#and he finds it quite frustrating

[skeletoninthemelonland]

Now that’s a rare sight

[starry-bi-sky]

yall ever think Shen Yuan went through like, internet withdrawal after being transmigrated into Shen Qingqiu? Like, he's canonically a NEET shut-in who did nothing but spend his time online, you can't tell me that for the first week or first few weeks of being SQQ he wasn't twitchy.

Like, reaching instinctively to his pockets for a phone that wasn't there, having an obsessive itch in the back of his mind that he should check and see if X or Y novel or webcomic has updated -- only to realize he can't anymore and being irritated by it. Wanting to go and see if there's new posts about this or that, but again realizing that he can't.

When he's bored or uncomfortable or just feels like wanting to escape he tries to go for his phone to distract himself, but oops! Not there anymore, and now he has to find a new and different way to distract himself from his feelings. And going through system notifications, quests, etc only does so much.

And there's that Tetris Effect too. SQQ makes a mistake while writing and instinctively goes to backspace on it except hey-ho that's not a keyboard and now he just dipped his pinkie into a bottle of ink or on a still-drying letter.

With him scrambling to fix his reputation and learn how to be a peak lord, I think his abrupt cold-turkey from all things internet would just be another straw on the camel's back that he promptly Ignores until it goes away on its own after he acclimates to his new surroundings.

[critter-wizard]

ep 43 had me tearing up in a fucking shopping centre ‼️‼️

b+w alt version that I truly couldn't decide if I liked it more . Also I included a lot of thoughts in the tags but they're somewhat incoherent<3

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Bad Dreams)

Woah!! Bet you guys weren't expecting this one!!! (<- no but fr Idk if this one was even a drabble I mentioned wanting to do to anyone besides Ancha lmao-)

Regardless, here's a drabble that takes place a few months after Dream's exile!

(Hello @ancha-aus @papiliovolens and @mutzelputz !!!)

It was quiet.

So dreadfully quiet.

The stone walls felt suffocating, and the darkness was too overwhelming. Even the light of his own magic wasn't enough to ward off the sickly feeling crawling up his spine and over his shoulders.

Roaving like clammy hands, clinging to his bones and threatening to drag him away.

He couldn't take this anymore.

It took effort, one hand over the other, eyes on the rest of the room he'd been placed in for now. One bed instead of two. His legs felt like jelly as he tugged them over the edge.

His feet landed in his sandals not a moment later, and he shoved away from the soft mattress which felt nothing like his own.

Hid eyelights lingered on the bottom of the frame. The shadow there, not reached by the little orb of emotion which hovered beside him, providing light to the barren room.

Perhaps, he feared something would crawl out of those shadows. Tendrils. Pointed and waving. Grasping. Creeping along the floor.

He took a shaking breath.

Another.

He had to at least be able to breathe.

Dream's legs carried him unceremoniously to one of the chairs located in the room where he'd abandoned his cloak.

It was too big on him, the gold and yellow meant for the form the prophecy would have provided him with. He'd taken it with him anyways.

He tugged it over his shoulders, abd the heavy weight smothered him. In a way, it warded off that chill. Just enough to give him the courage to hurry to the door and slip outside.

The hall felt colder than the room.

And almost quieter.

It was nothing like home. With servants and guards bustling about at all hours. With the gentle hum of his mother's magic pulsing through the walls. With his brother's-

No.

He couldn't think about that now.

He padded along through the empty halls. He still shook, but the longer he was in motion the more momentum he gained.

Dream moved swiftly through these unfamiliar and unfriendly halls, until he arrived at a familiar door.

A servant entrance, which he had only noticed because he'd heard horses somewhere beyond as it briefly opened during his first tour. He hated to use it, but he knew guards would be at the main exits.

So, carefully, he entered the space which held it.

A kitchen, of sorts. Piled high with the dishes yet to be cleaned, and with food stores which would last an army a century, tucked away into every shelf.

A part of him wondered what they even did with so much hidden away, but to be honest, he didn't care enough.

He pushed through the door with little effort, and felt a sense of relief rush over him as his sandals landed in damp, earthy grass.

A glance down revealed it had been stamped over hundreds of times by weary servants, so it was flat and lame, but he didn't let that bother him much. He was outside again.

Dream had been feeling suffocated in that stupid building. Out here it felt like that horrid shadow, haunting him, knew not to tread too closely in his wake.

The wind tugged at his overly-large cloak as he stood there a moment. The door swung shut behind him.

The sky, the stars, he felt like he was saying hello to an old friend met in a distant place.

Only a moment later he shook his skull free of his momentary relief. He had to keep moving. Had to do this now.

His eyelights skimmed the dark, and he extinguished his orb. The moon was more than bright enough to illuminate the place he was searching for.

The stables.

As he traversed the open lawn, he noticed. It too was different from the one he knew so well. It was smaller, and had closed outer walls. The doors were huge, and seemed to swing out like any other door. It would not slide like his own used to.

As he reached the entrance, he gently tugged it open. It gave way easily, and he slipped in, expecting to be plunged into the darkness of yet another enclosed building.

Yet... inside it seemed only a bit more shadowed.

The stalls were largely swathed in darkness, but a thin strip of light illuminated the alley between each part of the stalls. There was a skylight above, open air, that was letting the moonlight filter down.

The way it fell, it might's been just past midnight.

Dream moved forward, carefully and quietly. He didn't want to startle the horses. Most of them seemed to be resting just like the rest of the castle. Last thing he needed was to startle one of them.

While he needed to find one awake to keep going, maybe it was better that he not find one. Maybe...

Nope.

Fate must adore him.

There, a few stalls ahead, a movement. Through the space, a horse's head suspended from its thick neck extended majestically into the moonlight nearing its stall.

It seemed to shift, to get a look at him, before settling.

Dream was gentle in his approach, but fast. His hands were shaking now as he approached the horse.

A beautiful, clean white. Little freckles of blond dotting its muzzle and forehead. It was gorgeous.

It stayed still as Dream came close and reached out his hands. They trembled, and he wished he'd worn his gloved. He hated to see his bare bones in the moonlight.

The horse softly nuzzle its nose into his hand.

And sneezed.

Dream squeaked in surprise, recoiling away a bit. He tried to stay calm, if only to keep the horse from panicking, but it just snorted as it stared at him.

Of course he'd get horse-snot on his bare hands, and-

"Excuse you, miss." Came a playful, full voice.

Dream, this time, was less calm.

Why was there a voice? Who was down here?

His emotions must've broadcasted. As he stepped backwards into the moonbeam, the mare whinnied and realed back nervously, and there was a hum of surprise from within the stall.

Frozen in place, he watched as a faint movement, aside from the large shadow of the horse, rose from inside the stall.

Glowing.

Eyes turned to him. Eyelights, like his, a wide and curious sky blue.

And then they drew closer, and where the mare once extended her neck to him, now stood a monster he starkly recognized.

"Oh, Prince Dream?" It was Blue, the squire of the knight who'd been assigned to watch over Dream, "What a surprise! I wasn't expecting to find anyone else up so late, is there anything I can do to assist you?"

Blue was smiling. Dream could taste it. His confusion, which was quickly overtaken by a general joy.

The skeleton wasn't dressed down at all, despite presumably having been knelt in a horse's pen for some reason. His squires armor, largely padded and cloth, hung well on his frame, and part of Dream wished he could see more that just the Knight's arms and shoulders peeking over the stall door along with his skull.

"I- I wasn't expecting anyone to be up tonight either." He replied, dumbly, "I was- was just taking a stroll. Couldn't sleep."

It was a weak excuse. An excuse literally anyone could see through-

"Ah, I see!" Blue's voice cut off his thoughts before they could run away, "You know, you should really try the tea that my master drinks before bed. It always knocks him out, cold turkey!"

Dream was... bewildered.

Blue turned away from him for a moment, disappearing into the shadows of the stall, but his voice did not hesitate.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind sparing a bit for you, Prince Dream! After all, it's our job as knights and knights-to-be to care for our benefactors!"

Dream could hear a bit of movement behind his words, and a few moments later Blue returned to the front of the stall. He used one arm to support himself as he hopped over the small gate, the mare trailing in his wake to watch once again.

He seemed entirely unphased, carrying tools in his other hand, moving to a hanging leather bag hung on a nail in one of the support beams and dumping the items inside.

"If you like, I could escort you back inside and make you a cup?"

Blue was still speaking, with little hesitation.

Dream felt like the squires voice was rattling around in his skull. An overwhelming amount of sound for the quiet he'd just arrived from, and quite different from the sounds he'd been searching for.

Like the chirping of bugs, the sounds of rustling leaves, the pounding of a horse's hooves heavy on the ground as he made his daring escape from this place he did not know.

"Ah, Prince! It seems Marigold managed to get you a bit dirty, I apologize on her behalf!" Blue was a lot closer. "Please, allow me!"

A lot closer.

Dream flinched as he felt soft, worn gloves cup his palms from underneath.

His focus had been far off, elsewhere, but now he watched as the skeleton a bit shorter than him gently used a clean rag he must've grabbed to towel away the remnants of the horse's gunk left on his hands.

Blue was entirely focused on his task, and Dream felt entranced by the action. It felt like his non-existant gut was attempting to mimic a writhing snake.

When Blue finally seemed content, he hummed and grinned to himself.

Even through is thick gloves, Dream had been close enough. To taste it. There was not a single hint of malice lingering in this squires soul. He was so sweet. Unbearably so. He'd barely met any souls with such a pure slate of emotions laid bare.

"P-prince Dream?! Are you alright? I'm- I'm so sorry, did I grab your hands too hard?" Blue's voice once again dragged him back to reality.

A tinge of fear in the air, and the cold rapidly claiming his hands once again.

He looked away from his hands, now abandoned by the squire who'd been keeping them warm. He had backed up by a few paces, and had his head bowed, but Dream could still see his skull was tilted. An eyelight observing him.

Guilt.

Why...

Dream all at once pulled his hands up to his cheekbones. His freezing fingertips gently rimmed the bottom edge of his sockets, and all at once he understood.

He'd started crying. Like a weakling.

He knew this feeling all too well. The tears which used to come to him when Nightmare would be sent back to his own bed by their mother. When she found Night comforting him after a night terror. His aura was always so calming.

He hadn't had Night at all, lately. Maybe that was why he hadn't shed tears yet. Until tonight, of course.

"No- no. It's nothing you did." Dream hurried to say, though he hated his voice for warbling.

He tucked his hands tightly into his cloak, and took a single shaking breath.

And then stepped to the side, and sunk down against the stall gate of the mare named Marigold.

She didn't startle as the wood shifted under Dream's weight, and settled again against the tick hay coating the bottom of the stall.

In this moment, Dream didn't care how bad it smelled, or how dirty he was getting his perfect coronation cloak, or anything. He didn't care that his perfect white bones were digging into old, splintered wood, or that his cheekbones pressed to damp planks.

He didn't care about the squire who saw.

Dream knew he couldn't risk going back to the castle, sockets full of tears. Not like this. So he'd have to fry it out here and risk the squires rumor mill in the morning.

He sniffled as he let the cold sink into the thin silk cloth which covered his legs, closing his sockets miserably in the darkness.

He heard boot-steps, and sunk a bit lower into himself as they drew softly nearer.

Though, they stopped a short distance away, and the weight of the gate shifted again, as sonething denser leaned against it.

Marigold snorted in what Dream imagined was annoyance, and he heard her hooves disappear somewhere deeper into shadow.

.

It was silent as Dream let his tears flow. Shoulder dug into his cheek, folded in on himself like a sort of ragdoll. Sniffles were the only thing which broke that awkward quiet.

But this silence too, was deeply uncomfortable. It was as though his moments of peace were little more than ploys to administer more distress into his mind.

The moment he could no longer stand his self-imposed quiet, he shifted.

And squinted in the darkness.

And found that, just before him, was the side of that squire.

There, back pressed to the stall door, sat Blue. He wasn't looking at Dream. The prince noticed that in one hand he held hid signature weapon, that comically large Warhammer. His eyes seemed focused, skimming the stalls. Watching over Dream's form to the doors far from where he'd turned his back.

Was... was the squire watching over him?

Normally when he threw a tantrum like this, his sorrow would seep into the air around him. He was able to drive off all the servants and soldiers. Very few would linger. Struck by an intense misery.

"Squire Blue?" Dream's voice felt hoarse and wet, remnants of the emotion that had built up inside him.

The young man's eyelights darted to the side, to look at Dream as he was called.

This time he remained silent, his expression still focused.

Dream knew this was stupid, he- "Why did you stick around?" He asked. "It's your master's duty to babysit me, not yours."

It was true. Only the Knight had orders to watch over him. And Dream knew he didn't much like the job.

For that man, there was no honor in trailing a young monster like Dream. Even if he was the son of Nim, Dream was no longer a crown prince. He was exiled. An outcast.

The question seemed to linger in the air a moment, before Blue's browser furrowed.

"Well, I believe you are sad, and it must be a type of sadness which is very hard to fight away, as you are very strong." He spoke, though the chipper tone was something softer now. Encouraging? "So as you fought your battle, I wished to stay by your side and dissuade any enemies from the outside. I could not abandon you."

He said it as though Dream was really fighting something. Inside himself.

That wasn't it at all. He'd been running away from that thing biting at him. Clawing at his heels and clogging his throat. That made him want to run away and never come back.

"I-" Was he really going to do this? "I had a bad dream, Squire Blue."

He felt like a child, confessing to his nanny that he had broken a vase in the hall.

"My brother used to comfort me, from these terrors. But- but I cannot see him anymore. He-" He choked up again, "People are saying he was jealous of me, when he took the crown, but he wasn't. He was afraid. And he cast me out and exiled me to this place!"

If he weren't so focused on trying to contain his voice, he would've been impressed at how unmoving Blue's face remained, amongst the swarm of emotions breaking through Dream's thinly-kept barrier.

"He was afraid, and I am alone, and this I'd not how it should be! Someone, something, scared him into acting out and sending me away and- and here I am. Crying in a stable like a child due to a bad dream, hundreds of miles away from my twin!"

He threatened to curl in on himself again, but he stopped himself when he saw the way that Blue looked at him. Knowingly.

"You know, it is not nearly the same, but I too am separated from my brother." Blue spoke up. Though, he was smiling?

Dream hummed in confusion, tired from his confession.

"He's younger than me, stayed in our home village as part of the city guard. He's the coolest..." He sounded almost wistful, "When I chose to start my apprenticeship I was told I would have to move away, and live here." He lamented.

Dream hated to taste the bittersweet tang of melancholy wafting softly away from Blue.

"Don't... don't you miss him?" Dream muttered, "Don't you want to run away and be with him again?" That was what Dream would do.

Blue laughed gently, a charming little 'Mweh!' That warmed Dream's soul.

"Of course!" He admitted, "But, my brother was my biggest supporter, and if I don't become a knight, then my time away will have been for nothing."

A brother giving unwavering support. Like Nighty.

"It sounds like you treasure your brother, Prince Dream," Blue said, then, "Might I ask about what you think of him?"

Oh.

That's right.

Since he left, he'd only been piling negative atop negative about his brother, making an impossibly long list in his head.

"My brother..." Dream breathed, almost a whisper. "He was-" He stopped, "is the most devoted, kindest, gentlest soul I've ever known."

He couldn't help but think of when they were children. When they had first gotten their masks, and Nightmare had recieved the smooth, rounded owl face. He'd looked so adorable and kind, lavender eyelights wide with joy.

Dream remembered seeing the grin on his twin's face when he'd let Dream press the cold wood to his own face. No doubt it had been cuter on Nightmare.

"He's so smart... he loves reading, and his studies, and always knew how to help me when I'd make trouble in the castle."

The days when Dream was seven or eight, tripping around the halls at night, wet paint on his new shirt because he'd tripped and nudged a new mural his mother had commissioned. It had been wet.

Nightmare had found him and dragged him back to their room, where he'd pulled the shirt off of Dream and immediately set about cleaning it.

He said he'd watched their babysitter do it a hundred times and he'd learned. Dream had claimed the work was beneath them, but Nighty had shot back, asking if he'd rather be caught with stained clothes by the adults. That was the last thing he'd wanted, so he'd sat and watched Night scrub away at the stain in the tub with a few bottles of who knows what and water until it was practically brand-new. By morning it was dry, as though nothing had ever happened.

"And- and he always knew when I was sad. He'd come sit with me, and we'd hug and- and nothing came between us."

Until that day, of course.

That day when Dream was practicing his speech and Nightmare had rushed into the lounge to stand before him. Nightmare's skull had been sweaty, his eyelights pinpricks. He had a scroll clutched to his chest, and a hunch to his shoulders. He'd been afraid. Dream had tasted it like a sour lemon on his tongue, and had gone on high alert.

Only for Nightmare to start babbling to him. Stammering about the prophecy and a curse and some sort of discovery. A warning.

All that Dream had caught after asking him to slow down, was that Nightmare was begging him not to go through with his coronation ceremony. That he'd found a dire omen in the library about some sort of bloodshed. Some horrible price to pay.

Dream had tried to reassure him. That it was just a mean prank, that he and everyone else would be fine. Perfectly safe.

Nightmare had left the room dejected, practically in tears, and had rushed off. If Dream had known better, he would've gone and hammered it into his twin's skull that the prophecy was safe. That he didn't have to taint his own body to protect Dream from some make-believe threat.

Dream sighed a bit, and raised one hand to his face. He rubbed his palm along his sockets, swiping away magical residue from his tears.

He wasn't any less sad, but it felt less explosive.

"Your twin sounds very nice, Prince Dream. I do understand why you would like to see him again." Blue spoke softly.

His smile was boisterous again, and Dream couldn't help himself from allowing a gentle smile to worm onto his own expression.

"I cannot let you leave, that would not allow me to protect you, but if you wish to talk again, I am often an open ear!" He suggested, "You seem less sad after talking."

Hmm.

This might have been the first time in the history of his life, he realized, that he had someone his age really speak with him.

Blue was different from the noble children and the new guards and servants back home. It was something kind. Perhaps it was that he didn't truly understand just who Dream was. Who he was meant to be.

Maybe- maybe he'd like to keep it that way a bit longer.

"Trying to flee on horseback was a silly idea anyhow." He mused, "Would you be bothered if I still took your offer? For tea, that is?"

The joy that flooded through Blue was almost contagious, and he quickly popped up from where he'd been seated, letting his hammer shimmer away into the air beside him.

Then he turned to dream, and extended a gloved hand to him.

Dream took it after a moment, and he was swiftly tugged to his feet too, shaky as a newborn foal. Cold and damp and smelly.

But Blue didn't seem to notice, nor was he bothered. Not by the dirt that coated Dream's cloak or the smear of mud which had gotten onto his skull.

Blue escorted him back out to the grounds, and Dream saw my the moon that he'd hardly spent an hour in that stable. It was still plenty dark.

As the squire began to move towards the main path, Dream tugged his armor and guided him instead to the little servant door, and Drean was rewarded for his sneaky tactics with another 'Mweh!' of excitement.

Blue held the door, and Dream hurried into the kitchen. Then from there, Blue led them through servant corridors that Dream had never known existed. Blue was careful to check over his shoulder every few steps. Maybe he was worried about losing Dream in the twists and turns?

And then, as though hitting a brick wall, they found themselves in the private barracks of the knights of this realm. For a moment, Dream worried Blue might have to enter his master's room to snatched the tea, but...

There was a little alcove outside of one of the doors, carved into the wall.

'Personal effects' Blue had explained quietly, kept in the hall so servants might have easy access to each Knight's favorite drink or treat.

Dream watched curiously as the knight moved towards the space, and carefully extracted a few leaves from a little jar left outside.

"Will that be enough for two?" Dream muttered, perplexed. It seemed hardly enough for a mouse!

Blue glanced back to Dream in confusion, and the Prince realized he'd jumped the gun. Blue hadn't planned to have any tea, only brew it for Dream.

That... felt odd.

"Mm. Have you ever tried his tea, squire Blue?" He asked quietly instead.

Blue shook his head a bit, "No, I've never had the chance." He didn't seem bothered.

Dream only nodded, and the two hurried away. Out of the knight's wing, back through the servant halls, and into the kitchen where Dream had snuck out through the little door.

There, Blue closed the door to the hall, and after a moment, seemed content to begin moving all sorts of pots and pans to find a kettle.

Dream hadn't ever lingered in a kitchen very long. His babysitter only brought them inside once or twice, always upon Nightmare's request. The kitchen here was much smaller than his own, and was infinitely more cluttered. The organization, or lack there-of, made his hands itch.

It only took a few moments before he lifted himself up to sit atop one if the counters, away from where Blue seemed to be preparing the tea.

He moved with practice around this spot, it'd taken hardly any time at all for him to dig out the worn kettle, and it'd been tucked behind little bottles and containers of who knows what.

He seemed to work the stove just fine as well, the little flames dancing along with the little light their magic provoded to them.

Only when the kettle was set did Blue seem to glance around and spot Dream once again.

He moved a bit closer, leaning against the counter a bit.

"Prince Dream, may I ask a question?" He voiced.

Dream nodded curiously.

"Do you ever do sparring?" Blue asked, then.

That was... not what Dream had expected to be asked of him. He'd had people ask him many things, but never of that.

"I... used to." He said softly.

It was ever so slight, a raise in Blue's shoulders, some sort of little happiness sparking through him.

"I've seen you, stopping by when the knights train! What weapons do you use?" Blue asked then.

Dream suddenly had to find himself smothering the flush which threatened to flood his cheekbones. Yes, he did miss sparring, but often when he was frustrated he would pass by. To get a glimpse at the Knights in their armor, so swift and powerful.

"A bow." He said, maybe a bit too hastily. "I mean... I was formally trained in swordplay, staffs, and spears, but Archery has always come easiest to me."

He was so absorbed in his thought that he almost missed the way Blue's eyelights grew bigger. Almost.

Dream allowed a smirk to cross his face, and he held his hands out before him.

His little, pearly white, hands trembled. The joints glowed a soft golden color, and it all drew out, to his fingertips. After a moment, the glow condensed, and swirled, and tightly wove into a longbow.

The bow itself was a pale white, but much like his castle, it appeared to be made of old, twisting vines and branches.

"Where is the string?" Blue's curious tone asked, and Dream was only a bit startled to find the squire so close to him now, examining the weapon.

"It's only tangible in use with my magic." Dream explained softly.

Running a hand along the space, his finger caught, and a ripple of yellow glow moved down a thick, invisible string.

Impulsively, Dream imagined, Blue stuck his gloved hand right into the space beneath where Dream had just touched. There was nothing for him to grasp.

"Wowie... that's an impressive weapon, Prince Dream! You are very skilled, that must've taken ages to craft!" Blue said, pulling his hand back as though nothing had happened.

Dream stared at it a moment, but caught himself before claiming it was an easy feat.

He'd made the bow itself no problem, but the string... they could never withhold the power of his magic. They would snap and send him reeling.

Once, a broken string had swung back and cracked against his chin. He'd bled, and all of the guard had panicked about his wellbeing. He'd been young still, and had been so startled he thought they were yelling at him. Not about him.

After that, mother had insisted he learn to channel his magic precisely. Learn to use it with an easy perfection.

"Yes, it took me some time to perfect." Dream agreed solemnly.

It seemed Blue was going to say something else, but there was a loud whistle from the stove, and the squire jolted and hurried back to tend to it.

Dream watched from afar, letting his bow disappear once more, as Blue seemed to ready a singular teacup.

Once it was finished, he carried both it, and the saucer, very carefully over to Dream's countertop perch. He offered it up to the prince, with a gentle warning of, 'hot'.

Dream took it carefully, and held it under his face. The warmth rising from it was comforting, and the smell was nice. Unfamiliar. And for once he enjoyed it.

Dream blew on the surface of the tea, making it ripple like some dark ocean, before he impatiently brought it to hid mouth.

It was hot, as Blue had warned, but not scalding. He held it in his jaw for a moment, lingering on the taste, before swallowing it down.

He took another sip. Then hummed.

"Squire Blue, will you take a sip of this? Tell me what you think?" He then offered the cup to Blue.

The squire seemed startled, but only for a moment before nodding in determination. He gently took the teacup from Dream, and tipped it so he too could take a sip.

Dream watched his face, and aa the heat subsided, Blue's expression scrunched. He seemed like he was trying to decide whether to spit it out or drink it.

The prince couldn't contain his laughter as it seemed Blue resigned himself to swallowing it. He held the cup back out to Dream in some sort of defeat.

"It's gross, isn't it?" Dream asked through his little fit of giggles. He cupped the tea back into his own hand, and watched as Blue seemed to try and outlast the awful taste surely lingering in his mouth.

"Y-yes, it is! I have never tasted something like that before, I apologize, Prince Dream." He said almost despairing.

Dream just shook his head, "No fault of yours! This appears to be some sort of black tea. Magical, probably." Dream explained, almost fond of the horrible cup of tea.

This was probably the first time he'd found such a thing funny.

If anything, his obvious joy at the situation seemed to let Blue relax a bit again.

Both of them had now experienced the horribly bitter taste of a Knight's favorite coffee, and now they were both complicit in deciding that it was nasty.

Dream let himself giggle again, and brought the cup back up to his mouth.

Almost like a shot, Dream downed the remainder of the liquid. Though it made him shudder a bit under its bitter flavor, the warmth did well to bring a heat to his ribs he hadn't had all night.

When he set the cup and saucer beside himself, he found Blue staring at him, as though he had something on his face.

(He did, it was mud, but Blue was not looking at it.)

"Prince, if it tastes bad, why would you finish it?" Blue asked in confusion.

Dream just shrugged a bit, "I think of the tea as a gift. Even if I do not enjoy it, it means something special to someone else, so it would be rude to waste it." He said simply.

Blue seemed to linger on that for a moment, before seeming to double-down on his concentrated expression. Then, all at once, he grinned.

"I know that you are a Prince, but I think that you would also make a very noble knight!" Blue asserted, before he scooped up the cup and set it aside on the counter.

He seemed to debate the sink, before noticing the piles of other dishes and simply sighed softly.

Dream popped away from the counter, landing on his feet with a tired yawn. His hand raised to cover the action, but Blue caught sight of it and burst into action, moving to Dream's side at an alarming efficiency.

"Prince Dream, if you are tired, then allow me to escort you back to your room!" He insisted.

Dream couldn't help but agree.

As they walked, a part of him wished that he could beg Blue to talk with him until the sunrise, and then stay up all over again the next night. He hadn't felt so comfortable in ages.

But, they had their places.

When the sun rose, Dream would have to be a proper prince again. Take a bath, send his robes to be cleaned, speak with the nobles here, try drafting another letter back home, and rot in the foreign place.

And Blue would have to go back to toting around that knight's swords and armor polish and make him that sickeningly bitter tea on command.

Dream wondered if Blue was even getting any real training, or if he was a glorified servant. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen the young man use his war hammer during training.

Though, all of these thoughts would have to wait.

The bland door to his room arrived, and Blue bowed and bid him farewell.

Dream entered the dark space for the second time that night, slipped off his sandals, and collapsed cloak and all onto his bed. Too exhausted to be afraid of dancing shadows.

[recitedemise]

𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘃𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀, 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗠𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗽𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿. This lengthy headcanon will refer to canon dialogue from mostly Gale, sometimes others. Reader's discretion is advised. There will be in depth explorations into grooming, emotional abuse, heavy manipulation, and suicide.

First, let it be said that Gale, a mortal man, will always be the powerless one in his dynamic with Mystra. Of course, nearing forty years of age, he remains entirely responsible for his own actions, his own blunders and every hurt he'll cause, but it's important to remember who formed much of who he is: his goddess, his deity, and egregiously, his lover.

Mystra is power. Mystra is possibility. She knows what sway she holds over her Ioyal, vulnerable, and entirely mortal followers. In all ways that matter, they are but lambs she can steer and herd as she sees fit. She knows they can't deny her and knows they'll never want to. Gale's sheer servitude and complete devotion. Mystra, knowing that, used him to filth.

Gale: I was just... practising an incantation. Player Character: No, there's more to it than that. I know devotion when I see it. Gale: What can I say? She's—she's Mystra. I can't describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence... Mystra is all magic. And as far as I'm concerned, she is all creation. Player Character: I didn't realize the depth of your devotion. Gale: Magic is... my life. I've been touched with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it.

Gale, orb in his chest, doomed to be eaten by the very thing he loves the most, still speaks so reverently of the goddess, of his lover that has left him to die. He conjures images of her memory—and she is all the while forgetting about his.

Minsc: Gale reminds me of vremyonni of my homeland. The man-mages of Rasheman. While the girl-folk go on to rule as wychlaran, Weave-touched boys were hidden away. Trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth, I thought it born of caution after some catastrophe of wizardly men-folk of old. Now, I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm?

Tales of Mystra's treachery spreads far, leaving those familiar waters surrounding Gale's tower in Waterdeep. They whisper her name, afraid to utter it one time too many, suspecting, perhaps, that she'll show in their mirror like some Faerûnian Bloody Mary.

Talent rouses Mystra. She can see who uses the gift of the Weave and feel them, sampling whatever delight sings their veins as they pull from her domain. Not unlike a spider, she'll follows every tremor that strikes her as just a sliver more profound; and Gale, a prodigy, plucked the Weave's web to so garner her focus. And like some black widow scurrying, she surged down that ripple to prey on a boy. There, Gale, so impressionable, was just a mite older than twelve whole summers. He sat so stunned, beholding Mystra as she lured him into the cradle of her Astral domain. Bathed in her magic, pleasantly coddled within that glittering cosmos, Gale felt blessed in a way he'll struggle always to recount, no word, no language, fit to describe it. He felt chosen. He felt seen. And potently, to a child, he felt loved. Now, imagine a child experiencing something like that. Imagine what they'd think, how brilliant they must be when stood beside the rest. She told him he was gifted, made his heart swell not unlike a child's appetite for praise. She knew what she was doing by offering these morsels, by preying on a child's most delicate mind, and Gale, child prodigy, was already so awash in the idea that his value was in magic. Unfortunately, Gale, susceptible, had no way of squirming out of his goddess' grasp.

Reality: She's laid down the seeds to creep into his heart. When he's just old enough—seventeen's sufficient, she thinks—she stakes her claim and makes him hers.

Gale: My virtuosic talent once caught the eye of the goddess of magic herself, Mystra, who named me her chosen and her lover.

Gale is stunned when she takes him to bed the first time. (Is this really happening?) Mystra claims his mouth in a kiss, taking everything she knows he offers so willingly. Mystra, of course, is not so stunned.

Dream Visitor: An elder brain... one of the cruelest and most powerful creatures in existence, enslaved by mere mortals. Gale, tasked with Mystra's missive to sacrifice himself: This is it... I must do as Mystra commands.

Gale has worryingly low self-esteem beyond his magic. As already explored, his entire worth as a man hinged on and was built entirely off his talent as a wizard. He fought tooth and nail for any crumb of affection Mystra would offer his way, something she only gave him at all seeing his gift as a child. He wants her forgiveness. He desires it genuinely. He believes so firmly that he has wronged his goddess, buying into the idea that sacrificing himself will right his wrong. She holds such dominion over him, making him reduce his confidence in himself into a mere, trifling pittance; after all, she wasn't just his lover, but the patron deity he prays to. And regardless, Gale is a people pleaser, his initial acceptance of her missive coming as no surprise.

After all, Gale, at times, goes to incredible lengths to appease his audience. This habit, compulsion, impulse, whatever you want to call it, is a quality that was relentlessly exacerbated in his relationship with his immortal paramour. He wanted to content her, felt all he did was never enough, for as a matter of principle, he was oceans, leagues, and entire galaxies beneath her. Gale figures: well, how can a short-lived dalliance satisfy a god? He had to make her happy. Indeed, he'd done everything she'd ask. He'd bedded her how she liked, kissed her how she wanted, and of course, even said those words she'd said tasted best. She was his lover, a lover that never tended to his own needs and pleasures, and he fooled himself into thinking that's enough. He won't bend backwards for everyone, mind you, but if you're of the ones he would, he would stop at nothing to make you happy. After all, people pleasing is a way to keep oneself safe, a trauma response to sidestep discomfort, and though it achieves only a direly tentative peace, when that is all you've been fed, you will pursue it.

Gale did not want to lose Mystra; he couldn't bare the sting of it. And so, when Elminster visited him, Mystra's call for his death offered oh so callously, Gale, heartbroken, felt that part of him kick up. He couldn't endure the guilt, was so hungry for a chance to let his weighty heart breathe, even if it meant dying in the process.

At least this way, he'll finally do something right. At least this way, Mystra will forgive him, and all his friends will survive.

Gale: After I was afflicted with my condition, I locked myself in my tower for an entire year. I was inconsolable, wallowing in my self-inflicted tragedy. I'd given up on myself.

As a byproduct of people pleasing, Gale, too, is all too quick to accept all guilt. He self-deprecates, gaslights himself to a venomous degree, and twists his reality in so cruel a way as to make him the villain Mystra'd led him to believe. He self-flagellates himself, the first one in the world who will throw Gale of Waterdeep a mental punishment. Mystra's a goddess, after all, seen as utterly faultless, and twined so tightly with a being so mighty in esteem, Gale slipped into the role of the guilty often. When tied with anyone with grandeur like this, so immeasurable in their own self worth, it's important to keep in mind this: you are nothing but a prop in which to fulfill their ego. Gale was not Mystra's, not by a long shot. Rather, Gale was a tool, simply her mortal extension.

And he took every blow meant for her... a common and terrible habit for many people in imbalanced, ego-fueled relationships.

Gale's life beyond her wasn't something that interested her. She took most of Gale's devotion, manipulated his life to be her sole mantle of attention, for Mystra is not a goddess that shares very happily.

Indeed, long before his self-imposed isolation, this jealous deity did well at keeping him isolated.

Player Character: Picture kissing him. With tenderness. Then, with passion. Gale: I... I didn't think— Narrator: You perceive quick-fire embarrassment, trepidation, and finally... elation.

And so, cheated out of love, so reduced in his value as a man and lover both, suffice to say, Gale's slow to believe he can ever be loved. That's what happens when you're with someone so cold, consistent only in their infinite lack of respect. Gale looks at fondness, and he feels—confounded, to be sure. He thinks, is this truly mine to have? He doesn't know what to do, is nearly forty in game, and despite having lived decades devoted to one relationship, he feels, at the same time, entirely out of depth. To be frank, he greets it with embarrassment, like he's been caught red handed with something not his at all. He's like a child caught rummaging with his hand in a cookie jar, all this isn't mine to enjoy, not mine to indulge in, but he thinks, startled, but god, do I want. He wars with disbelief, uncertainty, and need, and in so many ways feeling utterly starved, with just a glimmer of affection, he falls fast into love.

Scenario: (And if properly romanced, it changes his world.)

Gale: In her (Mystra's) likeness, I used to read a thousand stories. She was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes. But now... it is hard to see any redeeming qualities in a lover who condemned you to death. I'd much rather gaze into your eyes than hers. Yours are capable of tenderness and feeling... No god could ever compare.

He says it with sincerity. There is such wonder, such love, and such awe in his eyes. He makes the act of kissing him feel like you've just reached into the trenches to but pluck him soundly from his ruin and despair. You think, Gale Dekarios, how unloved have you been all this time?

Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command… none have loved me so purely before.

The answer is: entirely.

For so long, Gale thought love was simply being chosen. He knew nothing of being favored for the quality of his character, to be cherished and accepted even in those ways he fumbles and lacks. Again, his needs were seldom met, often treated with utter indifference by Mystra herself, and to meet someone so eager to treasure him, dote on him in a way his heart, his body is somberly new to, raptures his spirit and captures his soul. He's seen for who he is. He's... loved, desired for his silly quips, his easy smiles, and his growing affections. He bares himself to them, and in turn, they cradle his heart like something entirely precious. Gale thinks this has to be dream. He says, at times, you are more than I deserve.

Scenario: (But sometimes, he hopes too strongly and loves too greatly. As it always does, then, like he's once more wanted too much, he watches something beautiful slip right through his fingers. Of course, Gale Dekarios. Of course it does.)

Player Character: I didn't know you felt so strongly, Gale. Gale: Perhaps I should have done more. Been more charming, more flattering, harder to reach... but I was only myself, and sometimes that isn't enough.

They don't love him anymore. It breaks his heart. He hurts so much, so profoundly and deeply, and he doesn't realize that he breaks their heart in turn.

Unable to ever voice his feelings with Mystra in any way that amounted to much, Gale's a tendency to wallow, expressions coming off as potentially 'guilt-tripping' and even, on occasion, passive aggressive. Firstly: Gale NEVER means to manipulate emotions, and he's no intention of twisting anyone's arm, either. Fact is, Gale, never taken seriously when he'd bared his vulnerabilities to the Mother of the Weave, can end up saying just a little too much. He feels very deeply, and for most his life, seldom had an outlet for these weeping sentiments. He sometimes lets slip raw words and oftentimes heart-wrenching expressions; all the same, it's not so pitiful as to shepherd an outcome, but rather, is a gesture taken by a man so desperate to be heard. It may feel like scheming, but the truth is far, far greyer: feeling as though he's no right to share the depth of his heart, Gale simply lets it geyser out in a way he can't cork up. In ways he doesn't realize, he's adapted to this ache, passively reacting so his feelings can at least be seen and recognized—no matter how pitifully unwhole. With someone who values so little his thoughts... well, when he slips into these moods, one can hardly feign shock.

Situation: (And if no one shows him trust and tenderness, any true care in his character or worth, Gale gets swallowed up by how wronged he was.

He thinks: Let me be a god. Let no one hurt like me anymore.)

Gale: They only want us to serve them, pray to them...and ultimately, to die for them. But what if we didn't need them? What if we wielded their power instead and helped ourselves in all the ways they refuse to? I could make that happen.

Gale is not above anger, and as stated, he is not above pettiness; however, more than that, he is not above righting himself whatever wound he was struck. Gale, if not offered much by ways of affection, understanding, is made to believe that one idea that's lived growing in his mind: Gale Dekarios is far from sufficient; he has to be more. He has to be better. Gale, in such an unkind ending for himself, sips too desperately—and perhaps greedily, too, but desperately serves as a far better word—at that idea that he needs power. And so, wresting the Crown of Karsus for himself, he spites Mystra in his own way, becoming a god he feels is leagues better than she will ever be. Damn her thoroughly. Damn her ego, her power, and her endless indifference. He will serve the people, protect them, and in ways Mystra never could, better the world.

Situation: But as a god, he loses all sense of his kindness. Humanity. All who loved him leave him, and even Tara spurns the image he's become. With power, he's gained the respect he thought he always wanted... but in turn, he lost in even greater measure all the love he's known.

Endnote: But healing, knowing to forgive himself and knowing he's deserving of care simply for being Gale Dekarios will remain, always, the best path for him.

[chimerafeathers]

there's an essay jumbled up in my brain about dunmeshi's beginning and how clever and deceptive it is as a sleight-of-hand trick that distracts the audience from the depth and scope of the worldbuilding and foreshadowing that's being set up the entire time by dangling zany characters and wacky dishes and biology fun facts in front of us, and how that serves to catch invested viewers off guard when those elements come to the forefront, but also how it works against it with other viewers wanting "more" and not seeing it because the plot bait isn't laid out up front

how people getting frustrated with the characters "not taking things seriously" is mirrored and refuted in the confrontation between Laios and Shuro. how the characters' attitudes aren't just a result of shallow low-stakes "comedy rules" where nothing matters, but are an extension of their personalities (Laios's nonstandard expression of emotions being offputting even to people he knows) and the world and social environment (adventurers being desensitized to death and injury because resurrection magic is commonplace). the way the party refers to "saving Falin" instead of "retrieving Falin's corpse," indicating that they still see her with full personhood, and how that phrasing leads to some readers/viewers believing that Falin is alive in the dragon's stomach, conscious of being slowly digested while the party carelessly fucks around "wasting time." how the weird tonal dissonance makes sense in-universe and yet is deliberately challenged more and more the deeper the party goes

all the character building and pieces of lore slowly weaving together the shape of the larger world, laying the groundwork for the major themes that will surface later. so much is right there in the "low-stakes" early episodes if you know what you're looking for (or pass the perception checks).

it can be so satisfying to see new viewers/readers pick up on the clues even in the earliest "simple" episodes, or notice new things and make connections yourself....and it can also be frustrating to see people dismiss oddities and dissonance as shallow or bad writing because they don't expect a "cooking anime" to have depth like that. why try to question and understand and peel back the layers when you don't expect there to be any layers?

why can't laios take things seriously for once?

[suddencolds]

getting into a new fandom and finding 0 fics for it on ao3 😭 is it over

[wonder-worker]

"The feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist being appointed as the day upon which the coronation of the king [Edward V] would take place without fail, all both hoped for and expected a season of prosperity for the kingdom."

— Excerpt from the Croyland Continuator / David Horspool, Richard III: A Ruler and Reputation

Even though Edward IV’s death was unexpected, after twelve years of peace there need not have been too much of a sense of foreboding about the succession. The great dynastic wound from which the Wars of the Roses had grown had not so much been healed as cauterized by the extinction of the House of Lancaster. There was no rush for London, as had happened in earlier, disputed successions. The royal party didn’t set out from Ludlow for ten days after hearing the news of Edward IV’s death, while Richard took his time, too. And the new king had [his mother the dowager queen and] two uncles to support him: his mother’s brother, the sophisticated, cultured, highly experienced Earl Rivers; and his father’s, the loyal and reliable Duke of Gloucester, to whom Edward IV had entrusted unprecedented power and vital military command.

... [Richard of Gloucester] had achieved his goal by a mixture of luck and ruthlessness, and if he made it appear, or even believed himself, that destiny played a part, this only made him a man in step with his times. Modern historians have no time for destiny, but sometimes the more ‘structuralist’ interpretations of the events surrounding the usurpation can come close to it. When we read that ‘the chances of preserving an unchallenged succession were . . . weakened by the estrangement of many of the rank-and-file nobility from . . . high politics, which was partly a consequence of the Wars of the Roses and partly of Edward IV’s own policies’, it is hard not to conclude that an unforeseeable turn of events is being recast as a predictable one. But without one overriding factor – the actions of Richard, Duke of Gloucester after he took the decision to make himself King Richard III – none of this could have happened. That is, when the same author concedes ‘Nor can we discount Richard’s own forceful character’, he is pitching it rather low*.

Edward IV had not left behind a factional fault line waiting to be shaken apart. Richard of Gloucester’s decision to usurp was a political earthquake that could not have been forecast on 9 April, when Edward died. After all, Simon Stallworth did not even anticipate it on 21 June, the day before Richard went public. We should be wary of allowing hindsight to give us more clairvoyance than the well-informed contemporary who had no idea ‘what schall happyne’. This is not to argue that Richard’s will alone allowed him to take the Crown. Clearly, the circumstances of a minority, the existence of powerful magnates with access to private forces, and the reasonably recent examples of resorts to violence and deposition of kings, made Richard’s path a more conceivable one. But Richard’s own tactics, his arrest of Rivers, Vaughan and Grey, the rounding up of Hastings and the bishops, relied on surprise. If men as close as these to the workings of high politics at a delicate juncture had no inkling of what might happen, the least historians can do is to reflect that uncertainty [...].

(*The author who Horspool is referencing and disagreeing with is Charles Ross)

[princessconsuelapark]

Interviewer: And what do you think about efforts that have been made through technology, through artificial intelligence, to recreate the early Beatles, making your voice sound younger, bringing those voice back, well, from the grave, really?

Paul: Hmm. Well, it’s a very interesting thing, you know. It’s- It’s something we’re all sort of... tackling at the moment, you know, and trying to deal with, what’s it mean, you know. Um. Yeah, people- I don’t hear that much, cause I’m not on the- on the... internet that much. But people will say to me, oh yeah, there’s a- there’s a track where, you know. John’s singing one of my songs. And it isn’t. It’s just AI, you know. So all of that is- is kinda scary. Um. But exciting? Cause it’s- it’s the future. And we were able to use that kind of thing when we did, when Peter Jackson did the film, Get Back, where it was us making the Let It Be album. And he was able to... extricate John’s voice from a ropey little bit of cassette, where it had John’s voice, and a piano. Um, he could separate them, with AI. They could do- they tell the machine, that’s the voice, this is a guitar, lose the guitar. And he did that. So he has great uses. So when we came to make what will be the last Beatles record, it was a demo that John... had, um, that we worked on, and we just just finished it up, it’ll be released this year. We were able to take John’s voice, and get it pure, through this AI, so then we could mix the record, as you would normally do, you know. So it gives you, it gives you some sort of leeway. So there’s a good side to it, and then a scary side. And we’ll just have to see where that leads.

- Paul McCartney interviewed about Eyes of the Storm for BBC Radio 4 with Martha Kearney │released 13 June 2023

Thought I’d transcribe the (supposedly? I mean what else can it be?) Now and Then related question. Tried my best to stay true to Paul’s speech patterns, meaning there is a lot of ‘you know’s in there. Question starts at 29:30, the interview should still be available for another month on the BBC website. The rest of the interview itself has nothing groundbreaking, although Paul has some nice stories, and there’s a lovely bit where he reminisces a little about his and John’s Paris trip.

[littlespoonevan]

tragic: the song i've been obsessing over for two days straight is actually best represented by buck and abby's relationship and i will never be able to convince someone to have an in depth discussion about it with me and/or make a gifset of it 💔

[bibiana112]

There's nothing wrong with people having their dearest most specialest blorbo be Eric ztd it is unironically good for the ecosystem and I always love seeing the different perspectives from other fans but what I am here today to ask is why is no one like that about Mira. whatever happened to feminism.

[aroacettorney]

perhaps the reason why aup ended like *that* is because it was not supposed to have a happy ending in the first place, but sayren didnt have the guts to deal with readers' backlash for when they finally kill off the main character so a half baked happy ending is what we get 😔

[achilleslyre]

[radical-dadical-rafael]

thinks so much abt Tim Stoker and the lonely

[choropilled]

it's fucking gone

[thymeandmint]

im having a bit of a miserable time with the fish tank and i cannot figure out whats wrong with everyone!!!!! the shrimp losses were rough already but i think ive somewhat understood what happened (mixture of metals in our tap water/potentially copper treated plants/the ich medication) and ive just decided if these shrimp dont make it ill just not keep shrimp as my water permiters just dont suit but now ive noticed a few (2-3) of my kuhli loaches have fin problems with their pectorals degrading down to just nubs (literally when did this happen) but otherwise seemhappy and active so im treating the whole tank for finrot (i dont know how many loaches have it and it would be a nightmare to try and isolate them) and today i noticed one of the two german blue rams has just completely declined shes just sat on the bottom of the tank in the back corner not really doing anything :(!!!! i dont know whats happened!!

sucks cause like ive done so much research for these guys it feels a little miserable not knowing what the problem is and just seeing problems crop up out of nowhere