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futureslaps · 1 year

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The Captive - Chapter 24

Chapter 23 Chapter 25

Holy moly! I know I said I’d be back to the more regular schedule, but this chapter took a LONG time to plan out. I’ve essentially charted out the fic until the end over the past few days, and I wanted to take a while to make sure everything was as perfect as I could get it. I’ve only got one shot and I want to try to do this right!

Anyways, I hope the wait was worth it, enjoy!

As usual, Jake sat quietly near the entrance of his Marui as the rest of his family slept. This was his time to think, and he had a lot to think about.

His conversations with Kiri and Spider had been…heavy. The implications of what he’d learned still weighed on him.

How could he have been so blind?

How could he not see that Spider was depending on him?

Jake couldn’t even begin to remember all the different times he could have hurt Spider. It was…unthinkable. Whatever the damage was, it would take time to repair. Both his relationship with Kiri, and especially his with Spider. Their talk today, with all 3 of them together, had been a good starting point.

Afterwards, he’d promised himself he’d talk to Neytiri while they were out hunting during the day. Jake was aware that his mate could be…touchy when it came to the kid, and he didn’t want to have that discussion with anyone else present. Especially not his family. But he had hope that he could help her see.

Things seemed to be hopeful, looking up.

And yet…

Jake couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was bothering Spider. Even with everything he’d said, he felt like something was missing, going unsaid. He remembered when he tried to ask Spider about his captivity, and again was essentially shut down. Kiri had practically warned him not to prod.

But Jake needed to know. He refused to ever be blind to Spider’s pain again. He wanted desperately to help the kid with whatever had happened, but their conversation had made it clear Spider wasn’t ready to talk.

Quaritch, though…

Despite his denials, the Demon was almost certainly behind whatever happened to Spider when he was with the RDA. After all, he had been with Quaritch on the ship.

‘I don’t know him’ my ass.

Who knew what horrors Spider had been subjected to under his enemy’s orders? Jake’s heart began to beat faster as a new sense of determination filled him.

He needed to do this. For Spider.

He got up from his spot, took another look at his family, still sound asleep, and headed into the night. Jake hadn’t pressed Quaritch enough. Tonight, Jake would find out exactly why Spider was so afraid to talk about his captivity, whatever it took. If Quaritch thought he could take it to the grave, he was dead wrong.

(…)

The night was almost silent. There was no breeze, no sounds of distant animals, and even the sound of the waves on the beach was only a gentle lapping. It was unusually quiet, like the whole of Pandora was holding its breath in anticipation.

Spider could practically hear his heart pounding in his chest as he crept along the beach, knife clutched in his hand. The weight of what he was about to do sunk in more and more as he slunk through the silent night. It twisted his stomach into knots. He was practically confirming the worst things people said about him.

He is the Demon’s son. He cannot be trusted. He is dangerous.

Spider couldn’t deny that he had thought about freeing his father before. The thought had crossed his mind every time he went to visit the man, ever more intrusively as the time left until the trial had grown shorter and shorter.

But every time, he had quickly suppressed the thought, burying the plan with the wave of guilt that swept through him each time he considered it. This man was supposed to be his enemy. Quaritch hated everythingelse that Spider held dear. How dare Spider even think of releasing him? It was practically a crime against Eywa, with all Quaritch had done.

But Spider kept coming back to the idea regardless. It had to work somehow. It had to be better than…whatever lay in his future otherwise. Surely Eywa could understand?

If things went well, he’d leave with Quaritch, and they’d be long gone before anyone realized they were missing. The Sullys, and the rest of the Na’vi would piece together what had happened, of course. Maybe that’s what hurt Spider the most. The thought of the people he’d once called family learning about his betrayal.

But this was for the Sullys’ sakes as much as his. Spider knew that he had to stop hurting them. If leaving was the only way left, so be it.

Spider finally reached the hut and crept alongside it. In the silence, even a small noise so close could alert the guards. He’d had to be careful. Even with the thick material of the hut, his conversation with Quaritch would have to be quiet, no matter how important it was today.

Spider found his usual entrance and paused for a moment. The sinking feeling in his gut reminded him of the first time he’d ever visited his father.

He had crossed a point of no return that night. That had been the day when, after all the time they’d had together, he’d finally accepted that Quaritch was his dad, and he did care about the man.

Maybe, since that first visit, this moment had been inevitable…

But it still felt like a final choice. A choice between Quaritch, and the life he had now. Spider could still walk away. He could throw away the knife, and his plan would never be revealed, known only to Eywa herself. Quaritch would be executed, and Spider would live…whatever life he could among the Na’vi.

But in his mind, Spider had already chosen.

He took a deep breath, and muttered, almost silently.

“May Eywa forgive me for what I am about to do.”

Still clutching the knife, he slid under the canvas and into the hut for the final time.

Inside the prison, the silence was almost complete. The canvas walls muffled what little sound there was outside. Spider was distinctly aware of the sound of his own breathing.

And that of another.

“Spider?” Quaritch’s voice was a whisper.

“Dad.” Spider crept up to the bars. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he started to make out his dad’s face, it’s various spots softly glowing in the dark. Quaritch wore a pained expression, and he looked…tired. Worn down. Spider felt almost like he was looking at a mirror of his own emotions.

“Spider, I’m…sorry about yesterday. Having to shoo you away like that. I…”

“It…It’s okay, dad.” Spider rushed out, his heart somehow beating even faster.

“No, I…” Quaritch stopped when Spider lifted his arm, noticing the knife it held for the first time.

“What’s that?” Quaritch asked, confused, and concerned.

“Dad…” Spider took a deep breath.

“I’m here to break you out.”

The concern on Quaritch’s face morphed into a look of slight shock. His mouth was slightly open as he tried to process the words Spider had just said.

“Kid…what…?

“This knife can cut through your ties, and through the wall” Spider quickly explained, moving his hand lightly onto the blade, and offering the knife to Quaritch.

His father took the knife, but just looked at it in his hand, making no movements to cut his binds.

“Dad?” Spider’s mind raced as he watched Quaritch’s seemingly nonexistent reaction. Every second felt like an eternity.

Finally, Quaritch let out a sigh.

“No way, kid.”

Spider’s heart dropped. Had Quaritch just…refused?

“W-what?” Spider managed to stammer out.

Quaritch smiled sadly.

“There ain’t a chance in hell they don’t figure out it was you who cut me loose. I’m in here because I wanted to protect you. There’s no way I’m putting that kind of heat on you to get out.”

Spider didn’t flinch, but his heart was pounding.

“I’m coming with you, dad.”

Quaritch raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. Spider sensed it and quickly elaborated.

“I…can’t stay here anymore, dad. When I said … there isn’t anything left for me, I meant it. All I want now is to be with you. I have to leave”

Quaritch shook his head.

“It can’t work, kid. What, do you think we’ll swim away? With every tribal on our tail?”

“We…we can take an ilu.” Spider spoke, trying to keep his hope up in the face of reality. “The Metkayina ride on them to travel. We’ll be gone by morning. But we have to go now!”

“They’ll know where we’re going, Spider.” Quaritch emphasized, his voice was laden with emotion, but still stern. “Bridgehead’s in one direction, and I guarantee they’ll catch way before we cover that distance.”

“Then we won’t go to Bridgehead.” Spider answered, the desperation in his voice becoming clearer. “We’ll just go somewhere, anywhere else. Anywhere with nature. I can show you how to live out here…” Spider had made the same proposal to Quaritch before, while they were on the Sea Dragon. At the time, it had been met with yelling and hostility. But now, the same words made Quaritch’s ears droop.

“We can survive, I know we can. We…”

Spider stopped as Quaritch thrust the knife deep into the dirt between them. He put his hands on Spider’s shoulders, looked his son in the eyes, and, after a moment spoke one word.

“No.”

Spider stared back at his dad, his eyes now glistening with tears.

“But…we can…we could…”

“No, Spider.” Quaritch looked sorrowful, almost pained as he spoke. “It’s too dangerous. Too reckless. I will not take the risk of losing you. You’re everything to me, Spider.”

“Dad…I…I can’t lose you.” Spider choked out quietly. “I can’t…imagine being without you. I need you. I don’t want you to die…”

Quaritch made no attempt to mask the pain he was feeling, but he still shook his head.

“My time’s up, Spider. I… don’t like it any more than you do, but I will not let you throw your own life away too.”

Spider sobbed quietly.

“Dad…please…”

It was a desperate plea, but Spider knew Quaritch. He’d made up his mind, and there was no changing that.

It’s over.

As the last of the adrenaline left Spider, he started to lose his balance, overcome by a mounting tiredness. Before he could fall, though, Quaritch pulled him into a hug, as close as he could against the bars.

“I’m sorry.” Spider whimpered against his dad’s shoulder between muffled sobs. “It’s all my fault.”

Quaritch frowned.

“Don’t blame any of this on yourself, Spider.” Spider looked up, his eyes red. Quaritch continued.

“No, it’s my fault. I should’ve seen long ago how much you matter to me. I should have made you priority from day one. Maybe I should have even taken you up on your offer to run away. But I was stupid, and I was blind. I was busy hunting Sully, and I kept looking you over, until it was…too late. And now, I’m paying the price.”

Quaritch took a moment to gently adjust the mask on Spider’s face, shifted from the hug, then finished.

“But you won’t pay that price with me. You’ll get through this.”

Spider looked down in silence. He sighed, then spoke.

“I…I can’t. I’m not strong enough. I don’t know what I’ll do…when you…”

“Look at me kid.”

Quaritch lifted Spider’s chin to look him in the eyes again.

“I’m not asking you to be strong and power through everything.” He put a sad smile on his face. “That’s what I do, kid, and look where it got me. You’ve got kindness. You’re not a killer. You ain’t some trickster or cheat. You’re not hell-bent on fighting and revenge. You’re a good kid, Spider. You’re nice. You’ve got compassion. You’ve got heart. That’s how I know you’ll make it to the other side.”

“You’re not me.”

Spider didn’t speak at first. When he replied, his voice was quiet.

“I’m a traitor. The fact that I’m here proves it.”

Quaritch shook his head again.

“Nah, you ain’t here because you hate the Na’vi. This isn’t your revenge, some plan against them. You wanted to save me, kid. Same way you saved those Na’vi in that burning village from me.” Quaritch said, alluding to the raids he’d dragged Spider along on.

“It’s your way, kid. You don’t want to see people get hurt. Even a mean old freak of nature like me.”

Spider remained quiet for a long time after this. He looked down again, deep in thought. Finally the boy cracked a small smile, even with the tears still in his eyes.

“Old? You’re not old. You’re like…25?”

Quaritch smirked back.

“Body’s new, but my mind’s got the mileage, kid.”

“What’s that?”

Quaritch pulled Spider back into a hug, though looser than before.

“Forget about it. Just remember what I said, okay?”

“Okay dad.”

Spider closed his eyes as his father held him. This night hadn’t gone at all like he’d imagined. But somehow…he felt better.

Was his dad right?

Was there hope? Even after the trial?

“I…I’ll miss you, dad.” Spider whispered.

These moments reminded him of what he’d lose the most. Knowing what a hard man Quaritch was, and how cold and emotionless he could be, these moments between them were all the more special. He would remember every one of them.

Spider kept his eyes closed. If only it could last forever.

He felt himself start to drift off to sleep…

The sound of muffled voices outside made them both suddenly tense. Spider’s eyes shot open.

“Dad…?”

“Quiet, kid.” Quaritch whispered sternly, barely audibly. Neither of them dared move, with the once-sleepy guards now obviously wide awake. The talking continued for a moment; the words indiscernible. Then, finally, it became quiet again.

Spider breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back into Quaritch’s hug.

Then, the flap to the hut flew up, and Jake ducked inside, holding a long knife in his hand.

The moment he looked up, he froze, staring at the image of Quaritch holding Spider in his arms.

Jake’s wish is granted...😨

Hope you liked the chapter! Apologies if you were hoping to see an epic Quaritch & Spider getaway, but I felt like that big of a risk to Spider wouldn’t fly with Quaritch. Maybe I’ll write it as a little bonus content once the fic ends...

Spider’s plan still comes into play, though...

Taglist: @yesthisismycurrenthyperfixation @buzzing-honeybee @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

#oh shit #avatar #avatar 2 #atwow #jake sully #spider socorro #miles quaritch #recom quaritch #avatar quaritch #avatar jake #avatar spider

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magicianenthusiast · 1 year

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random lov headcanons

tomura was (and is) the biggest bug kid. he loves them. after he came to afo he was wary of dogs bc of mon and wasn’t allowed any other pets/friends anyway, so he got fond of the spiders and creepy crawlies he found around the bar. he also likes them because theyre also misunderstood and disliked for no reason.

after he gets out of prison he gets a pet tarantula. shuuichi puts up with her bc he’s a good boyfriend and eventually grows fond. dabi and kurogiri are entirely indifferent but the rest of the league refuse to touch/go near her

when compress and kurogiri started to flirt tomura was extremely protective and suspicious of compress. he enlisted the rest of the league (this was post kamino but pre-kurogiri’s arrest) to secretly investigate compress for anything sketchy. unfortunately none of them including tomura really knew what constituted sketchiness amongst a group of supervillains so after a while they gave up. tomura kept a close eye on compress for a long time tho.

dabi has his real name tattooed onto his inner lip along with his date of birth. he got it done when he was 19 just in case he died on the street before he could reveal anything, in the hopes that maybe an autopsy would be conducted.

all the league donate blood to himiko on the regular, so long as she uses clean needles

himiko usually has a supply of league blood on her, and even if not she usually still has some in her system, and she transforms into them whenever she feels unsafe.

after they get out of prison tomura is finally free to express himself with his body. afo banned body mods bc a.) tomura wasnt supposed to go outside and b.) because that’s going to be his body someday

tomura has his hair cut short whilst he was in prison, but ends up growing it out again afterwards bc it just felt weird

he gets tattoos. i havent decided exactly what but he definitely lets each of the league design a small stick and poke each for him. probably gets a few video game themed ones too, and some flowers in honour of hana and the rest of his family (sans his father).

during his surgery to get new skin grafts dabi loses all his staples and piercings. after he gets out endeavour gives him some money (with the offer of more if dabi is willing to move back home) but instead touya uses it to replace all his old piercings and get new ones

he convinces tomura to go with him. tomura gets a lip ring and a helix piercing.

dabi always wanted a pet (specifically a dog but he wasnt fussy) growing up but was never allowed one. during prison he was approved for a therapy cat, a scraggly black rescue. she spends 90% of her time riding on his shoulders and hates everyone but him.

at some point he also gets a dog as well. i havent decided what breed yet. he spends an ungodly amount of time training it even tho he insists he doesnt care.

dabi, tomura and shuuichi have never been to a hairdresser before and none of them ever plan to. they either cut their own hair (dabi and shuuichi) or just dont cut it at all (tomura)

dabi and kurogiri are amazing cooks. tomura is an ok cook but only cooks and eats the plainest foods imaginable. himiko, shuuichi, magne and jin are all decent cooks, they just don’t have any particular passion for it. compress isnt allowed near the kitchen unsupervised under any circumstances.

after they find out about dabis 3 year coma the league decides that it means that dabi is actually 3 years younger than he says he is, making him 20 when he joined the league. dabi calls bullshit but both tomura and shuuichi insist that they’re actually older and therefore he has to respect them as his elders.

maybe at some point after he gets out of jail the todoroki sibs jump on this too. touya is Not Pleased.

dabi and atsuhiro often get high and watch the worst/most obscure movies they can find together

all of the league love watching horror movies together and laughing at them.

garaki replaced the piece of jawbone dabi lost with a piece of someone else’s skeleton. he did a reasonably good job but dabi’s jaw is still ever so slightly lopsided.

bc of the burns on his throat sometimes he ends up not being able to talk, sometimes for up to a few days at a time. in the begining he’d just disappear until he got better or else write down what he wanted to say, but his handwriting is shit so in the end he begrudgingly admitted defeat and learnt sign language. the whole league learnt with him.

kurogiri is half ghanaian and dabi is quarter chinese

spinner had a tail when he was born but his parents ended up paying for it to be amputated when he was young. thanks to stress and a poor diet it never grew back, but after he gets out of prison it does (though it’s always a little shorter than it would’ve been had it grown normally)

they also had his retractable claws removed. later on before he joined the league he got new claws fitted, ones made of metal, but they’re non-retractable

spinner requires more protein in his diet than the baseline human. dabi needs a lot of calories bc his quirk burns through them so fast even when he’s not actively using it.

neither of them realise this until they’re being rehabilitated. they still get prison food, but it is catered to their dietary needs and they both have realisations of oh so THAT’S why i felt so shitty all the time

after getting out of prison tomura starts going by tenko, but he still responds to tomura

touya considers changing his name to something completely new, but eventually decides not to. he does usually dispense with his surname entirely tho

he usually goes by just touya, no last name

if he absolutely has to give a surname (outside of a legal documents where he has to put down todoroki) he usually just picks one from the league. sometimes he’ll put it down as hikiishi touya, sometimes sako touya, etc.

#league of villains #dabi #todoroki touya #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #toga himiko #mister compress #sako atsuhiro #hikiishi keni #magne #spinner #iguchi shuuichi #mha #bnha #my hero academia #my headcanons #kurogiri #shirakumo oboro

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nights-flying-fox · 7 months

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Deep (Purple) Thoughts (and Realizations)

◇ Click here to read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 ◇

Chapter 5: Talk It Out Donnie shares some information.

Word Count: 1743 | CW: manipulation (kind of??), self blaming (not donnie tho), mentions of genocide, survivor's guilt

(if you think i should add something plz tell me)

Controlling the Technodrome was an exciting idea at first. Donatello Hamato, the first person to fly a spaceship! His dreams from childhood were about to become real. Then he had discovered how disgusting it was. Icky, slimy, alive. The texture on its own made Donnie nauseous. But he could do it, for he was a genius, and this must not stop him. Not when he had said he could. Not when his family’s lives were on the stake. So, he had forced himself. With Mikey’s support the situation being a bit bearable. With every step it got worse. He had to use himself, not just his hands.

So, he let himself fall into the spaceship.

At first it felt as if he was being captured. Technodrome’s parts holding him, becoming a part of him. Then he had gasped. Connected. He had control. He knew everything! He could use it, protect his family and be powerful! He had knowledge!

With ease he controlled the Technodrome. He let it move according to the plan, protected Mikey. He knew why he was there and what he could do. But he wanted more. He could do more. He wasn’t just Donnie, he was also a spaceship. He was a genius with power and knowledge.

Donnie looked at the ground. “Except knowledge isn’t always good, it turns out.” He spoke. “Not when you can see what the Krang did.”

The silence felt too long, too heavy. He knew his family were giving him time, he appreciated it. And he wanted to tell them what happened. It was just hard. He felt his hand being squeezed. Raph smiled at him, supportive. Donnie took a deep breath.

“During my time connected with Technodrome I felt invincible. I didn’t care about what I learned. I... I even could understand why Krang wanted power.” He didn’t want to admit it. But he didn’t want to lie. It was what had happened, what scared him. “Afterwards it changed. Everything I knew, it was terrible. The planets they had taken over, the wars... I am glad we stopped them.” He didn’t want to get into the details. Not wanting to talk about how Technodrome was a corrupted thing, alive.

“Donnie...” He heard April whisper.

Before she could continue, he talked again. “The spaceship didn’t whisper or talk like in the horror movies. But it seemed to try control me too.”

“Control you?” Raph asked.

“It wanted me to join them.” Donnie replied. “At least that’s my guess.”

Another silence. He looked at them. Raph looking at him with understanding eyes, Mikey seemed to be worried, and Leo looked at him with wide eyes. Horror, guilt.

“Don’t blame yourself dumdum.” Donnie warned. He knew his twin well enough to stop him spiraling into self-hate. And not because they’d comfort each other when they had these moments of heavy guilt or self-hate at times.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to do something like that without knowing what exactly was it.” Leo said. “I am sorry Donnie.”

“Don’t.” He cut him off. “I wanted to do that anyway. It was an efficient information against the Krang as well.”

“You learned about their genocides.” Leo pointed out.

“Exactly. And that’s why what you did was insane, reminder.” Donnie glared at him.

Leo huffed. “Can’t even apologize and have a heartfelt moment without being accused with your past decisions.”

Donnie grabbed the pillow he was sitting on and threw it on his face. Leo yelped, “Hey!”

“You deserved it, idiot.”

“Rude.”

Suddenly Donnie was pulled into a side hug. He didn’t need to look to know it was Rapha. The big guy had that emotional look on his face. “Raph gets it, and he is very proud of you sharing this.”

“Thanks Raph.” Donnie said, relaxing in the hug a bit. He was still feeling the nervousness from remembering everything, but he didn’t mind Raph’s hug. It was comforting. Then he decided to ask something he was wondering for a long time, hopping it wouldn’t hurt Raph now. “When you were... you know... was it like that too?”

Raph took a deep breath. “Kind of?” He replied. Then voice a little quieter, and yet bravely he explained. “I didn’t see what you did see, at least not during my time like that, but my mind was empty and all I felt was needing power and accomplishing my mission.”

That was enough for what he wanted to know. Donnie decided to not ask anything else. “I’m sorry big guy.”

“It is fine.” He said. “Genuinely, I appreciate everything guys. You helped me a lot in the past weeks.”

It was true. Raph, unlike Donnie, had accepted help. Had admitted remembering parts of his time under Krang’s control, and that he had nightmares often. Raph didn’t want to tell them everything about that time, but he had shared enough for them to understand. Enough to get help. Maybe Donnie should’ve done the same.

“Is there anything we can do to help you Donnie?” Raph asked.

He still could, actually. “I...” He began, whispering. “...I don’t have nightmares but... there are times I fear I will feel like that again.” He admitted. “I can’t sleep.”

“So, this is why you spent hours awake during our turtle pile.” Raph realized.

Donnie nodded. Okay, end of the emotional stuff, right? He didn’t want to go into more details anyway. “That’s all from me. So, uh, we can move on?”

“You are terrible at this.” April shook her head with a smile. “But we can work on it. Right, Mikey?”

Mikey was uncharacteristically quiet. When all eyes were on him, he blinked confusedly, “Sorry, I was thinking something.”

“Something?” April raised a brow.

“Mhmm.” He was still fidgeting.

Nobody was going to let it slip, Donnie knew that. He was proven right when Raph smiled softly at Mikey, “Want to join to hug?”

Mikey looked at him with big eyes before nodding. As Mikey wrapped his arms around them, Donnie noticed his arms trembling slightly. “Is it your arms?” He questioned.

“No.” He replied.

“What’s wrong, big guy?” Raph asked softly.

Quiet. Then, “I should’ve done more.”

“What?”

Mikey snuggled more towards Raph, “I should’ve done more to help. Then none of you would’ve ended up this hurt.”

Donnie looked at Raph, confused. Raph looked back him with surprise. Before any of them could say anything though, Leo talked. “Mikey, what the shell are you talkin’ about? You literally broke some science law stuff to save my tail that day.”

Mikey turned slightly to look at Leo, “But I didn’t do anything like you did.” He said. “Raph got everyone safe, Donnie controlled a spaceship, April, Dad and Junior got Krang Sister, and you stopped Krang Prime!”

Everyone looked at him confused. “Mikey, you realize that without you I could have ended up be dead, right? Heck, we all would be, considering it is your future version who sent Junior back in time.” Leo said. “You even threw a freaking building at Krang.”

“...It still doesn’t feel enough.” Mikey whispered. “I am sorry, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Actually, it does.” April interrupted. She turned to Shelldon who was watching them all silently the whole time. “I am not sure, but wasn’t there something about feeling bad for not going through something others did?”

Shelldon was quick to answer, Donnie feeling proud at how fast Shelldon could gain information on situations like this. “The closest match seems to be survivor’s guilt.” He answered. “Survivor guilt or survivor's guilt is a mental condition that occurs when a person believes they have done something wrong by surviving a traumatic or tragic event when others did not.” He explained, reading an article he found. “Survivor’s guilt is a response to an event in which someone else experienced loss, but you did not. While the name implies this to be a response to the loss of life, it could also be the loss of property, health, identity or a number of other things that are important to people, is another definition from a different a source.” He added.

“Close enough, thanks Shelldon.” April turned back to Mikey. “Maybe it’s something like this?”

“Oh. How didn’t I think of this?” Mikey questioned with surprise.

“It’s okay, even Doctor Feelings can forget details.” Raph tried to reassure him.

“That’s why he should take a break.” Leo said. Then he proceeded to join the hug. “And you too. You did amazing back there, Mike. Don’t let your thoughts deceive you.”

“As an exception, I have to agree with him.” Donnie nodded. “You were very brave back there, Angelo.”

“Thanks guys.” Mikey smiled with teary eyes. “You are the best.”

April joined the hug as well, “So are you.”

Donnie was sure things were already better. Now only if his dumdum twin opened up too—

“Hey, Raph, if you don’t mind me asking,” Leo suddenly broke the comforting silence. “When you answered Donnie’s question… Is there something you haven’t told us?”

Donnie turned to Raph. If Leo suspected of something, it was worth to follow his lead. He was a good observer. Raph avoided to look at them, so it should be true that Leo was right.

“It isn’t that important.” He shrugged it off.

“Are you sure? You seem to be stressed about it.” April said, “You know you can tell it to us if it bothers you.”

Raph sighed, “I don’t wanna burden you guys with that. Really, I can handle it.”

“Okay… but don’t burden yourself.” Mikey reminded. “If it we can, we will help. Just tell us.”

“Thanks for the support, Mikey.” Raph smiled genuinely.

Mikey hugged him tighter as a response.

Donnie watched as Raph looked at the ceiling. He was considering. Donnie knew Raph would see nightmares that wouldn’t let him sleep. Raph was no night owl, it troubled him a lot. Even if he had tried to hide it, it would have been obvious. But Donnie had never thought there being another possible reason keeping him awake.

He held his hand and squeezed. A silent support, a reminder that they were here. Something the siblings would do when one of them was having a bad day and not being able to talk. Or when the world would become too loud for words. Or just when they wanted to remind each other they were by each other’s side without telling it.

After a moment, Raph squeezed back.

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who-do-i-know-this-man · 1 year

Note

more tales from the gas station propaganda! i personally would recommend checking out the web series as well as the books honestly - the books are a lot more detailed but the web series is still interesting! if you only read one of em 100% go for the books but they're still pretty neat together and also feature some differences (and an entry or two that didn't make it into the books)! it also felt more immersive to me to read the web series and then read the book, where jack talks about the blog/writing it. i personally started with the web series and moved onto the books afterward, and recommend doing that since it can drag a bit more if you read the books first (since a lot of the web series content is featured in the books). i found it most useful to read the web series + side stories, the books, and then the spinoff/side story bedside manor! the web series is more comedic than horror, though the books also lean more towards comedy in the first half.

anyway, in terms of actual propaganda - alongside the actual plot being really good, the characters are a big highlight! the prev propaganda went into it a bit, but the cast is endlessly fun. jack, the main character, has very dry humor and ends up kind of being "the straight man" of the more eccentric cast, but he's very fun bc unlike a lot of characters who fit that trope, he's JUST as weird and unhinged as the rest of the cast in his own way. his best friend (from book 2 onward at least), jerry (the blonde himbo) is the most chaotically hilarious character - deeply impulsive, wildly overly affectionate with everyone, weird fun fashion, unbothered by functionally everything, and basically just a human puppy given murderous tendencies. he and jack are also deeply pathetic (i say this affectionately).

there's also rosa, one of jack's coworkers in a later book with a massive crush on him (that he's fully oblivious to), is just a ball of sunshine and the only real competent employee; she's also fully unaware of the supernatural shit going on and is Very stressed over it </3 book 4 especially gives her fantastic characterization. o'brien is the local sheriff on gas station duty from book 2 onward (she basically cleans up any shit that goes on at the gas station) and is a little standoffish at first, but gets attached to jack and the rest of the crew pretty quickly (though she tends to show it more through endless nicknames and doing everything she can to keep the cast of idiots safe); she cares a Lot and actually puts effort into trying to keep the town safe and figure out what the fuck is happening

and that's just the main four characters! all of the side characters are also really good - spencer, the murderous stalker who has it out for jack, brick roscoe & brick roscoe, two agents of an unknown organization who cover up supernatural shit, benjamin, an insanely tough monster hunter/survivalist tired of everyone's shit, agatha, a cool old lady with a massive monster truck.. really, there's no shortage of fun characters

also! it's a pretty diverse series, with multiple canonically queer characters (even of the main cast, jack is ace + jerry is bi), physical disability rep, characters of color, and ofc mentally ill characters (again including jack himself) - alongside many people seeing jerry as coded (and potentially canonically?) adhd and jack as coded autistic

i will say that it's important to keep in mind there's a LOT of triggering content - alongside the horror stuff, which includes gore/body horror, unreality, paranoia fuel, torture, kidnapping, stalking, and more, there's also a LOT of discussion of abuse/child abuse and the series doesn't shy away from the bigotry the cast often faces (in particular warning for racism, ableism, and homophobia + slurs), and unfortunately there's also a decent amount of fatphobia in the series. i would 100% recommend the series, but do be warned that it's very heavy, especially towards the end

like the other person said the series is all available in audio format, both through audiobooks and youtube reading of the series! i'm not sure if the books are in any libraries but they're also all available to buy online, and obviously the web series is free to read on reddit and the tales from the gas station website. it's a bit of a long read (i get through books fast and it still took me a good week or two to get through everything even marathon-reading it) but it's worth it imo!

#asks #not blorbo poll #propaganda?

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undonerhapsodize · 1 year

Text

Mask Off

Act 2 - Pt. 1 out of 3

DSMP C!Dream x g/n!reader, ft. Quackity TW: Generally triggering content: suspense, dread, horror, threats of violence, arguing, fluffy for half but it goes away quickly, not a happy ending Word Count: 7,233 Summary: You and Dream were together. Your cabin held the both of you nicely, away from the chaos of the SMP. Yet, the very roof seems to cave in when a certain visitor suddenly comes knocking on your door. What could he want?

Side Note: So my imagination decided to run a bit wild and now there’re parts 2 & 3 as well as act 1 in the works. Yup. I’ve given myself more work. Yet again. But listen it’ll be a while until I finish this act, nevermind the first one x-X. Just a heads up. Anyway, enjoy!! I had fun writing this :)))

The swinging of the wooden cabin door whined at the newcomer, complaining loudly at the disturbance. It announced the presence of the individual daring to use it, echoing throughout the house, not letting up for even a moment as he stepped through. It shut just as boldly, even with his attempt of easing it closed with a soft click.

Not usually the type of person to state his arrival, Dream carried on without a word. He stepped through the foyer with practiced ease, navigating the semi cluttered area as best he could with an armful of firewood and his ax in the hand he wasn’t using. Taking care not to let the bundle of wood topple onto the ground, he sets the weapon down to lean against the counter, leaving it to rest. He stepped away from it, again side stepping around the room, not wanting to bump into any of the goods that lay on the small kitchen table or stumble down the stairwell, its opening laid against the farthest wall from the front door.

Making his way to the fireplace, Dream could feel the heat intensify, even through the mask he wore on his face. It grew with each step, hotter and hotter, only for its change to become stagnant as he crouched in front of it. He took a moment to feel its warmth, to take in the comfort it provided as opposed to the chill of the autumn breeze. Though Dream was not a man to hold such sentiments to a high value, he gladly accepted the feeling as he began restocking the fire wood, placing it on the melt rack beside the fireplace for later use. Whatever was left over he chose to re-inflame the fire with, seeing the once lively, now smothering embers, in need of the fuel. Conscientious of the heat, he plied on more wood, poking around at the base of the fire with one of the longer, thicker sticks. It quickly caught fire, and began to build the flame back up to its former glory. Bingo

Dream continued to work as footsteps began to sound from the basement, leisurely ascending the stairs that lead up to the ground floor. Of course he heard it, his ears were as keen as ever. He wasn’t warry. He knew who they belonged to.

Eventually, the footsteps reached the top of the stairs. They stilled for a second, feeling the familiar presence behind him. But with nothing being said, he grew confused. Dream was about to turn to face them. Only, they spoke first.

“Why hello to you,” they said. Their footsteps started up again, yet this time, to the kitchen.

The corner of his lip curled up in amusement. “Hello~.” He continued to stoke the fire.

“Now, why aren’t you using the fire iron?” They asked with an accusatory tone. There was a clamor made towards the backend of the cabin, one that Dream recognized as a box coming in contact with something hard: probably the floor based on the vibrations he felt. A ‘ping’ sounded just afterward: of glass hitting glass.

Dream shrugged, to no one but himself. “Cuz,” he spoke simply. “It’s pussy shit.” Another ‘ping’. “The fuck do you mean it’s pussy shit?” They spoke with the same tone, yet there was a small chuckle tacked on at the end of their sentence. “That’s it’s whole job.”

Dream threw what remained of the stick, which had at this point shortened greatly, into the fire. He was satisfied with how the fire now sprang back to life. “‘just don’t need it.”

He stood up, knees popping quietly. Shifting, Dream turned to face the person he was talking to. There they stood, just in front of the kitchen sink, an assortment of glass bottles inside a wooden box on the floor to their side . They spoke again, “Still,” a little softer this time, “you should use it. Give it more purpose.”

Dream smiled, if only a little. “Really?” He began to make his way over to them, maneuvering around the overflowing table once more. He passed over into the kitchen space just as they gave a ‘yea’ in confirmation.

Dream slowed as he got closer, almost about to close the distance. “Well,” starting in a light tone. Gently, he stepped into them, snaking his arms around their midsection and tightening, holding his own arm in order to secure them in place. He continued, “Whatever you say, Y/N.”

At the response, you breathe out a laugh through your nose, though don’t say anything else. The atmosphere grows quiet for a couple seconds, save for the clinking glass bottle as you continue to work. Dream modestly stands, hugging you from behind as he drinks in the warmth you provided, chest pressed surely against your back. A very grounding thing beyond all else. Definitely for him.

It doesn’t take long for Dream to pier over your shoulder to gaze at what you were working on. Though it's obvious from the movements themselves, he asks anyway. “Whatcha workin on?”

“Getting these potions into their proper bottles,” You say. “I saw we were running out a couple days ago and decided to make some more.”

Dream let out a ‘hmm’, content with the answer. He dropped his head onto your shoulder. Angling his face into the area of your neck and the back of your head, he breathed you in. Or, as much as he could with the mask on his face. Though it only covered the upper portion of his face (mouth still visible), it obstructed a lot of his movement. But, luckily, not so much this.

He enjoyed the faint scent your hair gave off from this morning’s shampoo. It set him at ease when not many other things could. The feeling in his heart grew, reaching from the pits of his stomach to the tips of his ears. He closed his eyes at the emotion blooming within. You, on the same page, sighed in content. The clinking of the glass bottles continued.

He couldn’t help but untangle one of his arms from his embrace. He took it, raising it up to move the fabric of your hoodie away from the nap of your neck, clearing the area for him to access. He didn’t get a chance to.

You jumped, something akin to a flinch. Stopping all motion, Dream froze. He already had an apology ready to go, but before he could, he heard your laughter.

“Haha… sorry, that spooked me. Also kinda tickles.”

Dream blinked, processing. A grin made its way onto his face, stretching from something passive, into something much more… cunning. “It what?”

You stopped. Hearing the tone in his voice was not a good sign. It wasn’t the sound of someone asking just an innocent question. “Uh, yeah?” You braced the edge of the kitchen sink, a bottle still in hand.

“Yeah?” he repeated, almost mockingly. The same hand had risen again, elbow bent, ready to strike.

Dread filled you at the realization. The missing arm. “Dream no-”

You barely could get another word in before the man in question pulled your hoodie back, starting his vicious attack. He dove in head first, literally.

Relentlessly, he kissed, nipped, and tickled the area with skin-on-skin contact. His lips, along with the stubble of his upper lip and jaw, not doing you any favors. You burst out laughing against your will.

He grinned borderline maliciously, happy to see his hunch had been right. And relentlessly, he laughed, abet muffled by your skin. Your reaction was far beyond calm. To put it plainly, you thrashed, trying to muscle out of Dream’s grip, but to no avail. Even with a single arm, he held you in place, refusing to let you go from his front until he’s had his fun. Shouts of protest rang throughout the house, as well as giggles of joy. Ones that fueled Dream’s rampage as he continued his onslaught.

Though it didn’t last forever.

The sound of glass shattering made Dream stop every movement. The sound of the shocked noise that left your throat made Dream unlatch himself to look over your shoulder and at your face. Your eyebrows were set downturned, yet your eyes were wide, fixated on whatever was in front of you. Dream turned a cheek to look at the scene, only to make the same face himself. His jaw even dropped, fully aghast at the sight.

There, in the bottom of the sink, was the remains of what used to be an invisibility potion, glass shattered and sitting on the metal. Though that wasn’t the best part, oh no. It was the fact that the concoction had splattered up, and onto your hands. Only making selective parts invisible. Not the whole hand, just dots.

Your hands were that of a dalmatians' coat, yet instead black, the bottom of the sink filled the space.

Expression frozen, Dream slowly turned his head to face you, wanting to get a read for your reaction. You just starred, and blinked. It was dead silent for a few seconds before you finally looked at him. You only had one thing to say.

“Bruh.”

Dream cracked.

Taking a step back, and letting go of your waist, he uses his arm to clutch his own stomach, letting out a wheeze of laughter at the mere sight of your hands. It apparently was the most hilarious thing to him. He slouches at the feeling of his stomach tightening at the exhilaration, shoulders turning into themselves. Eyes squinted, mouth agape, teeth showing, he let out buckets full of boyish, hearty laughter. He was tireless in his own humor. Even when that giggles stopped, he still pushed it out, squeezing out air from his lungs that sounded awfully almost like a kettle.

Meanwhile, you stood at the sink, arms crossed at the sight of Dream losing his shit over the sight over a fucked-up invis pot. Yes you thought it was funny. But was it that funny? Like, ‘laughing my ass off’ funny? No. That was just too much. Was it what you said? Maybe. You couldn’t know.

Dream continues to laugh as you turn back around to the sink, flipping on the sink to run the excess potion down the sink and wash your hands. “Just let me know when you’re done,” you call over your shoulder.

Dream runs a hand through his hair. He struggles to speak through his convulsing diaphragm, but muscles through anyway. “I-it…”

You turn your head, shutting off the water, “What?”

He tries again, giggling throughout. “I-It… they-y look la-like…”

You raise a brow. Already expecting something outta left field. You take the towel from the oven to palm your hands dry. “...What?”

He points weakly to your hands, chest expanding and shrinking with air. There, he makes an impeccable observation. He grins.

“Like… sw-iss cheEESEEeee…”

Once again the man doubles over, comically stumbling over to the fridge, using a free hand to lean against it in support. There, he confines himself, designating it as the resting place for his hackling.

You, at this point, can’t help but laugh with him. Leaning against the counter top, you chuckle softly, admitting that yes, they do kinda look like swiss cheese.

It takes a good couple seconds for Dream to calm after that, the last of his enjoyment dying out at the push of his body from the fridge, and an adjustment of his posture. You don’t even have to ask before he’s opening said fridge, and pulling out the milk. It just stands as a reminder that even as distracted as possible, he’s still thinking ahead. Even for simple things.

“I can get that.” You said instinctively.

Dream brushes it off with a sarcastic comment, as per usual. “Oh really? I didn’t know.”

You roll your eyes, but say nothing. He continues his path, plucking an empty glass from the cupboard, filling it halfway with the milk, side-stepping to return the milk to the fridge, and approaching you with it. The grin he wears is still cheeky. Not surprising.

He stands before you once more, presenting the glass to you. You take it easily, not hesitating to drink, taking small sips. He lets his hand fall to his side. You look at him, and into the porcelain white of his mask. For anyone else, it might’ve been intimidating to stand in front of him. One so tall, mysterious, dangerous, as you’ve heard. Yet, you were not afraid. Maybe you should be. But you weren’t.

You think to continue the conversation. “I can’t believe you would laugh at my suffering.” You take another sip to allow him a chance to speak.

“I won’t call that suffering, love.” He says easily, gesturing down with his head at the now fading remains of the invisibility potion. “You weren’t hurt or anything.”

Tipping your head up you’re beginning to finish the glass. Swallowing, you go on. “True,” you admit. “Though I could’ve been.” Dream’s grin drops a little in confusion. You elaborate. “It could’ve been something bad, like a harming. I also made some of those.”

“Why’d you make those?” He can’t help but ask. You shrug. “Had the ingredients. Thought, ‘why not?’ Just in case.” Dream’s enjoyment finally fades at the admission: at the realization that that spill-up could’ve been a lot worse. That depending on what kind of potion it was, the evening could’ve turned into a particularly awful one. Dream frowned.

You were about to ask about the change in mood, before he took a step forward. He raised both hands, tenderly placing them on your biceps. His thumbs started to rub into your hoodie, comforting in its motion. Even through the fabric, you knew the reason for his hands was rather to have, than to hold. He angled his face up, above and to your hair. A sign for you to tilt your head down, which you did. What you weren’t expecting was the feather-light kiss to the crown of your head. It was as soft as the moon-light that peaked through the closed curtains from the window. You could’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. There he held you, and spoke words you would cherish for years to come.

“I’m sorry. ‘Wasn’t careful.”

You’re confused. “I was kidding.”

He reports back, albeit softly. “I know you were.”

You pause for a mere moment to think, then it comes to you. Melting at the earnesty, you smile, chest warm. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t mean to.”

He continued to speak, protesting your attempt of comfort. “That’s the problem.”

Still, you shook your head, encased as it was. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

Dream chose not to respond. You didn’t make him.

Instead, you lightly tapped on his chest with the glass, which had been empty of milk for some time now. Chuckling at the way you chose to get his attention, Dream took the glass from you and side-stepped to the sink, going to wash it. He flicked on the sink.

You protested, “Ey-”

Dream interrupted you.. “Go sit down. I’ll join you after I clean this up.” He was referring to the broken glass still sitting at the bottom of the kitchen sink.

You protested one more, “I can get th-”

Dream countered, biting back with his back still turned. “No. I got it. Now go sit down.”

You tried again, “Dream, I can-”

He turned around. He decided to kick a leg out, and lean against the counter, glass still in hand. He tilted his head down. If you could see his face, you could guess the kind of face he’s making at you right now.

“Y/N.” He says with the patience he doesn’t have. “I’ve. Got. This. Please. Go still down.” He pauses once more, maybe to let the silence speak for itself. “Think of it like a favor.” You huff after a few solid seconds of a disconnected staring contest. “Fine,” you give in. Turning on your heel you make your way to the plaid coach sat by the fireplace. Before you get too far, you decide to call one last thing over your shoulder, “You’re impossible, you know.”

Dream audibly laughs, deep and true. “It is said to be one of my best qualities.” He pauses before adding. “As is yours.”

You huff again, though it ends in a chuckle you can’t hold back. You sit yourself down on the coach as he finishes his task. “Oh shush.”

The crackling of the fire’s flame filled the quiet of the cabin, as well as the sounds of heavy footfalls, and of clinking glass. From what you could tell, Dream made quick work of the clean-up, swiftly wiping down the counter of any remaining potion residue. The sound of a muffled slam made it known that he had finished, the disposable bin shutting for the last time that night.

From your position on the couch, you sat in your thoughts. Quietly. You tilted your head back until the back of your neck reached the curve of the cushion. You sighed out, letting your eyes flutter shut.

When you first found Dream, caked in dirt and grime, coated in both dried and fresh blood, he was in your barn. Hearing the alarming sounds of an intruder at one o’clock in the morning, you set out to investigate, seeking out whatever animal you thought had weaseled their way into the rickety old thing. What you did NOT expect to find, however, was the form of a tired, worn man on the brink of exhaustion. It was quite a sight if you were to be honest. The picture of what is probably the closest person to the antagonist of the Greater SMP, struggling to get himself to stand against you, hissing out insults and threats of violence all the while. It would be imprinted in your head for as long as you lived. It would remain in the same way as your first seated dinner with the villain after patching him up as he hunched over his bowl of soup, as would the time he threatened to kill you when you snuck up behind him by accident.

From the start of your relationship, you didn’t expect it to go far, either. Not at all. You knew what he was. He knew what you were. The both of you didn’t expect to change in the way that you had, to evolve in ways that went beyond your outstretched hand of empathy, or the soothing touch of the healing man you didn’t think he could possess. Yet, fate surprised you. He surprised you. It's predictable that way, unyielding in its course of amazement and the unanticipated. Even now, it baffled you. How could such a man, a man just as Dream, decide to share his company with you in the ways that he has. Ways even he probably thought himself incapable.

You weren’t one to tempt fate. Not at this part, at least. Here, in your cabin, you were content to sit, and wait for him. You had the patience. You had the time.

Though not much.

A scuffled sound, of rubber against tile, alerted you to something you had not yet processed. You opened your eyes, craning your head up to look at the person in question. “Do you still have your boots on?”

Dream made a noise close to what a horse would make, except distantly human. “Yeah.” He patted his hands dry with the dish towel, just having finished washing them thoroughly.

Your face scrunches up in disgust. “Take them off.”

At that, the masked man openly chuckles, placing the dish rag back from whence it came, beginning to take steps closer and closer to where you sat relaxed on the couch. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Then you’re weird.”

His mouth opens, agape with fake offense. “I am not weird.” He toes off his shoes at the front door, not bothering to set them up properly before padding closer with deathly quiet footsteps.

You almost make a face at the act, though you’re quickly distracted by the looming figure of Dream over the coach. A shadow could’ve casted over you. Your seated position only increased the height difference between the both of you. Mans is tall.

Yet, you are not afraid. “You kinda are.” You speak casually.

Dream scoffs, a smile visibly growing below the face, teeth showing. He’s a little more insistent this time as he takes a knee on the couch. He chooses not to lower himself. “I am not.”

You shrug. “You definitely are.”

Dream tilts his head. The whites of his canines peek out from his lips. He doesn’t move. Not a single inch. It makes you freeze as well. You go to say something else to get him to do something, but before you can, he pounces.

Leaning down and taking both his hands around your waist, he turns you sideways, nearly picking you up in the process. With an exaggerated grunt, Dream maneuvers you so your body faces longways down the couch. Rightfully caught off guard, you’re about to ask what the hell he’s doing. But before you can, Dream turns himself longways as well, and topples down, collapsing onto you with his weight. It effectively knocks the wind out of you, huffing out an “oof” at the impact. Dream laughs quietly all the while: a mix between a rumble and a chuckle.

There he lays on you, turning his head to the side, ear pressed to your collarbone and arms sandwiched between you and the couch. He gets comfortable, shifting against you to find the best position to lay. He stills after a minute. Then, as the grand finally, Dream speaks, smoothly yet clear. “Well… I guess I am.”

The feigning of innocence gets a laugh out of you. You breathe out, shifting on your own to try to get comfortable. Well, as best as you can with a six foot, well built man on top of you. Like your body moved on its own, your arms came up to wrap securely around the back of Dream, hands running along the expanse of his shoulders as you do. He visibly shivers at the contact. You stop, cautious in your movements.

Dream notices, and acts. He struggles to pull an arm from wherever it has wedged itself. He takes it, and twists his shoulder, maneuvering his hand to touch your own, which was held in the air, hovering over his back. Straining a little, he pushes it down, making contact with his back once more. He returns his arm, easily tucking it back into the space it had come from.

If he was phased by the touch, he didn’t show it, nor speak it. Smiling, your pride in him swells, and your apprehension leaves, just as quick as it came. Continuing, you tighten your arms, which find their resting place with ease.

There they stay. And there, the both of you sink into one another, melting into the cushion of your furniture and the comfort each other gave. Its warmth was unrivaled by anything, going beyond normal heat and into the very personification of a glow. And my, what a cozy glow it was. Oh how lovely.

The rarity of the moment did not escape you. How foolish could you be, to forget who exactly, you held so closely? How dismissive could you act, to not?

Dream and you. Together. A recipe for disaster. That was certain.

Take a seesaw. On one end, the man sat. The other, you. The balance was level, despite it all. Your feet floated, a foot or so above the ground. His did as well. If you listened close enough, you could hear laughter, light and unburdened. You can hear a heartbeat, strong and resilient. You can hear silence, unseen and unbothered. You can hear it all.

That is, if you can hear it past the rumbling of the thunder, just a matter of miles away.

A storm was brewing. How would the seesaw take it? Could it withstand the pressure?

KNOCK KNOCK

Both you and Dream tensed immediately. The silence of the cabin suddenly became too much for the both of you. Dream whipped his head up to face you, a look of confusion and panic plastered all over it. You didn’t have to see it to know it was there. You gave the same look back, just as shocked as he was.

At that unspoken agreement, a realization washed over the both of you.

You didn’t plan on having any guests over. You didn’t know anyone in the area who you were close enough to that could possibly come over at any random time. Especially at this time, when the night had just fallen upon the land, and the creatures of the world began to emerge from their slumber.

In that moment, the serenity had abruptly, and brutally been replaced with danger.

Wordlessly, Dream sat up, and rose from the couch. His eyes were trained on the door, never once leaving, even as you got up as well. “Invis.” You say quietly, looking at him with nervous eyes. “By the counter.” He nods once. Only once.

You make your way to the door, the sounds of your footfalls as bold as they could’ve been in the rigid atmosphere. Dream on the other hand, you can barely sense move into the kitchen behind you. He’s like a ghost in these kind of scenarios. Unseen and untouchable.

Placing your hand on the door, you lean in, peering into the peep hole to get a glimpse of your unexpected visitor. Though no matter how brave you think you are, nothing prepares you for what you see on your front step, only accompanied by the darkness of the sky.

You’re horrified.

Slowly you turn around. Dream had picked up his ax, and was moving it, taking it from where it was to where he now places it: on top of the cabinet and out of sight. His height works for him in that way, where he can easily reach up and grab his prized tool whenever he would need, and nobody would even know it was there. An invisibility potion in hand, it was already uncorked and ready to drink. He stills afterwards, straightening. He stares, unblinking. You can guess the expression: eyes wide with anxiety and adrenaline. His eyes only seem to grow wider at the look on your face, pupils shrinking to an almost inhuman size.

You have to command yourself to speak, the lone word not wanting to leave your tongue. For both of your sakes.

“Quackity.”

You whisper it into the density of the air, breathless with unease. You can only imagine the thoughts that go through Dream’s mind, as he continues to stand there, unmoving. You can see the hand that holds the potion tremble, even as the grip tightens.

Oh how you want to turn your back on the door and comfort him, to reassure him with every promise that you can. I’m sorry honey.

KNOCK KNOCK

You jump. Dream doesn’t. Instead, he lets his eyes ease shut. He seems to breathe deep, nodding to no one but himself, before bringing the bottle to his lips, tilting his head back, and drinking the entire potion in one go. If you had the time to think about it, you would be jealous of how quickly he can find resolve. Even in the face of such an enemy.

You watch him swallow the substance and how it goes into effect instantaneously. His body begins to fade, spotty at first, then partially, then completely, as the mask man disappears from your view. Nothing remained, not a shred of clothing, not even a shadow.

Your own resolve is shaky as you place your hand on the door handle. Before you lose your nerve, and before this visitor can lose his patience, you turn it, and brace yourself. With a tug, the door opens, about halfway, where it reveals none other than the President of Las Nevadas, Quackity. The vile torturer in the flesh.

He snaps his head to you. His body isn’t facing the door, more so to the side as he looked to be gazing out into the forest. He looks worn, though not overly so. The white of his shirt was muddled, its purity now appearing dirty. It looks as if he hadn’t properly washed it in forever. He had what looked like an ax secured to his belt. You try not to look at it too long. The scar along his face was as prevalent as ever, along with the blind eye. It matched the propaganda posters you’ve seen relatively well. Though its roughness was missed in translation.

He blinks. Then smiles.

“Oh hello!” Quackity greets, golden tooth peeking through his lips. One hand comes up to straighten a suspender that had been starting to slip from his shoulder. He turns to face you fully at the same time.

“Ah, Hello?” You ask with a question. You have never met this man before. Only heard stories. You could only wonder, what was he doing here? What did he want?

“Ha ha, I guess this is a little weird huh?” The President chuckles to himself. “You probably weren’t expecting someone on your front door at this time of night.”

You remain still, prompting him to continue. He straightens up, taking his collar in two hands, and pops it. Dramatically.

“Well… I’m Quackity, President of Las Nevadas, Big Q, blah blah blahahaha…” He trails off in a laugh, one that makes you shuffle your feet. It wasn’t a nice one to hear.

He does the same, but takes a wider stance. “Aha… whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’ve heard of me, hmm?” He raises his unmarred eyebrow.

Seeing him stand there without continuing prompts you to speak. “Umm… yea… I think so.” You talk softly on purpose, influenced by your confusion and nervousness.

He grins again, dimples forming on his cheeks. He shuffles once more. It's almost fidgety in how he moves. Instantaneous, and unexpected.

“That's good, that's good,” He nods, muttering before clearing his voice. “I was just wandering around and saw your little cabin, and figured, why not ask a few questions.” He looks to you, making eye contact with a small bow of the head, smiling cheekily all the while. “If that’s alright with you, Mx?...”

“Y/N.” You finish lightly. “Just Y/N is fine.”

“Ah, Y/N. That’s a nice name!” He declares, almost excited. You force a polite smile on your face in flattery.

He gestures with a hand suddenly, pointing to the open part of the door. “May I come in?”

A flash of alarm flows through you, running all the way from the tips of your ears to the soles of your feet. Dream is in here. As cautious as you are in your presentation, you can’t help but stammer out a decline. “Ahaha, I’m sorry sir, but it is the middle of the night, and…I-I don’t think I would be comfortable with that…”

His smile falls a bit at the rejection. “Are you sure about that Mx Y/N?” The look he gives is less than pleasant, a far cry from the almost blissful look he wore only seconds ago.

As unnerving as it is, you stand your ground, now putting on the best performance of ‘innocent bystander’ as you can realistically manage. You hope your face beams with courtesy, as does your voice as you reply sweetly. “I am, Mr. President.”

You can tell he’s annoyed by the decline as he attempts to move on. He sighs. “Well, I guess I won’t be long.” He says to himself, as his eyes glance down at your porch deck for a moment before they return to your face.

He opens his mouth to begin. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Greater Kingdom, haven’t you?”

You nod. “Yeah I have.”

He goes on, “Are you aware of the most recent events?”

You pause for a second, internally debating on what to say. Knowing Quackity is watching your every move, you answer casually. “Uhh, no? I don’t think so. What recent events?” You quirk a brow, honestly wondering what he's referring to.

Quackity breathes in deeply, as if the floodgates are about to open. “Well…” He starts, careful this time. Different than before. “There’s been an incident, and… there’s a prisoner on the loose.”

You don’t move. Quackity stares you, dead in the eyes, searching, inspecting. You don’t give him a thing. He shuffles again.

“What I’m interested in, quite frankly, is if you’ve seen anyone… suspicious over the past few weeks.”

You turn your head, bringing a hand up to rub your chin, the crease of your brow deeps as you pretend to think on the matter. You wait a second or two before letting up, shaking your head. “Uh, no. I have not. Well, I don’t think I have. Then again, I don’t really see anyone out here, especially so late in the year. That is, except for you of course…”

“Then let me ask you something else!” Quackity cuts you off, raising a finger to you in the universal ‘wait’ signal. He counters with a smoothness that comes off more as desperation. You can see it in his eyes.

They narrow a fraction as he cocks his head to the side. The dim lighting of the torch that rested on the wall only made the man more menacing. The shadow that casted over his eyes made a portion of his scar disappear, and the milky gray of his blind eye glow. You have to command yourself to match the stare of the dead tissue.

“Have you seen anyone around with a white mask? What with a smile drawn on?”

You breathe. In. And out.

“N-No?” Calm down. Try again. “What? A smile? On a mask?”

Quackity blurts out a cackle, clutching his chest. It reverberates throughout the house . “I know right?! HAHAHA… fucking stupid…”

You laugh with him, as much as you can for your sincerity to appear true. You grab the door frame with a hand to stabilize yourself.

He coughs inwardly, calming himself from the outburst. “Hehehe.. he.. it's just that, I mean…” He stands solid again. Except, it's different this time. He turns sideways, his shoulders pull back, looking the most square they've been during this whole interaction.

He clicks his tongue. “Anyone who knew anything would have to speak up.” His hand drifts down to the weapon by his side. Your heartbeat jumps to your throat. It decides to sit there, waiting, watching, as you do at the threshold of your lonely cabin.

A slimy grin takes over his face, though his brows tilt downward, almost saddened. Remorseful even at his own thoughts. “Conspiring with a convict? Jeez…” His grip tightens on the head of his ax. Your confidence betrays you. Your face begins to fall. Pupils the size of pebbles, they await. In fear.

“What a terrible way to go.”

You’re deafened to everything. Your vision narrows to only the man in front of you. The distinct sound of the blade being unsheathed is the only thing you can hear as you watch the distinct blue of the diamond ax reveal itself. It’s slow, calculated almost. Quackity is deliberate with the movement as he stares you down, the sneer making his show all the more intimidating.

Stomp

It comes fast and sudden: the sound of heavy footfalls approaching from within the house. The tile of the kitchen floor did nothing to muffle the sound. It was as clear as day. Dream approached swiftly from behind, certainly set off by the sound of an unsheathing blade. Each step hit hard, punishing the floor with the force of Dream’s instinct to fight.

If you had more time, you would think more of his spring to action: the reason as to why he chose to give himself away. But you would think about his protective deed later. Not here, not now. There was a sound in the house.

You heard it.

Quackity heard it.

With a similar thought, his eye twitched. Quickly, he shoved his way into the house. Past you, past the door. You didn’t have time to prepare. He effectively pushed you back, making you stumble further into the house and away from the door.

Dream’s muddy shoes had perfect timing. Because of their haphazard placement, they were able to find the opportune moment to make the situation worse. Your feet failed you as they got caught on the leather, your balance lost to the wind that whipped just outside the house, which could clearly be heard from the now wide open cabin door. You started to fall.

Except you didn’t.

Except your back hit something sturdy. Something soft even, as it absorbed your impact. While it didn’t catch you, it broke your fall, letting you hit two things easier instead of one thing hard. You would have to thank him later for his affinity for placing himself in the exact location needed.

You hit the floor with an ‘oof’, your bum making an impact before your hands came to the ground to stabilize yourself.

You didn’t dare look up to Dream. You wouldn’t give his presence away. Instead you locked your eyes on Quackity, who was currently scanning the house. His one eye darted around in every direction possible, his blind eye following with the muscle memory. He made several rotations, twisting and turning every which way, frantically searching for the source of the noise. He looked and looked, stepping around the table, moving back and forth countless times, never once ceasing his search. He was too occupied to bring attention to the fact he had pushed you down.

Before you make to get up, there is a pressure on your back. It’s feather light, you can barely tell it's there. It was spotty, not solid, for there were multiple points of contact. They were warm, unlike any inanimate object you knew. It's a reminder. It's a warning. It urges you to still, to sit tight where you were.

You sensed him behind you, as clear as day. He was crouching from what you could tell, his height would not allow his hand to rest where it was if he wasn’t lowered in some way. You wondered absentmindedly just how close he was. Was he more beside you, ready to spring into action at any given moment? Or was he more behind you, wanting to keep clear of the intruder more than anything? You didn’t know. You wouldn’t dare check. Not with Quackity acting so brazen.

He snapped his head around to you, a gnarly sneer of his lip commanding the tenseness of the moment. “I HEARD SOMETHING.” He barks. ”I FUCKING HEARD SOMETHING.” The grip on his ax is tight as it stressed the wood of the handle.

You only stare back, a mix of shock and offense. Nothing is said as the two of you are locked into a staring contest. You, on the floor, your blood rushing through your veins at an abnormal speed, like every platelet in your body was racing for the finish line that seemed oh so near. Quackity, standing on edge, outraged to find himself empty handed, just a matter of feet away. Clearly Dream isn’t visible to him. The potion is doing its job, and well.

The breeze outside picks up. The forest nearest to your cabin groaned at its strength, its own bark resisting with an agitated creaking. The leaves of the trees were restless, helpless to the forces of nature. Some were strong enough to stick to their branches. Others were not. They were tugged from their stems, picked up to only be dragged against the house, scraping against the shingles of the side, shuffling and grinding along the floorboards of the porch just outside. Some even ventured inside, the ajar door doing nothing to stop the visitors.

The civility of the situation was hanging in the balance.

You chose to take action.

Slowly and surely you begin to move, not wanting to startle the man, who seemed too on hyped up on his own concoction of adrenalin for your taste. He watched you carefully, though not with fear. With anticipation.

Leaning forward, you put more weight on your legs. Using some momentum, you get onto the balls of your feet, pushing upright. The pressure on your back leaves. You dust your pants off, hoping the action conveys some sense of ease to Quackity. You keep your gaze on him, not wanting to lose sight of the man for even a second. You dare to speak, words slipping from your tongue before you can fully understand their irony. They’re devoid of any special emotion. Your speech remains faithful to you.

“Must’ve been the wind.”

Quackity starts, blinking a few times. He’s still suspicious as he looks around the house, this time scanning attentively. He’s slow, making sure to not miss a thing that could potentially give him a reason to act. He turns as he does, doing a full circle before making eye contact with you one more time.

He gives you a once over. Up and down his eyes rake up your form. The touch returns to you, this time on your shoulder. You expect it this time.

Quackity’s gaze would’ve made you uncomfortable if he was looking at you with more lust. But no, this was different. He was memorizing, not checking out. You could see the gears turn in his head as he stuffed new information into the depths of his brain, mentally accounting for something that remained unseen.

He scoffed suddenly. Shaking his head, before moving to the door. A little caught off-guard, you follow right after him, leaving the touch once more. He shoulder checks the edge of it, nudging it open to make room for himself. He walks on, at a rushed pace, passing through the threshold of the door as the DONK of his boots hit the wood of the front porch, never once looking back. You only watch from the doorway as he steps down the stairs of your cabin, hand once again finding purchase on the knob.

You ponder calling out to him. To ask him for the reason of his assault, as well as the quick departure. But he stops first, right in his tracks. Right in the grass of your front yard, about ten feet or so away from the house. The words die in your throat before they can even begin to be uttered.

Quackity cranes his neck from where he stands, looking over his shoulder with his good eye. He speaks disturbingly composed. A far cry from the erratic man that forced his way into your home.

Though it's not the tone he uses that makes your breath caught in your throat. Oh no. It’s his words. So brutal and so jarring, that you don’t know how to comprehend them. Like a viper, they attack with the element of surprise.

“I know he’s been here.”

You don’t speak. You can’t. Not even if you tried. The poison of the viper is too much.

“Don’t make an enemy out of me Mx Y/N.”

Author's Note from the Future: I’m sorry to say but this fic is on Hiatus until further notice. I may come back to it, but I’m not very sure as of now. Apologizes, and happy reading :)))

#rhaz’s works #dsmp x reader #dsmp dream #dsmp fic #dsmp imagine #c!dream x reader #c!dream #c!dream imagine #c!dream fic #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken fic #dream x reader #c!dream angst #c!dream fluff #c!dream x y/n #c!dream x you

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hopeofhouse · 8 days

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i finally finished dos2.... thoughts ft. drawings + choice playthrough phone notes (spoilers obv)

my godwoken was an elf witch named allegory. he ended up as a necromancer/hydrosophist combo. blood damage + healing was a fun mix! odd contrasts <3

his backstory, 2 me, is that he was lost in a marshland as a little kid, and tir-cendelius saw the chance to keep him isolated (seeing off any potential rescuers, magically expanding the marshes every time he tried to trek out and leading him in circles) + raise the perfect tiny loyal godwoken for when The Time was Right. he let him out when he was an elf teen. t-c should have kept him longer because if anything it just made him weirder when he got reintegrated into society a couple decades later. F

what if your god grew you in a petri dish to [major game spoilers, redacted]. but you were a capricious little know it all with a jester's soul. what then

gorry took sebille, fane and ifan with him because i thought he would assemble a team of hot emos if given chance. this paid off + i love them all dearly

i wasn't expecting the origin characters i didn't take with me after act 1 to UP AND DIE. but it actually added a really good set of stakes. responsibility for ur actions. lohse yelled at me for leaving her to her fate and i felt SO bad. sorry miss thing

LOVED the worldbuilding....i was super familiar with 5e before i played bg3 so i sort of knew what was coming most of the time but for divinity i had to LEARN. super fun. 100% recommend

also i thought bg3 went in on the body horror but divinity was Something Else.

^ and then larian said okay that was fun what if we do it again. and made bg3. anyway

i was hideously bad at combat for ages until i listened to all the people on reddit chanting 'put points in warfare' and then it was much much much more doable lol

ngl i actually very much prefer dos2 to bg3. i loved loved loved bg3 but after like 4 playthroughs during various patch stages it was such a relief to play a game that's actually completed and won't eat my laptop for breakfast!!! first two bg3 files i had i couldn't make it to the lower city because the optimization on mac was so diabolical that it wouldn't actually play until after patch 5. dos2 lets me also have photoshop on my computer. and files that aren't bg related. miraculous

but even ignoring technical issues: from a story and world standpoint dos2 felt way more expansive and inventive. campy but also harrowing in a way that bg3 just didn't hit for me. i also genuinely enjoy being given a zillion pieces of almost overwhelming info and then sorting it out so i am biased. may expand on this at a later point and not under a mile long read more. moving on

romanced fane bc i loved his voice acting and i thought the culturally cannibalistic elf/the one guy with no flesh to eat bit was funny. jokes on me i fell in DEEP. u canonically have disappointing sex because hes simply made of bones without nerves and afterwards he takes notes. he calls u dear heart offhandedly in act 1 like it's nothing then goes right back to being aloof. how many more times does he have to tell you? he has business in the blackpits. he spends the whole game having an increasingly worse time. he's a loser. it's all his fault. he got me. he got me good. god damn

my game glitched (?) and even tho he rejected sebille (sorry baby) her and allegory still made out right before the big final choice. no option not to. then he had the expected epilogue with fane. poly ending canon enough for me!

also the music was bonkers good and the audio direction in that one battle in the final act? mwah. and dallis' va knocked it out of the entire park.

last thing here's a gorry i drew when i was still back in act 1. 180 hours ago. titled on my phone as 'praying at every altar so i always come out on top'

anyway if u made it this far: thank u. go get divinity: original sin 2 when it's next on sale. wise wise wise choice of £6.99 <3

#dosblogging #im an incurable fandom lurker so i rly dont know how to post. so heres a bunch of things all crammed together. tl;dr I LOVED DOS2!!#my art

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billpottsismygf · 16 days

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Just started watching Dead Boy Detectives and I have slightly mixed feelings on it. I found it very hard to get into for the first twenty minutes or so because, apart from the scene with Death, it had such awful dialogue. Their opening back and forth is way too information heavy and indistinct. Their clunky "let's get out of here before Death arrives... Or she'll take us" - let us wonder why you have to hide from her! Then afterwards "what if she did take us? We'd get split up". Then again in the next scene: "I've been your best friend for thirty years so I know you don't like to try new things". It's all so painfully unnatural and treats its audience like idiots. It's a real shame because there's actually a lot going for it.

Of the main trio, I'm not totally sold on Charles, but I like Crystal and I love Edwin. He's a dick, but his performance is spot on. The only thing I felt let him down was the writing, including the dialogue above and the later somewhat unnatural outburst about things mattering, which was a bit of a non-sequitur from Crystal's revelation about David. There are so many great pieces just not slotted together as well as they might be.

I really enjoy the themes and ideas it's working with, especially with regard to consent and trauma. There are some really strong horror elements as well, and I don't even usually gravitate towards horror. I particularly have to applaud that black and white 4:3 flashback sequence. Horrifying but so well done. As soon as the shift happened, I got really excited because it's such a clever way to portray a historical sequence, especially a traumatic one that Edwin presumably has to keep at a bit of a distance. The different style does such a good job of highlighting its importance and its horror.

Another thing I enjoyed was the scene with Death, which made me absolutely sob. It probably helps that I'm already acquainted with her from Sandman - and it was her appearance in the trailer that particularly made me want to check this show out - but her performance just carries so much depth and warmth.

Anyway, I'm interested enough to keep going, but I worry that the writing issues may keep me from getting as invested as I might do.

Small things:

There were maybe too many title cards for my liking.

The scenes which cut to Crystal apparently talking to herself were very reminiscent of Ghosts, and I have to wonder if there was some inspiration there.

The witch was such a fun character. An outlandish performance that really works.

#dead boy detectives #mine #dbd mine #reactions #dbd #the case of crystal palace #the sandman

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skayafair · 10 months

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I have to admit I miss season 1 and 2 atmosphere. I fell in love with this podcast as my most comfort one because it had everything I love - lots of supernatural stuff, a very mysterious air - not horror one, really, - a thick plot and two very imperfect characters growing as the action went, good character studies - and it was very well-balanced.

I think going downhill started back in the pits time, the balance tipped quite considerably to the macabre side. But it was still mostly alright, season 2 is my favorite.

The real change happened in season 3.

Firstly, the enemy weren't some supernatural beings anymore - it's humans now. Using some otherwordly technics and creating monsters, sure, but still humans. The town's folk, Uncle, Larson, people in the mines (weren't exactly enemies but they were considered a possible threat for some time). When it was going on for just one season, it was okay - felt different, not as nice and comforting as the first 2, but okay. But now in season 4 there's a heavy focus on the Butcher (who is just revolting to me even as an enemy), who has been appearing as a human so far, although now we know there might be some supernaturally weird shit going on with him either. And... If I wanted to listen to a true crime or be reminded how cruel people are, how they can enjoy hurting and killing others, I'd just listen to a true crime or open any news website. The place I live in won't let me forget anyway. Podcasts are my escape.

Secondly, the drama or even tragedy level. The balance between the lighthearted or not as emotionally charged parts and the dramatical ones used to be very good, but in season 3 it dipped VERY much. I mean it's great to have emotionally intense episodes from time to time - season 2 was edging on its limits but still held the balance, but almost the whole season 3 is just an emotional wringer. I love the episodes with Yellow, they were GREAT, but soon enough afterwards I've noticed for the first time that I was postponing listening to the new episodes because I was dreading of how emotionally intense and draining they were going to be. This podcast was supposed to restore my energy like it did for 2 seasons, not drain it. While I'm glad we had so much character development for Arthur, I wish the mood of the season was balanced much better than it actually was. The 4th one started well in this regard, but the nightmares episode and the last one were too much for me. I think it has to do with the torture - emotional or physical one, doesn't matter. It happens too often now, and I don't respond well to it. It's too intense.

And lastly, the pacing. This is my beef mostly with season 4 and probably with the 2nd half of season 3 as well - it's slow. The mines part was just too dragged out for me, and now the events sort of happen but also it didn't feel much like it for the last few episodes. Half of the nightmares ep was just boring (probably the fact that I don't like Kellin one bit contributed to the impression as well), the 33rd was nice to have character development-wise but not much in any other regard and the 34th is just insufferable for 2 reasons: I can't stand the Butcher (he was more or less ok in ep 1 because there wasn't much of him, but listening to a narcissist for 45 minutes straight? No thanks) and the chase is... well, mostly running and chasing, which is plain boring to me. Characters interactions weren't much to me either, I don't see any common points between them, any chemistry, and they don't work as mirrors like it was with Larson. I mean looking at Arthur from an outside perspective was nice, but that was the only interesting thing there. Season 1 was quite like season 4 with the investigation and a lot of human characters, but it had crazy pacing and frankly that was the only thing that saved it initially for me (I enjoyed it properly later, but when I just began to listen it took quite a while to draw me in). Season 2 was thankfully slower, more introspective, which was great, but it was great thanks to a very good balance of what was going on in both inner and outer worlds. The Dreamlands itself as a location with completely unknown rules and plenty of various creatures, when one could never know if it was going to be a friend or a foe, was dynamic enough to keep just the right pacing.

I'm not looking for a discussion and not trying to berate the podcast, not dropping it either - I mean it's just about an hour once a month at most and the plot is still interesting to me, so no reason to drop it. But I really miss the way it used to be, I want my comfort series back - monsters don't scare me, people do, so I wish we went back to cosmic horror instead of a very real one.

#malevolent podcast #masked

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cyeayt · 9 months

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Passing on @mapleejay’s love for Tim to you to talk about. Amaze my buddy with your Thoughts <3

I have so much to say about Tim my blorbo of all time I think of him near constantly but a kinda new rhetoric I’ve been thinking in lately is Tim and Trust. disclaimer this is shot through with so many hcs but yeah

I think that Tim struggled a lot when he was younger to get people to take him seriously or to trust him to get jobs done, which is a really sucky feeling especially cause young tim was probably genuinely silly and liked making jokes but it only hurt his attempts to be seen as more than the clowny problem child. i also think hes had anger issues his whole life which cannot have helped.

which brings us to danny. i ascribe to a very 'head in the lions mouth' type view of tims family, that being that their parents dont really trust tim and see him as a bad influence on danny, but that the two brothers had a very strong relationship and bond despite and even because of that. i think that Danny was sort of the first person to really actually trust Tim, to see his as a stable and reliable presence, or even just to really care about the whole of him as a person.

and in Tim's view, he failed his brother, betrayed his trust by letting him die (inaccurate but tell me Tim doesn't think this). in a once again very htlm way, tim was left without support afterwards. his exit from his publishing job was likely messy, his anger and grief going beyond the accepted boundaries. i also think that he was probably considered a suspect in dannys disappearance, which, once again, belies a lack of trust in him as a person but also a lack of trust in him as a big brother.

i think he was in a really bad place before the institute. i hc him as having so many different issues during that time, but essentially having given up and not seeing the point in continuing... until he latched onto this idea of avenging his brother, which became a fixation in his mind.

i see an image of him interviewing at the institute, hair freshly cut and wearing a button up for the first time in months, stiff and out of practice with his charm but its not like there's anyone whos stuck around long enough to be able to tell.

and heres where jon and sasha come in. now, i dont really think any of them trusted each other with everything, maybe not even significant. but the potential was there. they did good work together, and jon trusted him or at least his research enough to bring him to the archives

im pretty sure he was gutted when jon suspected him,

and then no one trusted him to know about the unknowing or to be able to help and they saw him as this unstable wild card,

and it just drives me insane uughhhhh

last little ramble, he also to me kinda embodies this vibe of like, being upset when people dont trust you but then failing to hold trust you're given? its a really awful feeling, like everyone was right when they said you couldnt handle it, and you wanted to prove them wrong so bad but you failed anyway.

i half hc/half remember that part of the not-them horror for the people who dont remember the person is a sort of uncanny low level torment where its like you dont know them anymore or never knew them at all? and so tim would have felt like he was losing sasha at that time too?

#this is far less articulate than i wanted it to be for having spend a week on it #also currently in the middle of my first relisten and its been a year so forgive any inaccuracies pls #although once again this is very headcannony #tma #the magnus archives #tim stoker #timothy stoker #the stranger #im projecting so hard this is actually just whats wrong with me im sorryyyyyy #adhd

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ballet-symphonie · 2 years

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Did you ever have a wardrobe malfunction in the middle of a performance?

I wanted to tell you my story. About one month ago my ballet studio did a recital. The teacher had me and another adult dancer in all of the big choreographies that didn't require pointe shoes, along with her teen dancers whom she has trained since age 3 and I've been only doing this for one year and a half! I was equal parts horrified and honored by her trust. I worked very hard for months, through covid recovery, in the studio, extra practice, extra rehearsals, on my own at home, even in my work breaks. We dance to the songs of Moulin Rouge so we mixed ballet with Tango, Salsa and Cha-cha-cha.

The night of the recital, I did very well on my first two choreographies and entered the third with a huge smile on my face, confident and enjoying every second. Until my skirt started to fall off.

We were wearing a gold leotard, a black corset and a silk skirt with plumes in our butt. Think kinda burlesque. The song was very fast paced, packed full with ballroom steps. Halfway through, the skirt kept sliding down. I held down to the skirt and the smile and kept going. It never occurred to me I could have quietly left the stage. I was in the back row of the group so it helped. Once we got backstage I burst into tears while my teacher's husband sew my skirt back on.

The entire group of teens surrounded me, cleaned up my make up, cheered me up and encouraged me to lift my head up and go on. I finished my performance with a very good showing in El Tango de Roxanne.

But I was devastated. I cried a lot after the show and the day after. I felt it was so unfair that my best choreography was ruined by my skirt falling off. I had worked so hard but felt so humiliated. After all, I was the oldest dancer and I'm overweight. I already stand out in the middle of the youngest and fittest. I did not need my butt hanging out. People kept telling me I was so brave for not running out and I wanted to die of shame.

Anyways, it took me a month to ask my husband for the video he took of this particular dance. I watched it and... Oh my god! I did not miss a beat! Skirt by my knees, I just kept grabbing it and moving on. Instead of shame, I'm actually incredibly proud of myself! Handled it the best I could!

So feel free to tell me the other horror stories of wardrobe malfunction!

Wow, what a story!!! You should be proud of yourself! It's not easy to keep going like that!!

I've got a couple good stories that I'll share quickly. Some are unfortunate accidents, and some are my own negligence.

In school, we wore character shoes with elastic straps that snapped on. The snaps were frequently came undone, we were supposed to sew them across so they couldn't pop off. I bought new heels shortly before Nutcracker and procrastinated sewing them, despite SEVERAL reminders from my teacher. I was dancing Spanish and I remember walking onstage being like "I know I didn't sew my shoes but its fineeeee, nothing bad will happen." In the first 8 counts of the dance, I did a big battement to the side and my shoe went flying over my head, into the orchestra pit, and bonked one of the horn players on the head causing a big SQUAWK. I was forced to do the rest of the dance with only one heel, walking and clunking around unevenly. Needless to say, I got a horrible lecture afterward. To this day, I don't think I've ever been told off so badly.

Nutcracker's Snow scene is also rather dicey because fake snow (I don't care if it's paper, plastic, or soap, they're all bad) often results in a lot of disasters and faceplants. There was one section that made me nervous when I had to run very quickly in a semi-circle upstage before hitting a big pose on the 'crash' of music. As I prepared to run, I saw a big pile of snow already on the floor and thought "ok let's NOT run through that." I ran behind it and then suddenly found myself yanked backward, my tulle skirt had gotten caught on the tree. I tried to run again and couldn't go anywhere, knowing I had very little time, I reached down and tried to detangle myself with my hands but ended up ripping the fabric to escape. Of course, I am awkwardly situated there, trying to free myself when the big 'crash' arrives, everyone else in perfect poses. Not my finest moment. I apologized profusely to the costume ladies afterward, I felt so sorry for ripping their hard work, I bought them treats for a week I think.

Lastly, I made a big mistake in Sleeping Beauty. We had been doing a big run of shows, and I was dancing 4 different roles (fairy attendant, waltz peasant, dream scene corps, and jewels trio). However, I was dancing different combinations of roles each night and one night I thought I wasn't scheduled to dance in the dream scene corps. Unfortunately for me, I had switched the matinee and evening shows in my head and I was supposed to dance in the dream scene in the morning. So after my first two parts ended, I went to eat some food and prop my legs up in the dressing room. I'm just chilling while the Rose adagio and all that stuff finishes and intermission. I'm still wearing my peasant costume because it's much more comfortable to sit around in, and I have SO MUCH time, until jewels trio. Or so I thought....at the end of intermission a friend of mine rushed into the dressing room; "Ale! There you are! Why aren't you dressed!! Intermission is almost over!!!" I had never changed so fast in my life. As I was leaving, I heard another friend called after me "Ale! Come back here!" I didn't even bother answering, as I had heard the 'places please' call over the loudspeaker, I had no time left. Amidst all the chaos, no one stopped me and I went on stage with a big wreath of brightly colored flowers and multicolored ribbons when I should have been wearing a tiny, dainty tiara to match my pastel tutu. I had no idea until we went to stand in the lines and the girl across from me mouthed "YOUR HAIR" while repeatedly glancing up. Just like in the movies, I had a slow-motion moment of horror when I realized my terrible, blatant mistake. I just froze. Suddenly I heard whispers from the wings "Throw it to me!!!! Just rip it out!!!" Without a second thought, I reached up, yanked on the wreath and tossed it over my shoulder off stage. A colleague caught my flower wreath and I snuck off stage at another point to get the crown that they brought for me. While I certainly got teased for my mistake, I didn't get in big trouble for this one?? Maybe it was because I was in the middle rows for most of the act, but I think the ballet mistress wasn't watching the matinee that day haha.

#ballet life #my ballet life #ballet #ballerina #ballet ask

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loverscrossmp3 · 2 years

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hi hello!! ⭐️ for the ask game - maybe something from and still the fire burns? what was the hardest part to write, what was your favorite!!! i want to know!

hiii brynn!! anything for you <3

this got SO long and i’m so sorry about it. under the cut xoxo

hardest scene:

so, with and still the fire burns, by far the duel scenes were the hardest things i've ever written. the second one more than the first, i think. no one tells you how to balance the action and description and feelings!!! and there i went writing nearly 2k words of just that!!

anyway, yeah the second dueling scene was especially difficult cause this was the part of the story where all of lily's fears, her self-doubt, everything that's kept her up at night, come together.

The problem with living is you often forget. You often forget the horrors climbing the walls, hiding in portraits, seeping past like wisps of smoke.

this scene is bookended by two very light-hearted, happy scenes. the whiplash was intentional (sorry). the whole purpose of this story is for lily to persist, to keep on living despite all the things coming her way telling her maybe she... shouldn't. unfortunately, as the first line implies: when things are good, you forget the bad. (lily is human. she's a teenage girl. she's found fantastic friends, is maybe falling in love, is finally deservedly content... and then this.) it comes at you full force. but even so, there's still so so much good. and despite this absolutely awful experience lily endured, she still finds a way to persevere. cause she's awesome like that.

a bit of a tangent, but: i also intentionally had lily miscalculate the situation, counting three voices when there were actually four. i think there's a sort of instinct sometimes when writing these kinds of scenes (saying this as if i know anything) to have your character be essentially.. perfect? and that'd be great. but the fact of the matter is this is only lily's second duel outside of the classroom. she's caught off guard and tired of constantly being on guard in the first place and completely utterly terrified. this was calculated, the odds aren't in her favor completely. she won't be perfect.

i also knew exactly what the set-up looked like in this scene but for whatever reason, i couldn't find the right words to actually describe it for the reader, making it even harder. and then, y'know, pretending like i know how magic works too.

finally, this scene ends with:

Tears sting at the edges of Lily’s vision. “You forget,” she sneers. “We hold magic too.”

She stuns him still.

lily is fucking furious that it's even come to this. and if she's got to drill this point into the purists' heads, that she is just as powerful as they are, "different" blood or not, then so fucking be it. this ending is what made the struggle of this scene worth it, i think. she is that bitch!

favorite scene:

my favorite scene was probably the one before they were let out for the Christmas holidays, sat in the common room. the picture of it was already fully formed in my brain—the seating arrangement, the tree glinting in the corner—so when it came to, it was actually really easy to write.

it's also a really delicate scene, i think? it felt very soft and quiet — there's a certain peace to it. i really liked how, although it was a flashback in a sense, you could still sense the pivotal shift. and the scene immediately afterward is lily and james' first meeting on the quidditch pitch, which was a big pivotal moment too.

in a way, i think the common room scene is more of a mental pivotal moment (lily having this sort of sudden, quiet realization that 'oh. he's different this time around.') while the quidditch scene afterward is this realization coming to fruition in an actual act (lily allowing her thoughts on him to be more than just thoughts. if that makes sense.)

a little fun thing i added, i'm not totally sure if anyone picked up on:

In the meantime, the room slowly filtered out of students, the evening catching on as the moon peeked its way through the window: oh, hello.

and

The morning promises transformation. It smells like renewal.

“Oh. Hello.”

it's not meant to be super obvious or anything, but i liked the sort of tether it strings across these two scenes. that the flashback had purpose and wasn't completely random.

surprise! the string is long. it connects here a little too:

A gust of breath and straightening of shoulders, Lily didn’t give herself enough time to doubt before walking over to the armchair nearest to the warmth of the blazing fire. “Hello,” she said as she sat.

James looked up at her voice. His brows furrowed slightly, bewilderment followed by hesitation written across his face. Then, “Hi.”

in this scene (common room), james is caught off guard. in the one following, lily is. i was gonna say something more eloquent about lily being the one to approach james here and then vice versa but i've lost my train of thought but... parallels people!!!!

sorry this got so long. pls love me still.

director’s cut!

#brynn tag #ask game #astfb #if anyone's willing to read more essays ask me more about astfb!! i've been wanting to talk about her for ages!!! x

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ilovewhiteroses · 1 year

Text

I posted 57 times in 2022

That's 57 more posts than 2021!

11 posts created (19%)

46 posts reblogged (81%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thecorilove86

@boydholbrookfanpage

@ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook

@ithinkwehitametaphor

@placeinthemiddleofnowhere

I tagged 56 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#boyd holbrook - 37 posts

#sandman - 21 posts

#the corinthian - 19 posts

#💕💕 - 6 posts

#❤️❤️ - 3 posts

#charlie hunnam - 2 posts

#playlist - 2 posts

#100% agree - 2 posts

#preacher - 2 posts

#same - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 106 characters

#i would be a terrible employee in an office because i would be daydreaming of this beautiful man - all day

My Top Posts in 2022:

Feeling like sh*t, but at least my buddy is here to comfort me

3 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

You cast a spell on me – Part 2.

Pairing: The Corinthian x Female Witch Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: mentions of violence; horror and adult themes

Rating: 18+

Notes: - I did some research on The Corinthian’s backstory in the Dreaming, so I could write it as accurate as possible.

PART 1. HERE

"Ouch" you said as another stabbing pain shot through you. You are a witch, of course, but you are also a woman who has to deal with an unpleasant visitor every month. You hated these days, you always felt like shit: your uterus hurt and you always wanted to cry. To alleviate your condition, you ate lasagna and chocolate in your bed while watching Moonlighting on your TV. You loved old TV shows - like The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, The Nanny, Married with Children - because they reminded you of your childhood.

You have had quite a busy week. You went to a family gathering at your parents' beach house which has a beautiful view to the ocean; you had lunch with your publisher, where you outlined your ideas for your new book and chose the best one together; and you had dinner with one of your best friends, Cole, who worked as a photographer. Your exes introduced you to each other a few years ago and people often see you as a couple. Although you thought he was cute there was never more than friendship between you two. Cole knew almost everything about you, except one thing: who you really were. Only your family knew about it.

And since THAT night, The Corinthian, your one night stand.

You could barely concentrated on your tasks for days afterwards. You kept thinking about the mind-blowing sex; you remembered his soft hair, his kissable lips, the sight of his naked body; you felt his hands and mouth on your erogenous zones... You were so immersed in sex with him that you didn't even think of using protection, even though your previous partners all wore condoms. But you didn't panic, being a modern witch, you had a birth control potion that you made when you were 18 years old and you had to drink it within 72 hours after sex.

When you weren't thinking about his skills in bed, you were thinking about other things. You wondered what he has been doing, where does he live, if he lives anywhere at all. And does he sleep? He said he has tiny teeth where his eyes are, does he eat with them? How many people’s beds he had been in and how many of them did he kill? You felt sorry for his victims, you only hoped that he kills bad people like Dexter Morgan. But of course that's none of your business and you'd better stay out of it.

At this moment, your phone suddenly buzzed. You received a text message that said:

Hey Y/N! What's up? How is work goin'? 🕶️🦷👄🦷

You didn't have to think much, the emojis gave away who the sender of the text was, which honestly surprised you. The morning after your night together, before Corinthian left your home, he asked for your number. At first you thought about a fake phone number, but in the end you gave your own, because you knew he won't call you anyway.

As if he sensed that you were thinking of him. You got so excited that you even forgot about the pain in your lower stomach. Suddenly you didn't know what to do, text him back or call him. In the end, you decided on the second option because you wanted to hear his sexy, deep voice. You pressed the call button.

"Hello there, sexy witch! How you doin'?" Corinthian said into the phone in a seductive voice

Oh my God, his voice was invented for phone sex, you thought.

"Hi! Nothing special, I'm just resting, watching TV." you said in a light voice. "And what about you?"

"I'm relaxing. I thought of you and I thought I'd send you a text. How is writing going?" he asked with interest.

Not only did he texted to you, but he also remembered that you were a writer. Your heart began to melt at the thought.

"Well, I'm about to start writing my new book. Basic Instinct was the inspiration for it, but in my version, the man is a supernatural killer and the female character is the cop."

"I love that movie." Corinthian growled. That didn't surprise you. Paul Verhoeven's 1992 film was a great mix of erotica and thriller.

What you didn't tell him is that he inspired your male character. Of course, not the killer part, but his looks and his huge sex drive.

"That sounds great. I'll read it as soon as it comes out, but first I will sign it with you." he said kindly, You twisted your hair like a teenage girl and promised him that you would sign his copy.

"Look Y/N, I called you not only for that, but to ask...would you like to meet next Saturday? We could go for lunch or a walk." Corinthian asked.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought it would jump out of place. Of course you said yes to the invitation. Since he already knew where you live, you arranged for him to pick you up at 1 o’clock and then you wished each other good night.

Is this going to be a date or am I just trying to make myself believe that? you asked yourself. By next Saturday, your period will be over and no matter what, you'll have to wear something hot. You will take your birth control potion in a small bottle with you, because it's obvious that he invited you out with that intention. You couldn't wait for the week to pass...

The long-awaited Saturday has arrived. Not only did you start writing your new book this week, but you also made yourself to be even more desirable. You bought new sexy lingerie, went to a beauty salon for a pampering massage and had French manicure done on your nails.

You wore white shorts, a red halter neck top and black high-heeled sandals for the meeting. You looked at the clock in the living room. It’s going to be 1 in 10 minutes, so you left and waited for Corinthian outside on the sidewalk in front of your house. While you were waiting, you wondered what kind of car he might have. You could imagine an old, classic one for him, you thought that modern cars were not his style.

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4 notes - Posted December 12, 2022

Serious question:

I have been wondering for a while, why people call The Corinthian ‘babygirl’? Because when I see him I think “you hot nightmare” and “I’m going to climb you like a tree”

5 notes - Posted November 22, 2022

You cast a spell on me

Pairing: The Corinthian x Female Witch Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: horror and adult themes

Rating: 18+

Notes: - This is my first fanfic, I have never written one before. - This post from @thecorilove86 was my main inspiration, plus I had time and I was in the mood for it so I thought I give it a shot. - Back in the day I was a huge fan of Charmed and that inspired me to write Reader as a modern day witch. - The inspiration for reader's apartment

PART 2. HERE

You are a witch in your 30s, living in Los Angeles and working as a fantasy writer. You went to a bar one night and You met The Corinthian there. You asked him his name, but he didn't tell You, so You didn’t tell him Yours either. Regardless, you found eachother attractive and after chatting a little bit, you decided to go to Your place…

”Would you like to drink something?” you asked your guest.

"Didn't we just come from a bar?" chuckled the handsome man with sunglasses while he took off his beige suit jacket and placed it on the bar stool in the kitchen.

"Well, I was just being polite," you said embarrassed, then took out two elegant drinking glasses from the kitchen cabinet and poured whiskey into them. You felt weird. You are usually confident with men, but your guest made you feel like you were a teenager on a date with your crush and didn't know how to behave.

"I leave it up to you. By the way, where do I find the bathroom?”

"Next to the stairs to the right"

"Thanks"

While the man left for the bathroom, you went to his jacket and started searching in it. You knew it was wrong and you would never do such a thing, but your witch instincts told you something was wrong with the guy and you better find out what it was.

And you were right.

You found a sharp knife in the inside pocket of his jacket. You were scared at first, but weren't surprised, because to tell the truth, you had already guessed at the bar that there was something else behind the hot looks. You have been in dangerous situations before, but thanks to your supernatural abilities you always survived. If this man were to attack you, you would fly him to the other end of the room with one hand movement or teleport the knife out of his hand. Still, you wanted to know his intentions. You didn't want to interrogate him like a policewoman, since after all you brought him to your apartment to have fun, so you put a little truth potion in one of the glasses of whiskey, which makes even the best liar tell the truth. When your guest returned to the kitchen, you handed him the whiskey, he sipped it and slowly began to walk around your apartment. You joined him and waited for the potion to work. The man looked at your home curiously. After the kitchen came the dining room, then a cozy living room with an L-shaped sofa and an electric fireplace, which you loved because you didn't have to cut wood for it. Your furniture was in silver and cream colours because you didn't like the dark ones.

Modern, sexy and elegant. This place is just like you, the handsome blond thought to himself. You also drank from the drink and in the meantime you wondered if the truth potion has worked, so you started asking questions. "You didn't tell me your name at the bar, but I'm curious. Who are you, what's your name?"

"My name is The Corinthian and I am a nightmare. Sandman made me and I escaped from The Dreaming so I could finally do what I wanted." the man said with complete confidence.

"Sandman? Who sprinkles magical sand onto people's eyes so they have pleasant dreams?” you asked surprised.

"Yes."

Not human. So that's why he had such an effect on you. "And what do you do?" you asked, then downed most of your drink.

"I'll sleep with anyone who's available at the moment, and I'll kill them if I have to." Corinthian said all this as naturally as if he was talking about the weather.

Although the drink already had a pleasant effect on you, Corinthian's brutal honesty affected you as if you had been hit by a car, but you tried not to show it. There were many things on your mind, but you could only ask one thing.

"Do you want to kill me too?" you asked

"Not if you don't give me a reason," Corinthian said suggestively as he sipped his drink.

As Corinthian looked at you, even though no harm could come to you, you felt both fear and desire. It's true that the man just confessed to being a murderer, but at the same time he's insanely handsome, you thought to yourself. Even though you were the witch, he cast a spell on you. There was something in him, in his being, in his aura... You had always been attracted to men with darker hair, and now you were faced with a blond guy who could pass for a model, and whose sunglasses made him even more mysterious and irresistible.

Danger and Sex. You could best describe the man with these two words. Before your thoughts wandered to some naughtier places, you continued the conversation.

"I have to tell you something: I'm not human either, I'm a witch." you confessed.

Corinthian raised an eyebrow, you couldn't tell if he liked the answer or not.

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14 notes - Posted December 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The comparison of The Corinthian and Cassidy

Hello there! I hope everyone is doing fine! In this post I looked at the similarities and differences between The Corinthian from Netflix's Sandman and Proinsias Cassidy from AMC's Preacher (they are originally from DC comics). I did this because I love both men and I thought it would be interesting to take a little closer examination at them 😀

DISCLAIMER: This post features mentions of violence, horror and adult themes so do not read it if you are under 18! Also, spoilers for both shows.

NOTES: - I never read the comics, this post is about the show version of the characters (as it is mentioned above). - Keep in mind that these are my views and opinions therefore they may differ from yours. - I didn't go into depths, I wrote in general terms. - At the end of the post I listed the sources that I used and helped me in this writing. - The most important: All this was written for simple fun, please, no mean comments! 😇

THE STORY: Sandman: Morpheus, the personification of dreams and one of the seven Endless, is captured in an occult ritual in 1916. After being held captive for 106 years, Dream escapes and sets out to restore order to his realm, the Dreaming.

Preacher: Jesse Custer is a hard-drinking, chain-smoking preacher who, enduring a crisis of faith, becomes infused with an extraordinary power. He embarks on a quest to better understand his new gift and literally find God, alongside his trigger-happy ex-girlfriend, Tulip, and new vampire friend, Cassidy.

THE ACTORS: Boyd Holbrook: American actor known for Narcos, Logan, The Predator. Joe Gilgun: English actor known for Misfits, This Is England, Brassic.

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21 notes - Posted November 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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