#dreamland’s mailbox

[kirby-souljourney-au]

Question from @moosesuitriot

⚔️ for Hara!

⚔️ - What weapon(s) do they wield or specialise in, if any in particular? Any special properties? Do their weapons have names or epithets?

Typically, Hara uses her magic in battle — like Kirby, she can summon Sparkling Stars to send at her enemies, as that is an ability that every Soul-Matter Astral has. However, if needed, she can use her magic to form whatever weapon is convenient to her, usually twin knives or a set of daggers.

Ask list here!

[deathsbestgirl]

for the least favorite eps: Arcadia, PVB

okay let's go!!!

arcadia.

i watched this one last night and i felt like i had nothing to say. generally speaking, i think a few others have talked about it better than i can lol and they've kind of covered why i love it! and for me, i really have to step back from the general fandom view of it. this is one i have to look at the broader context of season six. if you just watch arcadia, i don't think it hits right at all. (also i think i need to dig into other episodes it reminds me of, but that might be a later separate post. we'll see. usually the connections i find make me love an episode more.)

season six is at one time one of the most msr seasons but also so tense. in the end, diana fowley shows up and it twists scully inside. this woman she knew nothing about, who was there when mulder found the x files & worked on them with him, who's been with him in the way she never has, and she shares mulder's beliefs. right into fight the future, where she may be absent but shes heavily impacting scully. to the point she's ready to walk away, believing mulder doesn't need her & she's only held him back. he gives her this whole speech, telling her how important she is to him, she saved him, made him a whole person. they almost kiss, before everything shatters & she nearly dies. but she's drawn back in. in the beginning, mulder's mad that that she couldn't hand over proof to the fbi, that she won't believe and she clings to what he told her in his hallway.

season six is very tropey, but most of it is also erased, they don't remember the events of dreamland or monday, triangle is a dream/the past. arcadia specifically, is taking a trope fandom usually makes fun or to bring two characters together, and uses it more like mulder & scully are working out some issues.

as kae says, mulder is peak annoying. almost insufferable. but it's these moments that tell us a lot. mulder says at the beginning that 'this isn't an x file.' he's not thrilled with the assignment, he's excited to get back to their work. scully disagrees, tells him 'it's unexplained,' and teases him. but it's tense. i think at other times it would have just been. funny. but he's making marriage jokes, 'not taking the case seriously,' and taking jabs at scully about 'fitting in here' — which is actually misunderstanding what it is that she really wants.

scully was also excited to get back to their work. she was just as bored without the x files, especially with the work they were forced to do. and maybe she did want to 'play house' but i think mulder ruined any fun she was having and her walls went up. so she started being annoying too lol

i love that this episode is tense, a little angsty. but their work partnership is still intact, even if a little strained. they go about their investigation in a fairly typical way, although mulder just tries to piss off the neighbors thinking this is simply human for most of it. i honestly love the way he tries to shake up the neighborhood. it's similar to mr. kline and is ultimately what got him & his wife killed. so he's on the right track (what a surprise). (and even when scully's right that it's an x file, i don't think she's right about anything else lol so classic.)

i always really liked @randomfoggytiger 's mulder analysis & this post lol, and i love the way kae connected the theme of this episode to a common theme running through the show.

i think fandom tends to view this through an msr lens, and not that isn't but it isn't the very in love & together phase of season seven episodes. it's them figuring out how to get there. not understanding what the other thinks or wants, what a relationship between them would like, or what it would mean for their work.

now for some scene specifics that i LOVE.

i love the way mulder reflects the man murdered in the beginning. mr. klein? is so fed up with the ccnrs & the uniformity. he's annoyed by win painting his mailbox. he's excited to get that weird lawn ornament. his wife is very accepting of his bothers, though she doesn't seem to care personally. it's just. it's very reflective of m+s through this episode.

and THIS moment. the way scully puts her hands up to be like 'okay enough, back off.' it's so funny. like. mulder & scully are affectionate. but it's mostly gazing, lower back / arm touches, hand holding...hugging is rare, it's reserved for deeply emotional & vulnerable moments. not just because. but here they have to. and i think that's uncomfortable for them even as they're soaking it up.

then after they're all moved in, as soon as they're alone:

this part says to me they were excited (personally) for this case, at the very beginning they're having a great time. i think scully is even amused by his "honeymoon" tape joke & his (bad) sandwich joke, i love when she throws the gloves at him lol

it's also just funny to me to see how they play these roles. like they just aren't good at it, they're not very subtle. but these people don't know them so it works. the neighbors are overly friendly and overly concerned, and mulder & scully are trying to find out why but they're not the easiest group to crack. despite the intense fear & worry cami clearly feels.

i also think this episode sets mulder up as a house husband, which is soooo fitting. i actually think this is closer to what he talks about in home than he's willing to think about. it's got a small town feel, close knit community, safety. it's just ... extremely suburban with too many rules. and he likes breaking rules atp more than following them. and this time, it actually is his job to break them. this was a perfect case for mulder, with or without the monster angle.

i think i've said this before in other season six talk, but from the moment i saw someone talk about how m+s don't have a blueprint for their relationship, it's the lens i see season six through completely. they start trying to communicate more clearly, not well but they're getting closer. here they're in a very particular limbo (especially after two fathers/one son), where neither of them can deny their feelings (but scully's are "the problem"), and their trust & partnership has been tested. agua mala was about reaffirming their trust & partnership and some off the clock bonding. arcadia is their first on the clock test, which undercover as a married couple is probably also kind of a nightmare for them given their circumstances lol

BUT GENUINELY they were both enjoying it at the beginning, and they have different moments throughout where one is and the other isn't.

one particular thing i love is the way scully puts up boundaries. because i think after a few jokes, and mulder telling her she fits in perfectly...she feels she has to. mulder isn't ready and he doesn't understand, it makes her retreat.

like after mulder sees the monster...scully asks him if he cares to hear what she thinks. he pauses, looking at her, before he tells her "always." they really getting back into step with each other but after hurt & confusion, all the tension...it takes time. they need to hit certain beats to get there and i think this episode does that very well. the moment when mulder thinks scully's been attacked by the creature, that he's about to find her eviscerated. it before that when he's searching the hole they dug, and she comes out speaking quietly & gently, telling him to come in and "call it a night." this is so domestic and partnerly it kinda kills me. he really does always listen. scully is the only person who can pull him back, keep him grounded. and she always give him the space to explore his theories and she investigates them seriously.

the way mulder is terrified when he sees the door and walks into the house. it's every time he's almost lost her flashing before his eyes again, not that long after tithonus. after he could have died in agua mala, before they even patched things up. to me, agua mala, arcadia & alpha build up to milagro, open the door for the unnatural & field trip. it's the perfect set up for biogenesis, the sixth extinction and amor fati. the final hurdle mulder needed. all of these things slowly build scully's confidence back up so that she's ready too. even though she still won't make the first move.

[loaflovesdoodling]

Also! I've been meaning to ask you, but your mailbox was never open: Care to share some of your GalactaDad head-canons? I'm really curious!

Sure thing! Oh boy, this is going to be a little long.

Ok, so, Galacta. He counts Meta as his adoptive baby boy, but he also takes pride in all the other soldiers. He's kind of like the mother hen of the G.S.A.

He's always playful, he teases the others a lot (even by pinching ther cheeks really hard sometimes), whether Uther is more cold and stoic.

He can actually be extremely intimidating when he's serious. People fear him as much as they love him.

He sneaks in candy to the other G.S.A. members sometimes. That's actually how Meta developed his sugar addiction over the years.

He one time heard baby Falspar say: "I bet his wings are lilac because he dunked them in lavender!" before laughing his ass off like a phsycopath.

He can't swim. His wings are too heavily big, and they absorb water like crazy. He also never bothered to learn, but he doesn't like to admit it. He'll just find a really stupid excuse, like how he once told the kids he was being tracked down by whales.

He really empathizes with the other two members of the Star Trio, especially Jecra. Their positive energy just combines perfectly.

Nonsurat was SUPER shy as a baby, Galacta patiently helped him open up to the others, and now he's one of the most reliable members of the army as their mechanic.

Since Dragato was one of the first rescues, he was mostly raised by Uther, which means he's more serious and bossy than the others. Galacta Knight desperately tried to soften him up during his growth.

Galacta himself was one of the first ones to catch on Dragato's gender identity (transmasc): he and the others were extremely supportive of it.

He's very, VERY protective of Meta. So protective, in fact, that he once fought three rank A demon beasts at the same time because he thought they took him away. Turns out he was actually just hiding under his pink blanket.

Speaking of the pink blanket, it was originally Galacta's. Meta Knight took it before escaping Neo Star (where the G.S.A. was) and he actually brought it to Dreamland. He still sleeps in it today.

And that's about it! I might doodle some of these later, who knows~? ;)

[cock-holliday]

Bait & Switch

Chapter 7/10

(Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 4s, 5, 6, 8)

Post-Dreamland AU

Fandom: TXF

Rating: T

WC: 2246

Scully and Mulder both took off after Judge Graham, and Scully was exhilarated at how quickly she left Mulder behind in the dust. Her long strides dwarfed his and she was gaining on the judge. She picked up speed, closing the distance between her and Judge Graham. In her peripherals she could see Mulder stop and double back, possibly to help her cut Graham off–her usual strategy when she couldn't keep up.

Scully was nearly on him when Judge Graham looked back over his shoulder, his eyes wide in horror as he burnt the last of his speed.

Scully tackled him to the ground, sending them both crashing hard.

Judge Graham swung a punch at Scully, connecting with her cheek and jerking her head back. She quickly rolled Judge Graham onto his stomach, cuffing him behind his back.

“You are under arrest, you piece of shit…” Scully breathed out.

Ahead of her, Mulder came trotting to a stop. His eyes were wide in concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Scully replied back, “I got him. Go see if his friend is still there.”

Mulder did as suggested and jogged back.

Once Scully had Judge Graham on his feet, she led him back to his house, wincing a bit at the bruises she was sure were going to form tonight.

As she came back into the driveway, there was no sign of the smartly-dressed man. Or Mulder. She dragged Judge Graham over to his mailbox, uncuffing him and then recuffing him to the pole.

“Stay,” she barked, turning her gaze to the judge’s open front door.

She drew her weapon, carefully entering the house and scanning around.

“Mulder?” she called into the house.

She was met with a loud crash and she immediately raced to find the source. In the living room, Mulder was on the floor on his back, struggling to keep the smartly-dressed man from plunging a knife into his chest.

“Federal agent!” Scully barked, “Drop the knife right now!”

The smartly dressed man looked up, and in the distraction Mulder kicked him backwards, sending him stumbling. Mulder scrambled away on hands and knees, panting heavily. Scully stepped forward, standing now between the man and where Mulder was sitting.

“Down on the ground!”

The man tossed away the knife and did as told.

Mulder stood up, pulling out cuffs and walking slowly over to the man on the floor and securing him. He pulled the man upright, and locked eyes with Scully.

His gaze landed on her cheek and widened and she knew she must have a mark already.

“M’okay,” Scully assured, “Graham’s cuffed to the mailbox.”

Mulder snorted a laugh, “Did you lift the flag for pickup?”

Scully let out a huff of her own, grateful for a release of tension.

Uniforms eventually came to pick the men up, taking them away and leaving Scully and Mulder alone again on the lawn. Scully sighed, feeling the exhaustion of an adrenaline crash take hold of her. She looked down at Mulder and realized his arm was bleeding.

“Mulder,” she chastised, reaching down and turning him so she could get a better look.

He made a surprised sound, as if he hadn’t noticed, and Scully began searching him for other cuts.

“I forgot he got me there,” Mulder explained, “That’s the only spot.”

Scully continued scanning anyway, and could feel Mulder staring up at her.

Their eyes met and he frowned, “Did he hurt you?”

Scully shook her head, “He got one good slug in, but that’s it.”

Mulder seemed to accept her answer, but his face remained sullen.

Scully led Mulder to her car, sitting him in the passenger seat with his legs out of the car. She dug around in the trunk for the medkit she kept and returned her attention to him. She carefully helped Mulder unbutton and remove his dress shirt, leaving him in a tank top. The cut wasn’t deep, but it was jagged. It would heal slowly.

Mulder’s expression grew more severe and he looked down at his shoes.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Scully shook her head as she began cleaning the wound, “For what?”

“I should have been more careful,” he said, “I’m not…me. This isn’t…it’s not my body.”

Scully stayed quiet, so Mulder continued, “If we switch back tomorrow and everything continues as normal…this is your injury now, not mine.”

Scully looked down at her hands–Mulder’s hands–as she gathered up gauze to wrap his arm. She pursed her lips, considering her words.

“Mulder…every injury you get is an injury I have to bear too. Not just now.”

She swallowed, wondering if she had overstepped, but Mulder was staring at her, his eyes piercing as he tried to meet hers. She met his gaze, determined not to waver. He searched her face for meaning, and Scully tried to give him answers with her eyes.

“I…care about you, deeply,” Scully added, then her eyes widened. She blushed and looked away.

Hearing the words in Mulder’s voice fulfilled something she didn’t realize she had wanted to hear so badly. To have it said plainly and without reservation. 

Mulder grinned at her, “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Scully began wrapping his arm, giving herself something to do.

Mulder bit his lip and tipped his head to the side in consideration.

“Say, ‘You mean so much to me, Scully,’” he instructed.

Scully’s eyes snapped to Mulder’s and they narrowed, “No.”

“I’m not making fun,” Mulder clarified, “I mean it, say it.”

“No, Mulder, that’s stupid.”

“Say it,” Mulder pressed gently.

“Say, ‘Mulder, you’re an ass,’” Scully countered, rolling her eyes and resuming wrapping.

“I often do,” Mulder replied with a little laugh.

It wasn’t funny. This was exactly what she was talking about. He wasn’t careful. Not when it was him. He had to know it pained her when he got hurt. His injuries were hers. When he was in danger it was like a piece of Scully was dying. It wasn’t just now. Not just when they were each other.

“Say it,” Mulder whispered.

Scully rolled her eyes again, “Scully, you mean the world to me,” she said dryly. Even with the sarcasm, hearing the words in Mulder’s voice made her flush deeper regardless. She looked down, embarrassed that it worked.

Mulder only smiled, “Say it again.”

Scully’s eyes met his once more. Her mouth was dry. She was giving him a warning look, but Mulder just stared back at her in earnest.

“Scully,” she repeated, “You mean…the world to me.”

Mulder nodded, “Again.”

Scully laughed and shook her head, struck by the absurdity of the situation. She felt embarrassed. But she wanted to hear it again too. “Scully, you mean the world to me.”

Mulder nodded and then his smile began to fade, “I’m sorry I don’t say it.”

Scully smiled sadly, placing her hands on Mulder’s, “You did.”

----

At Scully’s apartment, Mulder flopped onto her couch, the aches and pains catching up with him. They would have to explain themselves to Kersh. The investigation had ended and now here they were, chasing suspects in the night. They each had insisted the other should take the fall for it–essentially each taking the fall for each other. Scully reasoned that an explanation coming from Scully would receive less punishment. Mulder tried to explain that Kersh would blame him regardless, so it was better for Mulder to take the blame.

In the end, they had resolved nothing about their plan, only that they would have to endure Kersh for a while and then they could be on a plane to Nevada. 

Mulder sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how Scully’s face lit up when she said those words in his voice. It had a more powerful effect on her than he could have possibly imagined. Had she desired to hear those words for so long, or did Mulder make her feel so unappreciated that the slightest hint of his affection made her blush?

Scully’s phone rang, and his heart began beating faster.

He grabbed it quickly, breathing a “Scully?” into the receiver.

“Dana, hi,” Maggie Scully’s voice greeted, “Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“Mrs…mom,” Mulder replied with a grimace, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course, dear,” Maggie reassured, “I’m not catching you too late, am I? I know it’s later than our usual calls…”

Oh. Oh! Mulder had forgotten that Scully tried to speak with her mother at least once a week, if not more often. They must not have talked if Maggie was calling now. Mulder liked Maggie a lot, but frankly he wasn’t in any mood to socialize.

“No…no it’s fine…I’m just getting home,” Mulder explained, “I was…I was working late. I’ll have to fill you in later.”

It wasn’t Mulder’s place to be the one to reveal things to Maggie that Scully might not on her own, but he didn’t want to brush Maggie off either. He would have to tread carefully. 

“Is everything alright? You sound tired,” Maggie went on.

Mulder smiled, “Yes, I am tired. It’s been a long and crazy week.”

There was a pause, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight,” Mulder insisted, “Maybe another day.”

He decided to switch gears, “How’s everything with you?”

Maggie launched into stories from home. What she had been up to this week, who she saw at the store. She gave Mulder some neighbor gossip, filled him in on some local drama, and then conversation turned to the family. She gave updates about Tara and Bill Jr. and Mulder did his best to not let contempt seep through as he prompted for details. She gave an update about Charlie. And then turned serious and gravely informed Mulder that a woman who had attended their church had passed away.

Mulder wrote down the name to tell Scully and put effort into sounding upset. He had no idea Scully’s connection and didn’t want to sound unphased by the woman’s passing. They didn’t dwell on the subject long before moving on, and eventually there was a lull in the conversation.

“How’s Fox?” Maggie asked.

Mulder smiled, “He’s good.”

Silence lingered on the line, and Mulder waited for Maggie to continue. Clearly she was doing the same.

“You should invite him to dinner with us next week,” Maggie pressed.

“I’m…sure he’d love that,” Mulder laughed, “But I’ll have to check with his schedule.”

Maggie chuckled, “Don’t you always say how he does nothing but work?”

Mulder snorted a laugh.

What else have I been saying?

“Well, you know Mulder,” Mulder said, “He keeps busy. I’ll see if he’s free. No promises.”

Dinner with Scully and her mom sounded lovely, but he had his doubts about whether Scully would find the offer as charming.

There was another pause on the line. Maggie made a sound like she was trying to decide something.

“Dana, dear…I know you said not to bring it up again…”

Mulder’s heart stopped beating.

“But I’ve been thinking about what you said. What he said to you. At the hospital.”

Mulder’s blood ran from his head.

“I know–I know you said you regretted telling me, but I just…maybe he did mean it?”

Mulder remained silent, clutching the phone like a lifeline.

“I was talking to Susan and she said her son had his wisdom teeth taken out and even though he was on some heavy medication, he truthfully confessed to stealing money from Susan’s purse…”

Mulder blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend what he was hearing.

“Now, it’s not quite the same,” Maggie went on, “But being heavily medicated doesn’t mean there wasn’t truth to what he said…”

So she told Maggie what he said? She told her mother that he said that he loved her. And then she regretted telling her mother. And now Maggie was trying to convince her daughter that Mulder had meant it. Scully didn’t think he did.

Mulder couldn’t think of a single thing to say back.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie sighed, “I know things are…complicated…but maybe they don’t have to be.”

Mulder swallowed.

“I think you should talk to him.”

Yeah, probably, huh? Mulder thought blankly.

Silence continued to hang over them.

“Okay, I’ve said my peace,” Maggie concluded, “I know. You’re probably fuming at me, but I felt it needed to be said.”

“I should…” Mulder began, “I should probably go.”

Maggie sighed, “Okay. Just…think about it, will you? I think you’re making a mistake. You might not see it now, but I think you’ll regret not talking.”

“...o-okay…mom,” Mulder concluded, still reeling from what she had just said.

“Get some rest, honey, we’ll talk again soon. Love you.”

“Goodnight, you too,” Mulder concluded, hanging up the phone.

Scully told her mom. Scully told her mom and her mom thought they should talk about it. Scully didn’t think he meant it and she brought it up to her mother.

Mulder flopped back onto the couch.

He told her that he loved her. And he meant it.

Did Scully mean it back? Why would she tell her mother under such tense circumstances if the memory of it wasn’t weighing on her?

Did Scully…love him back?

He parted his lips, staring up at the ceiling and holding his breath.

“I love you,” he said out loud, feeling his heart clench at the sound.

It brought a heat to his face and he closed his eyes.

Maybe he’ll never hear her voice say that again, but maybe there was still a chance.

[eloenmaerdrym]

The chapel entry

Credits Nutmeg. Winter Cabin Bench CHEZ MOI Gingerbread Entry Set @ Santa Inc. ❤-Hisa-   Holiday Wreath Gift ❤Pitaya – Holiday bushes snow ed @ Santa Inc. ❤Pitaya – Holiday bushes @ Santa Inc. ❤Serenity Style -Christmas Bicycle ❤Dreamland Designs Santa’s Mailbox ❤Scarlet Creative  Frosty Festive Chapel ❤The Little Branch LB_CypressOak.v2{Animated}4Seasons_Pack ❤

[belialjones]

does anyone in the x files fandom have or know of compilations of all the like one off grunge dirtbag characters (for example DPO, stoner kids from quagmire and war of the cp, Seth green trespassing, dreamland mailbox spotters, syzygy train wreck friend group, etc etc)

[kushimaki]

tag drop part two.

[starfinss]

In Glory, In Ruin — Ch. 3

Fandom: DC Comics, The Batman 2022

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Batman + Reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: 3,347

There was one guard by the door.

He was a uniformed officer, set up in a folding chair, and he was sound asleep. You found out the crime scene was in an apartment just diagonal from you, so passing it didn’t seem suspicious since you lived just a few doors away. You passed once, pretending to pick up your mail, and then again on your way back from the mailboxes. Nobody payed attention to the woman with the broken arm. Even though you loathed being seen as a victim, it was helpful this time.

It made you sick to think the murder happened when you were away, safe and warm in the police station. Shona Matthews hadn’t been so lucky. You felt like it was your fault she’d died. You’d only seen Shona a handful of times, but she seemed nice. The last time you’d spoken to her had been a few days ago. You had no idea that would be the last time.

You dressed in black to avoid being spotted, feeling like a criminal, but you had to know. You’d go insane if you didn’t see. You weren’t going to try your luck with the front door, even if the officer on duty was away in dreamland. If the killer entered the apartment the same way he did yours, you’d be able to look through a broken window or something. If they hadn’t sealed it off with police tape and plastic like they had yours, though that was likely.

The click of your key in the lock didn’t alert the guard at all, nor did your footsteps as you passed him, though you supposed it wouldn’t matter if they did. You lived in the building. Your presence wouldn’t be seen as anything suspicious, even if it was just about ten o’clock at night. You could say you were heading to the office late or something, and they’d be none the wiser.

It was drizzling lightly outside, and you could see the dimmest impression of stars between the clouds when they parted, their glow choked with the light and sound of Gotham City. It was like a cheap imitation of the night sky. That was what you missed most about small town living. You could lay on your back in the grass at night and make out the constellations, counting stars until you’d lose track and your head was full of wonder and impossibly large numbers. But now wasn’t the time to reminisce. You tore your gaze away from the sky, shoving your gloved good hand into your pockets as you circled the building, back to where you knew the rear windows of the complex faced.

Sure enough, there was one broken. The plastic used to seal the window had fallen into the unit, the painters tape used to keep it in place fluttering uselessly in the wind. You crept forward, standing on your tiptoes to look inside.

It looked into a hallway, and beyond that, through an open door, a bedroom. The bedroom was only half visible from your vantage point, but from what you could see, there was a bed, made up in blue and white bedclothes, set on an ornate metal frame. Photos and paintings hung on the walls, and against the wall adjacent to the open bedroom door was a heavy dark wood bookshelf, stuffed full with volumes of varying ages. The floor had a gray area rug on it. From what you could see, there were signs of a struggle. Something glass had been shattered, spilling from the open door and into the hall. You could also see blood. It had soaked into the rug, congealed on the hardwood beyond the grey fibers. The body was gone, unsurprisingly, but the smell of the blood was enough to make your stomach turn.

God, there was so much blood. You felt your stomach turn, guilt twisting at your nerves.

“I’m sorry, Shona,” you said, voice quiet.

You shifted slightly, off to the left in order to try and see further into the room, but the door was blocking your field of view. You couldn’t see anything beyond what you’d already noted. Frustration bubbled up inside of you. All you needed was a glimpse, of a petal, a stem, anything. If that daisy was there—

“What are you doing here?”

The voice made you jump so hard you almost fell over, and you whirled around, your good arm shooting out to defend yourself, but your wrist was caught by a large hand, the grip firm and nearly bruising. The pressure lessened slightly, even as you struggled. You looked up, sure your goose was cooked, scrambling for an excuse.

It was him. The Batman. Recognition appeared in his ocean eyes as he scanned your face, his gaze dropping to your arm, the one in the sling, then to the wrist still enclosed in his hand. You stared back at him, almost transfixed, before he let go of your wrist. He stepped back a single pace, but remained firmly in your way. His eyes were expectant, the question he’d asked heavy in the air.

“I—” you said, voice smaller that you’d have liked, “I’m just— I need to see.”

“You need to see,” he repeated, the lack of inflection in his voice making what should have been a question sound more like a statement.

The Bat shifted, his head canting to the side as he studied you, his gaze scrutinizing, making you feel like you were being picked apart, just like the night you’d met. He was an imposing presence, his gaze alone enough to make you feel like you couldn’t hide anything at all. Maybe that was the desired effect, you reasoned, to scare his enemies. You knew he meant you no harm, you weren’t a criminal. But he had a right to be suspicious. This was an active crime scene, and you weren’t a cop.

“What is it that you need to see?”

Your brain wasn’t forming complete thoughts. “I need to see inside.”

He stepped closer, making you step back, the heel of your shoe catching on a loose stone, making you stumble. You watched his hand rise, just a fraction, maybe to stop you from falling.

“Why?” He questioned.

You weren’t sure how to explain. You just had a deep, burning desire to know. If you could see just a little bit, you’d know if this was the man who killed your mother. You weren’t sure what you’d do with the information once you had it. You were a reporter, not a detective, and you if you wanted anything done, if you wanted justice that you had a hand in serving, you had to do some of the legwork yourself. You didn’t know how to explain that, or how it would go over.

He said your name, your full name, making you look up. You figured Gordon had probably told you what it was, but it still caught you off guard.

“That’s you, isn’t it?”

You nodded mutely.

“Do you know something?”

“No,” you said, a little too quickly, “I— no.”

Your loss of words was enough to raise The Bat’s suspicion significantly, and you knew that. You’d be suspicious of yourself. You didn’t doubt that he’d stand there all night unless you talked. You had no choice. You were snooping where you probably shouldn’t, and that was abundantly clear. Voicing it out loud like this was a little humiliating, like you’d been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

Well, you decided, if you were going to talk, you were going to talk.

“Ten years ago,” you began, “my mother was murdered.”

You let that information sink in. The outward admission, though you’d heard it and said it yourself countless times, pricked ruthlessly at your heart.

“I’m sorry,” The Bat said.

And he really sounded sorry. It wasn’t like those empty apologies you got when people found out about your dead mom. His voice was heavy, earnest, and you could tell he understood. You rose your head to meet his eyes, which were softer now, just a fraction. They were knowing. He’d lost someone, just like you. You felt an odd sort of kinship with him, in that moment. You were unsure if he felt it too.

“Yeah, well,” you said, clearing your throat, “thank you. I’m here because I think the person who killed this girl also killed my mother. But this killer, he left a calling card. A daisy. I need to see if it’s there. If it’s not, I— I don’t know. I’ve spent all this time wondering who took her from me, and I guess it would just— Her murder was never solved. I never got closure. I only knew the moniker the police gave this bastard. I was never able to put a face to the man who did this, and it’s eaten me up inside.”

“Moniker?”

You nodded. “The Butcher of Gotham City. He killed seven women, back—”

“Yeah,” the Batman said, “I know about the murders. So you think he’s back?”

You paused, mulling over your thoughts. “Is it bad that I hope he is?”

The Batman said nothing, simply inclining his head slightly towards you, a gesture to continue. You drew a slow breath.

“If he’s back, I can find out who destroyed my family,” you cast your eyes to the ground, “but it means more people will die. More dead girls, and Shona— if I’d died, she’d still be—”

“No,” Batman said, “no, don’t do that. Don’t do that to yourself.”

You felt emotion well up inside of you. “It’s true, though.”

“It isn’t,” he said, voice firm, “you escaped. You lived. She didn’t. And her death isn’t your fault. Just because you didn’t wind up dead doesn’t mean you should have.”

You knew he was right. You knew you were feeling survivor’s guilt, and that it really wasn’t your fault. But nobody deserves to die, not like that. But you still felt that gnawing, sickly guilt, churning in the pit of your stomach.

“I want to stop him,” you said, before you realized you were speaking.

“Stop him?” The Bat said.

“I want to catch this guy,” you looked up at him, eyes burning with your resolve, “will you help me?”

He stared at you, his mask hiding his expression, but you didn’t think you’d surprised him.

“The path of vengeance—”

You laughed; a short, barking sound that surprised both of you. “Fuck vengeance. I want to stop him so no more people have to go through what I did. They accused my father of the murder, her death tore us all apart. I’ll be damned if I have to sit by and watch as more people die because of Gotham City’s inaction. This isn’t about me. This is about those girls who died who never got justice.”

Though, admittedly, you did think it would be a form of poetic justice if you were the one to take him down.

“No.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

“I will not put you in danger.”

You scoffed. “If you’re investigating this, you must see the connection between ten years ago and now. Gordon probably put you up to this. And you think I care about what happens to me? I have nothing left to lose.”

“There’s always something to lose.”

Your mouth twisted. “Not this time.”

He said nothing. You didn’t think he’d budge, but you had to try.

“Look,” you said, “I’m a reporter. I’m good at gathering information. I’m just a regular women. You can use that. Nobody knows who I am. I can help.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened, his weight shifting.

“Please,” you said, “you’ve lost someone too, I can tell. Do you remember what it’s like to lose someone like that? I have to find out who did this to my mother.”

“I understand that,” he said, and he really did, “and I also don’t think I’ll be able to stop you.”

You shook your head.

“You’re a stubborn woman,” he said, “the second you’re in danger, this ends.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you protested, “I need to—”

“Those are my conditions,” he pressed, “either you agree, or we can end this now.”

You knew he couldn’t stop you, even if you got yourself in danger. And, to an extent, he probably knew that, too. But this was the best you were getting. You took a breath.

“Fine,” you said, “deal.”

He tilted his head to indicate the window, and you followed his gaze. “We’re going in there?”

He said nothing, simply walking towards the window, using the gauntlet on his arm to clear the more jagged pieces of broken glass away rom the window frame. Then, with catlike grace, he hoisted himself up, disappearing through the opening with a flourish of his cape. He was a good deal taller than you, so he had no trouble getting in. Once he was fully inside the window, he leaned out to offer you a hand, which you took, allowing him to hoist you into the apartment.

The smell of blood was stronger in here, making your stomach turn. It smelled like old pennies, the stench coating your tongue, overtaking your senses. It made you want to gag.

Oh, God.

You’d seen the blood from the window, but you hadn’t seen the amount there really was. It was seeped into the carpet, stuck on the floorboards in a roughly defined pool around where you assumed the body had been found. It was a gruesome sight. You’d only seen anything like it in photos. The smell was making it worse. The Bat didn’t seem to be bothered by it, though, and if he was, he hid it well.

Your attention turned to the bed. The bedclothes were disheveled, halfway on the floor on one side. You deduced that she’d most likely been dragged from bed, judging from the bloodstains on the robin’s eggshell colored sheets where they met the floor. You knelt to examine them, stepping in a wide berth around the blood pool to avoid tainting any evidence.

“She was dragged from the bed,” you said, “how awful.”

The Batman said nothing, but the look on his face was solemn, his eyes dark. You turned onto your side, looking under the bed, eyes scanning, but there wasn’t any daisy. You rose to your feet, turning to speak, but you felt your thigh catch on the nightstand, making it drag noisily against the wooden floor. The sound was like a gunshot in the silence, and you froze, eyes meeting The Batman’s. You had to avoid yelping in pain at the forming bruise on your leg, at the excruciating pain that comes with ramming a body part into the corner of a piece of furniture.

Suddenly, you felt his hand grabbing for yours, tugging you into a dark corner in the hall. You were about to ask him what was going on when he clamped a gloved hand over your mouth, pressing you into the corner, his body blocking you from view. He was so close you could smell the petrichor on him, as well as some kind of faint aftershave. You could feel his breath on your forehead as he pressed closer, his hand dropping from your mouth to rest on the wall beside your head when he was sure you wouldn’t make any noise.

You could hear footsteps, as well as the low, staticky sound that came with a police radio.

The Bat shifted against you, and you could feel the chill of his armor through your sweatshirt, warming with your body heat, as well as the rise and fall of his chest, matching your own breathing. The press was lightly painful against your injured arm, and you bit your tongue. Now was not the time to complain. You looked up at him, and he looked down, his eyes meeting yours. He was so close to you, just a breath away.

The footsteps rounded into the bedroom, and you could see a flashlight swivel out of the corner of your eye, searching for the cause of the noise you’d caused when you’d run into the nightstand.  

You were beginning to feel your cheeks heat up, despite the situation. You didn’t have much luck with men, so you weren’t entirely this used to being close to one. It was your turn to shift, your legs bumping against his as you pushed yourself farther into the corner in an attempt to gain some semblance of personal space, but he simply moved closer once again, blocking you in even further. So much for that. Your eyes met again, and you felt the blush spread to your neck. You weren’t aware if he could see that or not, but he probably had some fancy high-tech night vision thing, or heat sensors, with your luck.

Footsteps continued around the bedroom, then passing into the bathroom, the next room over, growing farther away from where the two of you had sought refuge in the corner of the hall. It had to be a miracle that the policeman didn’t shine his flashlight over to where you were. The Batman, he might not mind, or at least wouldn’t raise much fuss about. You, on the other hand, didn’t have that immunity. You were just the woman who lived across the hall. If you were caught, you could be arrested.

You figured the Bat realized this, hence why he’d crowded you into an enclosed space. His clothing blended into the shadows pretty well, and when he stood in front of you like that, you were hidden from view pretty much completely.

Even as time went on, you didn’t get used to this. He was a stranger. Sure, he’d saved your life, but you’d only met him this morning. It felt strange to be this close to somebody you hardly knew. You supposed you’d have to get used to being close to him, though, since you’d somehow wound up partners. The day you’d had was just a rollercoaster that didn’t stop.

He shifted again, something on his utility belt pressing against your hipbone, making you try to adjust as well to avoid the feel of it digging into your skin. The Bat looked down at you, eyes hard, telling you to stay still, and you did, after reaching down to push the offending whatever-it-was away, your fingers brushing against his thigh in the process as you retracted your hand. He didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he hid it as well as he hid everything else.

You heard a burst of static from the police radio again, making you flinch, but the footsteps retreated until they were at the apartment’s door. He was gone. You let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “my fault.”

He said nothing as he moved back, allowing you to step away from the wall. Your cheeks were still warm, and you took a few deep breaths to calm yourself.

“What was it you needed to see?”

You sucked in a breath. If you were working together, you might as well tell him. “The killer left a calling card. A daisy, found at every crime scene. It could be anywhere in the room, but with mom, it was just beside her body. It wasn’t made public information to keep from creating copycat killers. I’m looking for that.”

The Bat nodded. “And if you don’t find it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

And you hadn’t. But something in your gut told your this wasn’t some mere copycat killer. Call it intuition, or call it wishful thinking in your search for closure, you weren’t sure. But you were going to find out if your intuition was accurate or not.

You crossed the room, heading back to where you’d bumped the nightstand. You hadn’t really moved it much, maybe a few inches at most. It was barely noticeable, so you didn’t risk moving it back into place. Your hip still ached from where you’d clipped it on the corner of wood. It was undoubtedly going to leave a bruise. Yet another one to add to your growing collection.

I have to find it.

Even a petal would be helpful. Just to know that you could get that closure, and your mother could finally rest in peace. That she wouldn’t forever remain a cold case, and you wouldn’t always have those burning questions, and all that resentment brewing inside you. You stepped back, carding your good hand through your hair.

Something crunched under your boot. You quickly moved your foot, hoping you hadn’t accidentally trampled on evidence and it was just a stray pebble or something similar.

Oh.

Oh.

Sweat beaded on your skin.

You’d stepped right onto the stem of a daisy.

[notsosecret-slgarden]

Not So Secret - Endless Romance.

Sponsored by Scarlet Creative, Dreamland Designs, The Little Branch & LOVE HOME & GARDEN SUPERSTORE.

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[whatsseobb]

Something Old, Something New (Crystal x Gigi Fanfic) Chapter 5

AO3 Link Synopsis: Crystal finds an enchanting jewelry box from the antique shop. Day by day, she discovers different journal entries hidden inside the box. Where is it coming from? What exactly is the music box? Most importantly, who is G?

Chapter Five – The Letter G

The teenager held up the box closer to her face and looked carefully at the engraved letter near the knob. There, she saw a faded letter G. Crystal held up the letter and examined both Gs. They seemed to be similar, having the same strokes and handwriting. This grew more suspicion in her mind. The box will remain a mystery as long as she find all the answers she needed.

Crystal read Gigi’s letter once more before she started composing her reply to the girl.

For the rest of the day, Crystal spent her time researching in her laptop. She searched the net about magical boxes or mailboxes. She read about teleportation and quantum computation, particles and the like. The things she saw on the internet made her feel more confused and befuddled at the idea of the letters. Just yet, the engraved letter G at the side puzzled her more. Gigi’s box had the same engraving.

Once again, she read all the letters that were with her. It was mostly the ones where they started talking and exchanging letters. She examined the handwriting and the paper used. They were all made with the same material, quite faded and darkened on the edges and crispy to touch. She once again looked at the box while reading Gigi’s description of hers. She was more convinced that they have the same music box.

Crystal occupied herself with decorating some of her clothes yet again. She knew Gigi might not reply for that night so she distracted herself with other things rather than waiting for her letter. Around midnight, she plopped herself on the bed and easily fell asleep under the covers.

The teenage girl walked into dreamland. In there, she was sitting down on a picnic cloth in the middle of a meadow, trying to cover her legs with the skirt of the cerulean dress she was wearing. She was busy looking inside the picnic basket when she suddenly heard a soft voice calling her name. As she looked around, there was no one in sight, except a wooden door. She was about to continue scanning the basket when she heard the voice once more, this time it was coming from the door. It slightly opened, a girl with scarlet waves peeked in. She called Crystal’s name once again, her hand reaching to her. The teenager stood up and strode towards the door. She walked and walked but the door was moving farther and farther away from her. Crystal started running, reaching her hand forward to touch the other girl’s palm. The scarlet-haired girl kept calling her name softly, keeping her hand out to reach for the teenager. Crystal held out her hand further, reaching for the fingertips when…

A soft music started playing from across the room, waking Crystal up. She already knew what it was for and so she excitedly hopped towards her vanity and opened the music box.

The way the words were written with harsher strokes and heavy pressure made Gigi’s feelings obvious as she was writing the letter. It made Crystal furious as well, knowing that no one deserves a guy like that.

Wanting to comfort the other girl, Crystal immediately got a sheet of paper and her pen as she wrote her reply.

Reading Gigi’s description of the girl from her dreams made Crystal feel uneasy. She looked at the mirror and can totally see the girl Gigi was depicting in her letter. Could it have been her?

All afternoon, the two girls spent exchanging letters. They talked more about their bizarre dreams, their dreams in life and their interests. Gigi talked about having her own dress shop as she and her friends were very much interested in making clothes, meanwhile Crystal stated about wanting to hold an exhibit for her artworks. Both girls mentioned how they both adored art, most especially painting. In one of Gigi’s letter, she mentioned about joining an art competition a year ago. She also attached a picture of her and her artwork.

Crystal held that photograph in hand. It was all in sepia, making it hard for the teenager to identify the colors in the picture. It was surprising to her how people still took pictures and print it out into hard copies. She moved it closer to her face as she looked at girl in the photograph. However, as much as she tried to look at it closely, the face of the girl was all blurred out.

[kirby-souljourney-au]

CROSSED SWORDS AND SHOOTING STARS FOR BITH I THINK

⚔️ - What weapon(s) do they wield or specialize in, if any in particular? Any special properties? Do their weapons have names or epithets?

I’ve already answered this in regards to Hara — in this post here!

Auberon, however…

He is also a Soul-Matter Astral, and also uses similar tactics to Hara — summoning Sparkling Stars, forming what weapons he needs out of Soul Magic, and the like.

However, unlike Hara, he mostly relies on his sword, the Lightblade. It was forged specially by a Halcandran Draconic blacksmith, and enchanted with Starlight Magic by High Priestess Yama. It was given to him after hi apprenticeship with Galacta had ended, and he was knighted.

Starlight Magic is… far too complex to explain here, so I’ll do it in a separate post once I have the time. Once I give myself the time…

But the basics are, it’s a rare form of magic typically only seen in Celestials, which are believed to be completely extinct by the time Soul Journey takes place. Their magical capabilities were preserved, however, and the knowledge of how to cast those borrowed spells was passed down over aeons. Based on what it’s called, it’s easy to guess that its types of castings are based on stars and such.

💫 - If they were to wish on a clockwork star, like Galactic Nova or Star Dream, what would they wish for?

Oh… that’s an interesting one.

Hara would likely wish for Galacta’s freedom, were she wishing before her death and corruption. Afterwards, on the other hand… she’d wish to make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone she cares for. She’s battled soul-corrupted creatures before, and they are anything but friendly. She knows that, being corrupted herself, she is dangerous, and she’d hate to become what she’d feared for thousands of years. How the Clockwork Star would go about granting that wish depends on which one she’s wishing on. One could seal her, and another could kill her, and another could free her of her corruption temporarily until she was reaped.

She was afraid of what would happen if she ran into one of the Purity-touched machines, though, so she never sought them out.

Auberon would wish for Yama — and all those who supported her, as well — to suffer twelve eternities of absolute agony for what she did to Galacta. They’re a vengeful guy, to say the least.

Ask list here!

[eskewcity]

Cornfield

I listened to Dreamland by Glass Animals on repeat while writing this. 

(minor CW for alcoholism and drug addiction)

submitted by @bird-in-tennis-shoes

----------

Statement of Herbert Pope, regarding a visit to his parent’s farm.

I don’t know what’s happened to me. I don’t know what I’ve become. I don’t know when this will stop. I can only hope that whatever madness controls me will one day have had its fill. One day I will be allowed to sleep. Whenever I even try to comprehend what I’ve seen and done; just the magnitude of it makes me want to shut down. Or throw up. Or lock myself in the house and spread all of my belongings out on the floor so I can see and differentiate every part of the room. I tried to resist it at first, but there’s only so long you can go without sleeping. There’s only so long you can go without the temptation of another human being in your proximity.

I wasn’t always like this. You’ve got to understand I didn’t choose any of this. But before I get into what happened to begin with, I want to make it absolutely clear that I was sober when all of this took place. I don’t want this written off as drunken ramblings or a bad trip. I’m done with that. I’ve got myself a bit of a reputation, I know. But I’ve been sober for three years, and it was a hell of a journey to get that far. I’m not about to have my experience dismissed out of hand because your institute dug up some of the many bad decisions I made when I was younger. I was sober before I visited my parents last summer, I was sober the entire time I was there, and I’ve been sober since.

That’s always been a point of contention between us, actually. I’ve never had the greatest relationship with my parents. They were quite strict growing up, and when I got to uni I just wanted to be free. I guess that’s why I got really into the local party scene my first year there. By the time I was starting my second term, I was already addicted to just about everything I had access to. I even ended up dropping out. Naturally, this wasn’t something my parents were exactly thrilled about, and after a few bad arguments over the phone, I just stopped calling.

I know this isn’t really related. But I just want you to understand how I’ve turned my life around since. After a few months of sleeping on my friend’s couch and going to support groups, I was able to get a job and an apartment. It was several years after that before I felt like I could try to reconnect with my parents. They were happy to hear from me, and especially happy to hear that I had my life together again. I was definitely shocked to hear that they were moving out of the country, to America.

It had always been my mother’s dream to start a farm. We had a small garden when I was a kid, but that was never really enough. They’re both getting up in the years, and had decided that if they were going to do it, they might as well do it before they got too old to do the work of planting and harvesting. They’ve always been do-it-yourself types. I think the hustle and bustle of modern life was getting to them a bit. They’d been doing some research online, even joined a few forum pages to meet people. They’d been planning this for quite some time. Apparently my father has land in Gambier, Ohio that I never knew about. I don’t know all the details, but I think a friend of his, Samuel Fairchild, gave him some property with a farmhouse on it. It was quite a strange situation, from what I can gather. Sam only lived in the house for a few years before just giving it away. I never met the man, but my father once told me that he suspected Sam was in a cult. I don’t hazard a guess as to how they met.

Regardless, it was a nice house in a secluded spot. My father has been paying upkeep costs ever since he got the place, but never did anything with it. Might as well put it to use, I suppose. I made plans to visit them as soon as they got settled and I could take some time off work. When summer rolled around, I made arrangements and booked a flight to Columbus.

The house was about an hour’s drive from the airport, and once I really got out into the countryside, it struck me just how big everything was. Everything’s a lot more compact in the UK. Less space. Here, fields of corn and soybeans stretched out for acres. I would drive for a kilometer and never see a mailbox. Farm houses were tiny pinpricks in the distance. Sometimes barely visible behind a hill. Some farms seemed pristine and well taken care of. Others seemed to be only dilapidated, ramshackle piles of rusted machinery and half burnt out barns. I passed through a town on the way. Well, I say town, but it was little more than a few convenience stores and a post office with peeling paint. The few houses I passed were just as crumbly. Half finished renovations and wrap around porches that looked to be in danger of collapse. Termite eaten posts held up a gazebo roof, like Atlas’ arms folding under the weight of the earth.

The house my parents had moved into was a bit better. It looked homey enough, although the lines of the support beams curved and slanted in strange ways. It looked stable, but almost… impossible. I assumed it was either my imagination or a stylistic choice and didn’t give it another thought. The land surrounding the house was vast and impressive. The only way in and out was a little dirt road leading up to the garage. I noticed the fenced in corn fields and realized that they must have already started planting. In fact, it looked like it was nearly ready to be harvested. I parked in the driveway and went up to knock on the door. It swung inward immediately, and I was met with a massive hug. My mother smelled like cinnamon sugar, just as I remembered her. That evening was fairly uneventful. I told them about what I’d been doing for work, and they told me about the farm and how Sam had left them everything they needed to get started. There was even a chicken coop and a stable in case they ever wanted to get animals. My mother cooked dinner, and before I knew it, it was getting late and my parents were going off to bed. I got settled in the guest bedroom and tried to sleep.

An hour later, and I still couldn’t sleep. I kept tossing and turning. Everything felt sort of… wrong. The moonlight seeping through the curtains gave the place a strange feeling. The room felt different, somehow. Like I was suddenly in a completely different house that was identical to the one I entered last night. I decided I should go take a walk outside. To sort of reset my brain, you know? Maybe I’d be okay if I got some fresh air. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep anytime soon.

Outside, it felt even stranger. I don’t know how, but it didn’t even feel like I was on the same plane of existence anymore. I know for certain I had only stepped off the porch, but when I glanced behind me, the house was now barely visible in the distance. There was no way I had walked that far in an instant. I glanced up at the sky and nearly fell over. It was… bigger somehow. Now, I know the night sky is obviously endless, but it doesn’t usually feel that way. It’s usually more like a thin blanket of black, stretched over the world. The stars are just moth holes and missing threads. It didn’t look like that now. I don’t know how to describe it, but it was like a gaping hole in the fabric had opened over me, and when I looked up, I could see every atom of the infinite universe at once. Like I had put on 3D goggles, and suddenly the pictures on the movie screen popped out and moved around me. The moon suddenly seemed so close in comparison to the stars. Like it was in danger of smashing into the earth.

It was… unsettling to say the least. My head was spinning, and I felt unstable on my feet. The sheer mass of the space around me loomed, like it was threatening to consume me. I had somehow ended up in the middle of the cornfield, the house nowhere to be seen. The world swayed, catching me up in whatever it was. I felt huge and tiny at the same time, the air around me threatening to crush inward, my foot poised, threatening to crush it first.

And then it stopped. Whatever force was manipulating my perceptions was gone. The ground felt sturdy again, and my head was suddenly clearer. It was dead quiet. The moon was still close, illuminating every inch of the surrounding field. I could see infinitely in every direction, and there was nothing but corn. Even the curvature of the earth seemed to have gone; millions of kilometers rolled flat to form this endless plane I had found myself in. When I looked up, I noticed the stars had disappeared as well. The entire universe stretched out before me and there was nothing in it.

The only movement was my own feet as I began to walk. The sound of crunching dirt reverberated through every corner of the cosmos. I must have walked for hours, but nothing changed. It was just corn, corn, dirt, corn, empty black sky, and that awful, bulbous moon. My hands felt… wrong. My entire body felt wrong. I was big enough to hold all of existence in the palm of my hand and still have enough room left over for another universe. But the second I concentrated on any one thing, the feeling slipped away like sand through my fingers, and I felt tiny enough to be crushed by the molecules of air around me. Like I was shrinking forever. Like all of this empty world was expanding around me and I was in the exact center, the edges pressing in on me as it got bigger.

I started running. My feet snapping corn stalks in half, Punching them with my fists as I went. I grabbed a handful of leaves and pulled, ripping several out by the roots and dragging them. Causing as much destruction as I could. If this world was going to go on forever and never change, then by god I was going to change it myself. I ran as far as I could, leaving a path of destruction behind me. I ran until I got so tired that I nearly fell over, but nothing changed. It was still the same corn, the same moon. The whole world was just an endless sheet of repeating wallpaper. I ripped holes in the ground like a crazed gopher until my fingers were raw. Eventually, I sat down among the debris and started crying. I’m not ashamed to admit it; I was hopeless and trapped. There was nothing I could do, because there wasn’t anything at all.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I awoke to sunlight and the distant sound of my parents calling my name. I was still in the field, but not a single one of the corn stalks around me had been knocked down. My limbs were wound around the plants like string, not disturbing any. I knocked down a few trying to get up, but I was still too disoriented to care.

I took the first flight I could back to London. My parents were disappointed and understandably quite worried about me, but there was no way I was going to stay there another day. I’ve become a more cautious person as I’ve gotten older, and I was not going to take any chances with… whatever that was. Still, after a few weeks I had written it off as an especially strange dream. I had taken a walk at night and fallen asleep suddenly. That was it. It’s funny how our brains rationalize these things.

As I found out soon, that really wasn’t it. Because I had that dream again. And again. And again. First, it was only a few times a month. Then once a week. Then I began waking up every night in a cold sweat after running in that endless cornfield for eight hours straight. I was terrified to go to sleep, knowing exactly where I’d end up. Every night I would count and categorize everything I could see. My hat on the chair in the corner of the room; my coat hanging up on the wall. I could see the edges where the rug began and ended. The room was not endless. The room had walls and a ceiling. But as soon as I let my guard drop just a bit, or my vision blur slightly with fatigue, everything stretched and distorted and changed, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it. I would suddenly be standing, running, the world silent and impossibly large. I couldn’t rest, because every hour I spent sleeping was an hour I spent awake somewhere else.

I fell asleep at work nearly every day. And even then, I was not free. That damn cornfield, with its horrific sky and endless wasteland of leering barbed javelins haunted me. I was so tired I thought I would die. I started hallucinating while I was awake. Every time my eyes closed I was there, the looming sky and bloated moon mocking me as I ran. I stopped going in to work. I was too tired even to write an email to my boss. The only energy I ever had was when I was running. My friends must have been worried about me, but I didn’t have the energy to talk to any of them. How could I explain what was happening?

Everything reached a crescendo about a week into this, while I was walking to the corner store. I was holed up in my house, tormented by visions of an infinite hellscape, but I still needed to eat. The ground felt more uneven than usual, most likely due to fatigue, but I felt constantly on the verge of tripping. I concentrated hard on the ground in front of me. It was difficult to keep from falling into the cornfield. Part of me was always there, waiting, constantly running.

 My concentration slipped for only a second, and I went sprawling directly into the stranger walking in front of me. He shouted at me, but I was already asleep before I hit the ground. In that single lapse I had slipped into the hungry other world. I was vaguely aware of the events happening around me, but I was somewhere else, running. I… Something happened then, when the man bent down to wake me.

 I don’t know what I did. I reached out somehow, manipulated the air around me. Manipulated the hungry other world and directed its endless appetite towards this man. I’m not sure. There’s really no possible way to describe what I did. Whatever explanation I can give won’t do the action justice. There’s no excusing it either. I did it because it felt right. I can’t even muster the consciousness to regret it. That man is gone now. Or, not gone, somewhere else. Running. The cornfield was satiated for a while after that. I was rested. I was allowed to sleep.

I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t even know what I am. That man was only the first of many. It’s the only way I can rest. It’s the only way the cornfield will leave me alone, at least for a little while. I always make sure it’s someone I don’t know, not that it matters to the cornfield. They’re all just souls for it to hold as they run about like rats in a never ending maze. They’re all in there together, but they will never meet. There is an infinity between every molecule of dirt in that place. Maybe someday everyone will be in that cornfield. I wonder if it would finally let me have peace then. 

[mysaldate]

aaaa i love your last hcs of douma owo may i request the same for enmu ? owo

Oh my gosh yes! Of course! I was just getting bored actually so this came at a perfect time!

Protective Enmu headcanons

I’ll just start this by saying he is not as protective as Douma is. It’s just not his style. His way of protecting you is a little different and not as at-the-ready as Douma’s.

But moving on to what Enmu is like rather than what he isn’t… While he doesn’t cling to you, he is still very attentive. From afar. He might call out to you if he feels like you’ve gone absent-minded and could hurt yourself or he might determine there is no real threat and just let you learn your lesson the hard way. He will still comfort you afterwards though.

If you get hurt by accident but it’s not actually your fault, he will be a little more distressed and upset about it. Possibly even more than you. He will see to it that you have no permanent injuries (if you’re a human) and/or that your mind is quickly taken off of it. If a bandage is necessary, he will insist to be the one tying it for you. He will grumble and sulk the entire time, muttering curses under his breath but it’s really just because he dislikes the idea of you accidentally getting hurt.

Speaking of bandaging and the likes, he doesn’t like it when other people touch you, even if just for that. If you ever need to have your blood taken for whatever reason, it’s best not to tell him until after all is done. And just to console him a little bit, you might want to share at least a few drops with him as well.

Vaccination? Blood taking? Do they really think they can just stick a needle inside you and he’ll let them? No way, if anyone’s shoving any needles in you, it better be him. He knows you the best, he should be the only one to do it. Watch out for the nurses because he’s not really all that knowledgable about your blood vessels and might end up accidentally hurting you more than the needle itself would in skilled hands.

If he does hurt you by accident, he will apologize profusely, trying to make it up for you in any way he can think of. That being said, it has to be by accident. If he does it on purpose, you better suck it up and enjoy it especially if he feels like you provoked him. No matter how much he loves you, he’s still quite a sadistic demon, what did you expect?

If he caught a wind of someone else trying to hurt you, he wouldn’t think much of it at first, hoping they were smarter than to actually go through with it. He may be just a Lower Moon but anyone should know not to mess with him anyway. And even more should they know not to mess with you. But don’t get the wrong idea, he will still  keep an eye on you if he hears of any potential danger coming your way.

Unless that someone is Muzan, in which case it’s probably because you’re distracting him from his work. If that’s the case, he will try to talk some sense into your head to break up with him but if you refuse, he will protect you from his master’s wrath by giving you the sweetest dream and leaving you as a Sleeping Beauty forever in the dreamland. It’s not that he’s happy about it but it was either that or a very painful death by Muzan’s hand.

If someone else were to hurt you, they have a storm coming. Enmu wouldn’t just flood them with horror-like nightmares, nor would he simply kill them off, even after some torture. He has many many more fun tools (like that detached talking hand of his as an example) and he’s not afraid to use any and all of them. It would be no surprise if your mailbox filled up with apology letters, growing increasingly more and more desperate as Enmu tortures the poor soul into madness. If you don’t stop Enmu after this…

Well, that is if you even can. Depending on how badly you were injured, he will be incresingly more difficult to reason with. And if your life was threatened, there’s nothing in this world that could convince him he’s had his revenge. After all, if he doesn’t clearly show the whole world what happens to anyone who hurts you, how will they ever know not to do that? Forget all common sense, at that point, he’s just venting out his frustrations over underestimating the danger you were in. The revenge is as much for you as it is for his inner peace.

If there’s one thing he’s not worried about at all, it’s you leaving him for someone else. He has the ego of a guy who met God and was not impressed. About the only one who can pride themselves in something above that is Muzan. Enmu is absolutely confident you know better than to leave him for someone else so if he ever catches someone hitting on you, he will just calmly watch you woosh them off.

DO NOT try to make him jealous. He hates being wrong. If you give off the impression you might actually be interested in someone else, you better get ready for an absolute madness. Enmu will act pretty calm and disinterested at the spot but in his head, he’s already planning murder. Even if you try to explain you were just joking around, you’ve sealed the fate of whatever poor person you pulled into this mess. On the other hand, Enmu can’t stay mad at you for too long so it might just be a good way to get rid of people you don’t like but who wouldn’t dare to do anything to you. After all, you’re dating Enmu, you might just pick up on some of his sadistic tendencies.

[eloenmaerdrym]

Fall is around the corner

Credits Granola. Mossy Mailbox ~ Fatpack. @ The Fifty ❤DaD  “Villa Flora” @ FaMESHed ❤Serenity Style– Ornate Rustic Well ❤Dreamland Designs Cobblestone Pavement Set ❤The Little Branch LB_HornBeamTree.v1{Animated}Seasons @ Chronicles & Legends ❤

[architectnews]

Canterbury School of Architecture presents 15 student design projects that imagine brighter futures

A community centre for the homeless that overlooks Canterbury Cathedral and a cafe designed for people with disabilities are included in Dezeen's latest school show by students at the Canterbury School of Architecture.

Also included is a "lush haven" aiming to encourage younger generations to adopt more wholesome ways of living, and a project that reimagines a derelict car park as an urban farm.

Canterbury School of Architecture

School: Canterbury School of Architecture, University for the Creative Arts Canterbury Courses: BA Interior Architecture and Design Tutors: Anna Maria Baranowska, Daniel Tollad and Kim Thome

School statement:

"The BA Interior Architecture and Design course at UCA Canterbury takes a multi-disciplinary approach to the transformation of unused and undervalued spaces and places. It encourages the students to embrace traditional means of designing whilst exploring the role of 'narrative' as a tool to unlock imagination and develop new design possibilities.

"Understanding the long-term impact of the Covid-19 pandemic on our everyday lives will take time and deep investigation to grasp. But there is a growing interest in the food that we're eating, the natural world, and the environmental crisis that hangs heavy over all of us. There's much more progress to be made, but as designers, this provides us with an opportunity to test, experiment and present new ideas that will one day make a positive impact on the world around us.

"Our graduating students have explored the future of hospitality, thinking about the tools and rituals involved with food and eating, the facilities that these requirements, and their ability to bring people together. How do we use hospitality to educate and reconnect people to their immediate environments? To rethink how and what we eat? And ultimately, bring people together again?"

Safe Neighbourhood by Adesola Omole

"My final project focuses on the homeless community of Canterbury. It addresses the rising cases of homelessness found in the city. Whilst some pre-existing organisations and facilities do excellent work to help them, the one thing that this specific community lack is a 'chill' zone – a space specifically for them.

"I wanted to remove the pressure of any preconceived social hierarchies, and I developed a community centre where they could come together, sit, eat and relax, without feeling like outcasts from the wider community."

Student: Adesola Omole Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: adesolaomole@hotmail.co.uk

Sunshine Dream by Anna Bacso

"Working with the Dreamland Heritage Trust, my project looks at the redevelopment of Dreamland's Sunshine Cafe in Margate (UK). Engaging with the trust's brief and Margate's rich culture, I propose a space that brings the community together to promote creativity, local history and tradition.

"I wanted to represent the name 'Sunshine Cafe' by using the natural sunlight and colourful acrylic walls to create a playful and bright environment. The space is multifunctional and can be used for workshops, exhibitions and film screenings. There is a cafe bar and a place where archive documents are safely stored."

Student: Anna Bacso Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: annabacso11@gmail.com

The Safety Net by Armita Vajdi

"Connecting with your personal culture can be an issue for those that are bi-cultural. Living with two cultural identities can often lead to an individual prioritising one over the other, depending on the culture that they are currently interacting with.

'The Safety Net aims to bring aspects of Persian culture to Iranians who have migrated to the UK in order to maintain the connection to their second identity. Members of The Safety Net are provided with exclusive benefits and services, such as a dining area with specialised cuisine, a library of cultural knowledge, a communal social space and a giant backgammon set."

Student: Armita Vajdi Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: armitavajdi@hotmail.com

The City Exchange by Rebecca Rumsey

"It's 2025, and the pandemic has spiralled out of control! The severe job shortages and lack of support have meant that families cannot pay their rent and their mortgages. Homelessness is now the biggest issue that we are facing as a country.

"I propose a members club for Canterbury's homeless community, in the city centre and in view of the famous Canterbury Cathedral. We will provide essential hygiene facilities, a laundrette and personal mailboxes and space for skills-based workshops from CV-writing to culinary classes, to help people reconnect to their former lives."

Student: Rebecca Rumsey Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: r.rumsey@hotmail.co.uk

Civil Agronomy Centre by Cherry Mafutala

"The year is 2030 and the continuing Covid-19 pandemic has caused extreme isolation to become the norm. To combat the negative impacts of social isolation, I am proposing a new pavilion – a new community centre that contains a cafe, marketplace, library and a therapy room to bring people together again.

"With a shared interest in farming and agriculture, there will be workshops in ecology and bee-keeping, as well as space for group therapy sessions. A circular economy to ensure that the pavilion's organic produce is used in the café, in addition to using solar energy to power the centre."

Student: Cherry Mafutala Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: cherry.mafutala@yahoo.com

The Skylight Cafe by Christiane Gerges

"The Skylight Cafe has been designed for people with disabilities such as partial or complete blindness. The intention is to provide this group of people with a modern space that is easily accessible and sensitive to their needs.

"Double-height ceilings and specific materials that play with levels of transparency are key to exploring the way that light moves through the building. For those with less sight-visibility, the texture becomes an important tool to help navigate the building to create a new spatial experience. People with disabilities deserve to have a safe but also a modern space they can find comfort in."

Student: Christiane Gerges Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: christiane-gerges@hotmail.co.uk

New Cafe by Ineui Park

"With a newly emerging virtual culture that can be interlinked within previous architectural culture, space can be designed to allow for more enthusiastic and interactive activities and occurrences.

"Beyond the conventional cafe, providing more than just refreshments to customers, the space will offer a full experience, a virtual environment physically embodied to awaken customers senses and kickstart a new trend of hospitality hotspots."

Student: Ineui Park Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: ineui.park01.gmail.com

Feast! Eat the Rich by James Porritt

"The year is 2030, and the battle against Covid-19 has been lost. Food supplies are limited, and the soil in the UK has turned sour, making it difficult to meet the demands for essential nutrition. Nearly all fresh produce is imported from neighbouring countries, which is becoming increasingly more difficult due to the incompletion of Brexit.

"Society is starting to rebuild itself. However, the class divide between those who have and those who don't is polarised. Poverty and an extreme uncertainty of when they'll next eat. A resistance group has claimed an abandoned building in the heart of Canterbury, hijacking imports to give to those in need, and this is where we resume the story."

Student: James Porritt Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: James.porritt.designs@gmail.com

Lush Haven by Julia Venpin

"The narrative occurs in 2030's Mauritius, where globalisation has led to one homogenous culture. The omnipresence of fast-food corporations offering processed foods has sucked people into the unhealthy habit of eating out.

"The goal of 'Lush Haven' is to allow younger generations to encounter a more primitive and wholesome way of living – reviving home-cooking and rediscovering one's cultural identity through a communal cooking process.

"Using locally-sourced ingredients and eco-friendly materials, the eatery encourages self-sustainability by implementing horticulture and rearing livestock, creating a circular eco-system. Greenery fills up space and grows throughout the building, nature taking over and reclaiming past farmland."

Student: Julia Venpin Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: juliaiadstudio@gmail.com

Conquest House by Rachel Carabine–Clarke

"The Conquest House Project was inspired by the impacts of lockdown and tackling issues relating to food poverty within the local area of Canterbury. I was inspired by the local architecture and history of Canterbury so chose a building deeply rooted in the city's history to host my final proposal.

"My final proposal is based around the narrative of the Conquest House Society, a place where people experiencing poverty and the aftereffects of the pandemic, for example, loneliness, could come to a safe space for support and equality without prejudice or societal status. I am a designer who is interested in narrative as well as materiality and texture."

Student: Rachel Carabine–Clarke Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: rachelcclarkedesigns@outlook.com

Vision by Radhika Chagane

"Vision is an interactive space that provides independence and a reformed reality for the blind community. The objective of this concept is to bring communities together by informing, teaching, and entertaining. It is recreating an atmosphere that reflects the old 'normal' through the play of light, smells and intricate clay textures.

"The space provides events, talks, therapy sessions, sensory activities, various forms of entertainment, and a play area for guide dogs. It also offers opportunities for employment by educating the blind community on cooking and serving. Making the spaces not just for the blind community but run by the blind community."

Student: Radhika Chagane Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: Rad_iad@hotmail.com

Network by Volen Andreev

"This project explores a future narrative of the installation of 5G towers and its controversial relation to the virus, which has triggered a fear amongst the citizens of Canterbury, Kent. In my work I depict a new establishment of safe towns where all radio wave transmission devices have been abandoned in favour of a return to analogue technology. Over time, citizens have put together an intricate and cryptic telecommunication system of towers using scavenged objects that were found in the historic streets of Canterbury."

Student: Volen Andreev Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: volen.andreev@gmail.com

Project 02049 by Xuchen Zhu

"As we move forward in time, the rise in popularity for public transportation gradually replaced the use and demand for private transportation. A side-effect of that is that now there are plenty of vacant underground parking lots, empty and unused. Simultaneously there is the development and promotion of renewable energy.

"Project02049 is made from 80 per cent reclaimed materials – cement, resin, reinforced concrete – and reengineers them into components for light industry and units for urban farming. A facility that inhabits empty parking lots to grow produce and provide sustenance for the urban population. Project02049 presents a sustainable path for future life."

Student: Xuchen Zhu Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: mikezhu2000@outlook.com

Oystcrete by Yen Ling Lee

"This project explores a future of a heavily populated world struggling to control food consumption and waste production. Small towns are forced to find methods to self-sustain and create ecosystems to manage food production and decrease waste.

"This project proposes a hub in Whitstable, Kent that uses local sources like oysters to create farming environments and converts its waste, in particular shells from the food industry, to useable construction materials."

Student: Yen Ling Lee Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: sarayen.archi@gmail.com

Courtyard Houses by Yihan Chen

"China's rural villages are emptying, with more and more people leaving every day to start afresh in the city. As a result, there are large numbers of unused houses and properties being abandoned.

"Because of Covid-19, many are becoming aware of the situation and are looking to the redevelopment of these places, working to combine nature and architecture for a sustainable lifestyle for contemporary young people.

"My project reimagines the traditional Chinese courtyard, adding natural elements and modern design styles to reimagine how the courtyard can be used, combining a youthful atmosphere with respect for the natural world."

Student: Yihan Chen Course: BA Interior Architecture and Design Email: 1030885859@qq.com 

Partnership content

This school show is a partnership between Dezeen and the Canterbury School of Architecture. Find out more about Dezeen partnership content here.

The post Canterbury School of Architecture presents 15 student design projects that imagine brighter futures appeared first on Dezeen.

[imagine-bangtan]

Bonne Nuit (ft. Jimin)

a fluffy jimin requested by anon! it’s super short, but enjoy ^^ || converse

Your hands come to a stop, and a sigh of relief pours through your lips. The blinking cursor asks you if there’s anything to add to your midterm paper, but your eyelids are drooping so low that staying any longer at your desk will result in a mysterious imprint of a keyboard on your forehead tomorrow. You quickly save the document, haphazardly dragging your cursor to your mailbox before sending an attachment of your essay to your professor. You close your laptop, and the darkness that comes with the absence of a brightly illuminated screen lets you close your eyes only for a brief moment.

It’s hard juggling your work-study circumstance. An exchange program course that comes with a foreign internship of your choice sounds stellar in print, but physically and mentally draining in reality. You’re determined to work your way through, but it leaves you tired at times. You stretch out some soreness that had settled into your neck, raising your arms above your head to release some tension there too. It’s a good minute before you open your eyes to turn and let them focus on where the bed is.

Jimin’s fluffy black hair is silhouetted against the white pillows, and as you near your side of the bed you can’t help but admire his angelic face. Even when he’s asleep, he’s still undeniably handsome. Long lashes rest on perfect porcelain skin, and rosy lips accompany a relaxed but angular jawline. There are some things you can accept as small gifts of luck from life, but you would never have expected someone as perfect as Jimin to enter the picture. You slip into the sheets quietly, tucking yourself under the covers and moving as little as possible, ready for some well-deserved pillow zone time.

That is, until you feel an arm slip around your waist from behind. You smile and turn around to face him, and he cradles you gently.

“Finished, darling?” Jimin’s low husky voice vibrates from his throat, and you nod into his chest. “I’m sorry I woke you,” you whisper. He hums, stroking your hair and giving it a kiss.

“It’s fine. I know how busy you can get on Thursday nights.”

“Mhm. Can’t have a dumb girlfriend now, can we?”

“Don’t say that,” and you shiver when his voice takes a dip into a deeper octave. You feel his arms embrace you tighter as he nuzzles into your hair, scattering butterfly kisses wherever he can. “You are perfect.”

“Says the perfect one in this relationship.”

“Nonsense. There’s too much to love about you.”

“What do you love about me?”

“Why, the list goes on forever.”

“Surely you can name a few, then.” You smile at his chuckle and look up to face him. His eyes are sparkling from the moonshine that spills in from the window, and he reaches out a hand to cup your cheek.

“Your humor. You always get me with your wit, and I love how you make me laugh.” He caresses you lovingly, gazing into you with such an intensity that the sleepiness that’s been weighing down your eyes has disappeared altogether.

“Your kindness. Anyone who has met you is incredibly lucky to know you because of how personable you are. And,” he pauses, his hand lowering to take yours and kiss it.

“Your drive. You have passion for all that you do, and your dedication to what you love is amazing. You give so much to everything in your life.”

You inhale sharply, moving your hand against his until your palms are touching. You fold your fingers into his hand and watch as he does the same, intertwining you together. You're silent for a few moments, too dizzy with the feeling of your heart melting, melding, molding into his.

“Darling.”

“Jimin?” It comes out shaky, unstable, breathless.

“I love you. Very, very much.”

“I love you more,” you breathe into him, and he tilts your head up for a soft, gentle kiss. He pulls away only to peck your eyes, nose, speckling your face with his love, and you giggle softly.

“Sleep,” Jimin murmurs. His hand is still holding yours when the two of you fall into dreamland.