#Lying about halo lore

[ask-cloverfield]

i’m going back to lying about Halo lore

Avery Johnson during sex thought that touching a boob “may have been a tactical error”

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Klutz (+ Bonus Story)

Long before they were the towering titans of Spartan lore, before the augmentation, the armor, and the endless battles, they were kids. Kids with the weight of the world, or at least the fate of humanity, unknowingly resting on their tiny, yet unnaturally strong shoulders. In this prelude to their legendary status, Fred and Kelly, both eight and brimming with the sort of energy that could either power a small city or lead to its accidental destruction, found themselves embroiled in a spat so intense, it could only be described as epic—for an eight-year-old, at least.

The bone of contention? A gadget. Not just any gadget, mind you, but the sort that had buttons, lights, and made beep-boop sounds. It was the sort of tech that in the hands of skilled Spartan children could simulate battles or, in the wrong hands (namely any of their own on a bad day), end up as a very expensive paperweight.

Fred, with the sort of conviction only seen in children arguing over toys, stated, "You always do this, Kelly. I was clearly here first. Like, dawn-first. You were probably still drooling on your pillow."

Kelly, hands akimbo and eyes ablaze with the fire of a thousand suns—or perhaps just the fiery temper of an eight-year-old denied her toy—shot back, "In your dreams, Fred. You wish you were as dedicated to waking up early as I am. That gadget was mine for the taking. Finders keepers, losers weepers."

John, the youngest and usually the quietest of the trio, wandered in, curious about the commotion, only to find himself in the midst of what could very well have been the opening salvo of World War III, if it were to be fought by particularly articulate eight-year-olds over a training gadget.

The argument escalated, words flying faster than a Spartan in full sprint, until Fred, in a moment of passion (or perhaps just to prove a point), reached out to snatch the device. His fingers barely grazed it before it took a leap of faith, liberated from the confines of petty human squabbles, only to meet its untimely demise against the unyielding ground. The gadget, in a final act of defiance, scattered into a million pieces, each beep and boop falling silent.

Silence reigned, both children staring at the debris field that was once a cutting-edge piece of UNSC technology.

"Fred! You klutz!" Kelly exclaimed, half in horror, half in a begrudging respect for the chaos Fred had managed to unleash.Before the blame game could spiral further, the towering figure of Mendez loomed into the doorway, his shadow casting a pall over the room that could chill the bones of even the most seasoned soldier.

John, caught in the middle and still processing the rapid turn of events, found Mendez's steely gaze upon him. "Well, John? What happened here?" Mendez's voice was calm, the calm before the storm.

John, with the innocence of youth and the uncertainty of being put on the spot, stammered, "Uh, I think Kelly was... uh, doing something, and then... bam?"

Kelly's jaw dropped. "What? No! He's making it up! I didn't do it this time!" she protested, her voice hitting octaves only dogs could appreciate.In a desperate bid to avoid the wrath of Mendez (which could range from extra laps to a stern talking-to that could make a grown man cry), both Fred and Kelly, in a moment of panicked solidarity, pointed their fingers at John.

"It was definitely John," Fred chimed in, throwing his friend under the proverbial bus with a sheepish look that screamed 'Sorry, buddy.'

Mendez's eyebrows arched, a silent verdict passed. John, the sacrificial lamb, followed Mendez out, his small form a mixture of confusion and the dawning realization of betrayal.

Left alone, Fred and Kelly glanced at each other, the remnants of their argument lying forgotten among the pieces of the now-defunct gadget.

"Guess we kinda messed up, huh?" Fred muttered, scratching the back of his head in a universal sign of 'oops.'

"Yeah," Kelly sighed, her earlier fire replaced with a flicker of guilt. "Sorry for calling you a klutz."

"And sorry for, you know, actually being a klutz," Fred replied, a grin creeping onto his face.

As they started picking up the pieces, literally, the incident morphed from a potential friendship-ending disaster to just another tale in the saga of their Spartan training. The lesson? In the grand scheme of things, gadgets come and go, but friends—especially those who can forgive your penchant for accidentally destroying said gadgets—are forever.

---

John trudged behind Mendez, his feet feeling like they were made of lead, into what felt less like an office and more like the coliseum—only here, the lions were replaced with officers bearing the full might of UNSC disappointment. The air was heavy, charged with a sort of electric anticipation, as if the very walls were bracing for the verbal barrage to come.

Mendez, with the practiced ease of someone who had given more lectures than there were stars in the sky, didn’t bother with the usual pleasantries. He went straight for the jugular. “John,” he began, the name not so much spoken as it was launched like a missile, “we’ve gathered here not to talk about what was broken—though, by the stars, it was expensive—but about the breaking itself. The sheer, unadulterated recklessness.”

John’s eyes, fixed on his scuffed boots, couldn’t have looked guiltier if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Except this jar was worth more credits than he could count, and the cookies were top-secret UNSC tech.

An officer, whose name tag read something unimportant because all John could think was ‘this is it, I’m done for,’ piped up. “Let’s cut to the chase. We're not running a charity here, son. That equipment you 'supposedly' destroyed? It's worth more than your weight in platinum.”

John’s mouth opened, a feeble attempt at defense forming, but what came out was barely audible. “But I—”“But nothing,” Mendez cut in, his voice a crescendo of frustration. “This isn’t about who did what anymore. It’s about you being here, right now, and the fact that a piece of invaluable equipment was turned into a very expensive doorstop on your watch.”

The officers took turns then, as if this were some twisted tag team match, each one delivering their own brand of scathing critique. Words like “disappointment,” “liability,” and “failure” were thrown around with such casual precision, John felt each one like a physical blow.

The tears came then, unbidden, streaking down his face in silent testament to the crushing weight of their words. This wasn’t how heroes were made; this was how dreams were crushed, beneath the heel of authority and the harsh light of reality.

Mendez, perhaps sensing he had a broken spirit rather than a Spartan on his hands, softened slightly. “Look, John. This isn’t the end of the line. But it’s a damn serious bump. Spartans are built on trust, on the understanding that every gear in the machine works flawlessly. Today, you were a cog that jammed. Don’t let there be a next time.”

With a dismissive wave, Mendez signaled the end of the tribunal, and the officers filed out, leaving John in the echoing silence of the office, the aftermath of a storm. The door closed with a soft click, a definitive full stop on the day’s events.

John made his way back to his quarters, each step heavy with the sort of weariness that had nothing to do with physical exertion and everything to do with the soul-crushing realization that sometimes, your best isn’t good enough. The corridor stretched before him, a path back to a place that felt less like home and more like a cell.Inside his room, the reality of his situation settled in with oppressive finality.

To him, there was no grand lesson learned, no silver lining—just the bitter taste of failure and the understanding that in the grand scheme of things, he was expendable. A tool that, when broken, could easily be replaced.

As he lay in his bunk, staring up at the cold, unfeeling ceiling, John realized that the path to becoming a Spartan was littered with more than just physical trials. It was a journey that demanded everything, and sometimes, that meant facing the fact that not all were destined to reach the end.

The lights dimmed, mirroring the dimming of his spirit, as John closed his eyes, not to dream of victories and glory, but to escape the harsh reality that today, he had been found wanting. In the silence of his quarters, a young boy’s aspirations seemed to fade into the darkness, a sad, stark reminder that... well, not all stories have happy endings.

@ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask, @authortobenamedlater, @ageless-aislynn.

[jupitermelichios]

while everyone is sad and in need of non-terrible sterek content, here's a minor headcanon I'm probably never going to get around to using in anything:

derek is a massive halo nerd, but hates all video games basically universally. he picked up one of the novels because he knows stiles likes the games, and he wanted to be able to contribute during stiles's periodic gamer info-dumps, but then got weirdly invested in the lore and now knows way more about the universe than any reasonable person should

stiles thinks this is adorable, obviously, but also hilarious, and spends a lot of times scheming ways to trick their friends into accidentally saying something that will activate derek's halo-heresy senses and trigger an angry rant. his crowning achievement was getting scott to read the drill 'masterchief's suit jacks him off' tweet out loud verbatim in derek's presence. neither of them have forgiven him for it, and he does not care because it was the funniest shit he's ever seen.

he's also started leaving 40k novels lying around derek's apartment. to date he has not taken the bait, but they both know it's only a matter of time before he caves.

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Prayer and Ink Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Rating: T Status: One-Shot Characters: Allys Mahariel, Zevran Ships: Mahariel/Zevran Additional Notes: Dalish Lore, Character Study, Quiet Moments Word Count: 1.4k Summary: A conversation about tattoos and vallaslin leads Zevran to reconsider what it means to have faith in something- and in someone.

read below or here on ao3

“Do they mean anything?”

The question catches Zevran by surprise. It’s been a long, tedious day of marching across the Imperial Highway, and the relative privacy and cool shade of the tent coupled with the rhythmic sensation of Allys’s fingers tracing against his skin has nearly lulled him to sleep. He slowly opens his eyes and turns his head, although Allys remains just out of view as she continues to lightly draw her fingertips over the designs that curl across his back.

“The tattoos?” he asks, and Allys hums thoughtfully.

“Is that what you call them?” Her fingers continue their journey, following the curves and lines of dark ink that wind between his shoulder blades, along his spine, down his hips.

Zevran gives her a half-shrug, gently so as not to disturb her inspection. “They are pretty. Must they have a meaning beyond that?” A grin creeps across his face. “And of course, they invite the attention of lovely Wardens.”

Allys laughs and ends her study of Zevran’s tattoos to reposition herself so that she is once again lying next to him, her bright brown eyes level with his. Her hair has been released from its typical tight bun and now falls past her shoulders, framing her face in a halo of dark curls. Even after a day of trudging through the Fereldan dirt and mud, her smile is warm as the sun.

She laughs at his compliments, but Zevran isn’t joking in the slightest when he calls her lovely.

“You know, when I first saw you, I thought they were a different type of vallaslin,” she says, resting her chin in her hand as her eyes roam over the tattooed path from Zevran’s brow down to his jawline. “I thought they might be meant for some god I didn’t recognize.”

“I suppose they still could be-is there a god for devilishly handsome sinners?”

Allys rolls her eyes. “I’m serious! Getting my vallaslin hurt like mad-but the pain is a sign of our devotion to the gods. That was the point, and the purpose made it easier. So it didn't make sense to me that someone would go through that without a reason."

“What can I say? We Antivans are willing to suffer for beauty.” Zevran flashes another smile, but it fades slightly as studies the vallaslin- the blood writing, they call it- across Allys’s face. He knows the lore behind the markings; his time with the Dalish provided him the chance to learn, and even to hear some of the legends of the gods. But his time with the clan was short and his education quick and basic, so there is much he still does not know. “What of yours, then? What purpose do they hold for you?”

With a gentle touch, Allys takes Zevran’s hand in hers and brings it to her face, so that his fingertips brush against the dark marks of her vallaslin. She guides his fingers across her features, tracing the lines of ink up her chin, across her cheekbones, over her brow. “These are for Andruil.”

“Ah, I remember her stories. She is the Huntress, yes? How very fitting.”

“I thought so, too,” Allys answers, pleased. She closes her eyes, leans into Zevran’s touch, and after a moment begins reciting something in elvhen. “Vir assan. Vir bor’assan. Vir adahlen.”

Zevran has no inkling what the words mean- he hadn’t stayed with the Dalish nearly long enough to learn any of the ancient language- but Allys’s voice, low and melodic, gives them a certain weight. It’s as if the meaning is right on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite capture it.

Noticing his expression, Allys explains. “It’s the Way of the Hunt- Andruil’s code. I started learning that code from the time I was tall enough to fire a bow. I’ve spent so much of my life in the woods, learning the teachings of Andruil. When the time came to choose my vallaslin, it seemed appropriate to honor her.”

Zevran is silent for a moment, thinking back to his time with the Dalish. He’s learned the legends and the names of their gods, but the reverence with which the Dalish speak of their Pantheon…that isn’t something so easily taught. “Do you really believe in all those legends? They are good tales to tell, I give you that, but…”

Allys’s voice betrays no doubt when she answers. “I do.”

“Even in the midst of…” Zevran vaguely waves his hand, motioning to the entire world of calamity beyond the quiet sanctity of their tent. “…of all of this?”

“Even so.” Allys’s smile turns thoughtful, and her eyes go distant for a moment. “Maybe the gods themselves cannot step in and stop the Blight for us, but their presence is felt- by the Dalish, by me. It is because of Andruil and her lessons that I am alive today, that I have the skills to bring this destruction to an end.”

And there it is again- that sensation of being so close to something, but not managing to grasp it enough to even identify the feeling. In a way, it reminds Zevran of the Andrastians and their Maker. Something that just almost speaks to Zevran, but isn’t quite his.

Perhaps Zevran’s contemplation is showing on his face, for Allys gives him a searching look and asks, “What do you believe?”

Zevran quickly banishes his muddled thoughts and gives her a wry smile. “I am an assassin. The only things we believe in are steel and gold.”

Yes, steel and gold. Things that are solid and real, if somewhat less poetic than songs and prayer. It could be that in another life- one where the Crows weren’t constantly on his tail, one where he was able to settle somewhere for more than a few short weeks, perhaps even one where his mother never separated from her clan in the first place- he would have been able to take the time to study and prove himself and become part of the Dalish in truth, earning his own vallaslin. Perhaps in that life, he believes in a purpose for himself, believes that a god may look his way.

But that is not a life that belongs to him, nor one that he can truly imagine.

And yet Allys looks at him with a softness in her gaze. She leans closer and tenderly presses a kiss against his temple, at the start of his curving tattoo, then follows the mark down his cheekbone, planting more soft kisses along the way. Finally she moves to his lips, and whispers, “I don’t think that’s true. And I don’t think you do, either. You’re a better person that you give yourself credit for, and you don’t get that way through greed and violence. Maybe it’s not the gods, but you must believe in something greater than what the Crows taught you.”

“What makes you so certain of that, dear Warden?”

“Because I have faith in you.” Allys kisses his lips, softly, and then pulls back, the previous mischief returning to her expression. “And just so you know, that’s why I like your tattoos. Because whatever meaning they do or don’t have, they’re yours.”

Zevran does not know what to say. He wants to tell her she’s wrong, to try and make her see that these tattoos she admires are nothing but decoration and embellishment, just as dashing and shallow as every other tool of his trade. But his throat is thick and the words won’t come, so he just kisses her again, deeper this time, and tries not to dwell too much on her words or the look in her eyes.

He thinks about it all later that night, of course. The thoughts simply won’t leave, and a part of him wishes he could go back to when things like this were easy. This should be easy. Just another mission, another conquest. But maybe…maybe Allys is not entirely wrong. Zevran is not a Crow any longer. In truth, he doesn’t know what he is. But when he thinks of the woman in his arms- the woman who not only spared his life, but showed him what his life could be worth- he realizes there is nowhere in this world he wouldn’t follow her.

It is terrifying, and exhilarating, and Zevran wonders if perhaps this is what it feels like to have faith.

[wonderwafles]

Five fic recs of mine, having been tagged by the fab @undercat-overdog! Thank you! <3

1. I’m proud of Metathesiophobia, which is a lighthearted chat between the Witch Queen Savathûn and Queen Mara Sov of the Awoken about death, afterlife, and change. I like the style of this one as well as the content, and I’m proud of the way I wrote it. Also, it’s always a pleasure to dig into the more mind-bending implications of Destiny lore.

2. I’ve recced this one before, but gosh golly, I’ll do it again; Love in the Time of Werewolves is probably the Tolkien fic I’m happiest with just as a full work. The style of writing is soooo fun and one I hope to do more of! :D

3. Far Old Places is my average-ly ongoing drabble(?) collection about the Krill AU, the timeline where the proto-Hive on Fundament receive the blessing of the Traveler and become Guardians. It’s still in my thoughts on how to continue it, I promise, no *really*

4. Path of Wisdom is a fic about the Halo tv series that I wrote two and a half years before the show came out, and honestly, I still like it. I enjoyed obliquely tying religion and alien biology together in a way that feels like it would make a really good ongoing premise, in what would be a pretty severe TV show AU nowadays.

5. This untitled fic I wrote for Destcember 2021 is a spooky Dark Age fic about how creepy Guardian resurrection can be. I like doing ghost stories as it turns out :D

I will tag @cappurrccino, @eri-223, @xivu-arath, @synnthamonsugar, @ageless-aislynn, and @seventhscorpio!

[literalliterature]

[ID: The tumblr "My Year In Review" banner. End ID/]

I posted 6,442 times in 2022

That's 2,651 more posts than 2021!

190 posts created (3%)

6,252 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gendercents

@keplercryptids

@tiroll

@kallistoi

@accessible-art

I tagged 3,678 of my posts in 2022

Only 43% of my posts had no tags

#dungos & drangies - 370 posts

#tag yourself - 364 posts

#captioned - 277 posts

#polished locks on ancient doors - 216 posts

#me af - 179 posts

#greece lightning - 176 posts

#aminals - 170 posts

#i really need a plushie tag - 159 posts

#the ancients - 146 posts

#❣️ - 137 posts

Longest Tag: 141 characters

#🎶 with on for after at by in against about of near between through over up off down out to around among beyond into still within without upo

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Werewolf in sheep clothing because I wanted to draw an autumn guy in a sweater. Fighting for my gd life to shake off some art block.

[ID: A colored and softly shaded sketch of a cartoony werewolf puppy wearing a red sweater with a pattern of white sheep on it. The werewolf is sitting on the floor with their legs spread and scratching their side. Behind them is a white circle against a warm yellow background. End ID.]

195 notes - Posted September 28, 2022

#4

Ok I broke down and drew This Man as a little warm-up

[ID: A cartoony animated drawing of the male Carnotaurus from Prehistoric Planet. He is a large, bipedal dinosaur who is mostly light brown, with darker stripes, back, and tail. He also has horn-like projections on his head and, notably, tiny, bright blue arms. He flaps them frantically with his head tilted up and his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. The background is light green. End ID.]

264 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

#3

Practicing shapes with @pangur-and-grim 's creechurs

[ID: A drawing of two cats. The first is a warm brown tabby with a white belly, chin, and muzzle and wide green eyes. She is lying down in a loaf. Sitting behind her is a fluffy white cat with a long muzzle and ears, as well as purple eyes. Both have yellow haloes behind them. The background is beige. End ID.]

495 notes - Posted April 9, 2022

#2

Just wanted to do a real quick one. Bearange :)

[ID: A simplified drawing of an orange bear in profile with a cream-colored belly and muzzle. The bear has brown cheek freckles, a dot eye, and a couple of green leaves sprouting from their head. They look upward with one paw raised. Around them are two whole oranges and one orange slice. The background is light blue. End ID.]

611 notes - Posted August 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

i love you hidden PC lore i love you secrets about characters unknown even to their own players i love you DMs who leave information for players to uncover about their own characters i love you gaping holes in backstories waiting to be filled i love you revelations that the PCs were connected before even meeting each other i love you seamless weaving of the PCs' stories into the larger plot

1,236 notes - Posted November 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[lizzy-frizzle]

How to impress Elizabeth Phoenix Frizzle: - play halo with me - play ffxiv with me - play magic the gathering with me (I promise I won’t use my STAX deck*) - take me to an arcade (not during a pandemic) - watch scary movies with me - give me weed - show me that you remembered something I said a long time ago, that’s personal to me - talk to me about how much you love disco elysium - show me your ffxiv characters and tell me their lore *I’m lying, I’m totally gonna use my STAX deck

[emmaannaelisabeth]

Short Circuit

ahh hi everyone, remember i told you about some new ocs earlier? now you'll get to meet two of them. i hope you like them!lore uses she/they pronouns and honestly that was a challenge to write but i hope i've made them and all of you that use she/they pronouns justice. also even though i'm posting this, the characters might change over time just as we all do. to know where this takes place in the swk au, look at the caption of the post. possible tws: mild swearing.

The blade is already clean, but Ava keeps polishing it with her soft rag. She sits with her legs crossed on the couch, a thin blanket draped over her legs. Her dark hair is up in a messy bun, a few rebellious strands of raven black hanging down, falling over her shoulder. “So how did the lab go? You got teamed up today right? Like you talked about.” Without taking her eyes off her knife, she asks Lore about the science project.

Lore is lying on the floor, her legs propped up against the couch, sticking straight up; their left arm is bent up, her hand resting on the back of their neck. Her wide-legged pants have slipped down to her knees and her feet are bare; the afternoon sun shines through one of the windows and makes the hairs on her leg glitter.

She draws in a deep breath and catches the ball they were throwing into the air. “Horrible”, she answers Ava and throws the ball again, catching it perfectly as it falls down. “I love physics but like for real, I can’t with this guy.”

Ava huffs and raises her eyebrows, glancing at Lore. “That bad?”

“Huh, you have no idea”, they complain. “Saints, my partner.. He’s such an idiot.” She throws the ball again and shakes her head, rolling their eyes. “First of all, he doesn’t say a word. And secondly, he’s way too confident for not knowing the difference between voltage and current.”

“I don’t know the difference”, Ava laughs, lifting up her knife and turning it in the sunlight falling in from the window across the room.

“But you’re not taking an extra science class thinking it’ll go perfect just because you’re a year older”, Lore says and pulls her free hand through her wavy shoulder long hair. “He’s an H guy, he doesn’t know anything about physics.”

“He’s an H guy?” Ava laughs and rolls her eyes. “Sometimes the history dudes should just stick to their trading history.”

“I know”, Lore mutters. “I mean, I chose the Science path because I actually like maths and physics. But this guy can’t even count 37 minus 15 in his head.”

Ava chuckles and glances at Lore on the floor. Their golden earrings glitter in the sunlight and the dark orange patterned scarf around her head makes their green eyes look even greener than they usually are. Her brown hair lies around their head like a halo of mahogany. She throws the ball into the air once more; her open sleeve slides down their arm as she lifts her hand to catch the ball, showing a small golden chain around her wrist.

“Is he hot?” Lore’s eyes widen and their thin eyebrows fly high up on their forehead at Ava’s question. They try to hold back a laugh, grinning, squeezing her eyes shut. They fail to catch the ball and it falls down on her chest. “Well, um”, they begin and pick up the ball before it has rolled away. “He’s got hot potential.”

“Hot potential?” Ava lays the knife down in her lap and looks at Lore, frowning. “As in..?” She trails off and raises her eyebrow at Lore, giving her a subtle grin. Lore turns her head and meets Ava’s gaze and then they burst out laughing. Ava tries not to join, but Lore has got that kind of big broad loud laughter that you simply cannot resist.

“Ah, nah”, they chuckle, shaking her head. “He’s too stupid.”

“What, he’s too stupid?” Ava covers her face with her hands. “Excuse me but have you seen Eskil?”

Lore chuckles, her double chin making an appearance as she turns her head to look at Ava. “Oh, I’ve seen that crackhead almost kill himself, thank you.” They shake their head and squeeze her eyes shut. “What was it last time? Didn’t he try to fry something?”

“Oh Saints”, Ava breathes, leaning back on the couch. “Yes, he tried to cook.” She sighs and blinks slowly. “He almost burned down the apartment.”

Another chuckle passes Lore’s lips and she rolls their eyes. “But like, Eskil is smart”, they say. “This guy isn’t. He connected the wire wrong and short circuited the battery.”

“Eskil would’ve blown up the battery. What’s his name?” Ava asks and raises her eyebrows in excitement. Lore rolls her eyes.

“Mr. Quiet Ass”, they say.

“Seriously, Lore. I wonder if I know him.”

“Mr. Overly Confident.”

“Florence.”

Lore sighs and stops fiddling with the ball. “I don’t know”, they say. “It was something short.” She pauses. “He’s got pretty hands though.” Her eyes are locked at the ceiling. “And a ring.”

“Lore”, Ava says and grins. “You looked at his hands?”

“What? No,” Lore says and frowns at Ava. “I did not, or like of course I had to because I needed to know he fixed it right, the wire.”

“And you don’t remember his name? Saints.”

“No, you know I’m bad at remembering names. I can remember faces but not names.”

“Okay but what does he look like then? And give me a one to ten.” Ava puts her elbow on the armrest and rests her head in her hand, as she waits for Lore to speak. At first, Lore’s eyes widen but then the fragment of a smile flicker’s past her lips, there and then gone. Almost unnoticeable.

“He’s got dark hair, almost black, one strand fell down into his forehead when he destroyed the battery. He wore a knitted shirt and black pants”, they say and frown, squint their eyes, as if to remember everything correctly. It always amazes Ava how good memory Lore has, she can remember what a person wore two weeks ago, and she always pays attention to the little details, like the fact that her lab partner had orange socks and short nails.

“His eyes were grey, almost colourless and he had round glasses”, Lore says. “He had some acne scars on his cheek but you don’t really notice it. He’s got a pretty sharp jawline. He was pretty tall too, just a little taller than me.”

Ava huffs, glancing at Lore, as she tries her best to hide a grin. She doesn’t know who the guy is but from what she can tell, he definitely has hot potential. “And what number do you give him?”

“Three”, they say. “I give Mr. Stupid a three.”

“What?” Ava frowns and straightens her back. “You can’t give him a three if he’s got hot potential. That’s at least a seven.”

“Ah, fine”, Lore sighs, meets Ava’s gaze. A smile hides in the corner of their lip. “Maybe an eight then.”

Ava laughs and raises her fist into the air. “I knew it.”

“Oh, hold on there”, Lore giggles. “He’s still stupid. He’s still Mr. Short Circuit.”

“You told me he was tall”, Ava says.

“That you’re tall doesn’t help when you leave your brains at home.”

Lore shakes their head at Ava, who’s tilting her head to the side, one eyebrow raised. “Nuh uh”, Lore says. “Not gonna happen.”

“Why not? You told me you wanted someone too.”

“He’s frickin annoying! And honestly, he’s not that nice either. He might be an eight but he didn’t say a word to me unless he really had to. I don’t need people like that in my life.”

“Maybe he was just nervous?” Ava tries.

“I don’t like him.”

“You do, I know that face.”

“I hate him”, Lore says and throws the ball into the air again, trying to hide the fact that she’s blushing.

“You don’t”, Ava teases.

“I do, with every fibre of my eternal being I say I do.” They catch the ball and throw it up again with a little more power than the last time.

“You’re not eternal.”

“I still say I do.”

Ava laughs and shakes her head. “Well, you know what-”

The door to Ava’s apartment squeaks when it opens and Eskil’s laughter fills the room with the same warmth as the sunlight does. “Djel, she glared at you the whole time?” he says and the door closes.

“Yeah, she looked so mad. I tell you, if gazes could kill I’d already be buried”, another voice says. “Deep.” Ava recognises the voice as Arie’s, Eskil’s best friend for as long as she can remember, and gets ready to get up and greet them. Lore moved here with her family a month ago and hasn’t had the chance to meet Arie yet. Ava picks up the dagger and stands up, but before she’s taken another step, they’ve entered the room.

Eskil and Arie stand there, the height difference hopelessly obvious in the sunlight. “Oh, you two look like you’re having a good time”, Eskil says, his smile bright as always. Then the room goes quiet. Lore stops throwing the ball as soon as her gaze lands on Arie. “For fucks sake”, she mutters and stares at him. He’s got round glasses, a ring and orange socks.

“Saints”, Ava whispers and the dagger slips out of her hand and cuts deep into the wooden floorboards. No one moves.

“Why y’all so weird?” Eskil breaks the silence, a question mark written all over his face. He looks at Arie; he’s staring at Lore, his back straight and jaw twitching. Then Eskil’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open.

“Oh.” He points at Lore with one hand and the other at Arie. “So that’s…” He can’t even finish the sentence before he’s bending over with laughter. He wheezes and grabs Arie’s arm, barely even able to stand straight.

“Well, man”, Eskil says and claps Arie on the back, drying tears from his eyes. “I ship it.” Arie turns his head to his friend. Eskil tries desperately not to laugh, pressing his lips together so tight they go white.

“I’m gonna kill you”, Arie hisses and Eskil can’t keep it in anymore. He bursts out laughing and stumbles out of the room as quickly as he can. Arie follows right behind him. Lore covers their face with her hands.

[therealvagabird]

Dead Space as a Master-Class: Sci-Fi Horror and Cosmic Horror

An essay I wrote for some reason, after having had a sudden burst of recollection earlier this year that I couldn’t stop thinking about.

Read below or HERE on my blog.

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From 2008 to 2013, the Dead Space game (and multimedia) sci-fi horror series was one of the leading titles in the next-gen era. Competing with more veteran IPs such as Resident Evil at its peak, the imagery of Dead Space became synonymous with gaming and horror pop-culture of the time. Though not free from criticism, especially towards the end of its run when radical shifts in the industry economy spoiled the reception of its third game, Dead Space was a major phenomenon in its time and retains a strong nostalgic following.

Dead Space followed the personal hell of one Isaac Clarke, a spaceship engineer in the distant future. In a far-flung time when massive resource scarcity has devolved humanity into a society of corporate-fascistic planet-looters, Clarke and a team of peers are called to the mining ship USG Ishimura to investigate a distress signal activated while the “planet cracker” vessel was stripping an innocuous planet. What follows is the start of the original Dead Space title, a massive bloodbath. Discovery of a strange alien monolith known as “The Marker” (later the “Red Marker”) has unleashed some manner of alien parasitic infection known as “Necromorphs” on the ship, having been lying dormant since it devoured the original colonists of the world centuries ago. The parasite operates by killing and then reanimating human corpses, and is able to enhance its deadliness through recombinant properties, making monsters out of multiple bodies, as well as spreading a fleshy moss known as “the Corruption” around its environment as a form of hostile terraforming. As if these obstacles were not enough for Isaac Clarke, the Marker also appears to induce vivid hallucinations and violent insanity, having driven most of the Ishimura’s crew to suicide or homicide even before the parasitic outbreak, and continuing to wreak havoc on any human minds.

Dead Space 2 and 3 continue the plotline after Isaac Clarke is left as the sole survivor of the initial plot. It is elaborated on that the Earth Government wants the alien Marker despite the great danger it poses due to the artifact providing a source of limitless energy. However, despite its promise, the construction of a second Marker using memories burned into Clarke’s brain results in another, even more vicious Necromorph outbreak on a residential space-station in the Solar System. Attempts to stop the pandemic are exacerbated by both the greedy Earth Gov and the “Unitologists” – a massive sect of religious extremists who view the Markers as divine and, likewise, tend to aid in the undue spread of Necromorph infections. By the time of Dead Space 3, the conflict between Earth Gov and the Unitologists has exploded into all-out war, with Markers exerting their influence over most of earth. Isaac, with company, travels to the world of Tau Volantis following the promise of a way to stop the alien menace. It is revealed by the end of the final chapter that the history of the Markers is far deeper and darker than previously guessed, with the influence of the monoliths having led to both the rise and fall of numerous civilizations throughout galactic history as a way of both creating and feeding the Necromorphs’ final stage – the “Brethren Moons”. Though Isaac succeeds in destroying a half-formed Brethren Moon as the penultimate boss of the third game, the rest of the dormant Moons are awakened by the start of the final DLC expansion, with the implied ending of the series being the Moons consumption of all life on Earth and within human-controlled space, leaving the galaxy to once again be “Dead Space”.

With the outline of the Dead Space trilogy established, I will look at the ways in which – despite its reputation as being a semi-popular cultural phenomenon in its heyday – the Dead Space series is actually one of the best demonstrations of Cosmic Horror in gaming, and even in modern applications of the genre. Dead Space also displays a keen knowledge of its predecessors and draws on them for inspiration without undue copycat symptoms. Cosmic Horror has long been an elusive concept for modern artists, as the memory of H.P. Lovecraft and bastardizations through the action-RPG genre have rendered most executions of the genre as little more than “alien monsters induce insanity through their mere presence”. Though at a surface level Dead Space may seem to fall prey to these tropes, the overall result of the games’ lore and plot shows a much deeper and more genuine application of Cosmic Horror concepts than most.

The Two Enemies

Dead Space’s storyline revolves around two core enemies or obstacles, with the both of them being intertwined. Though government and Unitologists forces certainly have their spotlights over the course of the game’s storyline, the true flesh and blood of Dead Space’s appeal are the Necromorphs. Wherever the Necromorphs are, there is also the second enemy – insanity. Both of these are the result of the alien Markers, and they form a symbiotic relationship meant to make quick work of their human foodstuffs.

In the games’ lore, the Marker monoliths do more than just lure civilizations in with their abundant energy output. At a certain point, these artifacts will begin putting out an enigmatic signal which induces madness and violent outbursts. The concept is that this will provide a nice working base of corpses and disorganized resistance for the Marker to then began causing the creation of the Necromorph monsters. As the parasitic beasts further cause carnage, the Marker’s job of inducing insanity is made all the easier by the rampant PTSD most human survivors will be struggling with. From a practical standpoint, these two villains embody the two aspects of the series’ actual gameplay. The Necromorphs are the physical obstacles – the monsters and baddies to be dismembered, fled from, and the like. The insanity is the atmosphere – the illusory shadows moving at the ends of hallways, the hallucinations which drive Isaac Clarke and the overall plot along, and the displays of inhumane gore as survivors turn on you, themselves, and each other. Both of these enemies also show Dead Space’s understanding of its roots, and what drives audiences’ interest in the sci-fi horror genre over the decades.

—

The Necromorphs take cues from many other examples of the “murderous alien parasite” throughout genre history. As recently as 2001, gaming audiences had been exposed to the infectious and disgusting Flood in the Halo series – the original trilogy of which concluded one year before Dead Space debuted. Resident Evil had expanded on the zombie archetype with mutant abominations going back to 1996. Of course, the most prominent influences on Dead Space’s design predate the video game boom. John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982) and the Alien franchise (1979-1986 primarily) are perhaps the most noticeable contributors.

From Carpenter’s adaptation of The Thing we are given the visuals of gory, mutagenic, violent, and infectious alien monstrosities who live only to consume and convert all other lifeforms to their cause. Forgoing the Thing’s major aspect of being a shape-shifter, the Necromorphs instead favor a wide variety of monstrous forms which each function as a unique enemy type, while their “infectivity” is limited to the slow spread of their alien hive as they kill and convert human corpses into food. It is the Thing’s imagery (and sound design) which is its biggest contribution, with the blood-and-guts aesthetic providing the visceral backbone to Dead Space’s immediate horror.

From Alien is derived the setting, with the environment of a futuristic and brutalist human environment offering little comfort to the player when not being faced with mutant monsters. In the original Dead Space, cramped corridors, dim industrial lighting, hostile machinery, and vents which allow the Necromophs to stalk and flank the player all call back to the settings of the Nostromo and LV-426’s mining colony in Alien and Aliens. The Necromorphs also, despite their more zombie-esque and gory visuals, function on a closer level to the Xenomorphs’ “hive building” behavior, at least until they reach their later stages. Of course, the name “Necromorph” is itself a play on the blending of the “Xenomorph” aliens with human-derived zombies.

—

As stated, the second “enemy” of the Dead Space series, and the biggest contributor to its horror atmosphere, is the insanity induced both by the Marker and by the trauma of being exposed to the violent Necromorphs. The insanity which Isaac Clarke is afflicted by its one of the main drivers for the trilogy’s plot, and the source of the first game’s (rather uninspired) twist. It also functions in the game’s backstory, as a precursor to Necromorph outbreaks meant to supply corpses. From an artistic standpoint, the insanity is itself a reference to the common tropes of Cosmic Horror dating back to H.P. Lovecraft – its most renowned contributor. It also provides a more human level to the horror that permeates each of the games. While it’s one thing to see alien monsters mutilating people, it’s another dimension to see humans doing equally terrible things to themselves or each other. It shows the emotional destruction of the Marker’s victims alongside their eventual physical destruction. It also – as pointed out previously – provides another layer to the games’ atmospheric design, with the largest effect on new players. The visual and auditory hallucinations Isaac experiences keep players on their toes, as they can never be sure they aren’t about to face off against another monster, or are simply jumping at shadows.

Yet there is a final dimension to the insanity of the Markers which culminates in the revelations of the third installment. It is hinted at by the Markers’ nature as alien artifacts, and the appearance of strange occult symbols, religious terminology, and repeated phrases going back to the first game. The Markers, and their entire purpose, are shown to be the products of massive, ravenous, and highly intelligent alien beings known as Brethren Moons – the end stage of Necromorph evolution and something of “gods” to the entire galaxy. Is both shown and implied, in different measure, that every aspect of the Markers are simply emanations of these Moons. The energy they release which can uplift the minds of various species to sapience, and in turn provide them with power to support their resource-strapped civilizations, are just brainwave signals broadcast from the minds of the monstrous Moons. The violence and insanity inspired in humanity is the simple result of human brains being subject to the thoughts of incomprehensibly vast and hungry alien beings. And moreover, while much of this madness could be viewed as human brains being overwhelmed by excessive traumatic input, there is also the revelation – very in-line with the most fundamental ideas of Cosmic Horror – that these Brethren Moons are unstoppable, inescapable, and responsible for the premeditated creation and destruction of all human civilization. To have a mental breakdown in the face of such a nihilistic state of galactic affairs is quite rational, and the precept upon which Lovecraft built the basis of his Cosmic Horror writings.

The Settings

Dead Space – Vents and Hallways

As with all good horror, and sci-fi horror as a rule, the setting of the Dead Space games is as important as any of the actual events which happen therein. While the basic gameplay remained the same throughout all three titles, with minor deviations in overall tone and combat approach, the settings differed drastically. Yet these changes did not compromise the core concepts of the series. Claustrophobia, hostile scenery, minimal visibility due to frequent obstacles, and other staples were retained. Yet over the trilogy, each new setting could actually be interpreted as an homage to one of Dead Space’s predecessors. Though the writing and delivery of the games was not the most refined of all examples in the genre, the creators had a clear concept and appreciation for what traditions they were building off of, and this is reflected in the physical space.

For Dead Space, the original, the USG Ishimura is the Nostromo, from 1979’s Alien. It is an industrial vessel sent to a far-flung location where its doom is sealed. Yet whereas the Nostromo was host to a small crew who were picked off by a solitary predator, the Ishimura is host to a compliment of full-time astronauts and workers, who are likewise consumed by a massive, spreading alien parasite. For major set-pieces, influences from later sci-fi properties such as Resident Evil, Halo, or System Shock can be seen. The major bosses take the form of huge conglomerations of corpses sitting at the centers of Necromorph “hives”, having terraformed whole sections of the environment. Yet for most of the game’s progression, Isaac Clarke finds himself in the bloodstained remains of human architecture. Tight corridors, vents which allow the Necromorphs to evade direct confrontation much like the Xenomorph in Alien, and hostile architecture. The latter is a major feature in the first and third games, though doesn’t fail to feature in the entire series. Visual cues ranging from outright hazardous industrial obstacles to propaganda signs and clone-vat medical bays portray a future which is not much brighter even without alien attack. It sets up a galaxy, quite like that of Alien or other dark science fiction stories, that is not at all suited to human life, both through humanity’s cruelty to each other, and the cosmos’ cruelty to humanity. The early introduction of the concept of “Dead Space” within the setting (separate from the pun of the main title) also hints at a gloomy reality: mankind has encountered no alien life before the Necromorphs. In their rapid expansion in search of resources, not once has humanity found any extraterrestrial beings in the vast, cold void of space.

Dead Space 2 – Cyberpunk Dystopia and Urban Carnage

Dead Space 2 would both intensify and relax the themes hinted at in the first game. The sequel takes place on Titan Station, or “The Sprawl” – a massive civilian space station built from the shattered remains of Saturn’s moon Titan. Set dressing in Dead Space 2 seeks to explore the actual universe built up in the first game, contrasting the life of an average person shattered by the alien attack with the existing brutality of the Sprawl. Players are greeted both with scenes of horror in the aftermath of an entire human population, families, friends, and the like all butchered in common by the Necromorphs, as well as the residual propaganda of a government who seemed to care little for its populace even during the station’s non-brutalized days. Next to the more isolated setting of Dead Space, and its own homages to properties like Alien, Dead Space 2 takes the route of previous sequels such as Aliens or Predator 2, introducing the threat to a more populous region and exchanging some of the tension and isolation-derived horror for increased action and more visceral looks at civilians being subjected to sudden traumas. The increased presence of the Unitologist cult, and their antagonism with both Isaac Clarke and the scrambling Earth Gov also brings in more elements of religious horror and human-vs-human conflict which were just a part of the backstory of the original game.

Dead Space 3 – Darkest Space-Antarctica

In Dead Space 3, the homages become much stronger, and provide both a nice divergence and yet return to the Dead Space setting format. After some introduction, the bulk of the Dead Space 3 storyline takes place on the alien planet of Tau Volantis – a frozen world of dangerous weather patterns and difficult terrain. Tau Volantis was once colonized by humanity in the days of their galactic civil war, but has been abandoned for some two centuries due to the terrible secrets they unearthed there. Isaac and company escape to this planet at the promise of finding the clue to the Markers’ origins, and a way to stop them and the Necromorphs.

The references to The Thing couldn’t be clearer in the sheer choice of setting alone. Throughout his trek on Tau Volantis, Isaac navigates the aftermath of arctic-style expeditions on this barren world which in years past succumbed to the Necromorph parasite. The first enemies faced in the game are, in fact, Necromorphs resembling snowsuit-clad humans with glowing eyes, just a few visual cues off of the theatrical poster for 1982’s The Thing. Once again the themes of isolation return, as the bitter cold of the planet is not much more welcoming than the alien-infested subterranean tunnels. Throughout the game, audio logs chronicle the fate of the previous expedition, offering something of an expanded version of the relationship between the casts of The Thing and its prequel.

Though the references to the 1982 influence are clear, by the third act of the third game, the full elements of Cosmic Horror become fully manifest, with distinct homages to the grandfather of the genre – H.P. Lovecraft. Deep beneath the ice of Tau Volantis, it’s discovered that the old colonial expedition had unearthed not the secret of the Markers themselves, but of one of their victimized races. The Tau Volantians are a highly diverse and highly alien group of advanced yet extinct lifeforms whose own civilization progressed in a similar manner to that of humanity’s in the present day. By the end of Dead Space 3, Isaac Clarke finds himself traversing the cyclopean ruins of their subaquatic cities, searching for a supposed device that will stop the Necromorphs for good. Evidence of the aliens’ reliance on the Markers is clear, and the ultimate revelation comes at last with the reveal of Tau Volantis’ true history. At the peak of the Necromorph outbreak on the alien world, the Markers initiated a “Convergence Event” to spawn their final life-stage – a Brethren Moon. The Tau Volantians, using all the resources left to them, instead activated a terraforming device to freeze their planet, killing themselves but trapping the massive moon-creature in a form of stasis. With Unitologists threatening to unleash the Moon, Isaac must stop this final and penultimate threat, which he does in fact manage to do, at the seeming cost of his own life.

The connections to At the Mountains of Madness are striking and well-executed. Exploring the ruins of a strange yet familiar civilization of ages passed and uncovering the horrible truth of its downfall – the parallels to the fate of Lovecraft’s Elder Things are all too prominent. Just as the inspiration for John Carpenter’s The Thing – Who Goes There? (1938) by John Campbell – derived its setting from the “Darkest Antarctica” obsession in pulp horror and sci-fi, so too did At the Mountains of Madness. In turn, Dead Space 3 shows its knowledge of its roots by grabbing inspiration from all three, with a high-sci-fi take on the “frozen hell” setting and the dark secrets which might be uncovered beneath primordial ice.

The Red Moon – A Rare Case of True Cosmic Horror

But in the end, all of these themes are just set dressing. They are decent executions of common themes within the sci-fi horror-action genre and cute homages to the predecessors of Dead Space as a whole. However, a closer look at the full storyline of Dead Space once we are shown the truth of the final game creates a picture of a much better Cosmic Horror story than most acknowledge. The centermost theme of Cosmic Horror is the insignificance of humanity – the idea that the entire breadth of human existence is ultimately so fleeting and fragile in an infinite universe, that experiencing phenomena that showcase this insignificance could drive your average human insane. Over time, this idea – pioneered by Lovecraft’s works most notably – was diluted and bastardized to the point that few executions of Cosmic Horror would have any resemblance to Lovecraft’s works, as the aesthetics of Lovecraft were co-opted for simple sci-fi/fantasy horror.

But the ultimate lifecycle of the Necromorphs does in fact provide a fantastic and chilling example of this concept. The evolution of the Necromorphs is tied up in their enigmatic Markers, and their effects of other species can be seen in both humanity and the Tau Volantians. When a Marker is sent out into the cosmos by the Brethren Moons, it will (through unknown means) seek out a planet with existing life. From there, the Marker will encourage the growth of at least one species on that planet into a sapient form. Thereafter, the life cycle of this species will play out in a manner that is held to be guaranteed in the Dead Space universe – the species will seek out resources, become strapped for power and supplies as their massive civilization grows and grows, and turn to any desperate attempt to gain more sustaining power. From here, the Marker will fulfil that role, as the alien artifact that first uplifted this species will then begin to provide them with infinite amounts of electrical output. The species will be influenced by the Marker to build copies, with the end result being the ultimate Necromorph outbreak and formation of a Brethren Moon, which will proceed to consume the entire victim race along with its awakened siblings.

In this context, not only are these Brethren Moons ancient, godlike, and possessed of a perfect batting average for wiping the slate clean whenever they want to, but in fact all of human history has been nothing more than a tangential state of affairs as the Brethren Moons have been waiting for our species to grow to a suitable size for “harvest”. The entire plot of the Dead Space games was in fact premediated by these cosmic monstrosities, along with all of humanity’s development. The revelation that the Moons are not just unstoppable by sheer power, but unstoppable in terms of holding all the chips from the beginning, is suitable grounds for a character to have a mental breakdown. Likewise, the existence of multiple Moons suggests the deaths of many species going back untold millions or billions of years. Once the Moons are awakened, the doom of humanity is sealed, as illustrated in the third game’s final DLC. Not unlike how in Lovecraft’s own works, the goal of the heroes is not to defeat great monstrosities like Cthulhu or Azathoth, but delay their attentions towards Earth, so too does Isaac Clarke learn too late that the time to have stopped the Brethren Moons has come and passed.

“Dead Space”

Though the title of Dead Space is itself just a basic pun, within the universe of the games it also acts a distinct label. As humanity spread throughout the galaxy in search of resources, they found that every inch of habitable space was in fact devoid of life. It was “dead space”. Though the implications existed as far back as the first game, it was not until the finale that the full reason behind this was revealed. All of space had been scoured clean of life by the predations of the Brethren Moons over million-year cycles. It provides context to the gloomy, lonesome feel that hangs over the rest of the series, and further solidifies the sense of hopelessness and insignificance that are trademarks of the Cosmic Horror genre. Humanity finds itself having been raised from the start in a galactic farm for terrifying alien beings, and it is only at the moment that they learn this that they also learn there is nothing they can do to avoid becoming a part of this cycle.

The Incomprehensible

Another aspect of Dead Space’s storyline that gains a new dimension is the consistent hallucinations and madness experienced by its various characters. At first, these breakdowns might be viewed as just being some manner of psychic attack by the alien Markers in the usual “madness ray” variety of explanation common in Cosmic Horror properties nowadays. Yet when we come to the revelation that all the functions of the Markers are just emanations of the minds of the Brethren Moons themselves, it becomes far more believable and terrifying. It’s possible that, rather than being some manner of directed and almost deliberate mode of attack, the insanity that afflicts humans is just the result of human brains being exposed to the thoughts of the Moons. Vastness of disparity is another common theme in the genre – that even if a human could comprehend the motives of an alien being (hunger, for example), they would not be able to comprehend the sheer scope of those motives. Rather like how humans can comprehend numbers, though numbers past a certain size remain inconceivable to standard thinking, so too could the violent, hungry thoughts of something as big as a Brethren Moon seem like reality-warping alien schizophrenia to an ignorant human mind. The fact that, in the games, it is stated that more “intelligent” humans are less susceptible to the Marker’s broadcasts could reinforce this. The size and depth of the thoughts of these Brethren Moons might be incomprehensible and alien to most, but perhaps to a scientist, the common threads of mathematics could bleed through in the form of the occult runes seen throughout of the games.

Dreams are also a recurring feature in Lovecraft’s stories, with the dreams of his Elder Gods and other outer cosmic entities bleeding with reality frequently. As the Brethren Moons are shown to possess some manner of psychic power, and certainly the ability to broadcast their brains’ electrical signals in a way that can manipulate reality and biology, it could be interpreted that humanity is almost living in the disturbing dreams of these malevolent gods. Though the hallucinations are just that – illusions – the fact is that the Moons have the power to raise up monsters from the bodies of the dead through their mere will. This “dreams-make-reality” in terms of a suitably powerful creature tilts the scaled even further from humanity’s favor, yet does a fantastic job of reinforcing Dead Space’s position as a true example of proper Cosmic Horror.

Conclusion

Cosmic Horror is not just about monsters out in the cold void of space. It is a very specific take on the sci-fi horror genre which seeks to evoke feelings of hopelessness and insignificance as a source of terror, rather than more basic fear. Dead Space, in the ultimate conclusion of its storyline and universe-building, nails this concept better than most pop-culture properties. Though the elements of monsters, insanity, and the like are there, the overall position of humanity in their relation to the Necromorphs is right in line with how a Cosmic Horror story should be executed. Combining this with the aesthetic influences from other sci-fi horror properties which stood out as paragons of the genre, Dead Space managed to – despite its flaws – present a very well-conceived package to popular audiences. It is strange then how fast Dead Space disappeared from the gaming scene at the conclusion of its run, whereas similar properties which were contemporary with it and similar in popularity were not so quickly forgotten. It’s likely that, due to the massive financial focus shifts in the gaming industry between 2011 and 2017, that Dead Space was doomed regardless of the actual quality of its products. Dead Space 3 was crippled by unpopular microtransaction practices which would not go away in the coming years, spelling a very ignominious end for a rather well-conceived IP. However, it could be said that, like the fate of its protagonist, the fate of Dead Space was something which was unavoidable, though for the more mundane existential horrors of capitalist practice rather than some cosmic doom.

[ask-cloverfield]

Kelly-087 once flipped off an ancient defense drone and I need her to kick me in the throat shattering-

[themanicnami]

Fog in Witchcraft

Fog is often a forgotten aspect of weather that seems to get passed over when it comes to witchcraft despite it having some powerful and noble uses as well as a history in the craft. Though not all areas get fog commonly, many do, almost every morning depending on the time of year. Allow this small post to perhaps be some help to those who have interest in harnessing fog into their craft.

History and Fiction

As stated above, in many literary sources witches of both historical senses and fiction harness fog as a powerful towel. In popular lore, witches were said to summon fogs to roll across the lands to protect fleeing mothers and children during wars to hide from invading soldiers, though this lore is hard to pin point down, it is often said to come from Celtic and Gaelic origins.

In other tales witches would summon fog to protect traveling royalty or heroes who are on a quest to reach lands that may be unfriendly to their arrival. At some other times fog was related to almost like the “witching hour” it meant it was a time that the supernatural were out and witches were casting their spells.

Fog as a Liminal Space

What is a liminal space? To put it simply it means a “transforming space” or a place that the Veil or energies are thinner and overcross one another. Often they are associated with spirit work, energy work, astral work and over all witchcraft. Some call these places or areas “places where one area and time stop and another begins”.

In many cases, places that are covered by fog often are said to be liminal spaces during this time, due to the surrealism and energy fog brings with it. It turns something mundane looking to mysterious, confusing and even to some creepy. Its concealing nature brings the feeling of the unknown and the unseen.

Traditionally and theatrically fog is often used to represent the Veil between worlds and afterlife, often used in settings of literature and movies by covering graveyards before something supernatural happens or by filling the streets at night when magick is about to begin. Often when many people who don’t practice the craft think of supernatural energies and the Veil they imagine a foggy night or a wall of fog, this imagery is for a reason.

Often, fog is seen as an important tool for spirit work both fictionally and modernly due to its relations of being a liminal space and therefore seen as easier to contact spirits with the barriers weaker when it arrives.

Correpsondences and Uses of Fog

Generally Fog Corresponds with - The Veil, Spirits/Spirit Work, The Hidden, The Unseen, Invisibility, Protection, Obstruction, Curses/Hexes, Warding, Meditation, Astral Work, Fear, Patience, Calmness, Serenity, Peace and Travel

Often times, fog is useful to one when they wish to cast or enchant items for invisibility and protection during travel, often necklaces or items enchanted while out in the fog. Others will take the opportunity of using fog for spiritual communication, past life work and astral projection, taking advantage of the weakened barriers and Veil for these purposes.

Associations

Crystals - Clear Quartz, Smokey Quartz, Thunder Egg

Herbs/Plants - Cotton, Broom, Saffron, Thistle/Thicket, Wheat, Pansy

Colors - Gray, Silver, Black, Blue

Other Tools - Steam, Incense/Smoke, Wands, Besoms, Branches, Storm Water/Rain Water, Ash, Dust, Mirrors and Gray Candles

Fog Summoning

There are many ways said to summon fog. A few of those ways will be listed below

Method 1: Using storm water boiling it until it has thick amounts of steam rising from it, carefully move it outside or to a window (if one is not already outside) and offer it to the sky. Many will chant or call to the weather or winds to bring them fog much like the steam of the pot.

Method 2: In water on a burner add storm or sea salt and a sigil on paper for fog. Close the lid to it and wait until it is boiling. Remove the lid and allow the steam to rise. Here chant if desired for fog or let the water boil until it is nearly gone.

Method 3: With a besom go outside if it is a private space and much like wind summoning call to the fog to come to you, using your tool as an extension of yourself and your energy. Remember to ask it to come rather than demand for it.

Method 4: Using storm water or rain water, ash and a jar fill it with these ingredients and shake it thoroughly to summon fog. Be sure to center yourself and focus on your energy to put into this fog summoning jar. Leave it outside or in a window afterwards for further effects.

Fog Water

Fog water is a tool that can be used for witchcraft when fog is not rightfully available or in place of rain water/storm water in fog summoning. To capture fog water is pretty easy though you must be able to accept small amounts.

First you will need either very fine fabric or mesh or screen similar to what can be found in windows or for fishing nets. Tight it taunt onto something to hold it up like rods or sticks. Make sure it is held up at least a couple feet above the ground and somewhere the fog will roll through it. Base it off of how high the fog in your area tends to be, if you have low rolling fogs it may work better lower to the ground. After or during a time of fog you should be able to see droplets of water forming on it, you may use a jar tied below a corner of it to capture these drops or you can collect it yourself during/after they have formed. You can build much larger versions of this for potable water gathering and tutorials on this can be found easily online if that may interest you.

Store your fog water in glass containers and in the fridge, be sure to date and label to ensure you are using fresh water. Do not drink this water unless you set up the proper potable filtration systems.

Diffusing Fog

Often witches will find themselves tasked with fog being a hindrance rather than helpful. Its a dangerous weather condition especially for those on the road or at sea. 

Historically, sea witches would be asked to disperse fog for the safe return and port of sea vessels and the men upon them. Though it is difficult to find exact spells from these times, often broom or heather is used by facing the sea with it in hand and waving at the fog, putting energy into it and telling the fog to disperse. Other times it is said using a broom/besom to summon winds to remove the fog was a preferred way.

Other options for witches is to sing a fog removal song and often dance accompanied with it and with either a besom or wand in hand, direct the fog to travel away from you and somewhere else. Other witches have found success in praying and working with weather deities to move the fog back to the sky or to lead it away.

Omens, Superstitions and Dreams

In omens it is said fog represents blindness. It blocks our ability to see clearly and makes normal directions seem impossible to follow. It can go hand in hand with confusion and the feelings of anxiety. When fog appears in visions it is to be seen often as a warning that things are about to get just that - foggy.

Though it is also related to shrouding oneself, it may be a sign that it is time for you to create a fog about yourself and to build up those wards.

Superstition wise it was believed fog would steal people, often due to people getting lost in it and vanishing, because of this fog is seen as a warning of loss to come. Some cultures even associate it directly with death.

In dreams fog holds many meanings. If the fog is throughout the whole dream then it is a warning of deception. Someone is deceiving you and deep down you know it to be true. If you dream of being wrapped in fog and it is too thick to see through or escape it is often related to feeling that someone has stolen something from you. Dreaming of wandering in a foggy environment is a warning of dangers to come, keep on your toes. If you escape fog it means you are avoiding danger or theft.

If one dreams of fog just being around their head, eyes or following above them like a halo/hat, then it is an indication that you are lying to yourself. You are refusing to let yourself see the truth. It can also be a play of the saying “its all in your head” meaning you are overthinking a problem.

If you dream of fog and snow together, it is often said to be a dream related to sickness soon to come. Others say its a sign that illness of the mind and emotions is going to creep its way in.

If one dreams of their home, bedroom or apartment being filled with fog it is often taken as a bad omen and sign that a large family drama is soon to come.

Seeing a figure in fog in dreams can have different meanings. If it is someone that you know it means they may be hiding things from you or that you are going to have a fight with them in the near future. It can also indicate if you are in the fog and you see them outside of the fog, that you are guilty about something you did to them. Seeing a stranger in the fog or a shadow you do not recognize is often due to anxiety or fear in one’s waking life. They represent the unknown and the future to come, which you are currently stressed over. Animals in the fog can represent both anxieties and fears looming about you but also can represent that you a repressing your own desires and natural wants.

If you see fog rolling in from the distance of a dream it means something is looming in your waking life. If fog starts descending down on you in a dream from the sky to the ground, many take this as a bad omen for travel especially by air or sea. Historically it is said a foggy sea in your dreams means a shipwreck in your future. Though fog over a lake or river means dream-like wonder and is said that young women who dream of this can expect a mysterious stranger in their future.

Fog and Different Types of Witchcraft

Sea Witchcraft - Fog is often seen as more of a hindrance in ocean magick, especially historically when fog at sea or port could be rather hazardous and bring tragedy to many. Due to this, fog in sea magick is often used for more negative tasks like cursing.

Storm Magick - Fog is often seen more in the light of a less harsh type of weather compared to storms or rain but still one that can be used to harness energy. The energy of foggy weather is much more mysterious, calm and hazy than that of storm or wind. It can be used for such purposes.

Death Magick - Fog is often related to the barriers of the other-side as some may say, so many death witches will take advantage of fog to use it to communicate and commune with the dead. Many report that it can make using tools of communication like Ouija boards and pendulums easier.

Divination - Often fog can be seen as a hindrance for divination though it is often deeply routed with self discovery and past life work. Many will take the opportunity of foggy weather to explore their past lives and the history of themselves and others. 

[xiaosmoon]

hi there!!!

this is for the matchup event!!!

pronouns: she/her

zodiac sign: capricorn

mbti: infj/isfj

weapon: i think I'd use either a bow or a catalyst, can't choose between the two

likes & dislikes: i really, really like food lmao, hmm i like nighttime, i like learning (about anything) i also like reading articles or books!! ooo i also like listening to ambient music, idk if that'll help with the matchup tho. ooh i also like wearing dark colors lmao, i almost never wear colors. for dislikes, i dislike overly loud people and people who don't listen to others opinions. i also dislike crowds and basically anywhere noisy or chaotic.

about myself: so i'd say im pretty quiet, im a chill, relaxed kind of person. i care deeply for those i love (and friends) but it takes a long time to build that trust for me. i stay up pretty late (currently it's 4 am rn 💀) and i just like relaxing things like reading, gaming, or just literally lying down doing nothing. i do like walks tho, i like going to new places too. some interests are: star wars, halo (videogame series), reading into lore of videogames/star wars, reading in general, and staying up all night everyday lmao (i may or may not get much sleep but that's okay lmao)

id like to be matched with a guy please!!!!

sorry if this was repetitive, ive never done one of these before

thanks and have a wonderful day!!!!

i saw ur other ask about you being 5'0!

your vision & s/o would be...

xiao

vision: electro

for your first date, you guys go to a late night drive in!

as a couple, you guys have tons of late nights together. (you both seem like night owls) so you guys just talk about nothingness until you eventually fall asleep

xiao buys you food all the time. you're hungry? he's gonna order takeout

you always steal his clothes bc you have similar fashion taste

you and xiao also always game together! or if you're not in the mood for gaming, you would be cuddled up next to him reading a book while he games

overall, you guys make a cute couple

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Adventure Time Reviewed: Season 1 part 1

As promised, I’m going through the Adventure Time series. I’m going to write brief reviews for each of the eps as I watch them, in groups. 

Slumber Party Panic to Prisoners of Love

S1E01: Slumber Party Panic

This made an outstanding choice for a first episode, even if it wasn’t the intended premiere, because SPP shows you a brief package of what themes the show would keep through its run, rather than just a brief adventure.  It’s really funny that the first appearance of Princess Bubblegum in the series is her raising the dead, it being a big mistake, and her lying to the candy people to protect them and describing them as ignorant, then making a 12 year old keep a royal promise.  This ep shows Finn’s early season character - an amped up, anxious kid who wants to keep everyone happy but sometimes can’t. And it has Jake trying to pry the information from him, because from Jake’s perspective it is out of character for Finn to keep secrets, and he is also messed up after finding Dead Mr Creampuff’s sock with Finn. (Mr Creampuff and Manfried are both in this ep, and they will continue to be the funniest retcons of all time to me)    What was absolutely retconned after this ep was the brokenness of the Gumball Guardians. It’s hilarious that Bubblegum programmed them to go apeshit if someone breaks a promise to her. If only they could have frozen time during the final battle against GOLB. I liked the part in ETDBIDK where you have to answer a maths question while dodging their attacks, even if it went on a bit too long.   The ep also subverts its message. Bubblegum asks Finn if he learned about the consequences of breaking promises, but Finn says that if he breaks promises he can go on AWESOME ADVENTURES and REVERSE DEATH ITSELF, and PB goes whatever, youre too cute to yell at.  

The music in SPP is surreal. Seriously, listen to this ep. The tension it creates when Finn is told to make a royal promise because the zombies will explode, and how the music so naturally swings with the mood of the ep. Excellent score!

As Jake said,“This is messed up, but cute!”  

S1E02: Trouble in Lumpy Space

This is the introduction to LSP and to Lumpy Space. Lumpy space is a beautiful if rather barren environment. I do think more could have been done with it in AT, because there are not many episodes that take place in space.  One design choice I found SUPER COOL in this ep is the sun has a green halo around it. I can’t actually find the sun again, I even looked on the wiki but there are no images, so it must have appeared for a brief instance. But it looked great!  

LSP as a character was always incredibly selfish, but she also has this vibe of being a teenager who dwells far too much on teenager feelings. She NEVER takes anything seriously, unless it’s teen drama. And you can see that in full effect here.  I love LSP. I love how much of an asshole she is, yet she has this sort of charm, because she’s so spiteful but in the teenage idiot kind of way rather than in a genuinely malicious way. It’s like she doesn’t understand right and wrong and is driven by pure instinct. And she’s voiced by Pen Ward! His LSP voice is the best. 

I love Finn and Jake getting lumpified. There is some great voice acting on behalf of Jeremy Shada to pull this off. 

Favourite joke: When Jake talks about how he might get lumpified, and if it happens Finn says he’ll bury him next to the treehouse, but Jake is alarmed and says he just wanted to be accepted, what did Finn think he was going to say? LMAO  

Other good one: “We were drawn back by your directionless fury. Here! PCHOO! Get your girl back!” “Yeah there’s no girl.”  

Finn in this ep is having some issues communicating. He ends up having an outburst at LSP, even though it wasn’t entirely her fault that the smooth posers took away the orb, it was theirs too. Finn was having a bad day. 

I wish Jellybeans Have Power started with PB and SP bouncing on marshmallows like in this episode rather than having tea in her room. That would’ve been a nice callback. 

Anyway, Trouble in Lumpy Space is great. These two eps are really good introductions to the series. 

S1E03: Prisoners of Love

I love the joke with the snow golem’s cat head. There is an immediate callback to the Pilot, with Finn and Jake having fun in the snow. I always liked how fun these scenes looked, they are very very rare later in the series.  There’s even a homage to penguin surfing, but the penguins are surfing on Jake this time.  Finn and Jake act like jerks to the Ice King for like no reason. “Do you know what Ice King means?” “A big nerd!” “Oh, holy cow!”  *fistbump*  

“There’s a big sleepy lava man in our front yard, and he is SO hot.” “Mmmhmm....” “Nonono I take it - I mean, not like SEXY hot--” “No, no you DO mean sexy hot!”  “NO! I mean---”  Oh Adventure Time. Gay jokes on episode 3, and these would continue throughout the show. But as soon as you imply two of your main girl characters are or were in love, suddenly the network hounds onto you like dogs :/ Rebecca Sugar herself said that it’s much more likely you’ll get gay content in if it’s presented as a joke, or Wrong somehow, like Jake and Ice King getting married later in the season. 

“Now now, I brought you a baby! And a PUPPY!” In his twisted way, Ice King thought the princesses would want to have Finn and Jake there. It’s also a good thing Finn and Jake got kidnapped because otherwise they wouldn’t have discovered Ice King locked up a bunch of princesses. 

Ice King himself is a fun character already. He’s not shown as doing outright evil stuff to Finn and Jake for the sake of it. He seems heavily misguided, and idiotic, trying in his weird way to make friends. Then again.... “IceKing - let the girls go! They don’t want to be here.” “Of course they do! I’d have killed them already if they didn’t want to be here! Right ladies?” Ice King I’m increasingly certain the only reason you haven’t been dissected on Bubblegum’s lab table is because of your connection to Marceline, but that is some late series lore. As for the early seasons, wtf dude!  

The flute song Finn plays in this ep is very similar to the one he plays in Lemonhope part 2. The Lemonhope version is more complete. “You broke it when we tried picking the lock to that sad ogre’s heart!” Oh my god that is such an AT line, you can imagine an entire emotional adventure based on that. 

Ice King has a drawing of Bubblegum on his keyboard... 

I love how the princesses are clearly quite traumatized by this affair, having been held for weeks, but the most Ice King did was ask them about their favourite sports, while threatening to kill them if they didnt play the keyboard..... it’s like a parody of a twisted serial killer. AT’s dark humor is my favourite.  

Finn is a hot headed kid. He knows that the Ice King needs some kind of help but doesn’t know where to start. He knows he’s probably too young to understand. But Jake hasn’t got the patience to help. 

Cosmic Owl’s first appearance!!!!!

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

I’m trying to compare Doomguy’s military career to John’s because it would be hilarious if he outranked him, and also super helpful. Like John is old but also constantly in stasis and that’s fucked up but could be a bonding moment. in Doom 3 he’s a corporal but army and navy are different and john is master chief petty officer and I literally do my best to avoid military shit

John is a dog on a chain and if you were a part of his team he’d die for you and if you were his superior he’d get the job done, unless he thinks it’s wrong (see Halo 4).

Like John has “orders“ but he’s an asshole.

Master Chief gets the job done and saves who he can while also being an adrenaline junkie.

He jumps out of spaceships free-falling with a bomb, he crashes a banshee on purpose and almost plummets to his death for a joke right before blowing up Halo (installation 04), all he has is one-liners and combat training.

He even has to put up with a giant hivemind zombie plant talking like Shakespeare (not really it’s worse but I love the Gravemind, google that fucker) and he jokes about it, in front of its face, to his enemy.

He’s really jokey to Cortana and Johnson and fills his role well but when he loses that structure he loses himself.

And like I’m not big on the extra lore beyond the games (I’m lying a bit but it’s stupid and fun to look at) but Blue Team, other Spartans who are somehow alive despite Reach and everything, are like “bro you good” in Halo 5

and his visor gets cracked, A literal crack in his shell, like he is that armor and he gets betrayed by the one person who’s not even a person, but she’s been the one there every time he wakes up, every battle, every Halo

and oh did I mention he is either on a mission or in cryosleep, because he is a weapon only. No life beyond war. He’s old, man and people don’t care if he’s a war hero. Higher ups are waiting for him to come back so they can put him down like a dog

And like that’s fucked up! I think Cortana doing That in Halo 5 means John needs to move on from being a weapon controlled by an AI mom/girlfriend who is a clone of the brain of the lady who kidnapped and experimented on him and find some peace.

He needs to have structure to replace the routine of battle and i think it’d be neat if he could connect with Gordo and Mr. Doomguy

like the man is freezer-burned scar tissue, he needs to go live on a farm and raise some chickens. he’ll have a bunker and 19 contingency plans but it’ll be a start

[dragonologist-phd]

Prayer and Ink

A conversation about tattoos and vallaslin leads Zevran to reconsider what it means to have faith in something- and in someone.

Written for ZevWarden Week 2020, a combination of the prompts "faith" and "tattoos"

(AO3)

“Do they mean anything?”

The question catches Zevran by surprise. It’s been a long, tedious day of marching across the Imperial Highway, and the relative privacy and cool shade of the tent coupled with the rhythmic sensation of Allys’s fingers tracing against his skin has nearly lulled him to sleep. He slowly opens his eyes and turns his head, although Allys remains just out of view as she continues to lightly draw her fingertips over the designs that curl across his back.

“The tattoos?” he asks, and Allys nods.

“Is that what you call them?” Her fingers continue their journey, following the curves and lines of dark ink that wind between his shoulder blades, along his spine, down his hips.

Zevran gives her a half-shrug, gently so as not to disturb her inspection. “They are pretty. Must they have a meaning beyond that?” A grin creeps across his face. “And of course, they invite the attention of lovely wardens.”

Allys laughs and ends her study of Zevran’s tattoos to reposition herself so that she is once again lying next to him, her bright brown eyes level with his. Her hair has been released from its typical tight bun and now falls past her shoulders, framing her face in a halo of curls. Even after a day of trudging through the Fereldan dirt and mud, her smile is warm and genuine.

She laughs at his compliments, but Zevran isn’t joking in the slightest when he calls her lovely.

“You know, when I first saw you, I thought they were a different type of vallaslin,” Allys says, resting her chin in her hand as her eyes roam over one of the tattoos on Zevran’s cheek. “I thought they might be meant for some god I didn’t recognize.”

“I suppose they still could be-is there a god for devilishly handsome features?”

Allys rolls her eyes. “I’m serious! Getting my vallaslin hurt like mad- I'm not sure I would have gone through with it if not for the gods. At the very least, I think it would've been much more difficult.”

“What can I say? We Antivans are willing to suffer for beauty.” Zevran flashes another smile, but it fades slightly as studies the vallaslin- the blood writing, they call it- across Allys’s face. He knows the lore behind the vallaslin; his time with the Dalish provided him the chance to learn, and even to hear some of the legends of the gods. But his time with the clan was short and his education quick and basic, so there is much he still does not know. “What of yours, then? What do they mean to you?”

With a smile, Allys takes Zevran’s hand in hers and gently brings it to her face so that his fingertips brush against the dark marks of her vallaslin. She guides his fingers across her face, tracing the lines of ink up her chin, across her cheekbones, over her brow. “These are for Andruil.”

“Ah, I remember her stories. She is the Huntress, yes? How very fitting.”

“I thought so, too,” Allys answers, pleased. She closes her eyes, leans into Zevran’s touch, and after a moment begins reciting something in elvhen. “Vir assan. Vir bor’assan. Vir adahlen.”

Zevran has no inkling what the words mean- he hadn’t stayed with the Dalish nearly long enough to learn any of the ancient language- but Allys’s voice, low and melodic, gives them a certain weight. It’s as if the meaning is right on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite capture it.

Noticing his expression, Allys explains. “It’s the Way of the Hunt- Andruil’s code. I started learning that code from the time I was tall enough to fire a bow. I’ve spent so much of my life in the woods, learning the teachings of Andruil. When the time came to choose my vallaslin, it seemed appropriate to honor her.”

Zevran is silent for a moment, thinking back to his time with the Dalish. He’s learned the legends and the names of their gods, but the reverence with which the Dalish speak of their Pantheon…that isn’t something so easily taught. “Do you really believe in all those legends? They are good tales to tell, I give you that, but…”

Allys’s voice betrays no doubt when she answers. “I do.”

“Even in the midst of…” Zevran vaguely waves his hand, motioning to the entire world of calamity beyond the quiet sanctity of their tent. “…of all of this?”

“Even so.” Allys’s smile turns thoughtful, and her eyes go distant for a moment. “Maybe the gods themselves cannot step in and stop the Blight for us, but their presence is felt- by the Dalish, by me. It is because of Andruil and her lessons that I am alive today, that I have the skills to bring this destruction to an end.”

And there it is again- that sensation of being so close to something, but not managing to grasp it enough to even identify the feeling. In a way, it reminds Zevran of the Andrastians and their Maker. Something that just almost speaks to Zevran, but isn’t quite his.

Perhaps Zevran’s contemplation is showing on his face, for Allys gives him a searching look and asks, “What do you believe?”

Zevran quickly banishes his muddled thoughts and gives her a wry smile. “I am an assassin. The only things we believe in are steel and gold.”

Yes, steel and gold. Things that are solid and real, if somewhat less poetic than songs and prayer. It could be that in another life- one where the Crows weren’t constantly on his tail, one where he was able to settle somewhere for more than a few short weeks, perhaps even one where his mother never separated from her clan in the first place- he would have been able to take the time to study and prove himself and become part of the Dalish in truth, earning his own vallaslin. Perhaps in that life, he believes in a purpose for himself, believes that a god may look his way.

But that is not a life that belongs to him, nor one that he can truly imagine.

And yet Allys looks at him with a softness in her gaze. She leans closer and tenderly presses a kiss against his temple, at the start of his curving tattoo, then follows the mark down his cheekbone, planting more soft kisses along the way. Finally she moves to his lips, and whispers, “I don’t think that’s true. And I don’t think you do, either. You’re a better person that you give yourself credit for, and you don’t get that way through greed and violence. Maybe it’s not the gods, but you must believe in something greater than that.”

Zevran raises an eyebrow. “What makes you so certain?”

“Because I have faith in you.” Allys kisses his lips, softly, and then pulls back, the previous mischief returning to her expression. “And incidentally, that’s why I like your tattoos. Because whatever meaning they do or don’t have, they’re yours.”

Zevran does not know what to say. He wants to tell her she’s wrong, to try and make her see, but his throat is thick and the words won’t come. So he just kisses her again, deeper this time, and tries not to dwell too much on her words or the look in her eyes.

He thinks about it all later that night, of course. The thoughts simply won’t leave, and a part of him wishes he could go back to when things like this were easy. This should be easy. Just another mission, another conquest. But maybe…maybe Allys is not entirely wrong. Zevran is not a Crow any longer. In truth, he doesn’t know what he is. But when he thinks of the woman in his arms- the woman who not only spared his life, but showed him what his life could be worth- he realizes there is nowhere in this world he wouldn’t follow her.

It is terrifying, and exhilarating, and Zevran wonders if perhaps this is what having faith feels like.

[weirdochick56]

Gentle Notes- Dean Winchester One Shot

Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: None. Explicit language maybe? FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFFF.

Disclaimers: I don’t own any SPN characters/plots mentioned.

Word count: 1, 796

Summary: In which the reader hides the fact that she can sing from Dean and is one day caught doing exactly that by the eldest Winchester.

Listen to Kina Graniss’s version of “Can’t Help Falling In Love” Here!!

***

You look around your dull room in the mostly-vacant bunker with disdain. The boredom was overwhelming you so much, you had begun spacing out. And the book wasn’t even boring!

The Winchester brothers were probably on an adventure hunting down some monster, meanwhile here you were, practically chained to your bed reading a book.

And not even a lore book, mind you, but a romance novel. And it wasn’t the book itself that had you so jittery, it was the fact that you were reading a book for the first time in well, decades, for the purpose of entertainment and not research. 

You sigh, the small book feeling completely unsuitable in your lap in sharp contrast to the normally-heavy old, dusty books you were forced to go through. 

Closing your book shut and looking down at your cast-clad leg with hatred seemed fitting at the moment, though. Stupid leg, you grumble mentally. 

Getting it broken and being unable to complete the normal kick-ass, monster-hunting activities you were used to was one thing, but having Dean Winchester practically order you to stay home like a good girl and do mundane things while he and his brother got to go out and fuck up some demon was entirely different. 

Painfully different. 

Aggravatingly different. 

I’m-gonna-kick-your-ass-if-you-speak-like-that-to-me-again-Winchester different. 

So here you were, attempting with all your might (which wasn’t very much at the moment) not to scream in utter frustration. Hunting was your life. Hunting was the only thing you knew how to do. Well, as far as everyone knew. 

And sure, you’d gotten a few scrapes here and there, but nothing so serious you couldn’t hunt. Until now, that is. And until now, you hadn’t felt so...incapacitated. 

Shit, you frown. I need to do something. Researching was out of the question as Sam had somehow managed to scrape up all the necessary information up on his own. Cleaning? No, you’d already picked up after the messy brothers the night before. There was nothing to pick up. Sleeping? Nope, not tired. Eating? Not hungry. 

So?

And then suddenly, it hits you. How about covering?

You grin broadly, leaning over the side of your bed with a tiny groan when you accidentally twist your leg the wrong way and promptly tugging your old guitar from beneath your bed. 

Not the best option to keep your most prized possession, but enough to hide it from prying eyes. 

It’d been a while since you’d been able to string the guitar. To sing your heart out. Being with the brothers on the road constantly left you no time to listen to your own music, much less play it yourself. Not to mention you flat-out refused to let anyone hear you sing. Not because you were bad, because you knew you could sing, but because it just wasn’t something you were ready to share. Singing and playing the acoustic guitar was your thing. You weren’t sure if you were ready to let anyone know about it.

So confident that the brothers wouldn’t be back for another day, you decide to tune your guitar first and warm up your vocals. Then you press your back to the headboard, sitting up and letting your arm muscles relax onto the large instrument.

It had most certainly been a while since you’ve felt the familiar weight of your guitar and even longer since you’d open your mouth to so much as hum along to a song in fear of getting caught. 

You tested out the six strings on your guitar before settling for “Can’t Help Falling In Love” by Elvis Presley. It was your favorite to play on guitar and you’d sung it before. 

You cleared your throat, letting your fingers ghost over the strings before you let your let your eyes flutter shut and play the first chords. Then you opened your mouth. 

Wise men say only fools rush in But I can't help falling in love with you Shall I stay? Would it be a sin If I can't help falling in love with you?

The lyrics that come out of your mouth are breathy and slow at first. Raspy and barely audible, but sweet and smooth as honey. Full.

Like a river flows surely to the sea Darling so it goes Some things are meant to be Take my hand, take my whole life too For I can't help falling in love with you

You keep the strumming of your fingers over the guitar consistent and accurate, the familiar warmth of singing and playing the guitar flooding the pit of your stomach, wrapping around your whole body and shining through on your voice. 

You sounded magnificent. Full of emotion but still keeping your voice controlled. The pitch was strikingly on point and your mouth moved softly, encasing each soft murmur from your lips with full intent. You felt so happy.

Like a river flows surely to the sea Darling so it goes Some things are meant to be Take my hand, take my whole life too-

CRASH.

You immediately stop strumming, your voice getting caught in your throat and your eyes flying open. As soon as you do, you see Dean standing near your doorway, a wince clearly inscribed on his beautiful face and your alarm clock lying in pieces on the floor. 

Dean looks up at you with wide eyes and a sheepish smile. “Uh...sorry?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat as you stare at him. Oh no. Oh no. The cat was out of the bag! 

Then you groan, your cheeks flushed. “Oh God. I’m- when did you get here Dean?”

He smirks, regaining his composure almost immediately and approaches you with a smug jerk of his broad shoulders in his step and you figured a shitload of teasing was going to be coming your way which induced a grimace on your face almost immediately. 

 “I don’t think that matters much now, does it miss I-have- a-secret-singing-talent?” He raises his brows and you flush shamefully. By then he grins so wide you have a hard time figuring out how his face wasn’t split in half. “I mean, Goddamn, you have a set of pipes in you sweetheart!”

You groan again, covering your flushed face with your hands.

“Oh god. No one was supposed to know!”

You can hear him let out a surprised sound and cautiously take your hands off your face. He was looking at you like you’d grown two heads. “What?” 

Dean sits next to you, a soft smile gracing his perfectly-sculpted lips instead of the condescending one from before. “Nothing. I just can’t seem to figure out, for the life of me, why someone with such a beautiful voice would ever want to hide it away from anyone. From me.” He looks at you pointedly.

Your blush intensifies and you can’t help but smile at him shyly. “I just- I don’t want people to look at me negatively, ya’ know? For having my own thing, I mean.” Your voice is far too low. 

Dean sighs with exasperation and takes your face in his hands softly, forcing you to look into his absurdly bright green eyes. 

“Sweetheart, no one’s gonna look down on you for singing like a fucking angel.” He pauses to chuckle a little and you’re left a little breathless at the sound. “And not the asshole ones either, the naked babies with halos and shit.” He beams. “I mean, hell, you have the goddamn most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard!” he bites his lip in order to contain his excitement but fails miserably. 

You forget how to breathe for a second. He’s being so supportive and his face is so close to yours and suddenly you have this overwhelming impulse to kiss him senseless.  

You gulp, chuckling softly. “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Dean.” 

His face turns serious and he looks scrutinizingly into your eyes. “Y/n, I’m fucking serious. You might be a great hunter, but with talent like that, you could become a star or something.” 

You laugh a little at his words and blush once more. “That’s not really my thing, D. Hunting is my life. And singing is only a passion. I can’t have both.”

His lips twitch at the corners a little and his eyes are sad when he leans in and kisses your forehead. You suck in a sharp breath and your chest feels warm with adoration.

Then he looks at you, eyes soft. “Y/n, I’ve never seen you so engrossed in something. You looked so...so beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You scoff, hiding a blush, and shake off his hands gently. “You’re just saying that,” you mumble.

He cups your face again, forcing you to look at him once more. Your breath hitches at the look he’s giving you. His sparkling green eyes glimmer with pure, sheer -almost overwhelming- adoration. He looks at you as if no one else mattered in the entire universe. Your noses brush and his gaze flickers to your lips, bright green irises darkening to dark shimmering emerald. 

“I’m not, sweetheart. Trust me when I tell you that you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

You blink a few times, your cheeks blushing and your head unable to wrap around the thought of someone as devastatingly handsome as Dean thinking you were attractive. Gorgeous.

“Dean-“ you go to protest but Dean effectively shuts you up by placing a finger over your lips.

As he shushes you, his eyes never part from your lips as he licks his own subconsciously.

“Y/n. I’m going to kiss you now. I think you should know this because I’m giving you the chance to back out.”

Your breath hitches and your heart races but you don’t move an inch. Dean seems to understand your approval as he slowly leans in, eyes fluttering shut. Your eyes fall shut too and you can feel his warm breath fanning your face as your stomach knots in anticipation.

He hovers over your lips for only a few seconds before leaning in and pressing them firmly to yours. 

Your breath catches and you lightly part your lips, enveloping his passionately and cradling his face caringly in between your hands. His stubble tickles your fingertips and you shiver lightly at the sensation. 

The kiss is gentle, sweet, bit filled with obvious craving and your head spins at how good he smells and feels like this. 

It’s over sooner than you expected and your eyes flutter open. 

“Dean-” you breathe. 

He smirks softly, caressing your face lovingly. “You didn’t back out.”

You blush, leaning into his touch. “Why would I?”

***

Here’s an olddddddd one shot I wrote and had in my drafts hope you enjoyed.

A Special thanks to my forevers:

@jessikared97​

@lilypalmer1987​

@ladyofletters67​

@sammykb1994​

@mogaruke​