#i'm a human barometer

[thethingything]

last night I was feeling pretty bad physically and Lucy was like "yeah it feels like the air pressure's dropping. go check the surface pressure charts because I bet we're in for a rough few days with it" and wow they were right and I'm impressed by them recognising that that's what was going on just based on the vibe of the joint pain we've got, but wow I don't like this

[cuubism]

Rock Paper Scissors

Dreamling | Pre-Slash | 5.7k | AO3

Dream suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead." "Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me." "I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds." "Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

Hob gets challenged to a duel. Too bad his opponent has it out for Dream, and has no intention of playing fair.

--

the first fic I ever started writing for Dreamling a year and a half ago, then forgot about! 😂 then randomly decided to finish.

--

“ROBERT GADLING,” yelled an individual Hob had never met before in his life, “I hereby challenge you to a duel!”

Hob squinted at him. Said individual was standing across the darkened street, dressed strangely in a white tunic flecked with gold. Then again, Hob’s barometer for strange was a bit different than what was normal, so who was he to say, really.

“What?” he said.

Suddenly this person was much closer to him. Hob flinched back, but couldn’t move much, close as he was to the pub door. “We have business,” hissed his pale-suited challenger. It was a masculine figure, blond hair swished to one side, eyes like fire. 

Hob wasn’t impressed. He’d seen worse. Better, too.

“Listen, mate,” he said, “I don’t really have time for this. I’ve already got something on the books tonight. Come back tomorrow.”

He started to walk through the doorway, but the… creature?—he didn’t think it was human—grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We have business,” it repeated.

Hob tried to shake off its hand, but its grip was like hot iron. It seared through his jacket and burned his skin. 

“What business?” he snapped. “I’m certain we’ve never met before, and my memory is actually pretty good, long as it is.”

The creature smiled, more like a baring of teeth. “You have courted those who have harmed me—and my ilk.”

“Not clearing it up at all.”

There was a sound like the swishing of a thousand ghosts, and then Dream was beside him.

Dream. How strange, still, to have a name, a history—well, sort of—to put to the face he’d circled back to over and over again for all these years. The name cut his friend into sharp relief—Hob’s shadow, finally united with the being who cast it. 

Where the pale stranger burned white-hot, Dream emanated cold. Hob had always found his friend’s cold aura strangely comforting. It didn’t feel dangerous and biting like the winter wind. Instead, it was the cold of lake water when one dove deep enough, a subtle and quiet draw to the otherworldly. 

Well. Usually it didn’t feel dangerous. Right now, it felt positively hypothermic.

Dream’s presence chilled the air until the stranger was forced to yank his hand away from Hob’s arm, shaking it out with a hiss. Hob’s breath fogged the air in front of his face, never mind that it was summer.

“Phaethon,” Dream hissed on one long, cold breath. “You are not wanted here.”

Phaethon pulled himself up haughtily. “I can go as I please. Night, or no night.”

“You may test that theory if you wish.”

Phaethon faltered, just a bit, before recovering himself. “I am here only to deliver a message. I challenge you, Robert Gadling, to a duel.” His blazing eyes flickered over to Hob, then back to Dream. “I did not believe you were one to violate the old rules of challenge, Lord of Dreams.” 

He bowed slightly. It felt mocking, which rankled Hob, who’d otherwise been keeping his cool. 

“Are you going to explain what this is about?” he said, for the third time. “I don’t appreciate being accused of things I haven’t done.”

Instead of answering, Phaethon said, “I’ve uncovered your history. There’s quite a lot of it, isn’t there? I wager it could make quite a bit of trouble for you, having all of that information turned over to certain parties. Human authorities. Occultists. Vampire hunters, they’ll love you–”

“I’m not a vampire,” Hob snapped.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, we can do that, or, you can choose to face me directly.”

“What do you seek to gain from the challenge?” demanded Dream. He seemed to know more about what was going on here than Hob, which wasn’t comforting. Hob didn’t particularly want to get drawn into some kind of immortal creature game with obscure rules he’d end up tripping over.

Phaethon’s grin emerged one tooth at a time. “I want… your dreams.”

Hob probably should have been more troubled by this. Instead, he just frowned in confusion. “Not sure that’s in your power, mate. You’re aware who you’re talking to?”

He didn’t need to gesture to Dream looming over his shoulder.

“If you agree to the terms,” said Phaethon, a hiss like lava dripping over stone, “then the magic will bind us.” 

Dream didn’t contradict him, but his anger cooled the air until Hob felt like he was standing atop a glacier.

“I think I’ll pass,” Hob told Phaethon. “Feel free to try to reveal me. I’m good at disappearing.” 

He turned to go—

“Lord Morpheus.” Phaethon turned the beam of his gaze on him, sunlight ricocheting off ice. “Will you stand in his stead?”

Hob grit his teeth and, against his better judgment, turned back around. “Don’t bring him into this. Look, if I win your challenge, what do I get in return?”

“You may request whatever you like,” said Dream. “Such are the terms of the agreement.”

“Fine. If I win, then I want this: you never speak to or of me again. That means no threatening me, no using me to threaten anyone else, no telling anyone about me—nothing. Got it?” God, Hob just wanted to go inside and have a beer.

Phaethon gave him a little bow. “Fair enough. I accept the terms of this challenge.” 

Dream seemed aggravated; a trickle of energy, like black lightning, scurried up the back of his neck and disappeared into his hair. But he didn’t intervene.

Hob and Phaethon shook on it. Then Phaethon retreated into the shadows again, calling, “Tomorrow at midnight, Robert Gadling. I will see you then.” Then his eyes blinked out and he was gone.

Hob shuddered. Good riddance. He rather preferred his eldritch creature to that one, thanks very much.

“What was that?” he said.

Dream’s presence was warming again by small degrees. The atmosphere was now more like an industrial freezer than Antarctica. “A minor demigod.”

“Oh, minor. Alright then.” 

“They are occupied by petty troubles,” said Dream.

Hob looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but elected not to comment. 

“Come on,” he said instead, leading the way back toward the pub. “We’re supposed to be having an easy night of it, dammit!” He wasn’t about to let some minor demigod ruin his night. He never knew how many of them he would get with his friend.

Dream’s gaze lingered on the spot where Phaethon had disappeared, but eventually, like the sweeping of a long coat tail, he followed.

---

"So, a duel," Hob remarked as they sat down across from each other in the pub booth. "I admit, I haven't dueled anyone in a few centuries, but I can't imagine it'll be—”

"It is not what you are thinking of," Dream interrupted. He had folded himself into the booth seat like a stick insect trying to cram itself in a jar. It was an absurd image, the long black coat, the spindly arms on the tabletop. "It is not a fight of the physical form. It is a battle of the mind and will."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"In such a challenge—” Dream began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a waitress, there to take their order.

"So, what can I get for you chaps?" she said brightly.

The idea of Dream being a chap was so hilarious Hob had to stifle a laugh. Yeah, maybe he wasn't taking the whole duel thing seriously enough. Oh well.

Hob ordered a beer and a plate of chips. When Dream showed no sign of speaking, he ordered for him, too.

“You can order whatever you like,” Hob told him, when the waitress had gone. “It is my pub and all.”

Dream picked up the laminated menu gingerly. It wobbled in his hands. He looked down at it with a flat expression.

Hob realized belatedly that he probably didn’t know what to order. How much had pub food changed since— God, 1910 or so? And it wasn’t like his friend would have had much time to peruse menus since, what with all he’d been up to.

“Just try the chips,” Hob said, taking the menu away from him. “We’ll see how far that gets you.” 

"I have no need of human food," Dream said, folding his hands back on the table.

“Sure, and I technically don’t need my left leg, either, but I do rather like having it.”

“You say strange things,” Dream murmured. “As I was telling you. In such a challenge—” 

The waitress returned with their drinks. Dream glowered at her. Hob thanked her brightly.

"So, you were saying?" he said, sipping his beer. "In such a challenge…?"

"In such a challenge—”

The waitress arrived again with their chips. Dream slammed his hands on the table, shaking the chips in their basket and making the waitress jump. 

"Sorry," Hob apologized, "we've had a bit of a day." Wasn't it always.

"In such a challenge," Dream continued when she had gone, in a tone that suggested he would not be stopped this time, "one must suggest a mind-form, which one's opponent will attempt to surmount and defeat. Then you attempt to defeat their new form, and so on until one challenger is victorious. It is… a predictive game, of sorts. If one can predict what one's opponent’s moves might be, one can choose forms to foil them. This can easily become complicated."

"So, it's like chess," Hob summarized.

Dream stiffened, lips pressing into an offended line. "It is not so simple as chess."

"Checkers?"

"It will not help you to think of it so." Dream took a chip and bit into it in irritation. "You just— oh." He stared at the chip. "These are quite pleasant."

"Can never go wrong with a good chip," said Hob, then furrowed his brows. "Haven't you had them in dreams before or something?"

"Presumably. It has been at least a century." 

Ah, yeah. That. "Well, they're frying them in veg oil instead of lard nowadays anyway. Kind of a different experience." 

Dream stared at him as if Hob made no sense whatsoever.

"Anyway," Hob continued, "am I even going to be able to create these mind-forms? I'm not exactly an otherworldly being." 

"The power is in you, though it may be more challenging to harness. And easier to let slip from your grasp. It is imagination, after all. Humans are good at imagination, though perhaps not so good at holding onto it."

"Hmm." Hob munched on a chip. "Okay. I'll work on my imagination." After seven hundred years or so of life, it was possibly a tool that needed some sharpening. 

"I admit it offends me greatly that Phaethon would presume to ask a human to fight in this way," said Dream. He suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead."

"Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me."

"I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds."

"Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

"Do not joke," Dream growled. Actually, he never truly growled. It was more like his voice dropped into a lower register than usual. Which was saying something. Hob interpreted it as a growl, though. "Do not joke when your existence is at stake. Your immortality cannot protect you from this." 

"Are you saying I'd be unmade if I lost?" Hob asked. It was a concerning thought, to say the least. It had been a long time since he'd had to concern himself with his own mortality.

Dream’s tongue ran over his lower lip. "Potentially. The terms of the fight do not state so, but I do not know how such a duel will affect a human. The strain of it may simply tear you to shreds. It nearly drained me, the last time I fought."

"Wait, you had a fight like this? Recently?"

Dream tilted his head, gaze paling in confusion. "I told you that I went to Hell to retrieve my helm." 

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me you had to mind-battle– who'd you mind-battle anyway?"

"The demon chose Lucifer Morningstar as his representative." Dream’s lip curled in distaste. "Hence, the near loss."

Hob looked at him in concern. "Are you alright, though?"

"Of course I am all right." He spoke it as two words, like the phrase had never before graced his tongue. Hob wanted to let out a long-suffering sigh, but managed to restrain himself. "I am Dream of the Endless."

"Mmhmm. Yep. Okay."

"You do not have to worry about me," Dream said stiffly, parroting Hob's words from before.

Hob thought that was evidently untrue, but decided not to mention the century of imprisonment or the multiple near-death experiences— could he die? Maybe it was more like multiple near-misses with eternal agony— since then. To preserve the relative peace of the moment. 

"So how'd you beat the devil, then?" he asked.

"I had everything to lose. Lucifer had nothing to lose, and only a paltry amusement to gain."

Was that an answer? Hob wasn't sure. 

"Okay," he said. "Well, I do have all of my dreams to lose, apparently. Plenty of incentive to win."

Ice crystallized along the rim of Dream’s glass, spreading from where his fingers pressed. “You speak as if you think I would ever allow this to happen.”

Hob raised an eyebrow. “I thought the magic was binding?”

“Only by honor.”

“And so… what would happen if you violated that honor?”

The words trickled out of Dream reluctantly. “One’s word would not be trusted again.”

“Right. Exactly. I can’t let you do that, love. There’s a whole eternity of words needing to be trusted after this.” It was tempting, honestly, to let his more powerful friend step in and handle this—especially as Hob still hadn’t gleaned what the hell he’d even done to piss off Phaethon—but ultimately, it wouldn’t be right. He’d never used Dream as a clean-up tool for any of his problems in the past, and he wasn’t about to start just because he now knew he was the Lord of Dreams.

Dream’s expression darkened further. He truly was capable of embodying shadow when he was annoyed; Hob didn’t know how he hadn’t figured out the extent of his supernaturalness sooner, honestly. “You would not let.”

“Hey. Come on. I’ve solved plenty of my own problems, haven’t I? Have a little faith.” Hob kind of wanted to pat his hand, but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “You don’t think I can win a duel against this Phaethon guy?” 

Dream seemed uncertain about it, and Hob couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Sure, he wasn’t a supernatural entity, but Hob had gotten himself out of a fair number of scrapes, and without the help of any Endless, thanks very much! 

“His rancor disturbs me,” Dream said at last. “I do not know what you have done to offend him.”

“Nor I. Never met the guy.”

Dream seemed lost in contemplation. Hob let him, and kept eating the chips.

Eventually, Dream said, “Even if this loss did come to pass… you would always have a place in the Dreaming.”

Hob’s breathing stuttered. “With you?” he said, sounding much smaller than he’d expected. It was… an ill-considered response, to say the least. 

Dream shifted in his seat. “I am the Dreaming,” he said. “It is part of me, and I it.”

“I see,” said Hob. But the thought kept turning within him.

---

No more was said on the matter until their beers were drunk and their chips polished off and they were strolling out the door of the pub. 

As they crossed the threshold, Hob was struck by a realization. He slapped Dream on the breast of his coat, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm an idiot! Of course it's not like chess. It's metaphysical rock-paper-scissors!"

"Are you intoxicated?" Dream asked wearily.

"Nope. Just happy to have my old friend around again."

Dream’s form, unbreakable as the darkness between stars, stuttered. Behind him, his shadow wavered.

Then he swept away, leaving Hob to catch up. 

---

They met again on the field of battle, so to speak.

Phaethon was there before them, melodramatic in his white-and-gold cape. Not as melodramatic as Dream, though, whose eyeliner seemed darker than usual, somehow, and whose cloak swept all the way to the ground, pooling more like liquid than fabric. He was very displeased about these events, Hob could tell.

Hob shook Phaethon’s hand formally. Once again, the touch burned him, but he resisted the urge to shake his hand out in pain. Then they stood across from each other. Hob wished he had a sword, but that was not this game.

"As the challenged party, you commence the duel," Dream told him, standing not far from Hob’s side as Phaethon paced before them, grinning. "You may choose your form and begin."

Hob had thought long and hard about how he would start. He didn't want to go too big, else the fight escalate beyond his control. Obviously, he didn't want to pick something weak either.

What was out there that had tormented mankind, sowing destruction, breeding fear and illness and death, while barely reaching higher than an ankle? 

Hob had lived through it. The choice was obvious.

"I am a plague rat," he started, and saw Dream’s eyebrows twitch. Impressed. Ha! "Hiding in shadows. Letting sickness into our food, homes, blood."

He saw the rats in his mind. Scurrying through tunnels, climbing into grain stores, unaware of what they carried. A seething mass of tails and slick fur and beady eyes, churning, churning, churning. 

Phaethon curled in on himself, limbs creaking, boils popping on his skin and pus leaking from his eyes. Hob flinched at the reminder of those times. Horrible, horrible times.

Mentally, Hob prepared for the counterattack. Paper beats rock. What beats rat? Dog beats rat. Cat beats rat. Famine, extermination fumes, plague doctors, modern medicine—

"I," Phaethon ground out, through the contortions of his body, "am a flood."

Oof. Good one.

"A swelling, raging river, decimating any town in my path. Washing rats down to their deaths." 

A phantom wave smacked Hob in the face and hurled him to the ground. It crashed over him, gallons and gallons of water, surging up his nose, into his eyes, down his throat. He choked on it. He drowned in it. Debris in the floodwaters bruised him till he felt like a branch spinning out in the current, rather than a human.

Then. He managed to take in a breath.

He staggered to his feet.

Dream was standing a step closer, like he'd lurched forward, but he forced himself back into stillness.

"I," Hob said on a gasping breath, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, "am a drought." Phaethon had taken it to another level? Fine. Hob would go scorched earth. "Whisking away all your water. Turning everything into dust."

Phaethon choked, throat suddenly dry. His eyes went bloodshot. His skin flaked and peeled, his lips bled. He clutched at his stomach as it heaved for water.

He could go rain again, Hob thought. Or ice age. Asteroid. Biblical flood—does that count if he already did a regular flood?

"I am famine," said Phaethon, when he'd recovered himself, though he was still rasping. "I wither crops without water. I starve everything that walks."

Hob's stomach caved in on itself. He fell to his knees, retching nothing but bile. His mind flashed back to his decades on the streets, so long without food he'd thought his stomach would start eating itself—and then it had. 

His arms shook. His body felt thin and liable to crack. 

"I," he croaked, still on all fours, "am an oasis. Rising from the desert, real, not a mirage. Offering reprieve." 

Too late, he realized this might restore his opponent. 

But instead, Phaethon creased and cracked, like he was the famine, persecuted by salvation. He clasped his stomach as if it was overfull; water poured from his mouth.

Water filled Hob's mouth, too, but it restored him. He climbed back to his feet.

Dream was definitely closer now. He wasn't imagining it. Still, he didn't intervene.

Phaethon was visibly weakened, but still he said, "I am selfishness. Infighting over limited resources. Society destroying its oasis."

Hob's limbs were torn in opposite directions. He yelled, but the invisible hands on him didn't let up, yanking at him like he was the final piece of food before everlasting deprivation. He pulled at them, but it was no use.

One of his shoulders dislocated with a loud pop, and he bit down on his tongue so as not to scream. Blood exploded in his mouth.

"I am generosity!" he yelled, blood dripping over his lips. "I am brother sharing with brother. Stranger sharing with stranger."

Dream was looking at him now like he didn't know what to make of him. Phaethon, too, was staring at him, but with a look of disgust. 

"High-minded idealist, are you?" he sneered. "What the hell is generosity going to—”

His expression broke in half. His hands shook; he picked at his nail beds until they peeled and started bleeding. His lip wavered and his eyes beaded with tears.

Hob didn't know what was happening to him.

"Shame," Dream breathed from behind him. "So clever, Hob."

Hob hadn't actually known what generosity would do, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

"I," croaked Phaethon, through tears, "am memory. History and anger curdled to a resentment which no generosity can overcome."

He felt Dream’s eyes on him, as he no doubt feared the anger, the resentment he so believed that Hob held over his absence would surge forth again. But it did not, for Hob had never been angry with Dream. Angry with himself, yes, and that he felt acutely, along with the fear and hurt of Dream walking away, the stewing guilt of it.

Memory held more than anger. Mostly, for Hob, it held grief. Grief for his friend who'd been imprisoned for so long, while Hob went about his life, imagining him lonely, isolated perhaps, but never knowing the truth. Grief for himself, too, for he knew that to always blame himself for Dream’s behavior had also been unfair. 

Tears slipped from his eyes. He looked over at Dream, who was still watching him warily.

Memory had far too many facets for Phaethon to use it as an effective weapon.

"I am forgiveness," Hob said, closing his eyes against a fresh welling of tears. He didn't know who he was forgiving. Himself, or Dream, who still seemed to need absolution from Hob, no matter how Hob told him he didn’t.

"I am hatred!" Phaethon snarled. His voice had gone animalistic in a last ditch effort to come out on top. But forgiveness clanged around him, pulling tears from his eyes, undermining his viciousness. "I am division even forgiveness cannot mend."

Just like that, he opened up the path for Hob to take his king. Checkmate. Game over. Rock paper scissors shoot.

"I am love," Hob said quietly, even as a sob caught in his throat as the memory of all the hate he'd witnessed in his life, the hate he'd participated in, and the fear, long-held, that even Dream might hate him, for his wrongs, or for overstepping, pulsed back to the forefront. He could never hate Dream, though. No matter what.

"Love can be easily destroyed," snapped Phaethon, but he was wavering. 

"But it always comes back," said Hob. Unwitting, he looked over his shoulder at Dream.

His friend was already looking directly at him. That tinge of red, so terrible and familiar now, was back along his eyes. He didn't speak, not to Hob. Hob followed his gaze as he looked over Hob's shoulder and spoke to Phaethon.

"Do you have a counter?"

"Love?" Phaethon laughed hysterically. "You brought love to a duel?"

"I believe Hob brings love everywhere he goes," said Dream, and Hob whipped back around to look at him, eyes wide. The tiniest smile was dancing on Dream’s lips.

Then a blade erupted from Hob's chest.

Blood sprayed. His heart stopped beating—actually stopped, he felt it. The sword had pierced right through it. He scrabbled for it with clumsy hands, but the blade shiiiinged back out before he could grab it. 

Blood spattered Dream’s face. Those pretty lips parted, eyes widened, the lordly bearing wiped from his expression leaving only a person, shocked and wounded. Hob would never forget that look of startled horror for as long as he lived. 

Which wasn't looking to be that long.

He fell to his knees, blood pouring from his chest. No use trying to stop it. It would mend itself, in time, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the instinctive rush of fear. He was dying. He was dying.

He fell on his side. Blood soaked his shirt. All told, it took maybe ten seconds after getting speared like a wild hog—

—for the world to completely blink out.

---

Hob's chest ached like a bitch when he woke. 

He was still on the ground, bloody mud around him, soaking his clothes. Oh. That was mud made from his blood. How horrifying. 

He opened his eyes in time to see Dream lifting Phaethon from the ground by his neck. His hand was a vice grip and Phaethon choked, scrabbling at his fingers for breath.

"TREACHERY," Dream snarled, louder than Hob had ever heard him. His voice boomed across the empty park. "I will unmake you."

"I'm not one of your creatures, you can do nothing to me," said Phaethon, but his assuredness flickered.

Dream’s being was a black hole eating light. "Watch it happen."

Hob coughed, dirt trapped in his throat, and shoved himself up on his forearms. Dream froze, and turned slowly to look at him, Phaethon still clasped in his hand like he weighed nothing. Dream’s attention was like being in the path of a comet.

"Hob," he said. "Are you alright?"

Hob knew, in that moment, that if he asked Dream to spare Phaethon from whatever fate he had in mind for him, he would comply. And what power that was. Hob didn't want to be the one doling out mercy or punishment, like a judge at the gates of Hell. But damn if it wasn't a thrill to have Dream look at him like that.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, with a bloody grin. "I'm Hob Gadling."

Dream smiled too, a ferocious smile, like that of a wolf.

Hob didn't tell him to spare Phaethon.

Apparently, they both had some savagery in them.

---

"So why did he kill me?" Hob asked later, when he'd showered all the blood off—God he loved modern showers—and they were both sitting at the kitchen table in his flat, drinking tea. Well, Hob was drinking tea. Dream was just kind of staring at it. "I mean, the cost of losing wasn't even that high. Not on his end, anyway."

"He was not interested in you at all," said Dream, still not looking at him. "I dragged the truth from him while you were… gone. This was all a ploy to get to me. To hurt me—indirectly, of course. Such a lower being could never hurt me directly."

"Wait." Hob tried to grapple with this. "You— are you saying I was like a kidnapped princess?" 

Dream frowned. "If you insist. The point is, he did not plan to let you walk away. By winning, or by killing you, whichever he could accomplish." 

"Damn. Maybe I should have let you fight for me."

"No. You represented yourself admirably. More than admirably. You won the challenge, fairly, and did not try to kill your opponent to do it." 

Praise from Dream always hit Hob somewhere deep. Possibly because Dream only said such things when he meant them. Possibly just because it was Dream saying them.

“Well, thanks for handling him in the end,” Hob said, instead of voicing that sentiment.

Dream nodded solemnly. “I would not allow such harm to befall you without interfering,” he said.

Hob took a sip of his tea to avoid showing how he felt about that quite so obviously on his face.

“Why did he want to hurt you, then?” he asked instead.

“He is the child of a sun deity,” said Dream.

“And… that… means…?”

“Sunlight chases away dreams. We are natural enemies.”

Hob frowned. “What about daydreams?” 

“Daydreams may take place during the daytime, but they exist in the darkness of the inner mind,” said Dream.

“Ahhhh.” Hob nodded sagely. Yeah, sure, that made sense. One hundred percent. Absolutely. “I don’t know, I feel like some dreams can survive in the daylight. Thrive, even.”

“Perhaps next time I have an altercation with a sun deity, I will call upon you,” Dream said, a bite of sarcasm in it. “To see if you can banish them with this mindset.”

“Don’t give me that cheek,” Hob admonished. Dream’s mouth popped open in offense, but Hob plowed on, “Just have an open mind about it, that’s all I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you guys are in a symbiotic relationship or something, instead of enemies. You help people see what could be possible, and they balance it with reality.”

Dream was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But I do not think approaching them in this manner will serve me well, at the moment.”

“Maybe not if they’re going around attacking you,” Hob conceded, and Dream cracked a small smile.

Sun deities, Hob thought. Really, life was full of such strange and interesting things.

“So when you went to Hell,” Hob started. Dream tilted his head, but didn’t seem thrown by the change in subject. “What did you wager in exchange for your helm? The game makes you wager something, right?”

“It was the demon who chose the other side of the wager,” said Dream. “He demanded I remain in Hell and serve him for eternity, if I lost.”

Hob was glad he’d put down his tea, as he’d probably have dropped it. “What? Was the helm really worth that risk?”

Dream leaned back in his chair, lips pressed tight in offense. Or maybe hurt. “I am nothing without my tools of office,” he said.

“That is not true,” said Hob, surprised by his own vehemence. Nothing? He thought he was nothing?

“I could not have restored the Dreaming without them,” Dream insisted.

“Okay, fine. They’re important for your job. But that doesn’t mean you’re nothing without them.” Hob went to lay his hand over Dream’s on the table, hesitated, then decided, fuck it. Dream started when their skin touched, but didn’t move away. Hob repeated his words, with even more emphasis this time. “You’re not nothing.”

Dream met his gaze, challenging. Hob didn’t back down.

“As you wish,” Dream finally said. Which wasn’t actually an agreement. “I can concede that the ruby breaking was ultimately beneficial to my power. But the helm is my symbol of office. To leave it in the possession of a demon is a continual humiliation to my realm and station.”

“Okay, I’m hearing you,” Hob said. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dream should be able to get his helm back. But he didn’t want Dream to risk horrible punishment for the sake of his pride. Better to slink away alive to try again another day, or so Hob felt. That wasn’t Dream, though.

“Just be careful, okay?” he said. “Even if you lost your helm and everything, and everyone in Hell thought you were pathetic—which, by the way, not sure Hell’s opinion is worth much anyway? but that aside—I’d still rather have you here than the alternative.” He threw Dream a smile, hoping he didn’t take offense to the idea that he could possibly be pathetic. “It wasn’t ‘The King of Dreams and Nightmares, et cetera’ that I missed for all those years, you know?”

“You did not know who I was, then,” Dream pointed out, but he seemed contemplative.

“I liked who I did know,” Hob said. “My friend.”

“Your friend,” repeated Dream slowly. Finally, he did pick up his tea, and took a sip. “A powerful title indeed, if you would have me when it is the only one I carry.”

“If you say so,” Hob said, which brought a small smile to Dream’s lips. If Dream wanted to think of it as a title akin to his kingship and endlessness and whatnot, then Hob would bestow it on him with gladness, and with a warm sense of honor that nestled right in his heart.

“It is…” Dream added, at length, “a meaningful title. To me.”

Rare, those expressions of feeling from Dream. Hob couldn’t help but to bask in them like a cat in a sunbeam. He remembered how Dream had looked at him during the duel. Love always comes back. Worth it, all the strife, to see Dream look at him like that, he thought.

“You defended me,” Dream said. “To prevent me taking the duel in your place. To protect me when it was not warranted.”

Wasn’t warranted. Hob really wished Dream would just learn to let Hob care for him.

"Would have even if I'd known it was you he truly wanted," he said. “I missed my friend for long enough. Wasn’t going to let something happen again when I could get in the way of it.”

“Your friend,” Dream said again. As if savoring the words. His lips tipped up again in a small smile. One just for himself.

Hob squeezed his hand on the table. A grounding touch, a reminder. “And don’t forget it.”

Dream turned his hand over on the table, and squeezed back.

[intermundia]

I'm a different anon, but your answer to that person, about how we all have our own perspectives and such, got me curious if you wanted to talk about your favorite things about Anakin? I really like how he has this earnest passion in everything he says and does, no matter what the consequences are. He lets his instincts and heart influence what actions he takes. I think you could say the same about Obi-Wan too to a degree, but I think Obi-Wan errs to keeping his emotions/intentions concealed until he has the best advantage he can get. And I think that this sort of "two sides of the same coin" contrast between them is part of what makes the ship appealing. Anyway, yeah, I wanted to know what you enjoy about Anakin ^^ And that other anon too, if they want to send another ask about their feelings/thoughts

Oh man, what a question. You've activated my trap card. Anakin Skywalker is possibly my favorite character of all time. It's endlessly fascinating to read stories about him, and writing him allows me to articulate the messy, painful, thwarted parts of myself. He's half my brain, and Obi-Wan is the other half, and resolving their differences brings me deep catharsis.

Everything you said about him is so true, his earnest passion is so deeply appealing. Obi-Wan called him passionate, fearless, forthright, and he is the embodiment of those traits, but he's flawed too, and flawed in ways I feel in my bones, and regrets the same things that I regret. He's so beautiful and so damned, a fallen and risen angel, you know?

Stover wrote that the brightest light casts the darkest shadow. He ends up at just the nadir of cruelty and violence, but he begins from a place of pure generosity and light. His intentions were so good, and he was so impossibly brave. It seems like arrogance, that cocky assurance of what he was capable of, but the universe bends around him to fit his will.

He's more than human, he's half-divine, a mirror and barometer of the entire galaxy's mood. His life is coextensive with the rise and fall of an empire, his personal tragedy from greed is both archetypal and relatable, and he is the scaffolding the narrative rests inside. Luke is the hero of the story but Anakin is the embodiment of the world he strives against.

He is painfully earnest and a liar, a villain and a victim, naive and jaded, brilliant but foolish, perfect and deeply flawed. It's so easy for me to understand why he was so beloved. He's absolutely the other side of Obi-Wan's coin, the heart to Obi-Wan's head, the passion to his reason, the instinct to his experience. The Team together is one complete and fully realized being, separation means incompleteness and disaster.

Vader is just one of the most iconic villains of all time, and Lucas defied all expectations in the prequels. He used his character to tell a cautionary tale about greed rather than give excuses for why he became such a monster. He is intentionally shown to be so generous and kind as a boy, handsome and daring as a man, with infinite wasted potential for good, it's incredible.

Idk man, I like him and I love him, I hate him and I want him; he's one of the best characters of the modern age.

[phynoma]

Both me and my brother have always been like this. I can't tell you how many school holidays we spent absolutely sick and miserable, because we are a family of "work until the first chance to relax and the moment the anxiety drops SICK"

I'd be shocked that bro & I didn't get diagnosed with all the nuerodivergencies except I know it's cuz my parents went "these kids are mentally ill af" and decided not to make a big deal out of it unless we seemed actively in pain sooooo

Just finished a contract gig and now I'm waiting for the inevitable illness to strike at the earliest inconvenience

[tearlessrain]

covid was weird for me honestly, it was technically a mild case and I had very few of the typical symptoms (almost no cough, barely had a sore throat, could still taste/smell fine not that it mattered since I was constantly nauseous) and I wouldn't really say I had long covid but getting it definitely Did Something to me that was not good. my body/energy levels/mental health have just kinda been all around worse ever since. it's been two years and a lot of it is not as bad as it once was (I'm apparently just a human barometer forever now though which wasn't a thing at all before) but I still suspect this is probably true of a lot of people and it is not helping the whole "everyone is kinda fucked up now" thing.

[thatsparrow]

watched twister (1996) for the first time (thoughts)

wasn't expecting the opening credits to feel as ominous as they did, very horror-adjacent (when the tornado lands, there's this growling sound effect that feels very monstrous. from what I remember, this is really the only time that happens, which could be a cool, like—given that this is the tornado that killed her dad, to jo, it was a monster)

between toby getting (briefly) locked out of the storm shelter in the beginning and bill paxton having to carry aunt meg's dog out of the house before it collapses, this movie puts animals in danger much more than I anticipated (I guess that one cow didn't have such a good time, either)

still in the opening, but when her dad got yoinked, all those nighttime shots of the lightning and tornado felt very supernatural, ufo-ish (this big transcendent thing in the sky, abducting her father, so large you can only see bits and pieces of it) which does play into the mystery/unknowability aspect

we cut to the present, and there's this jaunty, western-style music playing, which I also didn't expect! I think that was one of my main takeaways—that I thought this movie was more a straight-up natural disaster action movie, when it's really more of an adventure story (and a love story, which bookends the whole thing.) but like, if you think of the tornadoes as some rare treasure, the storm signs (and bill's ability to read them) as the map, chasing against rivals after the same goal, all the beats are there. (not to say it isn't also a natural disaster movie, but it is interesting watching how/when the movie shifts between tornadoes as an object of pursuit, stirring excitement, the majesty of nature, and when they're a threat, a point of fear, dangerous in their unpredictability and impassivity)

we see helen hunt, and my first thought was, "why would he ever divorce helen hunt"

(more under the break)

but also I wasn't actually ever clear on why he was divorcing helen hunt? or more, why they had separated in the first place. the closest I could figure was that conversation when he says something to jo about her not wanting a house, and maybe that it was him wanting to settle down and she wanted a life on the road (see: his current job as a weatherman now that he's with melissa) but also, does he really want to settle down? the whole movie is us seeing how he's clearly happiest and most alive when he's chasing (and with helen hunt), but he can't or won't let himself accept that until melissa ends the relationship for him

didn't expect carey elwes to be here, doing his absolute best effort at a southern accent

i love human barometer bill paxton. "he's better at reading storms than anyone else" "why" "don't worry about it" (genuinely though, it's such a fun detail, and I'm glad they include it in twisters, too)

jo's storm chasing team is bigger than I thought it would be (granted, I had no concept of anyone else being in this movie other than helen hunt, bill paxton, and philip seymour hoffman) and I love that sequence of all the vibes of the different cars as they take off, the music they put on, the interiors—we are running the gamut of personalities here, but they are all equally excited and motivated by storm chasing (then compared to the deeply corporate and uniform energy of jonas's team)

"have you lost your nerve?" "tighten your seatbelt" we all know their chemistry is good, but their chemistry is SO good ("let's get you wired" LET'S GO)

melissa is interesting, like — she's the audience surrogate, she's the excuse to explain things about storm chasing and tornadoes that everyone else would already know (but the audience likely doesn't), she's insightful and compassionate when she's talking to her clients (are we meant to take the reproductive therapy or something as a joke job?), and she does clearly love bill, and he loves her, too. but she's so out of her element, she complements this entirely different side of him, and now that he's in this place where he's most himself, she's completely at sea. she's understandably afraid and overwhelmed. she's watching her fiance fall back in love (or, realize he was always still in love) with his ex, who's accomplished and capable in all the ways she isn't. and there's some friction between them, like melissa telling jo not to try to win bill back, and some jockeying from jo at the diner counter, but then you also have jo checking on melissa after the first tornado hits. I like that her story ends with her deciding to leave bill, but then adding the line about not being that sad about it, her recognizing that they weren't really what the other needed (it is weird though that she's suddenly gone from the group and no one remarks on it)

very into bill starting the movie all buttoned-up, then gradually shedding those layers, getting less kempt, his shiny new truck converted into their chase vehicle (later when the other chasers refer to bill as "the extreme," the push-pull between who he is in his life before the movie starts, and who he clearly is at heart)

it is wild that a divorce is the undercurrent of this whole thing (but wild in a fun way! like it's fun how much this is a love story that also has tornadoes. bill paxton is here to get the divorce papers signed. the movie ends with them kissing. rebuilding relationships via natural disasters)

that shot of the flying cow happens so much earlier than I expected

just between us, it took me way too long to realize jo was the little girl from the beginning ("how long?" don't worry about it)

jo as ahab, her trying to look into the tornado and bill turning her away, the obsessive need to understand, pushing forward beyond what's reasonable

the cars! cars as their primary instruments, reflective of their personalities, this is a western and their cars are their horses, but also cars won't protect them when a tornado hits, and in fact add to the danger, they're at the drive-in when the surprise tornado comes, they hide out in the floor of the garage, cars as homes, cars getting trashed, I've lost the point but you see it

there's something about the disconnect between the threat messages, both "they had no warning" when a tornado hits unexpectedly, vs. an f-5 that you can see and follow the trail of, but it's still going to destroy whatever is in its path (also after wakita gets hit and jo's aunt meg tells her that jo needs to stop it—like the data they collect is vital, but also them getting dorothy to fly won't have any immediate consequences on the tornado itself)

I do love all the "bill's back" "I'm not back" from the beginning, him saying he's only going to stay a day, and then he's immediately so back

spoilers but I did not expect carey elwes and his driver to die. this movie has a pretty low onscreen body count, and that one was a surprise

that near-kiss in the cornfield! so good!!

the whole sequence of them sprinting from the tornado toward the barn, the fence posts getting pulled up just behind them, the horses running—so, so good

but also what's the deal with the murder barn? like they run into the barn and it looks like a murder barn and then they run out because everything in the murder barn would murder them when the tornado hits, and then we never address it again. was this just to keep them running from the tornado a little longer?

they're a battle couple but for storm chasers, and it slaps

the movie ends with them kissing! this is their love story!!

all in all, I had a hell of a time, a blast from start to finish

[firedragon1321]

Another Digi/Poke Swap AU Monster Pair!

So I'm going to skip the next pair I had planned (because Brock is making things difficult- though you can vote over here on how to handle him). Though the mon for the character I'm swapping him with is already done. The human characters will be revealed in the correct order (so Brock and ???, and then the humans associated with these two).

These are Palmish and Ekanmon! If you know your mon series well enough, you might be able to tell this is when the swaps start getting a little batshit. For everyone else- cute plant orb and devil snake!

Stats in the readmore.

EDIT- Poll in the link above is closed. Another snake-like Poke-swap is coming up soon.

Palmish

The Tropical Digimon. 

Grass/Poison-type. 

Ability- Overgrow. 

Hidden Ability- Leaf Guard. 

Height- 1’5”. 

Weight- 13 lb. 

Evolves into ??? and ???. 

One of the Digimon given to new Trainers on File Island. Palmish is calm and friendly, and therefore easy to raise. The flower on their head is a barometer of health. If the petals wilt, Palmish is sick. They prefer to stun enemies and run away rather than participating in battles where their foe gets seriously hurt. But- even with reluctance- they’ll always listen to their Trainer.

Palmish learns moves like Stun Spore, Ingrain, Vine Whip, and Charm (the last move by TM only).

Ekanmon

Reptile Pokemon. 

Rookie-level. 

Virus-type. 

Nightmare Soldiers. 

Height- 4’2”. 

Weight- 48 lb.

Ekanmon is a serpentine Pokemon that lives in the Pocket World’s darkest corners. Every part of this Pokemon is venomous- from their attacks to their personality. Ekanmon only look out for themselves, using their poison attacks to get rid of unneeded baggage. However- in rare cases- an Ekanmon may work with a PokeDestined to grow stronger. Their special attack- Poison Sting- fills the enemy with poisonous needles.

Special Attacks

Poison Sting- Fills the enemy with venomous needles

Poison Spit- Spits toxic material at the enemy

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Thank you for your answer to that anon about boundaries... I agree with everything you said. It's really hard sometimes, I was surprised at how hard this new Louis stunt hit me... But it is what it is I guess, and it's not always easy to be a fan of a closeted artist, let alone two... But I know why I'm here... sometimes stepping away is good, and definitely to concentrate on what brings you joy ❤️

I think we forget sometimes that it’s not our responsibility to protect the celebrities we love from reproach or misunderstanding.

People make mistakes and make bad choices and say the wrong things and do things for the sake of their career or their safety or their ambition that we won’t always agree with, but it’s not our job to validate the ethics of those choices, because we can’t. We can’t properly question the goodness or badness of intent (particularly with something as vague as closeting), if we don’t have access to context. And we don’t, and never will, have access to full context, not just in our relationship with celebrities but in any relationship with anyone.

When we love someone, we agree to allow space for their humanity. We agree to be generous in our thoughts of them, not because we choose to be blind, but because we have evidence that they’re worth our faith. And if, in certain circumstances, they cross a line to test that faith, we’re fully within our rights to reevaluate their access to our time and attention.

That’s how relationships go. You can move your goal posts, you can increase your standards, you can rethink a relationship that begins to feel harmful. But you can only do it from your end, based on what you know and how you personally feel.

The point, I guess, is use yourself as the sole barometer for how you feel and get comfortable with the reality that we will probably never be able to concretely justify some of the decisions Harry and Louis have made, just like we will never be able to concretely justify some decisions we’ve personally made. It’s just part of being human and forming human attachments.

The question is not “are they, as people, worthy of my time and attention?”, but rather “Is this where I want to put my energy?”.

Realizing that, at the end of the day, participation in fandom is and always will be a question of “Is this still fun?” is really liberating and I encourage everyone to ask themselves that, constantly, because there’s no other reason to be here, really.

[nancydrewwouldnever]

Two Sunshine Interviews, 2007

Not Just A Pretty Boy: Chris Evans Lights Up The Screen

Director Danny Boyle calls 'Fantastic Four' actor 'really very special.'

MTV Movies

By Shawn Adler, July 13, 2007

Look quickly at Chris Evans and you're bound to see him as a pretty-boy actor, one of those open faces that would seem more suited to an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog or a fraternity kegger than a nuanced drama. Look quickly at the roles he's chosen, like in "Fantastic Four" or "Not Another Teen Movie" or "The Perfect Score," and you're bound to think of him as silly and lightweight, a hotshot who, as Human Torch/ Johnny Storm, actually plays, well, the consummate hotshot.

Look quickly at Chris Evans, however, and you're bound to miss the most important thing about him -- this boy can act.

"Well, he's a superb actor, and I'm not saying that just 'cause he's in my film. I think he's brilliant," director Danny Boyle said of the 26-year-old actor, whom he cast in the sci-fi epic "Sunshine." "He's a very talented guy, a thoroughbred really. He's a bit of a Mary Poppins -- he can pull anything out of the bag."

"Anything," of course, isn't exactly the word that comes to mind when thinking of Evans' most popular roles (which actually are pretty much his only roles -- the "Cellular" star has only appeared in 10 films). To the casual observer, his characters tend to be more similar than not -- so similar, in fact, that it's tough to look at his filmography and not wonder if Evans isn't just playing some amplified version of himself.

Not so, said Boyle, who cited a lack of opportunity -- not skill -- for the misperceptions about Evans' talent.

"The casting director [for 'Sunshine'] said, 'You should meet this guy, he's underestimated by people.' He came in the room [and was] superb. I cast him and that was it," the director recalled. "I hope he can get stuff that shows his talent 'cause he's really very special."

For Evans, "Sunshine" was that special opportunity, a chance to show a different side of himself while simultaneously working for one of his favorite directors: "Two birds with one stone," he said.

"At the end of the day us actors are here to make good movies -- that's what I love about this business. [But] if you don't have a good director you won't have a really good movie," Evans said. "So if you've got a good director inviting you to work for him, you jump at that opportunity. And that's what Danny offered me."

Working for Boyle offered benefits beyond making a good movie, however, strengthening Evans' belief that in order to be a successful actor you have to "check your ego at the door," he said.

"A lot of times as an actor you are experimenting, you're trying things and you need an anchor. If you're trying something and you're getting off the path, you need your director to come in and reel you in. [You need to tell him,] 'I trust your internal barometer of what's good and what's bad and it's going to protect me,' " Evans revealed of his process. "Danny could have said, 'Try the next take in Spanish,' and I would have said, 'All right.' "

Johnny Storm no more (at least until producers call for a the sequel), Evans will soon take that lesson into more eclectic fare, from playing the dimwitted lead in "The Loss of a Teardrop Diamond," an adaptation of a Tennessee Williams play, to a cop alongside Forest Whitaker in James Ellroy's "The Night Watchmen" to an Iraq War veteran in "Under the Blue Sky."

It's a mix that pleases Evans, he said, smiling broadly. "I like to go see movies that are dramatic. I like to get internal when I watch films. I like to cry when I watch movies. I like being emotional," he divulged. "The truth is, I like acting, period."

Do yourself a favor -- look closer.

Also from MTV in 2007, a small snippet of a tv interview. Thanks once again to the Chris Evans Archives for keeping this alive! (It's the bottom video.)

[darkimpala1897]

I'm currently doing a storm chaser Au for MOTA, I posted my three part today, so I just wanted to drop some lore slash headcanons

1. Bucky was adopted at age seven by Jack and Chick, he doesn't call them his dads. He calls them his weird uncles.

2. Buckys parents were killed by a tornado.

3. Bucky has been chasing tornados since he was a kid.

4. Bucky and Buck are married, but currently divorcing. But also at the same time not really.

5. Curt and Dickie have been married since the dinosaurs.

6. DeMarco is engaged to Brady, Meatball is their son.

7. Bubbles and Crosby are married duh.

8. Douglass and Hambone have been dating forever.

9. Helen and Nash are married.

10. Quinn is in a situationship with Bailey and Babyface, I can't even explain it.

11. Ken is married to Winks, they have a son named Sammy.

12. Sammy was carried by Helen, but she is not biologically his mother.

13. Meatball was found in what was left of a barn, he was just a puppy.

14. Helen is the only one with her life together, she's a sex therapist, which Nash finds hilarious.

12. Ken and Winks are farmhands slash mechanics, that live on Jack and Chicks farm.

13. Everyone lives in Jack and Chicks basement.

14. They live in Wakita Oklahoma.

15. Nobodys car dates past 1996 is a running joke between everyone when in reality its like 1990.

16. Hambone is the human barometer.

17. Croz is the navigator, he has a whole a conniption if Bubbles folds the maps.

18. DeMarco drives a retired school bus, for some reason well drunk DeMarco put where it use to say school, it says "Burrito Barn" now. He doesn't know either.

19. Bucky drives a blue 1983 GMC Vandura with a unicorn painted on both sides.

20. Ken painted the unicorns on Buckys van.

21. Curt and Dickie drive a black 1989 Chevrolet Suburban, it's nickname is "The Beast"

22. The Beast has been put back together four times now, the most severe incident was a cell tower piece through the windshield.

23. Bubbles and Croz drive a 1982 Ford F-150.

24. Douglass and Hambone drive a 1983 Ford LTD Country Squire, Hammy calls it "The Boat" or "The Wagon" depending on the day.

25. Douglass loves to drift his Squire, which is not good for it.

26. Rosies drives a 1985 Chevrolet Chevy Van, it has utility lights on it, Bucky calls it "The Boring Van"

27. Helen and Nash drive a 1975 Chevrolet K-10.

28. Bucky is the resident idiot of the group.

29. Rosies operates all the fancy equipment, and the cameras for obvious reasons.

30. They have a YouTube channel, which is called the Windy 100th. Rosie thought of it because he was a history major.

31. Their YouTube channel isn't that popular, but it's more about them having fun then anything.

32. Curt and Brady do audio, they have the best ears.

33. Smokey is their doctor, but he is a registered wackadoodle.

34. Smokey drives this hideous green 1990 Crown Victoria it belongs to Stormy, though he pretends not to own it for obvious reasons.

35. Instead of Brady yelling "Son of a bitch, that's France! He's yelled "Son Of Bitch, that's the tornado." He nearly died that day.

36. Brady just owns a baseball helmet for some reason.

37. Hambone is called Hambone because he literally got smacked by a flying pig.

38. Babyface is called Babyface, because for some reason he keeps getting smacked in the head by babydolls.

39. Stormy is an actual meteorologist, that just helps out the group. So he slightly has his life together.

40. Ken owns a flatbed tow truck for obvious reasons, but he normally drives a 1977 GMC C-15 which he shares with Winks.

41. Buck owns a 1984 Jeep Wagoneer.

42. All of them met in college well studying you guessed it weather.

43. Rosie knows Oklahoma by heart, he sings with Smokey.

44. DeMarco loves rock music, he blasts it on drives through speakers on his bus.

45. Douglass loves classical music.

46. All of them are amazing drivers which is surprising considering.

47. Chick is the one who cooks, Jack bakes and makes pretty much everything.

48. Jack makes wind chimes that he sells.

49. The only one to ever have seen an F5 was Bucky, its what killed his parents.

50. Bucky thinks he's the leader, but it's actually Rosie.

That's it, that's lore for the Windy 100th aka Storm Chaser AU.



[santoschristos]

Eye of Providence

"The false self wants. The true self has."

YOUR CONCEPT OF SELF IS A LIE

"How many unconscious lies are you saying I AM to? There is only one concept of self you need to aquire. When you shift your identity from a less serving to a more serving identity instantaneously a bunch of rules and values change, beliefs change, behaviors, and language will shift to meet the new identity/concept. So, how do you know the most ideal high leverage identity? Wouldn't it be great to have your dominant identity match up with the truth of the infinite energetic I AMness of infinite possibility and infinite potential that is All That IS every second of every day? Shifting your core root paradigm is as simple as Accepting and Choosing to believe that you are the Source of infinite potential and possibility. The moment you realize and truly feel and know that if you are infinite there cannot be any scarcity, if there's no scarcity there's no lack. If there is no lack this means there was previously only mental chatter and perceptions and interpretations experienced through the lens of previous programming or a False Self concept and delusion.

This False Self includes beliefs that you're unworthy, not good enough, guilty, ashamed, unlovable, and unsafe. You were not born with a label on the back of your neck that says defective or broke or afraid or undesirable but we behave like we were. If you act from a false premise, you will get a false result. Likewise, if you manifest from the false self you will get a false outcome. The false self is the conditioning that takes over after we are born. False beliefs, programming and identities like I'm guilty or unworthy, money is evil etc. creates the false self and overrides the true self.

You were born because the Infinite Intelligence realised the Earth Plane could no longer live without you. Once you do transition, your highest identity becomes clear, I AM that or All That IS. If you can transition into this concept beyond an intellectual understanding and into the reality that you as an infinite being can express anything and are worthy, good enough, lovable, not guilty, unashamed and safe and secure, then you realize most of your previous beliefs and rules and values were a lie. You will also see that most of your previous language and behaviors were motivated by untruths which put you out of integrity and separate from your Godself, feeling like a limited being in a scarcity universe. When you change your core paradigm from the False Self living a lie to your True Self living the truth, everything changes and your life will never be the same."

UPPER LIMITS

"A new state may override resistance and/or parts/subconscious beliefs but it often won't override an upper limit. An upper limit is your personal barometer or comfort zone. You may manifest a million dollars but your upper limit will ensure you spend yourself back to your comfort zone (state of origin or primary state). This is typically called "self sabotage".

The ego is not a singular entity but rather a composite of a multitude of parts/identities. Some of these parts don't want what you do (main personality) and will take over the main personality and ensure they feel safe by relieving you of your manifestation which it perceives to be a threat. Self sabotage is then a flight to safety for a threatened part that is exiled/wounded."

"What is the cause within?" should be your go to mantra. If you aren't asking yourself this question multiple times a day you are not being proactive (5D Awareness) and probably stuck in reactivity(3D).

TRUE SELF

"You are not in 3D. You experience 3D from 4D & 5D."

"You are consciousness, this means your awareness is local and non-local. Your awareness can be in more than one place at once. Imagination is the 5th dimension. The Fifth Dimension is an inter-dimensional reality that exists outside of the normally accepted space/time continuum. Humanness is created in a fifth dimension. It is the gap which is filled by imagination. Next time you're daydreaming try catching a glimpse of your 5th dimensional self. Then, assimilate yourself into the 5D you, feel the majestic brilliance of your true self. Now, look at your 3D version, and project all of your 5D magnificence into the 3D you and assume that power and glory. Once you See, you can never unsee. Always remember who you are. Be You and everything will come from you effortlessly and automatically."

"We can't change our mind from our mind. We can't change our primary state from our primary state. We can't manifest into the 3D from the 3D. Imagination exists on another plane. Imagination and abstract thought is what allows us to perceive and see into the 5th, 6th, and possibly even higher dimensions. Next time you meditate, leave all of it behind. Journey out through your heart, beyond the earth's atmosphere, through the galaxies all the way to the Sun then ask for permission to enter. The inner Sun is feminine, the rays of the Sun are masculine. The inner Sun is pure love. Imagine from there."

FLOW STATE

"If you want to manifest faster, take your attention away from yourself by asking "what does the universe want?" or "what does Gaia want?" If you let go of yourself this puts you in the Flow State. To remain there just do what comes next."

--The Eye of Chance

[digitaloffshoot]

on digital fankids

i don't have anything against fankids (they're fine!!! keep doing them!!!) but i want to say that if they actually really appeared in the real actual circus the implications would be.... well.. there's a couple reasons that digital fankids would be existentially horrifying...

where did they come from i know where fankids come from, it's not that i'm worried about; it's more that i'd be scared about where a fankid would source its personality from... caine designing the kids himself isn't great, but neither are any of the alternatives...

silence in the library if the fankids are created out of nothing and are perfect digital simulacra of people, there are two equally horrible possibilities... either their existence is unprecedentedly absurd, and they will suffer as much as any of the rest of us... or... their existence has a precedent: us... so either, more people are created just to suffer, or everyone was created to suffer, implanted with delusions of humanity, for no discernible reason... basically, fankids coming into existence would be a perfect barometer for the level of reality we currently exist on... great...

can we take them with us? treat your fankids with love! but what if you're trapped in a computer world of nightmares...? if we didn't reject the kids and instead cared for them, we would grow attached to them.. we're either just waiting out for the end in a tent at the edge of oblivion, or if we do escape (don't get me started), we would have to abandon them...! bad ending, both ways... i think maybe our existence is always just going to end in tragedy, no matter how you slice it...

anyway, i'd happily take care of any fankid who appeared to me, as long as they didn't do anything that scared me, like know all of my personal information or something... ick.. now i'm imagining a small creature lecturing me about every mistake i've ever made...

[shytastemakerthing]

Hi there I go by Voidless! (She/Her or They/Them). I'm in search of a romantic matchup for the TWST boys

● I tend to be forthright with my emotions, yet there's this current of sensitivity to rejection that I sometimes forget is there.

● I like share knowledge and fun anecdotes! It can be rather forceful in conversations when I have something to say though.

● I think I may have some abandonment issues... There's this deep fear of not measuring up.

●A trait I'm not proud of is how often I say sorry. On some level I say it often so I can inspire pity and have people undeservingly go easy on me when I mess up. Yeah too late for apologies... ●Regardless I'm torn between a need to be recognized (taking my place in the sun), vs. and acknowledging a deep unsettling unmet want of love and security.

●That, and my sense of self is warped (it cycles through high-highs and low-lows). I have some unattainable goals I've to hinge my identity on in the past and couldn't seem to let go of, which also leads to a fear of failure.

According to UQuiz and some remarks that have resonated with me over the years:

"Definitely makes people around think deeply and a bit too hard on grand, philosophical concepts but eh, they're better for it."

"Short."

"Loves to share everything with a partner eternally curious, and hungers for knowledge. Seems to enjoy exchanging ideas and personal philosophies with others. Exceptionally buoyant, enthusiastic, and can even inspire in their communications."

"Drawn to the hidden layers of life, people, and situations. Highly observant and perceptive, too. Notices things others miss, especially emotional nuances and subtleties. Ability to understand human motivation and honesty."

"...Knows how to lift other people's spirits. Posseses big dreams."

Hobbies: I'm a Renaissance woman and thoroughly enjoy new experiences. That's not to say I don't have my favorites, like: Writing (poetry, fiction, ect.) and by extension world building. Singing is chief of my hobbies and it gives me the feel that I'm alive, and the world is too. I enjoy going out into the wilderness and exploring!

Things I enjoy: A good laugh, barometers and other steampunk-esque items, friendship bracelets, high up places I can sneak into, seeing new things, people I just click with, having a deep talk with someone, sitting high up on the roof, organizing new and old of my favorite books, fairytales and fantastical romances, scents like pumpkin and pine, dancing wildly at big events/parties, and walking outside past midnight to look at the stars and listen to music.

Things that I don't: Disappointing those who believed in me. My not-so-good working memory. Feeling trapped with no way out. Random loud thumps and noises, PTSD is one hell of a drug. Dandelion weeds (they freak me out)

Some favorite songs of mine:

Empire - Shakira

Come Along - Cosmo Sheldrake

Ballad of Serenity - Firefly

Hello and thank you for your request! I hope that this match-up finds you well in life right now, and if not, I do hope and wish that everything will be okay very soon! I hope you enjoy your match-up!

Tw: None

I match you with........

Lilia Vanrouge

The amount of knowledge that this fae has amassed over the centuries is rather immense and he would love to be able to share it all with you, just as you share your own history with him, he'll turn it into a date night!

I just have the feeling that he would also suffer from a form of PTSD, having fought first hand in the human and fae war as a general for a number of years tends to do things to one's mind

During times where you both are having a harder time, he will take you to his room, and just wrap the both of you up in his blankets, doing his best to soothe you. Is he having a hard time himself right now?

Yes

But he would much rather ensure that you are going to be okay and reassure you that he is there for you no matter what when you are in need of him

You should see the size of his book collection. While he was not able to bring all of it to NRC with him, you are more than welcome d to come with him back home during break and you can see the rest of it, he could talk form hours about their contents

Seeing new places is a thing to expect with Lilia

He has been around quite a lot and he knows just the best places to visit and when

Over summer, he would love to be able to travel with you, showing you all the sights that Twisted Wonderland has to offer

Lilia will absolutely join you on your midnight walks. You don't even have to be talking to each other, just being there with you is enough for him. Enjoying each other's company under the stars. What more could this old fae want?

Overall, Lilia once thought that he was far too old for entertain the idea of finding love, but the moment he was with you, he knew that he would spend the last of his days remaining at your side, for as long as time would allow him

Thank you so much for your request!!

[chinchillasinunison]

The Bullefute Starters!

For those of you who don't know, I decided to conceptualize a Danganronpa-inspired Fakémon region. The starters are inspired by the three protagonists of the mainline games, but a lot of other places as well. This is going under a cut because it's, uh, pretty long. Let's get to it!

Clovunny: The Clover Pokémon (Grass)

Clovunnies are docile, unassuming Pokémon that can get along with basically anyone. The small twig sprouting from its head can detect subtle changes in heartbeat and breathing, making it quite attuned to feelings others may try to hide. The blossom it has for a tail is sometimes plucked by humans to be used as a good luck charm.

First off, naturally, we have Makoto! Both rabbits (well, at least their feet) and clovers are lucky charms, so it makes sense to represent the Ultimate Lucky Student with them. Plus, rabbits and Makoto have a sort of stereotypical innocence about them. The twig picking up heartbeats is a reference to the Trigger Happy Heart minigame in School Mode, where Makoto can hear his classmates' innermost thoughts.

Jackahope: The Hopeful Pokémon (Grass)

On evolution, Jackahope's small twig grows into a twin set of branches. This increases their sensitivity greatly, making it aware of even minute changes in its environment. It is said that when one looks into your eyes, it can see your hopes and dreams.

I hope you sorta see where I'm going with this. Something normal and mundane becoming decidedly less so— from regular bunny to jackalope. Now, the sensitivity of its branches pertains even more to the Trigger Happy Heart minigame, but also to the investigation segments of the game proper. I imagine that they're arranged to look somewhat like a broken-up set of crosshairs, which is how your cursor interacts with the environment. This shape plants some seeds (hehe) for its final form...

Cherabbit: The Cherubic Pokémon (Grass/Flying)

Its head branches have grown into a massive, thorny halo, and the patch of clovers on its back has sprouted into wings. Now, it can feel vibrations across great distances, both on the ground and in the air. This makes Cherabbits great barometers for natural disasters and thus the saviors of many people and Pokémon alike. Some groups view them as sacred beings and manifestations of the idea of hope itself.

Now we go from the jackalope to the wolpertinger, combined with traits of a standard pop cultural angel. This progression is to symbolize where Makoto ended up after the first game— the true Ultimate Hope and the face of the Future Foundation, a figure of triumph in the face despair and desolation. I almost wanted to make it Grass/Normal to reference the Normal type's affinity for sound-based moves, but I couldn't NOT make it part Flying, man. Not when the wings are, like, one of the main features...

Tadcoal: The Spark Pokémon (Fire)

To many, a Tadcoal is considered an ideal Pokémon for first-time trainers. It is extremely eager to foster its talents, which makes it quick to rush into battle and evolve. Its craggy skin resembles unrefined coal, making it look fairly unremarkable, but the single spouting flame upon its head reveals its hidden ambition. When not training, it can be found admiring higher-leveled Pokémon from afar.

Next is Hajime, who is the basis for our Fire starter. The first stage is based on the pre-HPA Hajime, a guy so eager to develop talent that he signed himself up for a bunch of stupidly unethical experiments. I don't know how a tadpole starter would work in terms of design since it's literally just a head and tail, so its proportions would probably be all kinds of weird, but we're not gonna worry about that right now.

Phlogiwog: The Phlogistic Pokémon (Fire)

The internal fire of this Pokémon has been lit, making it even more reckless and determined to persevere in its fight for recognition, to the point of growing legs with naturally cleated feet in order to run into the fray more quickly. Its skin is now white-hot to the touch. There is an ancient proverb that comes to mind with this particular Pokémon: “The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.”

This one isn't very deep. It's mostly just a natural progression from the first stage, the idea of combustion (which is why it takes after Awakened Hajime visually), and the manifestation of the above quote. Note the cleated feet, though...

Amphibguish: The Extinguishing Pokémon (Fire/Dark)

After reaching its evolutionary limits, Amphibguish has grown despondent and bored with the world around it. It no longer views other Pokémon as aspirational figures or challenges, merely as obstacles to be far-too-easily overcome. When confronted, it uses its scythe-like claws to snuff out its opponent without fuss. The wispy smoke that trails after it strikes fear into the hearts of even the bravest Pokémon champions.

Now this is a fun one! Amphibguish is, of course, based on Izuru Kamukura— but! It's also based on the hairy frog, also known as the horror frog. @anonymouslyangsty gave me the idea of the Hajime line being frog-based because of his stark metamorphosis, but I didn't know how Izuru's main distinctive physical feature (his long hair) would translate to the notably bare amphibians. Then, I remembered the horror frog and the hair-like structures on its body— turning that into smoke was a natural next move. You might notice that each stage is based on steps in the life of a flame: the initial spark, its burning, and lastly, its death. Because of its connection with death, Amphibguish also takes after the Grim Reaper, using another odd trait of the horror frog— it has retractable claws it makes by breaking its own toe bones. The indifference of death is akin to the indifference of Izuru Kamukura, and his indifference is, itself, rooted in the death of passion.

And finally, the Water starter!

Puplet: The Droplet Pokémon (Water)

Puplets are very shy Pokémon, unable to look most people or Pokémon in the eye. However, they are also very inquisitive, and holding their heads down low helps their moist noses pick up more scents. They often need a guiding hand and gentle encouragement to lead them down the right path.

And lastly, we have the Shuichi Pokémon. His sensitivity suits a Water type well to me, very Sobble-core. A dog Pokémon is a natural fit for a detective as well. I think it would be based on a toy longhaired breed in appearance, like a shih tzu. I like to imagine it having a big waterdrop as an ahoge, maybe based on the little ponytails that dogs like that often sport to keep hair out of their eyes.

Floodhound: The Surging Pokémon (Water)

Gaining more confidence upon evolution, Floodhounds will thoroughly investigate any new area they find themselves in. The seafoam that crests their long ears traps odors and microscopic samples of dirt within its bubbles, giving it a detailed reference to draw upon later. Due to this, they are often given as presents to very messy children.

Despite the name coming from bloodhound, I imagine it takes after another hound— the Afghan hound— in appearance. Long, literally flowing-like-water hair is a theme here. I'll expand on that in the notes on the final evolution.

Tsudoggi: The Torrential Pokémon (Water/Rock)

A Floodhound is said to become a Tsudoggi when it pursues the truth too eagerly, the sights it has seen driving it mad. The sediment it picks up along the way builds up and hardens into sturdy stone paws, and its fur grows out into massive, frothing waves. It will not back down from where it stands, no matter who or what may batter it.

This final form is based on the ketos, a fearsome sea monster from Greek and Etruscan mythology. Usually, it's depicted as just a plain old sea serpent, but there are some descriptions of it that say it has a greyhound head on a whale or dolphin-like body, so we're drawing from that. The addition of the Rock type is inspired by how it was defeated by Perseus in myth (at least, one version of the myth): he uses the head of Medusa to turn it to stone. Sometimes, in (particularly nihilistic) literature, Medusa is used as a symbol for painful truths of our reality that we avert our gazes from to avoid our existential dread (mental petrification, if you will). I think that interpretation works well with the whole "truth vs. lies" theme V3 had.

Feelings of pointlessness are pertinent to the line's overall inspiration as well: the concept of a shaggy-dog story. A shaggy-dog story is a type of joke that preys on an audience's expectations of narrative. The teller will ramble a long-winded, tangent-riddled anecdote, only to end it with a complete anticlimax. The archetypal shaggy-dog story is about a man seeing an advertisement for a missing shaggy dog who happens to find one of a similar description and sets out to reunite it with its owner for the reward money. All sorts of things are supposed to happen on the journey— I remember a version I heard had the guy somehow get caught up in some gang business and get shot and bleed out on the owner's doorstep with the dog. No matter those details, the story always ends the same: the owner opens the door, takes one look at the dog, and says, "Oh, my dog is shaggy, but not THAT shaggy." and shuts the door in the man's face (or his corpse, I guess, if you heard the version I did). This structure is echoed in Tsudoggi's subversion of the typical "shy first stage to confident final stage" Pokémon evolutionary line narrative, wherein it becomes more confident only to immediately regress into another, even worse off sad sack. And... I feel like I don't need to explain how this all relates to V3, do I?

There's also one more aspect of Tsudoggi's design that I want to highlight, and that's its relation to the starter theme. The theme for this starter trio is psychopomps, spirits that escort recently deceased souls to the afterlife. I thought it would be morbidly appropriate for Pokémon based on the characters who guide their respective groups to the truth of the deaths around them (before handing one over for a death sentence). The relationship of an angel and the Grim Reaper to such a concept doesn't need explanation, but the ketos might. In Etruscan mythology, since the trip to the Underworld was believed to be a sea voyage, sea creatures (including ketos) were thought of as gaurdians for the departed on their journey.

[grandhotelabyss]

Maybe I'm too stupid and lowbrow, so the reasons for why I liked Joker 2 will be just prove to others that it is unsophisticared trash.

But I dunno, I just thought it was an interesting movie, like the first one wasnt really about some IP franchise charachter, so this one isnt about some super villian caper plot but about the power of the first movie and it's consequences.

People fell in love with Joker and the whole premise of this being (for the first half) some overly sweet romantic musical, and atleast for me it worked: maybe because I deep down like that lovey dovey stuff of both sides showing love to each other, so one gets seduced by this sacharine imaginary wolrd.

As one got seduced by the bravado and the impotent violence of "Joker", the film and the idea - so there are sequences here where Joker starts acting all bombastically, having daydreams, now not only of song and dance, but of the violence and "retribution" the audience craves.

So then it comes to a shudden shock, when it not only gets revealead that the fangirl lady gaga is literally just some larping fangirl in love with the idea of some killer clown as if she had a tumblr blog about her favorite yuri sadist anime or whatever - but also that the little dwarf, who is framed as pitiable as possible, felt the real effexts of the Joker.

Ofcourse the later could be a very basic "oh no, being violent is le bad" message - and it seems to go that way - but at the same time the tragedy comes there, that when Artur has this realisation, that he "asks for help" like all the theraphy language asks of him, he gets rejected by his fangirl and everybody else - because all that hated him still hate him and his followers dont care about some loser, they only care about the super edgy clown prince or whatever shit people say.

But the problem is that Arthur at best is Raskolnikov, he is a softy that cant fully go above morals and self preservation, his spirit is broken both by society cutting his act short by killing and brutalizing his followers who are "inspired" in this cliche way of "singing to victory", while he is simply brutalised and abused, because in the end nobody can laugh trough the pain, only in cartoons and comics.

One could say that this movie is flawed because it ends without any solution, just a pessimistic outlook of either being abused or lashing out as a response till everything gets repayed in an even more horrific way.

But I think that doesnt make it bad or "demorilization propoganda against us brave chuds" - like I think some ask mentioned the Idiot by Dostojewsky sometime ago, and that book also ends with the protagonist failing in his quest and every outlook leading to tragedy, yet nobody would call it bad for that.

Because as Dostojewsky basically boils down to saying that humanity without love is lost, no matter how banal that sounds, so does this movie.

Yet I know this will probably make you think that the critiques are right lol, but I dunno its hard to put into words, just all the layers of the film on a meta level also proving how the audience doesnt care about the first movie besides as a power fantasy, hence why it is a musical, or it predicting the response of the fans and everyone hating it, or the fact that a guy who previously directed raunchy sex comedies chose to make this movie instead going the easy route of making some plot about joker escaping prison and then terrorizing the town with his minions till he has some ephiphany/gets killed by some batman or whatever lol.

And also it looked pretty to me lol, which may seem insignificant, but after watching that truely garbage and overrated trash "deadpool and wolverine" I could appreciate that - and that movie was truely bad yet the same people praise it, hence why I doubt critics are a good barometer.

That movie truely made me sick of its reddit-esque meta lampshading, while in Joker 2 it was mostly fitting.

I dunno, in the end I'm not saying its some perfect movie or even that "deep" if one is a lot more sophisticated and well read than me, but as a comic book sequel movie I doubt there are a lot more interesting attempts.

(oh also another small meta joke I found funny is the whole implication of the Lady Gaga charachter only using Joker for her own gain, which seems to be what the singer literally did cause nobody cares about her anymore so why not attach yourself to a super succesful itteration of a super succesful franchise? Hell the chuds could have easily said "see this is a critque of women taking from men and then discarding them once they dont need them anymore!")

I still haven't seen it, but I post this for those who may be interested in a review from a reader.

[jellogram]

It's bizarre how people have made it a faux pas not to like dogs. If you think dogs are the embodiment of goodness and sunshine that's cool for you but not everyone feels that way and that's okay. And they don't have to have a traumatic backstory about violent dogs either, they can just not really like dogs. And you need to respect that and your dog needs to respect their space and you need to not make them feel like a horrible freak about it. It's a preference about pets not a fucking moral barometer.

"I just don't trust anyone who doesn't like dogs 🥺" then you have something deeply wrong with you. I'm sorry but not making a human friend uncomfortable is more important than your dog getting to lick their face. And if you disagree then I don't trust you.