought you a gift Mr. D.”

“A toy,” He snatched it up. “Oh joy.”

“It’s you, as the mortals’ see you. It’s from the gift shop at the Met.”

“How kind of you, my dear.” Chiron softened, and you watched as even Mr. D’s temper seemed to ease, his hands gentle around the gift as he admired it. 

An unseeing piece of plastic for the God who served as no more than a silent observer over the affairs of the camp. Let him choke on his ego, you thought as you left the pair to their discussion. 

Cabin 11 was blessedly empty when you entered, but your old bunk was not. A pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly across the bedspread. You snatched a sleeping bag and a lumpy pillow from the storage closet and threw them down with your bag. If you could not have the bunk that had been yours at twelve, you would claim the corner that had been yours at five. As you shook out the sleeping bag and pulled out your belongings, you tried not to think of your bed of blankets under the river or Sally Jackson’s couch. 

Instead you turned your mind to the Big House and the conversation that was no doubt happening within. 

You had constructed a perfect image, if you did say so yourself. Grown in ways Mr. D could not have predicted but Chiron would insist he had foreseen. Still a rebellious young woman in the mortal sense, with your scuffed leather boots and ripped jeans. But the parts that had screamed ‘insubordination’ to the Gods were neatly tucked away. Your twin knives strapped to your forearms under the billowing sleeves of your crocheted top, your vicious tongue caged behind a sweet grin, your once sharp stare softened at the edges.

Once you had fashioned yourself so that the Gods could not paint you as a hero, now you fashioned yourself so that they might forget you were an enemy. 

Let Chiron think you were a misunderstood wayward girl scout come home from her self-imposed quest. Let Mr. D think you were a stupid girl who had seen the world beyond the Gods’ protection and finally accepted that you needed them. Let them all think wrong. You had left to protect your brother and returned for one reason only. 

“You’re here.” 

You turned, and there he was, “Luke Castellan.” 

He opened his mouth and then closed it, limbs jerking slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to move toward you or stay put. He was almost certain you could hear the way his pulse was racing, his heartbeat clanging wildly in his chest as he searched desperately for a suave reply, but everything else seemed lack lustre when you said his name like that.

Your face twisted into something like anger and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up before your lips curled and you practically spat, “I do like your scar.”

And then he was laughing at you, wild and bewildered and not the least bit contained. Before long you were laughing too, neither of you quite sure what was funny, just so wholly relieved as your chests were flooded with wonder and warmth.

It felt like fireworks and popping candy. Just as he had promised all those years ago. You resisted the urge to throw up on his Converse. 

You might have been crying and he might been too but you weren’t exactly sure because one moment you were both laughing at nothing and the next he was on the floor with you. He held you like he had never held a single thing in his life, like he was lost at sea and you were the only solid thing for miles. He tucked your head under his chin and sucked in great forced breaths that you could feel beneath your cheek. Because he was warm and there and real. And that meant the last seven years, the better part of your life, hadn’t been for nothing. 

 You and Luke make your way to dinner side by side. You had spent the afternoon rambling about your lives, about your meetings with your future selves, about your home under the river, about his responsibilities as a camp counsellor and yours as your brother’s keeper. He told you about Annabeth and Thalia and the rest of his siblings, you told him about your parents and Sally Jackson and your sea friends. You gave him his necklace which he lets you fix in place at the base of his throat – you do not spend a moment too long running your hand up the back of his neck and through his curls. 

He had been almost bashful when he gifted you a watch that matched his, inlaid with twin fragments of mother of pearl taken from the same shell – kind of like your soul had been, he had said. You swear you’ve never owned anything as precious. You let him strap it to your wrist as he tells you about spending a summer diving for it in the lake. And then softly, tentatively, he tells you about his quest.

Luke could have cried from the way you were looking at him alone, so very gently, like you could cradle him with your gaze alone. At a loss for words, you simply whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

His grip is iron-clad and you tell your next story with your face pressed into the side of his neck, pretending you can’t feel him shaking softly. 

When you make your way to dinner you’re both glowing with the soft exhaustion of emotion. You all but lean against one another as you collect your goblets and fill your plates.

The other campers steer clear of you, content to leave Luke to chauffeuring the new kid around. You count yourself lucky, it was only a matter of time until one of the older campers recognised you.

You were almost to the end of the Hermes table – that perfect spot at the end where you might just have a chance of holding a private conversation after dinner – when Chiron interrupted you. 

“Mr. Castellan, I see you’ve acquainted yourself with our newly returned camper.”

“That’s my job, sir.” You tried not to stare at the crooked smile he flashed the centaur. 

“Perhaps you ought to show her how to make an offering,” Chiron says pointedly, “She’s been away for a long time, and it’s your responsibility to treat her as you would any other incoming Camper.”

Luke turned to you, his boyish grin still charming but the mirth leaking out of his eyes, “Of course. Do you remember how it’s done?” 

“I do. Just not a lot of food to be spared in the mortal world.” 

You squinted, the corners of your mouth pulled up in what Chiron would likely mistake for sheepishness. But Luke could see it in your eyes. How your anger had made you pointy in all the places someone your age ought to be soft. He wondered how all the jagged edges of you would feel against all the jagged edges of him. He thought maybe if the two of you were careful, you could make something smooth as sea glass and twice as pretty, together.

You dump a clump of mashed potatoes into the fire with an unconcerned flick of your fork. Luke lops part of his own meal on top of yours, you glare enviously at the reasonable portion he had left on his plate. You hoped the food would burn at the bottom of the braiser. 

“Sorry, sir.” You mocked Luke. He stuck his tongue at you once Chiron had turned his back. 

You hurried to snag the seat at the end of his table, sliding into place across from each other. You flounder for a moment, wondering whether to draw your legs as far under your seat as they will go or bask in the gentle brush of his knee against his leg. You settle for the latter and try not to evaporate under his gaze, as he stares at you even as you start eating.

Luke realised he’d spent too long staring when you all but groaned, “Don’t tell me I have to sacrifice my dinner to you too.” 

He flashed you a grin, then tried to say as nonchalantly as possible,“Is that why you left? So you could enjoy a proper meal every once and a while?”

You stared at him for a long while, “You, future you, told me to leave, to find my brother.”

“Why would I do that? If you had stayed at Camp–”

“That’s almost exactly what I said to you.” You pushed your food around as you stared at a point just beyond his head, he thought for a moment that he could see the neurons firing behind your eyes, like a hundred tiny zaps of lightning, “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I think you were right to send me away.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hearing that very often.” He dodged the pea you fling at him with a grin. 

“I think maybe if I don’t leave, I won’t become this me or do the things I’ve done and maybe that’s important for us or our future or some past you rewrote by telling me to leave.”

“Seems overly complicated.” 

“I think it’s supposed to be complicated,” You couldn’t help but admire the quiet skill with which he wielded his cutlery, “If it were easy, we would find each other in every universe.”

He paused, knife aloft, “You don’t want to find each other in every universe?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” You speared a leaf of spinach onto your fork to hide your scowl behind as you said, “The Gods have made it this way to keep us separated.”

“We’re together now.” 

“Which means they lost.”

Luke watched you for a drawn out heartbeat, then leaned over to transfer the perfect squares of meat he’d been cutting onto your plate. 

You took a long moment to chew before you said, “So, your plan to send me after Percy worked.”

“I thought it was your plan.”

“I forgot to ask you whose plan it was.”

“I say it’s your plan.” He took a long pull from his goblet that left his lips tinted red. 

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” You passed him a napkin before he could ask, “It’s what you will think.”

“Sure, Precious.” He smothers a laugh into the napkin at the way you scrunch your nose at him, “You know, because you're so protective of your food. Like Gollum with the ring.”

“That’s the stupidest explanation for a pet name I’ve ever heard.” But you’re damn near head down on the table as you laughed. “I definitely got the smarter half of our soul.”

“Then it was definitely your plan.”

You’ve still got a hand pressed to your face to conceal your smile when you say, “What about when I meet you? Any words of wisdom?”

“Try not to fall for me. I can tell you’re pretty charmed but it’s really not appropriate. I’m seventeen, and you’re what? Twenty-four?” 

You launched your bread roll at him. You’re twice as incensed when he catches it whilst looking directly at you, “Asshole.”

“Smartass. See, two can play that game.”

Luke can’t help but think you’re just as pretty sneering as you are smiling, like no expression no matter how ugly could detract from your beauty. Maybe you’re like him, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe you’re something better, another part of him whispered. The way you talk about the Gods and turn your nose up at them, and play their game only when it suits you. 

You weren’t vengeful in the way he was. You weren’t the spitting vicious thing the Camp had liked to pretend you were when you weren’t around to prove otherwise. You were worse and better and everything he needed. You were a storm on the horizon, a snake coiled tight. You were better than just angry. You were disillusioned. Not a product of juvenile resentment but true wrath born of awareness. Not the wild foaming-at-the-mouth kind that he had imagined when he had first heard your name. But the dark carefully contained kind he had seen in the face you would grow into.

This, Luke thought, you were the start of everything.

It’s some weeks later when you stick your hands through the grating of the bunk above Luke as leverage to lean over him and croon, “Up and at ‘em, Pretty Boy.”

He pushed his face out of his pillow, curls sticking up at odd angles as he looked at you half-asleep, “What?”

“Remember? Training?”

“No,” He scrubbed sleep from his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Sickly.” 

“I don’t think that was it.” He propped his head up on a fist as he smiled at you sleepily. 

It was so disgustingly cute that you had to turn your back when you said, “Just meet me there.” 

Luke’s freshly showered and holding an apple core when he deigns to join you in the forest. He tossed the apple at you and you caught it without thinking. You fake gag at him as you throw it further into the forest. 

You wiped your hands against his shoulder as you say, “I’m not sure if an apple core counts but that was dangerously close to an Ancient Greek proposal, Castellan.”

“I got hungry.” He shrugged. You squared off across the clearing, stretching as you warmed yourselves up for the ensuing sparring match. 

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Is this you rejecting me?” He landed an open hand on his chest and staggered backward. “You wound me, Precious!”

“Was that you proposing? Because I’m,” You wiped your hand again for good measure, scrunching your nose up, “Disgusted.”

“You would be honoured if I had just proposed to you.” 

“You should be nicer to me.”

“And go easy on you just because you’re my soulmate? Unlikely.”

“Because, asshole, I’m the one who got you out of chores this morning, or have you forgotten already. You seemed rather grateful for your little sleep-in.”

He unsheathed his sword and twirled it round in his hand, “You’re a bad influence.” 

“Like you weren’t ready to worship the ground I walk on when I told Chiron you needed to get my training up to speed.” 

“Do you want me to tell you, you’re brilliant?” He pointed his sword toward you with that grin that made you want to hold him down just so you could admire it longer. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re stalling.” You pull your knives out, one from your boot, the other from your belt. You miss your old clothes with their pretty sleeves and their personality, your camp shirt seems a poor trade in comparison. 

“Stalling? Me?” Luke scoffed. “Never!”

“Don’t you have a counsellor meeting at half-past?”

“I do, so please don’t feel bad when you lose. I only have half an hour to wrap this up. You understand.”

“Who’s fault is that Mr. Just-five-more-minutes?”

He gasped in mock offence and lunged forward, his sword swinging at you in a great arch. You leapt back, out of his range, then ducked low and rushed toward him. Luke was quick, in a viciously smooth move he swept his sword at you again. You brought your knives together, bracing as the impact ricocheted up your arms. Admittedly, you were at a great disadvantage given that you were reluctant to throw a knife at Luke’s head – even though he’d demonstrated an impressive ability to swipe your wayward throws out of the air – and that he had an additional several feet of reach on you.

Luke feigned to the right, you lashed out at his left side and narrowly avoided his sword as it came down at you. He whistled slowly as both of you backed up to circle each other for a moment. 

“You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that.” 

And so the dance went on. Luke struck, you parried or slipped out of his blade's path with a flourish. You struck, Luke swung his sword and slipped around your blows. Finally, you found the chink in his precious armour. He fell back to his right foot when he deflected a blow. You jerked forward. You jabbed the knife clutched in your left hand toward him as you moved in with the right. Just as you hooked a foot around the back of his leg, Luke’s sword made contact with your left shoulder slicing through sleeve and skin. Luke fell backward with a sharp hiss, his sword flying to the side.

In the end you had laid him out flat in twenty minutes. Luke Castellan had spent the last seven years fighting to win. You had spent them fighting to survive. You supposed it didn’t hurt that the greatest swordsman to enter Camp Half-Blood in nearly three centuries was reluctant to let anything sharp or pointed anywhere near you. You secretly thought he might have been going easy on you for being his soulmate after all. You collapsed on the forest floor beside him, your chest heaving to draw in oxygen. 

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Luke huffed. 

“Orange isn’t really my colour.”

He turned to you with a wink, “Oh but it is.” 

You wave your hand through the air.

“I’ve gotten very good at putting broken things back together over the years.” He tried not to look at the line of stitching that ran from the ankle of your jeans to the rips at your knee. You tried not to look at his cheek. Instead you reached out and trailed your hands across his necklace where the pearls sat snuggly at the base of his throat. 

“You’re wonderful.” He brushed his knuckles down your shoulder and they came away red. “Even covered in blood you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You groaned, “Sweetness, you can’t just say–”

“You call me Sweetness when you visit me.” He whispered it like it was his greatest secret. You traced up his throat to his cheek and pressed your thumb into his dimpled cheek. “You’re still being wonderful. I can’t think when you’re–”

“Wonderful?”

“Okay, Smartass.” He sighed up at the sky, then pulled the both of you to your feet, “Enough lounging, we need to get that cut checked.” 

You let him dust the dirt from you and resheath your knives, one in your boot, the other in your belt. Silently revelling in the gentle way he tugs you this way and that. You were well on your way to the infirmary, shoulders bumping and fingers just barely brushing, before he spoke again.

“Where does it come from? The nickname.”

“Sweetness?” 

He looked away from you and squinted off into the distance, as if you were suddenly too bright to look at, “Yeah.”

“My mom used to tell me this story about meeting her soulmate. She probably meant Poseidon, but at the time I thought it was about my dad,” The back of Luke’s hand bumped into yours again, his fingers catching yours, his gaze resolutely ahead but you were definitely holding hands. “She said it felt like swallowing lightning and gorging yourself on popping candy. Like sweetness.”

“You like popping candy?”

“It’s my favourite.” You gave him a queer look as if to say, it’s not yours, you utter heathen?

Luke laughed at you all the way to the Apollo Cabin as he listed all the reasons it was the sub-par candy option. Nonetheless, when you emerge from the infirmary, he unloads a fistful of little packets he’d pinched from the candy bowl when the Apollo kids’ hadn’t been looking.

“Who has sub-par candy options now, Sweetness?” You teased, your mouth crackling merrily.

“Keep calling me that and you can have all the terrible candy you want.”

“Try some,” You shoved a packet toward him, because if he kept saying silly things like that and looking at you the way he was you were liable to do or say something equally as stupid. “You’ve got half my soul, maybe it’s our favourite.”

“I don’t think they had popping candy when we had one soul,” He flicks the packet held between your fingers. “And aren’t you the one who says we’re puzzle pieces not halves?”

“You have been listening to me!”

“Hard not to.”

“Asshole.” You flashed your teeth at him.

“Smartass.” He said, but the bite wasn’t there. He was watching you again, in that way he did sometimes before he said something stupid that made you want to throw yourself in the lake or run back to Manhattan or do something equally as stupid, like kiss him. “You–”

You twisted your hand in the front of his shirt and jerked him toward you, the little sachet crinkling in your fist. For a heartbeat, you were both silent, an inch away and staring as if you could will the other to be the one to press forward. But then he closed his eyes and Luke Castellan was kissing you. Like lightning and popping candy. With all the elegance of two lovestruck teenage fools and all the heat of two people who knew they had all the time in the world but still couldn’t bear to waste a second of it. His hand held you by the chin and then splayed lightly across your cheek and tucked hair softly behind your ear. You were only just reaching for the mess of curls at the back of his head when someone wolf whistles.

“My favourite.” Luke grinned, licked his lips and then turned. Hands stuffed in his pockets and a big stupid grin stretched across his face, as he shouted at you, “Stay out of trouble.”

You flip off the Aphrodite kid who’d whistled at you, and hurried back to the Apollo Cabin. You and Luke Castellan were going to need a lot more popping candy. 

You’re in the lake, encased in an air bubble, sprawled out side by side with your backs against the sand, when Luke tells you what he’s done. That mere weeks before your arrival he had done the unthinkable. He had robbed the King of the Gods blind and betrayed half the Pantheon in doing so. You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.

You had simply laid there, silently, for what had felt like aeons to Luke but maybe that had only been because he had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath. He wasn’t drowning. You weren’t going to turn him in. He hadn’t just blown his whole plan and his life with his soulmate in one fell swoop. He just had to keep breathing and wait for you to say something. He thinks that maybe your mother had passed on some divine knack for diplomacy as Queen of the Sea with the way you seem to turn the issue of his betrayal over and over in your head. 

After a while, you reach your arm toward the bubble and the sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, Luke thinks you’re going to pull the lake down on him. When you don’t Luke spends another infinite second wondering whether he would just let you do it. 

He tosses the thought aside and focuses on the coin weaving between your knuckles. Like magic, it appears and disappears around the bends of your fingers but it wasn't real magic, just you fidgeting. He pressed his lips together and tried not to think about you at the bottom of the Hudson River, flipping your coin and turning over the issue of your soulmate and your brother and the camp you’d left behind. What is it you had said? You’d had plenty of time to think about those things. 

Maybe that's what you need now ��� time. He’s about to offer it to you, offer to swim his way back to shore so you can think, even if he'd probably drown on the way. He’d give you all the time in the world if he had it. 

But then you finally speak, the golden drachma rolling between your fingers, “If you hurt my brother, soulmate or not, I will kill you.”

“I am your soulmate.” He insisted as the implication made his skin itch.

“You are.” Your smile was so gentle it almost felt sad. “So you understand that my love for him comes before my hatred of the Gods. If you have put him in danger wit–”

“We get married.” He blurted. “We have a future. I woke you, when you visited me. That must mean I win.”

“It means, if that’s the path we’re even on, if those people are even the versions of us that we become… maybe you don’t hurt Percy.”

“I won’t.” He swore and you weren’t sure how to ignore the half of your soul that lies so sweetly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe.” You swallowed like you’d been chewing glass your whole life, and someone had finally offered you something substantial to sink your teeth into. “Maybe if we leave now, there’s a world in which I don’t have to pick between my blood and my soul.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, “We could recruit him. You said it yourself, he’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

“He’s twelve.”

“He’s the son of Poseidon.”

“He’s twelve.”

“You were twelve when you left to protect him.”

“And look how that turned out,” Your grin was brittle, but he swore you were still the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sat here planning to betray everything I was raised to follow.”

“You’re going to follow me?”

Your eyes traced the shape of his jaw, his nose, his scar. You looked pained, “I fear I would follow you into much worse, Luke Castellan.”

“I’m trying to lead you to something better.” He reached for your hand, took the drachma from your fingers, and pressed a slow, soft kiss to your palm. He smiled and there were dimples in his cheeks and tears in his eyes as he whispered, “We can try for better.”

“Leave Percy.” You pressed your fingers to his cheek, “Let him come to camp, let him join us when he’s ready.”

“You’re sure he’ll join us?”

“He will, I know it. We just need to let him see the Gods’ apathy for himself.” And you sighed. Luke wondered how many lifetimes your souls had seen, how many times you had searched for each other, how many times you had been torn apart. You sound ancient when you say, “You and I have seen more than enough.”

He turned his head and whispered in the scarce distance between you, “What do you propose?” 

“We leave. As soon as anyone catches on, we take anyone who agrees with us and flee.” You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his knuckles firmly, “We can plot your revenge and plan my new world on the way.”

Luke feels ancient when he promises, “Okay, on the way then.”

But he swears, as you lean forward and kiss him, that no matter how many times you do it this lifetime or in all the lifetimes until this story – of you and Luke Castellan – became ancient, it would still never stop feeling like the first time.

Like lightning and popping candy.

Tag List:

@emelia07 @star611 @7s3ven @kissingyourgrl @myxticmoon @shermanno @moonsficrec @soleilgrec

[chadhunkler]

FISH INFORMATION TIME YEAYEYAYEYAEYAYEYAYEYAYE

Tagged by @sundered-souls , @oneiroy , and @iron-sparrow ! Thank all of u!!! ♥♥♥♥♥

B A S I C S

Name: Holuikhan Haragin

Nicknames: Holly, Holui, Hol, Fish

Age: around 25-30? But they have no clue, no sun to help keep time.

Nameday: 30th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon (But they don't know that either)

Race: Au Ra-adjacent fish from the deep sea

Gender: Female

Orientation: What is that (Probably pan, and prefers people she gets to know first)

Profession: Traveling spearfisher, trinket trader (unemployed)

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Well contained in a fancy bun, with all the ends just short enough. She didn't like it getting in her face during quick maneuvers undersea. On land, it looks a litle rough, accustomed to the water more. Eyes: Blue, with a variable brightness depending on if she wants them to glow bright or not. Bioluminescence yeyaeyayeyae Skin: Abnormally dark, absorbs light when underwater, also has bioluminescent properties to shimmer and glow, confusing prey. On land, the scales/skin have a hard time with how much light there is, she gets burned easily. To combat this, she has a parasol she takes everywhere! Tattoos/scars: No tattoos, maybe a few bite scars from battling fish.

F A M I L Y

Parents: The two most important people in her life - taught her how to hunt and gather, how to live in the depths she was born in. Siblings: She's probably got siblings, but she hasn't seen them in a while. Grandparents: Unknown. In-laws and Other: None. Pets: A large manta ray, a 'pet' of sorts, more akin to a summon. Helps her travel longer distances underwater by attaching to her back, also providing some protection from the sun.

S K I L L S

Abilities: Expert underwater hunter, using a variety of skills to conceal and confuse - kicking up sand, creating little lights to distract as she zips through the seas. Also able to eat most things with fairly low risk. Living in the deep sea's tough. Hobbies: Exploring and collecting trinkets! She enjoys searching sunken ships for harpoons, gold pieces, bits of armor, anything shiny, along with flowers.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Always happy! Enjoys new things, nothing scares her.

Most Negative Trait: Stupid fishe, too excited about the new world, will routinely get in trouble because of her instinctual curiosity.

L I K E S

Colors: ALL OF THEM!!!! Sure, bioluminescent blues, purples, greens are pretty, but she's more interested in the colors she's never seen before. Smells: Fish and fishblood. She's also taken a liking to a few underwater plants, keeps some close by both to help mask her scent, and just to smell for herself. (I had to look up if fish can smell) Textures: She needs things to be super smooth, or else it'll irritate her skin. ESPECIALLY beds - if the thing she's trying to sleep on isn't super silky, she'll just go sleep in the water, tying her harpoon to herself and sticking it in the sand so she doesn't drift far. Drinks: Originally it was all water water water. Once she surfaced, she quickly realized the power of fruit juice.

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Holly's not come across smoking yet. Drinks: She very recently had alcohol in a fruity cocktail, enjoyed it but felt strange afterwards. She got super dizzy, fell over multiple times. Drugs: She's been stung by a pufferfish once… Not good. Mount Issuance: If you consider the manta ray summon an issued mount, sure, but it can only be underwater. Been Arrested: What's that?

Thank you for reading! aaaah now it's time to tag others uhhh @shroudkeeper @rasenkaikyo @varrok @verysmallcyborg and @miqojak ! If you see this and wanna do it, go for it! I may or may not be doing two more of these for Kasha and Chad, lemme know if u wanna get tagged too!

[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Series Masterlist

Van Helsing - Kas!Eddie/Fem!OC - Soulmates

This story is told from 2nd Person POV (you/your)

Minors DNI - This fic is for 18+ readers only.

Summary: In order to undo a centuries-long curse, you travel to Hawkins to defeat a great evil and close the gates to Hell once and for all. Unfortunately, you uncover many unsettling secrets including some about your lost love, Eddie Munson.

Warnings (in no particular order): Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut (Specifics Tagged in Chapters), Major and Minor Character Deaths, Violence, Gore, Body Horror, Blood, Manipulation, Transformation, Corruption, Religious Elements, Criticism of Religion, Biblical and Other Literary and Pop Culture References

This story is going to be EXTREMELY HEAVY to write, so I will not be putting out a posting schedule. Chapters will get posted as they are completed.

OC is of European/Italian-American descent on her father's side and her mother's side can be left up to interpretation. She is loosely Roman Catholic and you will see why I say loosely if you read. I will not be giving her a name, or any major physical descriptors if I can help it but her cultural identity is integral to this story.

Note: You do not need to have seen Van Helsing (2004) to understand the premise of this fic. You should, however, read the prequels.

Prequels: Heaven - Hell - Purgatory

Hymns of Heaven: A series of "additions" to the prequel timeline based on cryptid and monster requests. April 1984 Mothman - April 1984 Immortal Snail - May 1984 Splinter Cat - May 1984 Sully - June 1984 Chupacabra - July 1984 Will-o'-the-Wisp - August 1984 Manticore - August 1984 Frogman - September 1984 Fresno Nightcrawler - September 1984 Thunderbird/Horned Serpent - October 1984 The Kraken - Halloween 1984 Werewolf - December 1984 Freddy Kreuger - December 1984 The Guardians - Christmas Eve 1984 Loch Ness Monster - January 1985 Manananggal - April 1985 Oneiroi - Unknown in the UD Inner Monster - Unknown in the UD Nachzehrer

Related Blurbs: Limbo - Genesis

Gratia. - Charitas. - Solamen.

Prequel Playlist

Chapters: Prologue - Annunciation 1 - Illumination 2 - Descendió a los Infiernos 3 - Crucible 4 - Malum Malus 5 - Via Domus 6 - Revelation 7 - Exodus 8 - Miserere Mei 9 - Deus in Absentia 10 - Atonement 11 - Amor Vicit Omnia Epilogue - Ab Aeterno

Series Playlist

Reader's Guide to AASB - A collection of references and Easter eggs that are made in the story.

Series Art All series art is commissioned by me from various fandom artists. Some art depicts the Knight (artwork varies from original character design to self insert art). If you want to keep the illusion of a faceless Knight, please do not look at the artwork noted with (*).

*Knight Character Design Sheet - by @floredaqueen *

*Eddie and the Knight on their First Date - by @boltedfruit *

*Eddie and the Knight and the Fresno Nightcrawler - by @doomcheese*

*November 5, 1984 - At the Trailer - by @boltedfruit * (TW: Blood)

Hell Eddie - V2 feat. Knight's Intervention - by @lilithapril (TW: Blood/Gore)

Purgatory Eddie - by @dance-on-the-bones (TW: Blood)

Kas!Eddie - by @nightonblogmountain

*AASB Sketch Sheet - by @toomanyacorns* (TW: Blood)

Via Domus - Eddie and the Demobats - by @hearsegrrl

*AASB Sketch Sheet 2 - by @toomanyacorns * (TW: Blood)

The Gospel According to Mary Victoria - AASB as told from Mary Victoria’s perspective and a deep dive into her journey.

Book 1 - Book 2 - Book 3

This fic will not be for the faint of heart. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

Tag List: There will be no tag list for As Above, So Below.

[ahollowgrave]

sensory prompt: 31. The cold, sharp smell of the first frost

(don't know if you wanted us to specify for which oc so i'm just letting you choose ahahah)

This takes place during one of Odette's earlier adventures. Traveling alone through long abandoned ruins. We're talking about skeletons, boys.

Odette hadn’t expect them to smell… cold. She wasn’t sure what a pile of bones were suppose to smell of. Grave dirt, decay, oldness perhaps? The nun sat back on her haunches and folded her arms across the tops of her knees. They were bare of flesh in a way that suggested time but they were not clean. Dirt clung to them and in the low light she could spy shiny black carapaces of living things crawling among the heap. Moss had stretched over a few of the larger bones, a few of which looked cracked.

She was pretty sure all the bones were there for a complete skeleton… or near enough. Which made their haphazard arrangement on the floor of this abandoned place even more curious. With self-preservation far from her mind, Odette leaned forward to caress the curve of the grinning skull.

“How far from your resting place are you, my friend?” Her voice was soft, hardly above a prayer, but even still it echoed in wide and empty halls.

Frost bloomed where her fingers touched and though she yanked her hand back it stopped nothing. In rippling spirals the frost reached every part of every bone in a matter of moments. And then the skull sighed -- breath pluming before it like a winter morning -- and the pile began to rise.

Odette fell backward and scrambled wildly away from the half-formed skeleton. Watching with horrified fascination as little blue flowers continuously blossomed and withered along the ribs and across the shoulders, as steady as breathing. As the complicated bones of the hands and feet sorted themselves into their proper places it took the early steps of a fawn. Several of the crawling things that had been living among the pile fell and, absently, newly formed hands caught them and pat them back into place. Moss trailed behind it like a ruined veil until gravity reinforced itself.

It never once stopped watching her.

Odette riffled through her catalog of prayers and rites and collection of stories and myths.

And then it stood before her, tall and complete, still shedding dirt and long insects with many legs.

Wordlessly and with a chivalric tip of its head, the skeleton offered the still-prone nun a hand.

Thank you for the ask @oneiroy! ][ Sensory Prompts ][

[eidingate]

Character Associations: Eidin

Emotions/feelings

confident

flirtatious

inquisitive

longing

hunger

Colors

turquoise

metallics

orange

royal blue

black

Scents

ceruleum

road dust

leather, freshly oiled

lavender-citron cologne

bergamot tea

Objects

Ceruleum crystal pendant, made by her mother

Gun (of Theseus), taken apart and the pieces replaced so many times that it is not the same gun she started with

Tobacco -- the international currency of trades and bribes

Leather gloves, for the dirty jobs

Chocobo feathers, collected over long journeys

Body language

A kiss on the back of a hand

A grin in the face of danger

Feet lightly skipping out of reach

Biting lips in contemplation over a puzzle

Open arms offered freely

Aesthetics

sunset glowing orange over a winding road

fresh greenery bursting through the cracks of old warmachina

lamplight flickering over a table shaking with laughter

swallows taking wing in a clear sky

steam rising -- from a cup of tea, a gun barrel, a hidden hot spring, a fresh kill in the snow

---

Tagged ages ago by @oneiroy! I'm late getting to this so I've lost track of who else has done it. Tag for you who is reading this if you want to do it!

[zal-cryptid]

SCiPTEMBER ✍️

[DAY 29 - selachian] [DAY 30 - 7000]

SCP-1767 and SCP-7999

[selnyam]

I'm sorry, I don't quite understand. What do you mean.... pick a genre? Why must I ever pick? That said I bolded the ones she gravitates to reading first, bold italics she has large numbers of in her collection

art | biography | business | chick lit | children’s | classics | comics | contemporary | cookbooks | crime | fantasy | fiction | gay and lesbian | graphic novels | historical fiction | history | horror | humor and comedy | memoir | music | mystery | nonfiction | paranormal | philosophy | poetry | psychology | religion | romance | science | science fiction | self help | suspense | spirituality | sports | thriller | travel | young adult | warfare

I was tagged by @hazelkjt thank you!! I think most people have been tagged so let me try @oneiroy @zeloinator @verysmallcyborg @chuchuchura @cindernet-explorer and of course anyone who sees this and wants to try!

[stardustdiver]

BASICS

Name: Wintgeim Slafzedyrwyn / Winter Gem, Daughter of Sleeping Cedar

Nicknames: Wint, Geim, Gem, Winter

Age: 20 (ARR), 26-27 (EW)

Nameday: 9th Day of the First Astral Moon

Race: Seawolf Roegadyn

Gender: Female

Orientation: yes

Profession: ex-pirate, ex-maelstrom and crystal brave, scion of the seventh dawn, warrior of light

PHYSICAL ASPECTS

Hair: short blue with seafoam green highlights

Eyes: blue

Skin: Mid-dark grey

Tattoos/Scars: scar on her forehead from when she fell out of a tree as a kid (excuse the old pink wint screenshot lol)

FAMILY

Parents: Mother - Sylbmoen (Silver Moon), Father - Slafzedyr (Sleeping Cedar)

Siblings: one (undetermined specifics) post shadowbringers maybe, after wints parents reunited after Slafzedyr was lost on a shipwreck before wint was born (wip thought, still up in the air @ specifics and whatever but i think it sounds cute and whatever)

In-laws/Other: Merlwyb is Sylbmoen's sister, and as of endwalker Theia sort of unofficially gets adopted into Wint's family

Pets: there is that seagull that follows wint around limsa, ready to steal her sandwiches and biscuits and cakes from toddlers..

SKILLS

Abilities: swimming (saved alphinaud and urianger several times), dual welding rapier and musketoon, advanced swordplay favoured over casting red mage spells

Hobbies: making friendship bracelets, sailing, gemstone collecting

TRAITS

Positive: will always protect those she cares about, extremely loyal

Negative: hard to gain trust, once trust has been lost once its nigh impossible to regain

LIKES

Colours: blue, purple, colours of the ocean and the sunset

Smells: cedarwood, bergamot, sea breeze, nice hot food

Textures: soft and fluffy fabrics, she likes how fluffy clouds look, crunchy, soft bread

Drinks: rum, is soup a drink?, tea, nice crispy cold water

OTHER DETAILS

Smokes: no

Drinks: yea, particularly rum, not a whole lot but she can also handle it pretty well, will probably end up all "did u kno,.,,. ur my best frjend and i love u" if she has a bit too much to drink

Mounts issuance: Maelstrom Chocobo (Kweh!, very good at names she is), SDS Fenrir (bikes cool, she got it off ebay)

Been arrested: Yea, pirate life after all (not for anything intense like murder. just a little bit of petty theft and piracy in limsa)

tagged by @whatsthisascianbullshit

tagging: @oneiroy @elizabethrobertajones @caorann8 @capriccio-ffxiv

[dreaming-of-oneiros]

This blog is dedicated to the worship of Oneiros (the Oneiroi/Morpheus). Collectively, Morpheus, Phobotor, and Phantasos were the Oneiroi in Greek mythology. Oneiros means dream and appears as a personification in some inscriptions.

In my personal worship, I see them as one being with different aspects, as epithets of one deity, who I call Oneiros.

(And, not gonna lie is somewhat influenced by the Sandman comics...there's so little representation for him, I'll take what I can get. Plus, the comics and the series based on it are fantastic, so it's a win-win.)

Some ways to worship or connect with Oneiros:

- keep a dream journal

- daydream

- do something creative

- face a fear

- work towards your dream/a goal

Things I associate with Oneiros:

- wings

- stars

- the dark

- darkness with splashes of vibrant colors

- moths

- poppy flowers

[dzthenerd490]

File: Yume 2kki

SCP#: AIR

Code Name: Urotsuki, Guardian within the Unknown

Object Class: Keter/ Archon

Special Containment Procedures: All sightings of SCP-AIR are to be recorded into this file and Foundation data banks as it helps scope the full potential of SCP-AIR and how powerful she might actually be. Any Foundation staff that come into contact with SCP-AIR are to always communicate with kindness and assume she will become hostile in response to the slightest hint of rudeness is shown. Though SCP-AIR has assisted the Foundation on numerous occasions, Foundation staff are to remain vigilant, nonetheless. Unfortunately, SCP-AIR cannot be contained, not that such a thing is encouraged by anyone, even the O5 Council. As such no procedures regarding actual containment will be made.

Description: SCP-AIR yet another girl like SCP-AFI and SCP-AIP that enters a series of strange areas in her dreams and can obtain anomalous abilities when completing certain tasks or interacting with creatures in her dreams. However, what separates SCP-AIR from the two previous girls and their anomalous abilities is that SCP-AIR doesn’t stay in one place both in the dream world and in the real world. 

SCP-AIR has the strange ability to go to sleep and wake in different parts of the world or even in different realities. She can even wake up in different time periods randomly within these places or realities making it difficult to even begin to predict where she will end up next. However, unlike SCP-AFI who is extremely timid, or SCP-AIP who doesn’t like to go anywhere alone, SCP-AIR is not fearless but doesn’t run away from a danger she knows she can defeat. 

Naturally SCP-AIR possesses forms where she can defend herself such as her Bike form granting her a motorcycle, her chainsaw form granting her a chainsaw that never runs out of fuel and cuts through all enemies she encounters, and an invisible form making it impossible to find her until she turns it off. However, unlike SCP-AFI and SCP-AIP, she is able to mix her abilities allowing her to utilize multiple abilities from multiple forms at once. She can even summon her chainsaw while riding her bike, ensuring she can charge at her enemies at high speed and even flee if they prove to be too much for her. Foundation agents who have encountered her have noted she is quite silent and timid upon first contact but when danger is nearby, she becomes aggressive and determined. She has only ever shown fear when a threat has proven to be too powerful for even her and her large arsenal of abilities to handle. 

SCP-AIR was discovered in 2007 when a Foundation Area base was under attack by Group of Interest: The Oneiroi Collective. It is suspected a more aggressive deviation of the GoI targeted the Foundation though what this group was called and what was their end goal remains unknown. The entirety of the staff at the Area were forced into a deep sleep and trapped in a liminal dream space where they were nearly killed by the group. However, SCP-AIR appeared and saved them all by killing the members one by one. They showed great power within the dream scape including shapeshifting and possessing numerous abilities of fictional heroes and villains from different media franchises. Yet SCP-AIR still overpowered them all and managed to save Foundation staff. Because she spoke Japanese, the staff quickly sent out an alert to the command who quickly delivered orders to Mobile Task Force Poseidon-3 “Otaku Heart”. However, shockingly the next time the Foundation found her was not in Japan but Canada.

She went to a shelter where a Foundation agent in disguise found her. He tried to convince her that she was safe, and she could sleep, his goal was to take her while she slept into containment. However, in the middle of her transportation she was reported missing and wasn’t found until months later in Russia. There she was protected by a family who supported and cared for her, apparently as thanks since she saved one of their ancestors back in 1941 when Nazi Germany invaded Russia. The next day she disappeared again but the family vowed to provide for her again should they encounter her. They also agreed to keep the anomalous nature of SCP-AIR a secret and received Foundation compensation money in exchange for that as well as keeping her safe. 

From here it was realized that containment was impossible but most including the Ethics Committee argued that it was not necessary. SCP-AIR, though timid, is a saint who saves those she encounters both in the dream world and in the real world. However, she is still a possible temporal risk and has violated a few ACPA laws as a result. Not to mention she is a possible MK Class Broken Masquerade Scenario hazard. To prevent a Foundation wide argument, the Department of the Impossible was asked to not contain her but make it so that she could no longer travel through time, only the space on earth. 

The process worked but a messenger from the DI expressed that they will not be doing anything else regarding SCP-AIR again even if the Administrator themself demands they do. This was quite a shock as the DI never stood against the Administrator but there was nothing even the O5 Council could do in response as such it was left alone. SCP-AIR is still out there trying to survive with her strange anomalous abilities but also defending and protecting whoever she encounters that needs help. It is with hope that someone, somehow can convince the DI to visit SCP-AIR again, and hopefully have her control her powers to the point she can join the Foundation.

.

SCP: Horror Movie Files Hub

[eremington]

You spot a bird and as you move closer to investigate, there is something about it that looks familiar.

Oneiroi.

A dream spirit. You are able to recognise this magical creature because of your affinity for dream magic or simply because your demonic or divine natures can repel its magic. Once you do, the spell it has over you is no more and you remember who you really are once more.

OOC: Your character has broken free of the oneiroi’s spell and returned to normal within this collective dream. They can choose to simply leave this dream and wake up or they can choose to help others wake up from this dream. What will they choose to do?

Elijah was hit by another one of those strange dissociative episodes that had been turning up, but this time it didn't stop. So all the strange feelings were true. None of this was real. All the bizarre things he'd been half remembering were the truth, and this was the dream.

He leaned against the archway nearby and covered his face, trying to sort through his thoughts. For a moment, he almost wanted to go back to not knowing. Apparently he couldn't keep his marriage together in any universe, but at least in the dream he'd known where all his children were, and that they were safe. But this couldn't last.

Should he wake other people up? If he'd been pulled out of the dream, there had to be some way for him to spread that effect to others. But who? He looked around to see if there was anyone else who looked disturbed or like they were seeing the world through new eyes.