#fractured dreamscapes save me

[bluestarlett]

SHUT UP

DONT CHAT TO ME look at my partner’s designs of the cosmic cast. Look at them and WEEP BECAUSE THEYRE SO GOOD

Reason they look so different is because this is if they were FD characters and not cosmic characters SHUT UP AND LOOK AT THEM SHUT UP

[bluestarlett]

listen i have no fucking clue WHY we're drawing him as this ferret.

but it's fucking great I'm drawing Quinn as this ferret once i get the chance

sure ferret whole who even care . original tweet here

[polivias]

A few years ago (*cough* at least a decade ago at this point), I made a proper "tags" page for this blog so people could look for specific Peter x Olivia things to their heart's content. But that was back when people mainly used their computers to go on tumblr, so I'm aware no one has seen the actual look/structure of this blog in a long time. So I created this pinned post with the tags to help you navigate this page :)

Peter x Olivia Tags

Touch and Comfort

Hugs

Kisses

Hands

Looks

With Etta

♥ (love)

Pain (literally, only painful stuff in this tag)

Past P/O events organized by this page

25 days of P/O

One Year Anniversary - The Little Show That Could

Wish Me Luck - A Story About Love

Back to the Start

Tags for each episode under the read-more!

SEASON 1

1.01 - Pilot

1.02 - The Same Old Story

1.03 - The Ghost Network

1.04 - The Arrival

1.05 - Power Hungry

1.06 - The Cure

1.07 - In Which We Meet Mr. Jones

1.08 - The Equation

1.09 - The Dreamscape

1.10 - Safe

1.11 - Bound

1.12 - The No-Brainer

1.13 - The Transformation

1.14 - Ability

1.15 - Inner Child

1.16 - Unleashed

1.17 - Bad Dreams

1.18 - Midnight

1.19 - The Road Not Taken

1.20 - There’s More Than One of Everything

BONUS EPISODE - Unearthed

SEASON 2

2.01 - A New Day in the Old Town

2.02 - Night of Desirable Objects

2.03 - Fracture

2.04 - Momentum Deferred

2.05 - Dream Logic

2.06 - Earthling

2.07 - Of Human Action

2.08 - August

2.09 - Snakehead

2.10 - Grey Matters  

2.11 - Johari Window

2.12 - What Lies Below

2.13 - The Bishop Revival

2.14 - Jacksonville

2.15 - Peter

2.16 - Olivia. In the Lab. With the Revolver

2.17 - White Tulip

2.18 - The Man from the Other Side

2.19 - Brown Betty

2.20 - Northwest Passage

2.21 - Over There (Part 1)

2.22 - Over There (Part 2)

SEASON 3

3.01 - Olivia

3.02 - The Box

3.03 - The Plateau

3.04 - Do Shapeshifters Dream of Electric Sheep?

3.05 - Amber 31422

3.06 - 6955 kHz

3.07 - The Abducted

3.08 - Entrada

3.09 - Marionette

3.10 - The Firefly

3.11 - Reciprocity 

3.12 - Concentrate and Ask Again

3.13 - Immortality

3.14 - 6B

3.15 - Subject 13

3.16 - Os

3.17 - Stowaway

3.18 - Bloodline

3.19 - Lysergic Acid Diethylamide

3.20 - 6:02 AM EST

3.21 - The Last Sam Weiss

3.22 - The Day We Died

SEASON 4

4.01 - Neither Here Nor There

4.02 - One Night in October

4.03 - Alone in the World

4.04 - Subject 9

4.05 - Novation

4.06 - And Those We’ve Left Behind

4.07 - Wallflower

4.08 - Back to Where You’ve Never Been

4.09 - Enemy of My Enemy

4.10 - Forced Perspective

4.11 - Making Angels

4.12 - Welcome to Westfield

4.13 - A Better Human Being

4.14 - The End of All Things

4.15 - A Short Story About Love

4.16 - Nothing As It Seems

4.17 - Everything in It’s Right Place

4.18 - The Consultant

4.19 - Letters of Transit

4.20 - Worlds Apart

4.21 - Brave New World (Part 1)

4.22 - Brave New World (Part 2)

SEASON 5

5.01 - Transilience Thought Unifier Model-11

5.02 - In Absentia

5.03 - The Recordist

5.04 - The Bullet That Saved The World

5.05 - An Origin Story

5.06 - Through the Looking Glass and What Walter Found There

5.07 - Five-Twenty-Ten

5.08 - The Human Kind

5.09 - Black Blotter

5.10 - Anomaly XB-6783746

5.11 - The Boy Must Live

5.12 - Liberty

5.13 - An Enemy of Fate

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Mature Rated Fics Masterlist (65)

Part 1 - Part 58 / Part 59 / Part 60 / Part 61 / Part 62 / Part 63 / Part 64 /

Created: May 24th, 2024

Last Checked:------

Daughters-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: Peeta navigates the rough world of raising girls. A one-shot from the "Two Wrongs" Universe. Dust to Dust-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: Katniss Everdeen was a ne’er-do-well when one night with a complete stranger changed it all. Can love grow after the most difficult of decisions is made? Modern AU. Inspired by the movie, “Obvious Child”. Easy Like Sunday Morning-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: “These easy Sundays where Katniss hunts and Peeta sleeps in my arms.” Gale ruminates over what brought him back to District 12. Canon Divergent Everlarkthorne. Green Crayon, Orange Crayon-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: A friendship sprung from discord over a span of time. A bit of Galeniss but eventually and always Everlark. Modern AU. Lay Me Down, Let Me Dream-katnissdoesnotfollowback, titania522 (ao3) Summary: Summary: Katniss and Peeta share a bond so strong, even death cannot defy it. When tragedy threatens to separate them forever, Peeta risks his soul to save Katniss from an eternity of despair. Inspired by the book, What Dreams May Come by Richard Matheson and the movie by the same name, starring Robin Williams, Cuba Gooding Jr. and Annabella Sciorra. Written for Prompts in Panem, Real or Not Real: Everlark Dreamscape Week. Leading Suspects-katnissdoesnotfollowback (ao3) Summary: When an old friend in need reaches out to Katniss, she returns to the small town she swore she’d never set foot in again. Help Madge and then leave, she decides. But a murder investigation and one sheriff with stupid blue eyes and dimples all conspire to keep her where she thought she’d never want to be. Let's Go for A Walk in the Woods-LemonLuvGirl (ao3) Summary: The woods were forbidden, dark, and untrustworthy, but for a man like Peeta Mellark, who had nothing to lose, they were also his last hope. When his village falls under a curse from the Witch of the Woods, simple and kind village baker Peeta Mellark is tasked with venturing into the haunted forest to resolve the conflict. But what Peeta finds when he reaches the heart of the woods may be more than he bargained for. no grave could hold my body down (I'll crawl home to her)-loungemermaid (ao3) Summary: Finnick makes his way back to Annie, alive but in several pieces. He loses his right arm and leg to the lizard mutts in the sewer. While Thirteen can patch him up, he's going to have to go back, back to the Capitol, if he's ever going to get better. As it turns out, Peeta has to go too, has to try and pull his fractured brain back together. They help each other keep it together. Finnick is there to help when Peeta can't remember what's real and what's fake, and Peeta helps Finnick cope with limb loss. odds & ends-loveleee (ao3) Summary: Just a place to collect the drabbles I've written. Lots of Everlark, some other characters & pairings too. One Last Hope-katnissdoesnotfollowback (ao3) Summary: Peeta knows only that he is supposed to protect her. He doesn't know why and figures out the how along the way, but he knows that he's meant to protect her. A retelling of the Legend of Hercules and his Twelve Labors. 

[that-bajan-kid]

Boku No Hero Academia Chapter 277 SPOILERS

("Fuck off Dad. I'm my own man now." -Shigaraki Tomura 2020)

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Honestly Gran, you should have seen this coming. You of all people should know that Midoriya i-will-break-all-my-bones-if-it-means-i-get-to-save-one-life Izuku is allergic to obeying authority.

Midoriya said fuck you and my quirk, Aizawa is more important. Speaking of Aizawa he looks stuck somewhere between being touched and absolutely horrified.

Aizawa thinks back to that time he told Midoriya he couldn't be a hero, which honestly wasn't the best first impression, and Bakugou comes in with A.P Shot: Machine Gun which looks really powerful. Except that it's not because Shigaraki literally shrugs off his attack and calls the explosions "little fireworks". If four of my favourite characters weren't in mortal danger right now I would be feeding off of Shiggy's dgaf energy.

(Edit: I am currently feeding off of Shiggy's dgaf energy.)

Midoriya tries to restrain Shiggy with Black Whip and ends up being dragged along for the ride instead. Shiggy says he's not really interested in them right now when Bakugou tries to intercept Shiggy again and it looks like he's about to give Bakugou a bitch slap to heaven but Enji shows up in time to punch Shiggy out of the way. Nice to know you're still trying buddy.

(Edit: I'm only just now noticing the blood coming from Enji's nose and mouth. Eh, he'll be fine.)

Endeavour's first and immediate reaction upon seeing his two trouble making interns is to ask where the fuck his son is and I think that's adorable but I digress.

Midoriya tells him that it's just him and Bakugou and now I'm half expecting Todoroki to just appear out of nowhere. Enji refocuses his attention on Shigaraki, who is already on his feet after being punch, like, 30ft across the ground by fists engulfed in flames but I guess that's just the norm for him now.

AIZAWA DON'T SAY SHIT LIKE THAT THAT'S HOW PEOPLE DIE HAVEN'T YOU EVER READ A SHOUNAN MANGA FUCK!

Enji has given up on trying to keep Izuku and Katsuki out of the fight if he was ever trying to begin with and tells them to support Aizawa and tells Bakugou to make sure Izuku doesn't get snatched. Meanwhile, Shiggy's objective has switched to grab Deku and run.

YO WHAT THE FUCK! Has he gone full on AFO now. How the fuck is Midoriya going to explain this? He's gonna have to tell them. Shiggy looks like what ever thread was holding his fractured mind together just snapped and I feel really bad for him. This isn't even dgaf vibes anymore, it's just insanity and I find myself thinking, not for the first time, that they really should just unplug AFO's life support.

(Edit: Low-key waiting for OFA to take over Izuku's mind too to complete the circle)

Ok nevermind Shiggy hasn't completely lost it yet and both him and Midoriya are very confused by what just happened. Enji uses Hell Spider cause it worked so well the first time while Shiggy not only realises AFO spirit or whatever TOOK OVER HIS MIND FOR A FEW SECONDS, he also takes this opportunity to call AFO out for his MASSIVE ego and straight up tells him not to fuck around with his body and that he has his own reasons for wanting OFA, and I stan that so hard. If only Shiggy wasn't actively trying to kill everyone.

DISOWNED MOTHERFUCKER

(Edit: I was joking here but the Madlad actually did it.)

The last time I stanned Shigaraki this hard was the Liberation Army arc. You go Tomura. Be your own man. You don't need that asthma riddled potato head looking ass. Also I like how Hori drew him and AFO together like that. It's like even as he's saying it, AFO is right on top of him.

(Edit: LMFAO)

I really need to keep reading lol. Shiggy says he wants to be better than AFO and then proceeds to DECAY AFO'S IMAGE, permanently cutting ties with him. I think this might be a worse outcome to AFO taking over his body but we'll see.

Gran kicks Shiggy and tells him not to trample on Nana's heart anymore to which Shiggy responds "Who the fuck is Nana?" with the most dazed and confused look I've ever seen in my life. I guess it makes sense since he never found out what her name was. That or he just doesnt remember her. He did decay her and the rest of his family in his weird dreamscape.

Gran thinks back to how defeated AM looked after they found out who Tomura was and comes to the conclusion that Shigaraki breeds pain and suffering where ever he goes, which is a valid assumption to make considering *gestures wildly at the last 10 chapters*.

Gran and Enji charge at Shiggy and Shiggy gets this look of death on his face and it scares me.

Tomura uses jump and avoids them both in favour of going directly after Midoriya instead. Bakugou, of course, expected this and pulls the pin on his gauntlet that's aimed at Shigaraki. I have a bad feeling about this.

All the pros watch in mild horror as Bakugou proceeds to release a bigass explosion right on top of Shigaraki. Bit the real question is: Did it work?

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!??! YOU'RE CITTING BACK TO THE MANSION NOW?!?!?!??!!??!!??!

I don't even know why I'm surprised, Hori's been pulling this shit for weeks. I should be used to it by now.

Alright, let's see how much shit they're in now.

Well shit.

Imma be completely honest with you, I completely forgot about Mt. Lady. I was honestly expecting everyone to be trampled.

I also noticed the Giganto is trying to head in the same direction my children are in and I don't really appreciate that. I like that you sorta make out what's left of the league on Giganto's back. They look like little beans (>w<).

Anyway, show of hands all those who think Bakugou's explosion actually did anything besides blocking Aizawa's line of sight. No one? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Until next time.

[bluestarlett]

Go read NOW!!

NOW!!!

introduction to a dream: prelude to cacophony.

(aka, the first FD fic)

{𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘌𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘵, 𝘛𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘚𝘰 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦, 𝘐𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥.}

—

Atlas is at a crossroads.

There is the path of peace, which has proven countless times to lead back here, endlessly {helplessly, ceaselessly, callously}.

A new path has also appeared.

Atlas might just be crazy enough to take it.

Alone, at the edge of a universe humming a tune.

Atlas trudged along wearily. Yet another failure to become Whole. More trials and tribulations to come, with no end in sight.

With sparkling crystal Souls aglow.

The road was dark. Stars twinkled in the distance, mocking Atlas. Fool. We’ve all been able to go free, why haven’t you done the same? He didn’t deserve to be called Star, to be counted among their ranks. She never shined as brightly as they.

A part of thee,

In the key of what we know to be every part without me.

They stumbled. The path was different. She looked up.

He was at a crossroads.

One path seemed to be the same one that they took every time, always leading back to the same place. Darkness. Dissonance. Cacophony. But the other path…

The other path seemed darker. Painful. Harsh and unforgiving. But maybe…

Just maybe.

Knows only two can make it light.

This path would lead to harmony. Atlas had learned that often, more pain lead to greater outcomes. Perhaps, if this road caused suffering, it would lead to perfect harmony, forever entwined with his other halves in concord.

You’ll live forever tonight.

They turned, taking the path never taken before. He was shrouded in darkness. Something itches at the back of their brain, telling them this was the wrong choice.

She ignores it.

We’ll die together tonight.

[thesandersarchives]

Dreams/Nightmares

A brilliant, wonderful anon ask on my main blog made me think about the canon characters meeting their Sanders Archives selves, soooooo... here we are! Mild warnings for bugs (maggots), body horror, suffocation, vomiting (mentioned only, not described), and panic attacks.

The first thing Logan sees once he realizes he’s dreaming is--well, technically speaking, it’s not a ‘thing’, it’s a man. He doesn’t look like Thomas in the slightest, not like any Side he knows, but somehow Logan knows that this tall, long-haired man is him. And then this other-him turns, and Logan sees his eyes. Or more accurately, behind his eyes.

It’s infinite. Beautiful, if Logan were prone to poetic language. An entire universe of knowledge, inside this man’s mind, and Logan is envious, until the other-him opens his mouth.

“Don’t. Don’t wish for this, don’t seek it out.” There’s a pleading, desperate edge to his voice, and it prompts Logan to look closer. He sees himself, helpless, doomed to watch horror upon horror upon horror and unable to look away, unable to intervene, unable to save the people he cares about as they fall deeper and deeper, and all the while, he’s being watched himself, a specimen under a microscope and nothing more, nothing more--

Logan wakes with a start in his own bed. He switches the light on almost immediately, reaching for his favorite novel to give him a sense of familiarity, comfort, control. When he does eventually return to sleep, he hopes he won’t dream of those eyes again... -------------------------------------------------

Virgil is no stranger to fear, nor nightmares, but this one is the worst he’s had in a while. He doesn’t know exactly what’s chasing him through these twisting corridors with dizzying patterns on the walls and carpet, but he knows that somehow that fractured, twisted monster-thing is him. If he weren’t panicking right now, he’d be able to appreciate the irony that even in his dreams, he’s his own worst enemy.

Eventually, he stumbles, falls--he tries in vain to crawl around a corner, but cold, spindly fingers close around his ankle and drags him back

“I’m sorry,” His own voice, layered over with static, comes from behind him, too close for comfort. “I don’t want to do this, I don’t, I really don’t, I’m sorry--”

Static roars in Virgil’s ears, and he wakes with a gasp, launching himself out of bed and into the hallway before his brain catches up--but it’s not the hallway from his dreams, the adrenaline from the chase is already fading, though he’s still trembling.

Shakily, he staggers downstairs for a coffee. He’s not getting any more sleep tonight. --------------------------------------------

Remus usually has weird lucid dreams, so it’s no special occasion when he finds himself in a basement crawling with maggots. He’s pretty sure he’s already had a similar dream, actually, which is frustrating. He hates repeating himself, hates the thought that he has the capacity to be boring and predictable like Roman.

Nevertheless, he’s having a maggot dream, and he’s determined to enjoy it even if it is a repeat. He strides up to the largest cluster of wormy-squirmy deliciousness, and reaches out a hand. Just before he makes contact, something barrels into him with an incoherent snarl, knocking him flat on his back.

“Leave us alone.” The person above him hisses, voice echoing. His face and what little Remus can see of the rest of his body are covered in holes, which seem to house more of those lovely maggots. And somehow, that’s not even the most interesting thing about his appearance. No, judging by the mustache and the wild look in his eyes, this person is supposed to be him.

Suddenly, the other-him leaps back and away, like he’s been burned, muttering apologies and clutching at his head. More of the crawling mass swarms towards him, covering his feet and legs, going up and up and up while Remus grows uncharacteristically nauseated at this half-mad, helpless version of himself.

He wakes with a shudder, and scrubs a hand over his face a couple times until he’s satisfied that there aren’t any maggot-holes, before rolling over and going back to what he now knows is going to be a fitful sleep. --------------------------------------------

Roman doesn’t often have dreams like this, quasi-realistic, bland dreams of the back of his own head hunched over a book, but perhaps this is meant to be some kind of precursor to something more interesting. With that in mind, he approaches, and gets just close enough to see himself lift a gnarled, mangled hand to turn a page.

He gasps, and just that small little noise is enough to alert his other-self, who stands--tall, taller than Roman thought humanly possible--and snatches the book away. He turns, and Roman looks into a face that is and is not his own, a face that is indescribably wrong.

He takes an involuntary step back, horrified at the sight, and watches the other-him’s wrong face twist into something resembling dismay. He starts to speak, but Roman doesn’t hear--he’s already running. He can distantly hear bones creak, flesh shifting, and he doesn’t look back, no matter what horrifying things he’s seen Remus do, this is worse, so much worse, he’s so much worse--

Roman wakes tangled in his bedsheets, damp with sweat. He heaves himself out of bed with a heavy sigh. His mouth is dry and there’s bile rising in his throat. He needs a glass of water, and he needs it now. ----------------------------------------------

Patton doesn’t have lucid dreams often, but when he does, they’re rarely set in his room. Although perhaps this isn’t quite his room, but it feels like it could be... If he’d transformed into a giant video-game frog and destroyed the place, at least. The whole place is a pile of rubble and dust and remnants of old memories that Patton dimly recognizes.

At the center of the wreckage is a man--at first Patton thinks it’s one of Thomas’ friends, but as he shuffles closer, he realizes that it’s him--well, a version of him, anyway. Covered in dust and dirt and looking bone-tired, waist-deep in a pile of old books and soil.

Patton rushes forward to try and pull him out, but the other-him shakes his head. “No use for it, buddy. I’m in too deep.”

He tries for a grin, but it falters, and he lapses into a coughing fit, sending dust swirling up into the air as he sinks deeper, deeper, dirt spilling from his mouth. Patton’s stomach lurches. He looks back down at his other-self’s dirt-smeared, still-smiling face. 

“Don’t you worry, everything’s fine.” He says, and Patton hears a loud, deep groan before the roof caves in and falls down on top of them both, blocking out the light, the air, everything, and the breath is stolen from his lungs--

Patton kicks off his duvet as soon as he wakes up, stumbling in his haste to reach the bathroom before he throws up. -------------------------------------------------

Janus tries to hide his surprise at the sight of--well, not exactly himself. Himself if Thomas was a few inches shorter, with a slightly more angular face and lighter hair. Himself without scales, with normal human eyes. He used to look a little bit like that, years and years ago, and he finds himself wishing--

“Not the truth, I’m afraid. At least, not anymore.” His other-self says, letting his features melt into a half-scarred face before it morphs into more familiar scales. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He looks impossibly old, for a moment, and there’s a flash of something sad and defeated in his eyes before they cloud over into mismatched mirrors, and just as Janus comes up with a question in his mind, the other-him answers.

“A long time. And mostly alone.”

Janus can’t fathom what he’s been through, what it would be like, and he doesn’t want to. The idea of spending who-knows-how-many years completely on his own sends a chill through him, too close in his mind to the few years he spent in the dark until he found his way to the other banished Sides. He steps forward, for once at a loss for words but determined to offer some form of comfort nonetheless, but his other-self gets there first.

“It’s better this way, and I’m well used to it by now. So you just sleep, no more dreams for you tonight. I’m not built for prolonged socialization, and it’s dangerous for you to linger.”

With that, he puts a hand against Janus’ chest and pushes, gently, until Janus tips back, falling into blackness.

He’ll wake, a little later, with tears drying on his pillow and the inexplicable urge to tear his gloves into little pieces burning in his mind. ---------------------------------------------------

Thomas didn’t expect to meet a new Side in his dreams, but apparently it can happen.

This one seems more like him than the others so far, somehow, but he looks downright miserable. And no wonder, with the cold dampness permeating this dreamscape. Thomas waves his hand in a Roman-esque flourish, manifesting a coat, which he drapes around the Side’s shoulders.

The Side stiffens, turning to look at him sharply, before scoffing and turning away.

“I should’ve guessed.” He says wetly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Thomas isn’t quite sure what does it, exactly, but suddenly something clicks into place and he realizes that this isn’t a Side--it’s him.

...Except it isn’t, quite. He’s seen enough reflections of his own face to know that he’d never hold himself like that, never set his jaw that way, never harden his gaze and shut his emotions away like this other-Thomas is doing.

He gets the feeling that this Thomas doesn’t want to talk, so he merely sits down and wraps an arm around the other-him, waiting for the man to settle into the touch. They stare out into the fog in silence, and Thomas dimly registers other-him leaning against his side before the fog blots out everything else, and he wakes up with the light of dawn leaking through his curtains, a fuzzy, cold feeling in his head, and a dull ache in his stomach like he’s been punched in the gut.

He summons his Sides, all of them, the need to see them and be with them greater than his exhaustion. They all look as worn-out as he feels, even Remus. He sighs, and spreads his arms. “Bring it in, guys. We’re going back to sleep.”

They fall surprisingly easily into a cuddle pile, and Thomas soon drifts back into sweeter dreams with his Sides sleeping peacefully around him. They’ll talk about what they each saw in the night once they wake, but for now, it remains in the past, a fleeting nightmare and nothing more.

[theculturedmarxist]

My dad was born in 1917. Somehow, he survived the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918-1919, but an outbreak of whooping cough in 1923 claimed his baby sister, Clementina. One of my dad’s first memories was seeing his sister’s tiny white casket. Another sister was permanently marked by scarlet fever. In 1923, my dad was hit by a car and spent two weeks in a hospital with a fractured skull as well as a lacerated thumb. His immigrant parents had no medical insurance, but the driver of the car gave his father $50 toward the medical bills. The only lasting effect was the scar my father carried for the rest of his life on his right thumb.

The year 1929 brought the Great Depression and lean times. My father’s father had left the family, so my dad, then 12, had to pitch in. He got a newspaper route, which he kept for four years, quitting high school after tenth grade so he could earn money for the family. In 1935, like millions of other young men of that era, he joined the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), a creation of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal that offered work on environmental projects of many kinds. He battled forest fires in Oregon for two years before returning to his family and factory work. In 1942, he was drafted into the Army, going back to a factory job when World War II ended. Times grew a little less lean in 1951 when he became a firefighter, after which he felt he could afford to buy a house and start a family.

I’m offering all this personal history as the context for a prediction of my dad’s that, for obvious reasons, came to my mind again recently. When I was a teenager, he liked to tell me: “I had it tough in the beginning and easy in the end. You, Willy, have had it easy in the beginning, but will likely have it tough in the end.” His prophecy stayed with me, perhaps because even then, somewhere deep down, I already suspected that my dad was right.

The COVID-19 pandemic is now grabbing the headlines, all of them, and a global recession, if not a depression, seems like a near-certainty. The stock market has been tanking and people’s lives are being disrupted in fundamental and scary ways. My dad knew the experience of losing a loved one to disease, of working hard to make ends meet during times of great scarcity, of sacrificing for the good of one’s family. Compared to him, it’s true that, so far, I’ve had an easier life as an officer in the Air Force and then a college teacher and historian. But at age 57, am I finally ready for the hard times to come? Are any of us?

And keep in mind that this is just the beginning. Climate change (recall Australia’s recent and massive wildfires) promises yet more upheavals, more chaos, more diseases. America’s wanton militarism and lying politicians promise more wars. What’s to be done to avert or at least attenuate the tough times to come, assuming my dad’s prediction is indeed now coming true? What can we do?

It’s Time to Reimagine America

Here’s the one thing about major disruptions to normalcy: they can create opportunities for dramatic change. (Disaster capitalists know this, too, unfortunately.) President Franklin Roosevelt recognized this in the 1930s and orchestrated his New Deal to revive the economy and put Americans like my dad back to work.

In 2001, the administration of President George W. Bush and Vice President Dick Cheney capitalized on the shock-and-awe disruption of the 9/11 attacks to inflict on the world their vision of a Pax Americana, effectively a militarized imperium justified (falsely) as enabling greater freedom for all. The inherent contradiction in such a dreamscape was so absurd as to make future calamity inevitable. Recall what an aide to Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld scribbled down, only hours after the attack on the Pentagon and the collapse of the Twin Towers, as his boss’s instructions (especially when it came to looking for evidence of Iraqi involvement): “Go massive — sweep it all up, things related and not.” And indeed they would do just that, with an emphasis on the “not,” including, of course, the calamitous invasion of Iraq in 2003.

To progressive-minded people thinking about this moment of crisis, what kind of opportunities might open to us when (or rather if) Donald Trump is gone from the White House? Perhaps this coronaviral moment is the perfect time to consider what it would mean for us to go truly big, but without the usual hubris or those disastrous invasions of foreign countries. To respond to COVID-19, climate change, and the staggering wealth inequities in this country that, when combined, will cause unbelievable levels of needless suffering, what’s needed is a drastic reordering of our national priorities.

Remember, the Fed’s first move was to inject $1.5 trillion into the stock market. (That would have been enough to forgive all current student debt.) The Trump administration has also promised to help airlines, hotels, and above all oil companies and the fracking industry, a perfect storm when it comes to trying to sustain and enrich those upholding a kleptocratic and amoral status quo.

This should be a time for a genuinely new approach, one fit for a world of rising disruption and disaster, one that would define a new, more democratic, less bellicose America. To that end, here are seven suggestions, focusing — since I’m a retired military officer — mainly on the U.S. military, a subject that continues to preoccupy me, especially since, at present, that military and the rest of the national security state swallow up roughly 60% of federal discretionary spending:

1. If ever there was a time to reduce our massive and wasteful military spending, this is it. There was never, for example, any sense in investing up to $1.7 trillion over the next 30 years to “modernize” America’s nuclear arsenal. (Why are new weapons needed to exterminate humanity when the “old” ones still work just fine?) Hundreds of stealth fighters and bombers — it’s estimated that Lockheed Martin’s disappointing F-35 jet fighter alone will cost $1.5 trillion over its life span — do nothing to secure us from pandemics, the devastating effects of climate change, or other all-too-pressing threats. Such weaponry only emboldens a militaristic and chauvinistic foreign policy that will facilitate yet more wars and blowback problems of every sort. And speaking of wars, isn’t it finally time to end U.S. involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan? More than $6 trillion has already been wasted on those wars and, in this time of global peril, even more is being wasted on this country’s forever conflicts across the Greater Middle East and Africa. (Roughly $4 billion a month continues to be spent on Afghanistan alone, despite all the talk about “peace” there.)

2. Along with ending profligate weapons programs and quagmire wars, isn’t it time for the U.S. to begin dramatically reducing its military “footprint” on this planet? Roughly 800 U.S. military bases circle the globe in a historically unprecedented fashion at a yearly cost somewhere north of $100 billion. Cutting such numbers in half over the next decade would be a more than achievable goal. Permanently cutting provocative “war games” in South Korea, Europe, and elsewhere would be no less sensible. Are North Korea and Russia truly deterred by such dramatic displays of destructive military might?

3. Come to think of it, why does the U.S. need the immediate military capacity to fight two major foreign wars simultaneously, as the Pentagon continues to insist we do and plan for, in the name of “defending” our country? Here’s a radical proposal: if you add 70,000 Special Operations forces to 186,000 Marine Corps personnel, the U.S. already possesses a potent quick-strike force of roughly 250,000 troops. Now, add in the Army’s 82nd and 101st Airborne divisions and the 10th Mountain Division. What you have is more than enough military power to provide for America’s actual national security. All other Army divisions could be reduced to cadres, expandable only if our borders are directly threatened by war. Similarly, restructure the Air Force and Navy to de-emphasize the present “global strike” vision of those services, while getting rid of Donald Trump’s newest service, the Space Force, and the absurdist idea of taking war into low earth orbit. Doesn’t America already have enough war here on this small planet of ours?

4. Bring back the draft, just not for military purposes. Make it part of a national service program for improving America. It’s time for a new Civilian Conservation Corps focused on fostering a Green New Deal. It’s time for a new Works Progress Administration to rebuild America’s infrastructure and reinvigorate our culture, as that organization did in the Great Depression years. It’s time to engage young people in service to this country. Tackling COVID-19 or future pandemics would be far easier if there were quickly trained medical aides who could help free doctors and nurses to focus on the more difficult cases. Tackling climate change will likely require more young men and women fighting forest fires on the west coast, as my dad did while in the CCC — and in a climate-changing world there will be no shortage of other necessary projects to save our planet. Isn’t it time America’s youth answered a call to service? Better yet, isn’t it time we offered them the opportunity to truly put America, rather than themselves, first?

5. And speaking of “America First,” that eternal Trumpian catch-phrase, isn’t it time for all Americans to recognize that global pandemics and climate change make a mockery of walls and go-it-alone nationalism, not to speak of politics that divide, distract, and keep so many down? President Dwight D. Eisenhower once said that only Americans can truly hurt America, but there’s a corollary to that: only Americans can truly save America — by uniting, focusing on our common problems, and uplifting one another. To do so, it’s vitally necessary to put an end to fear-mongering (and warmongering). As President Roosevelt famously said in his first inaugural address in the depths of the Great Depression, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Fear inhibits our ability to think clearly, to cooperate fully, to change things radically as a community.

6. To cite Yoda, the Jedi master, we must unlearn what we have learned. For example, America’s real heroes shouldn’t be “warriors” who kill or sports stars who throw footballs and dunk basketballs. We’re witnessing our true heroes in action right now: our doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel, together with our first responders, and those workers who stay in grocery stores, pharmacies, and the like and continue to serve us all despite the danger of contracting the coronavirus from customers. They are all selflessly resisting a threat too many of us either didn’t foresee or refused to treat seriously, most notably, of course, President Donald Trump: a pandemic that transcends borders and boundaries. But can Americans transcend the increasingly harsh and divisive borders and boundaries of our own minds? Can we come to work selflessly to save and improve the lives of others? Can we become, in a sense, lovers of humanity?

7. Finally, we must extend our love to encompass nature, our planet. For if we keep treating our lands, our waters, and our skies like a set of trash cans and garbage bins, our children and their children will inherit far harder times than the present moment, hard as it may be.

What these seven suggestions really amount to is rejecting a militarized mindset of aggression and a corporate mindset of exploitation for one that sees humanity and this planet more holistically. Isn’t it time to regain that vision of the earth we shared collectively during the Apollo moon missions: a fragile blue sanctuary floating in the velvety darkness of space, an irreplaceable home to be cared for and respected since there’s no other place for us to go? Otherwise, I fear that my father’s prediction will come true not just for me, but for generations to come and in ways that even he couldn’t have imagined.

[douxreviews]

Cloak and Dagger - ‘B-Sides’ Review

"To Tyrone. My best friend. My port in the storm. My hero."

Oh, Cloak and Dagger, I apologize for ever criticizing your love of the theatrical framing device. It paid off with interest this week.

'B-Sides' picks up a visual metaphor from a few episodes back by continuing to represent the personal experiences of our characters as sides of a record. By placing the record on a turntable, you 'experience' the relevant moments of that character's life as recorded there.

This is just a wonderful conceit, and I'm glad that it's back again this week. Clearly we're intended to wonder whose gloved hands are playing the records, but I was so entranced by the elegance of the visual device that I wasn't really that concerned about that particular question. On some level I suspect I was expecting it would turn out to be Tandy herself, ruminating over all the 'could have been' possibilities of her life.

Because, really, that's what we've been conditioned to expect from this sort of format. We spend an episode looking at one or several 'what if' situations, before returning to the status quo as it was beforehand and continuing on with whatever the season long plot is next week. It's a nice way of exploring a character, it can be useful as part of a character's story arc as it lends itself to self-revelation, and most importantly it's super popular with the cast, as it allows them to play different variations on their established characters and do things that that character would never otherwise be allowed to do. Anyone who thinks that 'Superstar' wasn't Danny Strong's favorite episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer to film is kidding themselves.

Now, I've gone on record as not being a big fan of 'what if' storylines. Usually they're nothing but a huge pause button that keeps the story from progressing, and it's hard to get invested in them when you know that nothing that happens in the alternate universe can possibly have any consequences. I struggle even to get through 'The Wish,' and that gave us evil, lesbian Willow. What saves this episode from feeling like that was the way that they managed to marry in the reveal of Andre as the real villain while raising a thousand other questions about what's been happening, then somehow taking me in with the exact same last second rug pull that wasn't even particularly fresh when they did it on Angel fifteen years ago.

What I'm really saying, I suppose, is that from an objective perspective a plot summary of this episode would read, 'Tandy takes an ambulance ride to a motel.'  In reality a lot more happened than that. What really happened this week is that we found out that Andre was also caught up in same Roxxon explosion that gave Ty and Tandy their powers. While Tandy got 'hope' and Ty got 'fear,' Andre got 'despair.' When looked at in that light, what we're seeing is exactly the same sort of power usage that we've seen Tandy and Ty use to 'go into' the hope/fear of whoever they're using their power on at that moment. The one thing added is that Andre isn't just going into his victims' despair, he's actively increasing it in his victims, because he needs to feed on the despair of others in order to stop the pain of his migraines.

I should note, I'm not a migraine sufferer myself, but I have enough friends who are that I have no trouble believing that someone would readily take that deal if it made the migraines stop.

Two things worth noting at this point. Excellent job of the show in giving us a completely abhorrent, and yet understandable and sympathetic villain. Andre has clearly made peace with what he's doing, and the fact that he helps nine out of ten women that come to him for help, only eating that tenth one, seems to keep the scales nicely balanced as far as he's concerned. Also, even more excellent job by the show in remembering that Tandy was guilty of this exact same thing during her lowest points last year, and not letting her off the hook for it. I'd been a little concerned that they'd given her a free pass on that one.

So we have three despair visions for Tandy this week, each symbolized by an LP played by Andre in the dark dimension. 'Perfect Life,' 'Fractured Family,' and 'All Alone' are the listed titles of the LPs in question. I highly recommend pausing the screen on the albums to read the track lists written on them, because they're a nice piece of prop detail work and tell interesting little stories in and of themselves.

Each of the three 'elseworlds,' for lack of a better term, attempt to break Tandy down into giving into despair, first through the idea of losing her idea of perfect happiness, then when that doesn't work through forcing her to confront inevitable catastrophe, and then finally through attacking her sense of isolation and loneliness. When none of these work, Andre/Despair realizes what's been fairly obvious to the outside observer from the get go; i.e. that Tandy is never going to be taken down by attacks on her sense of self because her sense of self just doesn't rely in any way on feeling positive about herself. That's just not who she is. Once Andre gets that, he makes the obvious play of forcing her to live through the loss of Tyrone, simultaneously tricking the viewer into thinking that that's what's really happening through the tried and true 'Aha, I've escaped from your twisted dreamscape and defeated you in the real world, oh, no, never mind this is still inside the dreamscape and I've lost now' trick.

Once Andre tries this tactic Tandy gives in almost instantly, as anyone who's been watching could have told him she would. And with that her body arrives at the Viking Motel, which is apparently the final destination for the kidnapped girls. Do all the girls have to have their hope violently removed before they arrive at the Viking? We don't know. But apparently it was necessary in Tandy's case. What's going to happen to her inside? We don't know, but now that she's given into despair it can't be anything positive.  Do all of Andre's victims have to be women?  No, that's probably just implicit sexism on either the part of Andre or the show.  Let's give them the benefit of the doubt and say it's Andre.

I'm a big fan of answers that just leave you with more questions. Bring on the next episode, please.

Bits and Pieces:

-- In Tandy's perfect world, she's a ballet dancer with the Met, Ty's a cop, Connors is redeemed, Billy is alive, and even Duane is living his best life. It's strongly implied that Billy and Duane are a couple now, which was a sweet touch. If all of the 'perfect world' stuff was taken from what Tandy would want, then Tandy is a much bigger romantic than we previously knew.

-- What's the relationship between Andre's record store of despair and Ty's dark dimension? Because the record store we see here was clearly in Ty's dark dimension a couple episodes ago. Are they linked somehow? Is Andre... ahem... inside Ty?

-- The use of 'Sweet by and by' as the linking song in each alternate reality was used to nice effect when they used playing it as the reveal that the scene of Ty being shot wasn't real.

-- It's always nice to see Liam again, even schlubby everyman alternate universe Liam.

-- There's a really well done moment when Tandy is in the stolen car with Ty and begins hearing the ambulance sirens bleeding through into the fantasy and she starts chanting 'it isn't real' over and over again. It's a nicely judged moment, because of course she's talking about the siren noise which is actually real while trying to stay focused in the stolen car, which isn't. It's a small detail but I like a show that rewards closer attention to the little things.

-- I can't say how happy I was that in Tandy's perfect world, Ty was still dating Evita. Perfection, to her, did not involve acquiring Ty as a romantic partner. She was perfectly happy with them being dear friends. That was refreshing.

-- The effect of the record changing every time it was flipped over was just neat.

-- I'm happier than I can say that the resurgence of vinyl as a medium means that the kids of today can recognize that static popping sound of an LP that's run to the end. It's just such a useful sound cue.

-- In the perfect world illusion, all the framed pictures in the stairwell are of a veve I didn't recognize. I thought at first it was Andre's and that he must be a Loa or an avatar of some sort, but apparently he isn't. I'm sure that they'll tell us at some point.

-- There is a recurring Marvel villain called D'Spayre, who's sort of a demon/anthropological personification of elemental forces sort of thing.  I couldn't tell you if he's ever encountered Cloak and Dagger in the comics, but Andre doesn't seem to be related to him other than the coincidence of the name. I could, as always, be wrong.

-- My one real criticism of this episode is the problem you almost always get in alternate reality stories. In order to get across what's different in the universe in as short a time as possible, the dialogue becomes ridiculously expository. 'Well, Tandy, as you know the Roxxon explosion didn't happen when we thought it was going to and therefore your father has left town to go to Silicon Valley, leaving me to open a small transient hotel and get this cybernetic leg.'  I get why they have to do it, but it takes me right out of the drama.

Quotes:

Mr. Bowen: "Okay, fine, can we hook him up with some tickets to your ballerina-ing? Ballerama? Dance Battle?"

Ty: "Evita spilled some champagne on me. Might have had a little too much." Tandy: "I knew I liked her."

Ty: "One day, long ago, I saved your life. But every day since you’ve been saving mine."

Mina: "Yeah, I’m not explaining myself to structural engineering Barbie."

Liam: "That’s OK. Birds are people too."

Tandy: "Drive!" Ty: "Uh.. no, crazy white girl."

Andre: "Not misery, Despair. There’s a subtle but distinct difference."

Tandy: "Then I was wrong. I have one person." Andre: "I came to that same conclusion."

I really loved this episode, and I can't wait to see where this is going. Three and a half out of four crappy alternate realities.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

[rhotdornn]

👐 Hold my muse when they are badly wounded/dying

Ever was it in the nature of those beholden to grief to barter with the darkness that shackled their soul, to seek out feats heralding certain ruination, to stitch the brittle fractures of their heart together with daring escapades... With both eyes turned blind in oversight at the consequences, at the peril and the impeding doom that was likely to lay one low. To brave unforgiving pastures and wasted ruins, until their weary feet succumbed to the anchor of fatigue, and their mind gave way to breaking.

One of such lands had come to be known as the foothills of Abalathia.

Upon a bleak cliff, the roll and struggle of scarred digits vied to secure a hold upon the unforgiving nooks and razor pebbles, pressing harshly into their scalp. With nary an axe close to arm, and the swift promise of doom lingering underneath, the vista painted an image most grim; beneath the cliff, a lithe figurine dangled with naught else but sheer willpower fastening her hand against its peak; and above her, the sun would bask in the chestnut fur of an Abalathian grizzly, the beast towering o'erhead with no shortage of malice fueling the rolling drum in its throat.

Lower would the sniff of its trembling snout sink, the tickling wafts of air sweeping betwixt her clutched fingertips inquisitively. Fangs portruded past its upper lip, vowing to a swift lunge against her wrist, writhe as she might. Its hind legs pressed against the gravel firmly as they squared, and off they shot--sending the beast lunging right after her arm.

Yet, as she closed her tear-glazed hues in dismay, the incessant rumbling shadowing her from above would still and dissipate.

The lunge never came.

Her ruddy cheeks, now showered in stalling anticipation, tensed upwards, as her eyes squinted up. The sun ignited the rivulets of sweat that swept past her nose, prompting the refocus of her glare--the bear, once obstructing the sunlight, had obscured it no more; yet neither had it fled, nor had it contemplated a benevolent, sudden change of heart, nay. The firm, merciless grip of two arms collared its throat, drawing it backwards to hoist itself upon its hind legs. The circle of leather-wrapped arms asserted a far greater, constricting choke upon its windpipe, and as the beast sought to toss and tumble, another pair of hands would join the fray--swiftly thereafter presenting a rope around the bear's front paws, and snout to boot.

"Calm now, friend." Rolled a low voice from above, as a louder 'thump' had met the soil. The bear appeared to have been downed in a merciful fashion.However, the remnant shock and fatigue would allow the female little luxury of discerning its source--as her own digits began to dwindle in tenacity, and pry clean of the perch she had dangled from. Yet, try as she might, the coarse, brisk air of Abalathian mountains had long since laid waste to her throat, resulting in little more than raspy coughs and diminutive pleas slithering past her lips. As no cry for aid nor whimper for salvation rose to the heavens, her digits would soon betray her; no longer would razor pebbles roll under her palm, nor would dust curl between their gaps. Her feeble grip finally relented as her eyelids snapped wholly awake, and as the deeply-inked abyss spread its arms in the deep beyond, the chilling wave that coursed her body would corrupt every nerve, every muscle...

Save her wrist.

A sundering heat began to wrap around her wrist, coming to spread further about her arm. Large was the palm that enveloped her limb, and over the cliff, the hooded Roegadyn would muster the strength to tug her upwards, while his companion maintained vigil about his flank. 

"Come, didn't think you'd be leaving us so soon, now?" He hissed through gritted teeth--only to have his attention summoned elsewhere. The cloaked Hellsguard male that surveyed the plain growled out in unease.

"Dornn. That was a--""A cub, I know. Time works against us-""That is to say that any time is left." The Hellsguard intercepted, bending knee to lay himself lower to the ground. "The main host will be upon us soon. The earth stirs before it."

The Sea Wolf knitted his brows together, casting his glance back to the female at his mercy--and to the drop that would claim her below. These were grim tidings indeed, yet... A curious flick was repaid to the other male, as they both affirmed the unspoken notion with a stern nod.

"Listen, lass; I need you to not be afraid, come hells or high water. I'll see you safely through this." The Sea Wolf claimed--yet, much of the female's budding assurance would swiftly be crushed, as the palm around her wrist momentarily gave up its hold, permitting her to drop far past the cliff.

The flurry of winds and ribbons of sharp air suddenly began to wrap about her, as her own fall accelerated tremendously. Little could she grasp in that moment, or struggle to commit to memory; the blur that ensued seemed ever so ghastly and ephemeral... Save for the sudden spike of cold that spiked through her back, beginning to swallow her whole.

Wet. A chilling tide rolled over her corpse, plunging her into ever-darkening depths, as she broke through the glassy surface of water. A lake cradled her in a paralyzing cold, and an ever-welling darkness as she sank lower. The sound of clashing glaives and maiming swords grew all too distant, estranged from her ears more and more the deeper she sank.

As her wounds bled freely to the currents, and as her tears dissipated against the sloshing waters, so too would her lids finally concede, embracing the cradle of the dark waters' bed as her final rest. The last she could glimpse from the surface were the cascading dots of blood dripping from the skirmish above, and their tender, silent 'plink' as they rained against the surface.

Plink...                                              Plink...                                                                                       ...Splash.

The smaller blots began to bleed away from the surface, save but one--one, that stubbornly sought, not only to remain--but it grew ever bolder, ever more dominant in her fading gaze. Finally, her orbs would submit to the snaring, harrowing chill, and her consciousness would drift away, not unlike the last few memories of her, now buried in the deep cold.

Whip, crackle, rustle. If the afterlife paraded scents of flamelicked firewood and heartily roaring ribbons of fire, then she would welcome it eagerly indeed. A distant, tangerine glow began to dance in front of her closed eyes, timidly casting a meek light against her eyelids. Slowly, they would flutter awake, as her eyes rose to a squint--only to be greeted by the visage of a healthy flame, rupturing and rising to the heavens above. A stiff, numbing agent had robbed her limbs of sensations; of herbal scent it reeked, sourcing from a plethora of wraps, cautiously applied around her clawed abdomen, her punctured bicep, her tarnished shoulderblade. The chill that once rooted her nerves had all but dispersed--replaced by an unfamiliar warmth boiling from one flank, and the fireplace from the other.

Mustering the strength to divert her noggin, the femme soon witnessed a resting Sea Wolf guarding her side--his long cloak now draped about her own figure, coddling her in gentile threads of wool and cotton. Opposite to them stood the male Lohengarde, keeping ever-diligent watch over the now-apparent cave.

"She stirs awake." He lowly growled out, without ever turning his head to even lay but a single glimpse upon her. The Sea Wolf perked up at him, thus steering his molten, crimson gaze down at the recuperating lass.

"That she does... Thankfully, none too worse for wear. Fear not, sister; I know your mind must be boggled with many-a-query right now, but it will not do to answer them 'till you gather your wits about yourself." The Sea Wolf would shift a tad further away, finally revealing why he had been in such daring proximity--his extraordinary body heat had been employed to ward off the cold from her drenched form, even if he, too, had still borne hints of water dangling from his molten mane.

"Regardless, hail and well met--you can call me Lion, and my companion over yon is Bear. You've little cause to fear, your wounds notwithstanding--and even they have been treated well, with a rare salve no less, from the mashed leaves of the ever more rare Kingsherb plant." Within his palm an elegant quiver had rested, bearing the sigil of a silver anchor, cradled in an ebony-crimson.

"Yet, given how many tears you shed throughout your captive dreamscape until now... Something has me believe wounds of the flesh would be the least of your concerns, or ours for that matter, given that you are our guest now, after a fashion."

[bluestarlett]

does anybody wanna see some doodles my partner did of Saturn and Helios

Mind solidarity giant fish thing adopts sad emo boy

[moroniic-old]

        x █ || CA EVENT “DREAMSCAPE” DRABBLE

      “THIS PLACE WOULD HAVE BEEN A TRIUMPH IF IT WASN’T FOR YOU!!!”

       the facility is empty. that's nothing new.

     it had been empty for years as he'd watched it deteriorate. the only break in the void had been the test subjects he'd woken up, only to have them die hours later. their screams and pleas for his assistance had never haunted him - he did not care and let them bleed out or be crushed by falling debris. it had never been due to cruelty - he just needed to move onto the next test subject and it was more dangerous to help them. but now he swears that he can hear their screams again - faintly, like a ghost drifting in and out of existence - and wheatley shivers.

        " lady? lady - are you here? also - are you alive? " he sees a glimpse of movement - orange clothing, a dark ponytail disappearing round a corner. " oi! lady, wait - ! " he calls after her; the management only allows him to go so fast, so far - and it's not enough, she's still running away. " hey, it's alright now! look, i'm not going to - i'm different n- " ( 'I'M DIFFERENT!' a turret joins him, speaking in unison, and he does his best to ignore it. ) " look, i'm all better, i'm not going to kill you anymore - honest - but we DO have to get out of here before SHE kills US. that’s - bottom line, that’s the truth here. ” he attempts to reason, chasing after her. he’s moving along the rail so quickly that he fails to realize that it comes to an end rather abruptly, and he’s falling - 

         “ catchmecatchmecatchmeladypleasecatchme! ”

           she doesn’t. she isn’t there. she’s nowhere to be seen, and he only realizes that he’s stopped falling when there’s a large, glaring YELLOW optic directly in front of him. he’s trapped - she’s holding him in a vice-like claw again and he screams. he’s still a core, but he can still feel the hand around his throat. it’s different than her reawakening - there’s scientists crowding around the two of them, studying, refusing to say or do anything while he screams for his life and she plots his demise yet again. ( ‘ like all of those test subjects you left to die, ‘ an unknown voice counters. ) he looks to the emotionless, studious faces of the engineers as anger begins to override his fear.

            ‘ attach the moron core to GLa- ‘

                                       “ I AM NOT. A. MORON! ”

            he’s screaming it at them, and she loses her grip on him; he’s falling again through a sea of black and faint white stars. though the lady is nowhere to be seen, he’s yelling for her to help him yet again. but she doesn’t ( WHY?! WHY DOES THE LADY HELP HER AND NOT HIM?! ) that familiar rage - like a virus - starts boiling up in his mind, blocking out other thought processes and functions as he continues to fall. the lady is supposed to be HIS FRIEND! HIS PARTNER! instead his mind is flooded with the sickeningly familiar paranoia and despair and THAT ITCH AGAIN - ! 

             when the falling finally stops, he recognizes the core transfer chamber; he can feel himself in the chassis again. the entirety of the facility is an extension of him - and why shouldn’t he be in power? he’s been powerless all his life - to the engineers, to HER, to...

             he pauses as he realizes that the chamber is not empty. the lady stands in front of him defiantly ( “ ARROGANT - “ ) - with that damned potato on the end of the portal gun. both the lady and HER are silent ( “SMUGLY QUIET- ” ) it’s only now that he realizes that he’s ceased to be a core, but an android once again. she steps forward, and FEAR rushes through him, but the scowl on his face masks it. his face is wet and he’s crying and bleeding. one of his eyes has stopped functioning, showing everything in a fractured blur. he doesn’t care- he lets himself scream until his voice is hoarse.  

           “ this was all your plan, wasn’t it? you never cared! you never caught me! you could’ve - again! and you didn’t! just let me fall, just let me be crushed and now you’re not even in the city! you could’ve saved me if you were! now she’s just going to keep killing me over and over again! you’re friends with her, aren’t you?! i wanted you to be MY friend! “ the lady gave no reaction, but he swears he can hear HER laughing at him, which only fuels him further. “ i’m not supposed to care about test subjects!” he barely chokes out. ( “AWFUL JUMPSUITED MONSTER OF A WOMAN!”)  

             “ but i DID care about you! you were the first human that never let me down or called me a MORON and now you’re gone and i don’t even know if you’re DEAD - ! ” he’s sobbing; shields instinctively surround him all over again. “ just GO! i don’t even CARE anymore - i wish i didn’t - because CLEARLY you never did for me! you wouldn’t have let go if you did...! ” 

               finally, his mind and the surrounding dream begins to quiet; the facility is no longer shaking. the sound of bombs in the distance is gone. her laugh has faded as have the whispers of ghosts. the shields withdraw and the lady is gone.

                he’s alone. that’s nothing new.

[illapa-greybane]

The Nightmare Arc: IX

Or: In Which The Author Scrambles To Cover The Hole In The Narrative Where The Scion Was Supposed To Be

Even in their shattered state, bleeding and sobbing in the center of a pile of detritus, Solarine managed to lift one hand to rest it atop Illapa’s head as he rested it atop her nude lap. She was shivering, either with grief or with shock, as she twined her fingers through bloodied silver strands of hair.

And then, amidst the quiet sobs and shudders that ran through her now soft flesh, her skin began to glow, a faint but warm light enveloping her and then Illapa’s upper half.

It was a slow, incomplete mending, but the worst of the bleeding slowed to a drip, enough to buy them time before they either escaped or the Nightmare found its way back into the pocket dimension. She never quite stopped crying, though the shivers eventually abated and left just her hands to tremble and her teeth to chatter with each laboriously-drawn breath.

The gentle glow swelled and washed over Illapa. The tense, bloated pain of internal bleeding dulled as it slowed to a trickle; he gasped out a sob of sudden relief as a suite of broken bones realigned themselves. It was slow, incomplete, but he felt his mind clear and sharpen as his worst injuries mended.

Gingerly, he sat up, feeling all the still-pliant joins of spongy bone that had grown to fuse a multitude of fractures – but he managed to sit up and gather the naked, trembling priestess into his arms, holding her tight to his lean chest, offering (and perhaps taking) what shelter and comfort he could.

A flush of what could only have been guilt or shame flooded the Priestess’ cheeks, which had been sallow and bloodless, as that sound – a sob, so alien coming from Illapa, normally so resolute.

She opened her eyes, the sclera reddened and lashes clumped together with tears. Here, in her Dream, freed from the grip of Nightmare madness, the irises were the deep, pure azure blue of freshly-bloomed cornflowers. Solarine lifted a trembling hand and wrapped it around Illapa’s index finger, gingerly, as if afraid she might break it if she gripped it too tightly.

“I knew you would come,” she whispered hoarsely. “But I did not realise… I never finished the rites of ascension. It was incomplete, but I thought it would buy time…”

“It did,” Illapa said, his hands stroking her cheeks and hair as if to reassure himself of the shape of her, the familiar softness under his fingers. “Even if your judgment was clouded, you did what you had to do, and it bought time enough. To keep the Nightmare at bay just a little longer; to give us time to reach you.”

Us. Her brilliant blue eyes widened up at him, and he turned his head to find the Scion standing there, as he had known intuitively it would be.

The creature stood a few lengths away, beyond their circle of verdant light. Compared to him, the monster was ivory and pristine, its flesh unstained by blood and ichor, its movements graceful and unburdened by pain and injury. It stood in the midst of the glittering rubble, turning a piece of sculpted porcelain over and over in its hands with a strange sort of melancholy. Even as they watched, the fragment crumbled away into white dust, slipping between the creature’s ivory fingers like sand through the neck of an hourglass.

“You–” Solarine’s soft, tear-choked voice began, but was immediately interrupted by a much harder, much deeper, and much more venomous voice.

“You,” Illapa said, his eyes narrowed dangerously – still stained violet and indigo, their sclera flooded a solid crimson from burst blood vessels. “How dare you.” Bits of debris crunched beneath him as he tried to gather himself to stand, all the while internally cursing the half-healed body that struggled to obey his commands. “That was always your intention, to bring me here then abandon us, all so you could intervene with your ‘life-saving’ temptation.”

“Don’t,” Solarine gently interrupted his tirade, taking his face between her hands and turning it away from the monster, back to the gentle light of her clear blue gaze. “It was only trying to save you, in the only way it knows how.”

She continued, gently but firmly in her urging, before Illapa could speak again. "Perhaps you are correct in your judgment, but do not spend your energy on that in this moment. You need to save your strength until we return to our plane of existence.“ She looked up into the stars, then about at the utter ruin and devastation left in the wake of her failed, Nightmare-fueled ascension.

“This place is going to start falling apart. The magics I used to separate it from the rest will fade soon, and we must leave before that happens. I do not know what will become of us if we do not.”

“Our treachery has not gone unnoticed,” the Scion spoke, as though Illapa’s accusations and Solarine’s defense had fallen on deaf ears. “The power that encapsulated this place is unraveling.”

The monster’s head tilted on its slender neck, as though listening to a strain of music in a distant room.

And then a sound, deep beyond hearing, but felt in the bones and blood. A single heavy pulse, like a knock at a distant door. It ran through the platform beneath them, through the air around them, even through the stars above them, the entirety of that strange dimension shaken to its foundations. The pounding sounded again, louder, deeper, not fading away this time but drawing out into a low, creaking groan of strain as if the starry sky itself threatened to collapse on them.

“It is breaking through,” the Scion said.

“What?” Illapa demanded, despite the deep and dreadful knowledge of an answer he already knew. “What is?”

“The heart of corruption,” the Scion answered. “The close of the long circle. The herald of the coming end.”

It crossed the distance between them in a few regal steps; behind its ivory silhouette, the stars were going out, one by one, as the sky itself groaned in protest.

“It has seen us. It has foreseen us, and while you have done something unprecedented, you have done nothing to change what is to come. You know this, Our mortal aspect. You have been watching the signs; you have been listening to the turning of the song.”

It raised one eye-studded hand, stiletto-pointed fingers beckoning, drawing their attention up the gaunt, misshapen body to the blind planes of its face, to the solemn mouth and its dire words. “But hearken to what We say, Our Eyes: you have seen nothing like what is coming to this world. When the circle completes, when the torches are lit, when the keys turn, then you will reconsider the salvation We offer.”

Another dimension-shaking tremor reverberated through the starry void; another hundred suns went out, as though snuffed by the Scion’s bleak and terrible warnings. Illapa looked up into the half-face of his counterpart, and for the first time saw not a misbegotten creature, not the cast-off remains of a failed ascendancy – but a monster, a true monster, a living portent of stranger times. A divine beast saying, come and see.

And for once, he was speechless, the words stolen out of his throat.

As the dimension slowly collapsed under the incessant pressure of that unseen, incomprehensible presence, the Scion turned away. It flexed its hands, all four of them with their dagger-like fingers, then spun with all of the deceptive strength in its gaunt body. Its jagged fingertips sank into the fabric of the dreamscape around them, tearing through it in great furrows like it was the backdrop of a stage play. Space warped and billowed around the new wounds in the world, and Illapa clung to Solarine as they all fell through the rents the Scion tore in that dying reality.

They fell, through gray mist and crimson fog; and though he clutched Solarine tight to himself as they fell, cupped the back of her head with his hand and pressed her face tight to his chest, he could afford himself no such mercy.

He saw the great crimson thing that assailed her tiny, dying dream-world: a tumorous amalgamation of boneless appendages and gnashing mouths and a network of trailing, venous tissue that spread through the void beneath its leviathan mass. He saw the great, lidless eye, saw the tooth-lined pupil large enough to swallow him whole, saw the weight of vast, uncaring eons in its unblinking gaze.

He saw it, and it saw him, before they fell away and the mist swallowed its massive form.

[bluestarlett]

Alignment chart (featuring atlas)

Mind you Polina BARELY makes the cut for functional. She’s not that functional but she’s better than Asteria. Slightly.

[bluestarlett]

[Introduction post, I suppose?]

[Uhh. Hello. My name is Blue (Full online legal name is Sydney Blue Starlett) but you can call me Mind if you wish.

I’m a minor, so do not be weird to me (fine with adults interacting so long as you arent… odd. However, NSFW blogs please refrain from interacting.)—also agender and lesbian. Fine with any pronouns but they/sun are most preferred.

I pretentiously am an artist—I also am a theatre kid and a lousy excuse for a band kid. and a writer. I am... admittedly, a lot of things. Funnily enough. I'm also the creator of the Cosmic AU (Chonny's Charming Cosmic Confluence) on AO3 so if you recognize me... thats neat. I'm also infamous for making like 17 different aus for one fandom every time i get a new fixation so.

fandoms are in tags,

Uh... DMs and PMs are fine! And asks. Feel free to harass me. (Not genuinely, but you understand what I mean.)

I post Eclipse sometimes. Not often, and I do so very sparingly (all of my AUS have HMS as siblings save for one, that’s the only au which I’ll ever discuss jashipping.) I don’t tag them as jashipping, though, so if you don’t wanna see eclipse yuri filter out anything #rotting au related.

P.S. NEVER BE AFRAID TO SEND REQUESTS!! I love doodling things for people. I’m also always open to art trades!!!

I'm, admittedly, not good at introductions.

also go check out my partner or I'll have you sautéed.

...That was fun.

goodbye.]

extra; tags that I use!

#chonny's charming cosmic confluence = posts specifically related to my cosmic au

#serpentposting = anything related to my original story i'm writing, Serpent ! might post about them. key word might

#blue yaps = me. yappin

#evil blue taps = me. yappin (evil)

#fave = …my faves

#save 4 small = for when I am small I feel like these don’t need explanation

#fsc mind = femme sea creature mind posts

#fractured dreamscapes save me = posts about fractured dreamscapes (My partner’s CCCC AU. You should check it out!)

[bluestarlett]

GO READ IT NOW NOW!!! NEW FD FIC ITS SO COOL I LOOVOCISONDIEBRJRBEJEHRHRHRH I LOVE MY WIFE