#it's set in a world based on a terrible terrible nightmare i had

[slunch]

Jelly Dreams

There was something on my mind a moment ago, but the thought has vanished.

Strings of multicolored pennants snap at the air above my head. I’m standing in the crowd in the middle of an open-air market. Behind the tin roofs, I can see the points of the snow-capped mountains that surround us. They’re close in the clear air, just a few steps beyond the edge of the market.

I scan the stalls, trying to remember what I was going to buy. I was definitely here for some reason. I pat my pockets, trying to find something amiss. Was I hungry? Needed a part for something? I turn and look behind me, trying to figure out the way I came.

One person brushes past me and I feel them take my wallet. I grab their arm a moment too late, and they twist free and sprint into the crowd. All thought of my present situation lost, I tear after them, pushing through the space they leave behind.

The thief turns right, darts into a narrow tarp-covered gap between two stalls. For a moment our pursuit is quiet and blue. The noise of the market is muffled here. We pass behind a food stall, sun-shafts through holes in the tarp flashing by in the steam. I try to keep my footing on the wet floor.

Ahead, they leave the alley and plunge back into the crowd. I exit the blue alley and the sunlight blinds me, so I stumble and fall. The thief is gone when I scramble upright. 

I wait a moment and seek higher ground via a stack of crates and the roof of an unused stall. A flutter of dark material in an alley catches my eye but I stand, panting, and watch the thief pull away.

The wallet has my cards, my passports, my vital papers. It becomes clearer in my mind as I dwell on it. The wallet itself is artisanal; expensive leather worked by a close friend of mine for a large amount of money. The wallet has an emotionally significant symbol etched onto the front, an emblem of a close experience I shared with the friend who made it. To let it go would be dangerous and expensive and humiliating, and my body strains to continue the chase.

I remain still. I don’t know why I’m frozen until the two-step mantra rises.

To escape the dreamer, remain clear-minded and see your death.

I’m clear-minded now, having released my connection to the tether, but something is missing. I don't see anything in the market that could be my death. Fabrics, trinkets, electronics.... 

An icy metal railing catches the sun at the end of an aisle. A battered yellow sign warns people away from the edge. I focus, imagine myself leaning over the railing. Looking at the blue-shadowed glacial valley below the mountain, outcroppings of rock drawing my eye down, down. The ice on the railing melting under my hands. My hip bones on the railing as I lurch forwards, fingers slipping—

My stomach jolts and I snap out of the vision. Sweat beads on my brow, unnaturally warm for the winter, because of course it isn’t really winter—

And I snapped out of the vision again, into the real world. Out of the icy market and into my sleeping bag in my tent in the desert.

I sat up and drew in a long, shuddering gasp, hand already reaching behind me for the dreamer that had fallen with one tendril still on my neck and the others lying limp in the polyester fabrics.

“d,” I said. 

I cleared my throat.

“DREAMERS!” I yelled. 

I yanked my bare feet out of the sleeping bag and into the boots, flailed around on the floor of the tent for other dreamers (none), unzipped the tent, stopped!

I pushed my hand against the roof of the tent. There was a dreamer sitting above the flap. I slapped it sideways, through the fabric, and heard it flop onto the ground. Then I crawled out, dragging the one that was in there with me out onto the dirt, where I stomped it into mush.

This all happened in pitch-blackness. I had shuffled back to my tent and started on the second dreamer when the lights came on. The camp came alive with groaning and muttering.

“I got two!” I yelled to nobody in particular.

Flashlights scanned the ground inside the circle of tents, then around the perimeter. There was a thud and a muffled squish. “Got one!” yelled Mandela.

“Nothing here!” came another report, this one from Poke.

“Nothing!” yelled Star.

“All clear, I think,” said Koda.

“Okay!” I yelled, and sighed. There was silence while we reassembled.

“It’s 5:30,” said Poke, and looked at us. We all looked at the sky that was beginning to lighten.

“I’ll start the coffee,” said Poke.

Ten minutes later, we were sitting around the half-buried ashes of last night’s fire. Poke made the best coffee in what was left of the world. I savored it, rolled each grainy sip around my mouth. It was old trail coffee, but well-preserved. Low acidity, and Poke never burned it, regardless of how rough the previous night had been.

I was still in the post-dreamer stage where I relished every sensory connection to the waking world.

“Crane, how are you feeling?” asked Koda.

I looked up blearily at him.

“It wasn’t the worst one I’ve had,” I said, eyes back on the ashes.

Getting nabbed by a dreamer was a uniquely personal experience, and often a humiliating one. It was a stark reminder that you had slipped up. Forgetting to look up when entering an abandoned building, neglecting to check your back when traveling alone, or in my case, leaving the tent flap slightly unzipped.

Most people didn’t tell, unless it was a truly nasty one. A lot of people thought it was bad luck. Some people thought they were portentous, or full of rare psychological insights. Mandela talked about both of hers on this trip and they weren’t even that interesting. She definitely owed us after the first one, though. We lost twelve hours when we should have been on the road, propped her head up and spoon-fed her oatmeal and water. I wasn’t sure if she’d follow in her parents’ footsteps and never make it back up.

Mandela decided on a timeout after that.

“You know the drill,” I said to Koda, who was still watching me. “Cleared up, saw my death. I don’t think this one was more than ten minutes or so.”

“A speedrun,” he chuckled, and drained his coffee.

PC slang. Koda liked to flex his pre-crash birth year sometimes.

We broke camp swiftly and methodically. The last travelers to pass through had cleared brush around the site and swept the rusted table, and we did the same. Star led the way out, laminated map in hand. Mostly for show, because she’d done this route before and had a mind for directions, but old habits die hard and it never hurt to double-check.

“We’re finally turning south today,” she said. “We can get the shade from the highway on the trail, too.”

“Last day on foot, right?” asked Poke.

“Yep. We’ll get to the truck stop this afternoon ‘cause we started so early.”

“Yeehaw,” I murmured.

Tension left our shoulders and we adjusted our frame packs for speed at the cost of energy. The promise of a hot meal and a cold shower (and a truck!) was a lighthouse at the end of the shimmering desert.

Before the sun had fully burnt off the morning mist, we came up on the highway. It was a jagged line in the distance that snaked over the land and then suddenly, without warning, became a crumbling structure that loomed over our head. I could see a few dreamers lurking on its shaded underbelly.

To escape the dreamer, remain clear-minded and see your death. The thought was an unbidden but necessary guest, one I had invited into my mind years ago.

The trail didn’t cross underneath the overpass yet. It stayed in its long shadow, winding closer and closer to a point somewhere in the far distance. My gut clenched at the thought of passing underneath the clumps of dreamers. I glanced at my boots, where a few iridescent filaments lingered, and wiped them on some brush as I passed.

“This is a good route,” said Star. “I know you guys want to go fast, but if we hold a decent pace the trail will keep us in the shade for most of the day.”

“I wish concrete wasn’t so terrible for your legs,” said Poke. “Walking on that highway would be pretty nice.”

“Concrete also gets very hot in the sunlight,” said Star. “And there are no wind-breaks, so if you’re in a headwind it sucks.”

“Ech,” said Koda.

“It would be so nice to get an infra project out here,” said Mandela wistfully. “Just plant a bunch of trees in the median and on either side, maybe put down some dirt, and you’d have such a great road.”

“Hah,” said Koda. “Maybe bring it up at the truck stop and they’ll relay it to, what, Salt Lake? What’s the nearest city?”

“Reno, as of today,” said Star.

“Hell yeah,” said Poke. “That’s progress right there.”

We traipsed on in silence for a while. The sun rose steadily.

“You guys mind if I dictate?” I asked. The breeze from the morning had died down.

“Yeah, go for it,” said Mandela.

“Sure,” said Koda.

I reached back overhead and rummaged around in my pack. My fingers touched the toothbrush, crank battery, utility knife, and recorder.

 I inspected it for dust and damage as I walked, absentmindedly falling into step behind Poke so I wouldn’t twist an ankle. The recorder’s batteries were still mostly charged and its current storage chip was only half full. The blue paint was chipped. My fingers had long since worn away the text on the buttons.

I clicked it on.

“Alright, day seven of the San Francisco courier trip. We’re almost to the truck stop, and it’s a beautiful day to be walking, especially after the run-in I had with a dreamer last night. However, I was in and out in maybe ten minutes. Nothing scary, it was, uh...”

I trailed off, unsure.

“Are you guys okay with me talking about it?”

I was met with grunts of assent.

“It was a market in some snowy mountains somewhere. The tether this time was my wallet that got stolen. Nice wallet though, I remember it was made by some random friend and had something etched on the front.”

“What was it?” asked Mandela, hunting oneiric symbols.

“I’m not sure, I just remember that it was significant somehow. In the dream.”

“Probably a crane, har har,” said Poke.

“That’s a tether for you,” said Koda.

“Yeah, it was pretty textbook,” I continued. “The dreamer got into my tent somehow, I must have left the flap open a little. I found one more on the roof and knocked it off before I got out, and then...who got the other one? Star?”

“Dela got it,” said Star.

“Yeah, Mandela got the other one. Three in total. Anyway, the weather is nice and we’re making good time. We did a package check this morning and everything looks okay.”

I clicked the recorder off and took a sip of water.

“We did do a package check, right?”

“Poke did,” said Koda.

“Yep.”

We walked on. I watched the scenery pass. There weren’t many structures or ruins on our route. There was an occasional tree with a dreamer or two hanging in the branches like a limp balloon, but as far as I could see it was mostly grass and scrub. Some low brown hills crept by us in the middle distance, and closer to the horizon I could just make out the mountain range. It was odd being this far west and not hearing cicadas in the late summer.

Cloud shadows drifted on the dead grass. There was enough cover that the air stayed cooler than it had been at the start of our trip.

“We can stop for a meal up ahead,” Star said after a while. “There’s a rest area somewhere around here, if it isn’t filled with dreamers.”

Sure enough, the rest stop materialized as our path drew closer alongside the raised highway. It didn’t look like anything much, just a bathroom and a few shade-giving structures with some trees and picnic tables, but I was glad to see it. Then we got closer and I noticed the dreamer infestation.

They slumped and clumped on the trees. Tendrils hung in the air and trailed over the picnic tables. As we watched, one slid off a branch and splatted onto the concrete, where it lay motionless for a moment before beginning a slow slide into the men’s room.

Koda inhaled and sighed deeply, and started expanding his walking stick.

“You know,” he said slowly, “when I was a California baby, we had these things called piñatas. I loved them.” 

“...yeah?” said Poke.

“They were cardboard creatures, and they were filled with candy. When it was your birthday, they’d put a blindfold on you and give you a stick, and they’d hang one on a rope from a tree branch and let you go wild on it.”

“That sounds fun,” said Star.

“Yeah, it was pretty fun as a kid,” said Koda. “I remember one time one of my uncles was in charge of the rope and he kept yanking it up and down while I was blindfolded. I only got a few hits in before getting so frustrated I cried.”

We tried to imagine him as a crying child and there was a moment of silence, interrupted by two sharp clicks as Koda finished locking out the ends of his staff.

As we approached, one dreamer slipped off a picnic table and moved slowly towards us. As its tendrils extended upwards, Poke took a running leap and stomped on it with both feet. It made a huge mess, and Poke lurched backwards on his suddenly-slippery soles before righting himself under his frame pack. He turned back towards us in shame.

“Sorry.”

“Be careful,” said Star.

Koda said nothing and swatted the two remaining dreamers out of the trees.

We began the smashing in earnest. The procedure was very simple (if you were prepared): watch each other’s backs, always keep an eye on what’s above you, and burst the rubbery outer shell of the dreamer to destroy them. I didn’t think about it as killing, because I didn’t think they were alive. Dreamers just sat around and multiplied when nobody was looking. The closest Earth thing to them was a jellyfish, visually, but at least jellyfish had to eat. 

The folklore said dreamers were solar-powered, and that was why you didn’t see as many when it was overcast. My anecdotal evidence said otherwise. It was interesting to see them after the person they’d attached to woke up, though. They barely moved, and didn’t even reach for a new person. They just lay there like fat little batteries.

I wiped some sweat off my brow and checked on the rest of the group. Koda’s methodical stomping had coated the lower half of his boots in a layer of gelatinous dreamer innards. Star and Poke weren’t far behind, and they always had each other’s backs. Mandela was still struggling with the finer techniques of dreamer smushing.

“Dela, you gotta be more decisive,” I called to her. “You’ll only slip on them if you don’t burst the outer part. If you punch through the center you’ll be fine.”

Gazing thoughtfully downwards, she gave me a thumbs-up and raised a leg for a particularly powerful stomp.

“I think that’s all of them,” said Poke.

Star huffed. “Man. That was a lot of dreamers.” 

Even Koda was breathing a little hard. 

We shrugged our packs off onto the picnic tables and slumped down in the shade. I felt a tickle at the back of my neck and flailed for an embarrassing few seconds until I realized some of my hair had come loose from where I’d tied it back. Mandela giggled.

We unpacked the rest of the lunch. Dense bread, dried meat, and dried fruit was the same thing we’d had on most of the trip, but none of us really cared. It got the job done, and now that we’d cleared out the dreamers, this rest stop was definitely one of the nicer places we’d eaten. All the tables were in the shade of the trees and structures by now, alleviating the worst of the heat, and we could see for miles across the empty landscape.

“We’ve got twenty minutes before we need to head out, if you guys want to relax,” said Star. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that the clunky watch on her wrist served the same purpose as her laminated map.

Koda stretched out across the top of one of the concrete tables and closed his eyes. Poke began methodically cleaning his rifle, even though it had been a few days since he’d last fired it. Mandela started trying to sketch the dappled shade across his shoulders.

I grabbed a roll of paper and wandered over to the bathrooms. The structure would have been a disgusting place pre-crash, rarely cleaned for the volume of people that passed through it. Now it was just a dusty shelter for the animals that sometimes slept there. A small amount of light came in through the gap between the walls and the rafters. Someone had installed a pump by one of the toilets.

There was nothing in the stalls or on the ceiling, so I sat down and the dreamer fell onto my neck from its perch atop the wall.

The mascot costume is heavy and my undershirt is soaked with sweat. Drums and whistles clatter all around me. We’re approaching the second hour of the parade, and it isn’t showing any signs of stopping. I don’t even know what part of the city we’re in anymore. Worst of all, the five cups of coffee I had this morning are getting to me.

I need to stop, find somewhere to take a break, but I’m in the middle of a group of other mascots. Sweat drips into my eyes and I blink furiously in the steamy, still air of my costume. It’s stifling. I stumble and the mascot behind me collides with me. It grabs me, shoving me up and forwards, and I can catch a muffled expletive through its snout.

We march on through the sun-drenched streets. My eyes scan the sidewalks for a convenient alley or convenience store, but everything is roped off for us. For our parade. 

The light glitters off the windows and the drums echo off the buildings. The coffee churns in my gut and I can almost taste it in my mouth, bitter and burned. Poke never burned it.

When I remember who Poke is, I break into a cold sweat inside the costume. I don’t remember how I got here, not yet, but I need to clear my mind. That’s the first thing. I know there’s a second thing, but I can’t remember it yet.

The first step is always to accept your current situation; to take stock of what you’ve got. In this world, it’s established that I have to continue the parade. The physically roped-off alleys, the other mascots that push me if I falter. I can’t stop marching; that’s a given. I almost reach to pull off the head of my costume, but something tells me that’s a bad idea.

I take a deep breath of sweaty air and slowly let it out. Clear-minded. That’s the second thing. Remain clear-minded in spite of the obstacles the dream throws at you: tethers, physical discomfort, or rare emotional appeals. 

I remember the next step is to see your death. How can I die here?

I’m on the street, but it’s all closed off. I can’t be run over by any cars. Something could drop on me, maybe. I look up and in an instant the sun blinds me, but I have enough time to realize I’m in the middle of a large avenue. Not underneath any windows or scaffolding.

The parade turns a corner and I sneak a look backwards. We’re part of a small cohort at the head of the procession. Behind me plod other brightly colored mascots, followed by a marching band and a train of whimsically themed floats. My padded feet slip on a pile of confetti and I almost fall. The costumed creature behind me doesn’t push this time, instead opting to knee me in the kidney. Even through the layers of fabric, it hurts. If I were to fall, I’d get no sympathy.

But would that be enough to kill me, I think, trudging along. Let’s see. If I did fall right now, the other mascots would trample me first. It’d hurt, but wouldn’t be enough. They’d be followed by the band, weighed down by their gigantic instruments. Maybe that would be enough, but there’s more to the parade. I was able to see at least five floats before they disappeared in the haze of heat and confetti.

If I were lucky, the wheels of the first float would hit my head instead of my legs.

I bolted upright on the cold seat. My head snapped back and crushed the dreamer against the concrete. I ripped it off my neck and slammed it against the wall a few more times for good measure. Then I stuffed it into the toilet, where it lay as I tried desperately to flush it with the pump.

I splashed water onto my face when I washed my hands. The bathroom was cramped and dark like a mascot costume.

When I ventured back out into the light, I noticed that the sun had shifted, and the rest of the group was watching me. Mandela visibly relaxed as she saw me emerge. 

“You okay in there?” asked Poke. “I heard a lot of slamming towards the end.”

“You should eat more fiber,” said Star.

They were unconditionally glad to see me, which warmed my heart, but I couldn’t believe I missed the dreamer. I had even seen it crawl into the bathroom as we were walking up.

“Tricky, aren’t they,” said Koda, watching me silently shake my head.

“They always know somehow,” I said. “They’re always behind or above you, in those weird places where you have to look twice.”

“Yup.”

I stood there a bit longer, trying to follow the line of thought to its end and get it out of my brain, then shook my head.

“Ugh. Let’s pack up, I wanna get out of here.”

“What, you thought we were just sitting around waiting for you?” asked Mandela. “We’re ready to get going.”

I looked at the rest area. Everything was clean. My frame pack sat on the table, fully in order.

“Thanks, guys,” I said, and we kept moving.

I stayed in the back this time and kept my eyes up. I couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid parade. We were just a small parade of five people now, camping costumes fluttering in the breeze, but it made me nervous for some reason I couldn’t describe. Acting out part of the dream, however small and remote, felt wrong. Like we were walking into a trap or willingly winding up some vast and terrible mechanism.

I felt like the rest of the group could pick up on my unease. They might have attributed it to the fact that I was grabbed by two dreamers in a day, which was pretty rare, but I could never tell what they were thinking sometimes.

I kept walking.

It was mid-afternoon when we got to the outskirts of the truck stop. It was a small settlement, but the farms and scattered animal pens stretched out for a few miles around it. Some people in the fields glanced at us as we approached, but a group of couriers was nothing new to them. I was glad we’d made it before the sun went down, because there was nothing worse than checking for dreamers in the dark.

We passed a large wooden sign that said THEATER. Behind it, a solar panel array stretched over to the hills. I blinked in the reflected sunlight.

“Is that a road name?” I asked.

“Pretty sure it’s the town name,” said Star. “I’ve seen weirder. I stopped at a place in Montana once that was just called E.”

“The solar panels look pretty clean,” said Mandela. “That’s always a good sign.”

“Looks like a big place,” said Poke.

“Maybe,” said Koda, after some thought. “I’d estimate a few hundred based on the farms, but we don’t know what the southern side looks like.”

We passed the inner wall. It was nothing special, a ring of repurposed livestock fencing around the core of the town. A few kids on bikes sprinted past. Old trees grew from the remains of the paved road, thick roots pushing aside chunks of asphalt.

“Look, they could have dug up the pavement around those trees like they did for the main road,” said Mandela, pointing. “But they didn’t. It’s restricting their growth.”

“They’re making a statement,” chuckled Koda. “Theater likes their theatrics.”

The truck stop was a complex of a few buildings. Oak trees shaded the remains of a parking lot, around which a few structures rose for a couple stories. I could see the garage in the back. The parking lot was enclosed by a low fence that seemed more for decoration than utility. Where it opened to the main road, a woman lounged with her feet up on a table. 

Despite the fact that she had watched us approach, she waited until we were at the table to swing her feet down and stand up to greet us.

“Afternoon,” said Koda.

“Hello, folks, my name’s Samantha, but you can just call me Sam,” she said. “We’ve got the common area here, lodgings over there”—she pointed to an ancient hotel-looking building—“and of course, the garage is behind the common area. Our truck stop offers a range of amenities, including hot meals, hot showers, and a prime location in Theater’s historic downtown.”

Recitation over, Sam smiled at us. “Well. If you’d like to follow me, we can deal with payment inside.”

She sized us up as she escorted us past the fence and into the truck stop. I felt more remains of asphalt under my feet. The air was cooler inside the compound.

“Five couriers is kinda rare, huh? Let’s see...”

Her eye was drawn down to Koda, as usual, and his gray-streaked hair.

“Leader.”

Koda nodded.

“Navigator,” she said, looking at Star and the constellation tattoos on her hands.

“That one’s a gimme,” Star said.

Sam’s eyes flitted over to Mandela, then Poke, noting his rifle, then back to Mandela. Most people on the road tended to give her a second look, which we were used to by now.

“If he’s the hunter, then you’re the mechanic.”

Mandela nodded. “Mechanic and botanist.”

Sam’s gaze lingered on her and then settled on me.

“So what are you, the second mechanic?”

“I’m an archivist,” I replied. 

“Archivist?”

“I’m documenting the rebuilding, mostly, and taking some field notes for when Chicago eventually gets the trains out here.”

Sam frowned. “Rebuilding what, exactly? We’re not doing much of that these days.”

I shrugged. “Someone’s gotta write things down, might as well be a courier. We carry little things,” I said, neglecting to mention what our current package was, “but they add up. Traveling is a good source of information too.”

“The extra pair of hands has been pretty nice,” said Koda.

“I can imagine,” Sam said absently. “Here’s the main hall. We’ve got a few people passing through, but I’m sure you folks will want to get on the road as soon as possible tomorrow. I’ll tell the mechanics to prioritize your group tonight.”

“What kind of trucks do you have?” asked Mandela, craning her neck to look over at the garage. Bits of conversation floated over, followed by the clang of someone dropping a metal tool on a concrete floor.

“Oh, this and that,” said Sam, raising her voice over the ensuing swearing. “No gas, obviously, but we’ve got two vans and a few flatbeds.”

Mandela murmured something.

“Where are the showers?” I asked.

“Ha!” said Sam. “No worries. We’ve got them in the lodgings. I’ll get your group set up with the keys.”

We entered a large lobby that must have been grand once. Wires snaked across the flaking plaster and through crudely punched holes in the walls. A few copper pipes rose into the ceiling. Despite this, the rest of the space was taken care of. The afternoon sunlight through the windows only lit up a few dust motes, and someone had swept the floor recently. 

Sam sat down at a large desk and flipped open her computer, already working the pedal on the floor. I felt the soft vibrations of the flywheel, heard it squeak as it started transferring power into the computer. 

“Thing takes forever to start,” she said, poking a few keys.

“That sounds like a small wheel,” said Mandela. “What do you do if you need to get up or something?”

Sam looked up at us over the lid of the computer.

“Well, then she saves her work,” said Koda, who was already digging into his pack, and said to Sam: “Two rooms should be plenty, thanks.”

“I don’t use it for much besides numbers,” Sam said, licking a thumb to count the bills she had been handed, “and to keep track of a couple things. We’ve got a guest book in the common area if you’d like to sign that.”

Sam pulled open a drawer and withdrew a group of worn golden keys. Their edges were soft with use.

“Two rooms, then. Second floor, first two on the right.”

The shower was everything I had hoped for. I still checked for dreamers, though. Afterwards, I lay on the bed, sandals and all, and watched as the rest of the couriers unpacked.

“What did Sam tell you about Theater? Is there anything cool here?” said Mandela, poking her head through the door to the room that I shared with Koda and Poke.

“Not much,” said Koda, emptying his pockets onto the single table. “Kinda funny that they actually have a theater though.”

“Closed ‘till Thursday!” hollered Star from the next room.

“It’s fine,” I said, lounging on my hard mattress. “You see one terrible rendition of a Shakespeare play, you’ve seen them all.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing any rendition,” said Mandela coolly.

“Well, if you’re up for an afternoon stroll, we can at least check out the building,” said Koda, leaning out into the hallway. “Any other takers?”

Poke nodded.

“Crane?”

“I would, but I’ve got some sleep to catch up on,” I said, lying back on the mattress. The tough springs were heaven after a few dreamer-infested days on the road. “Just lock me in when you leave. I’ll have the window closed.”

Koda tossed me the spare key from the doorway as they headed out. I was asleep before my fingers finished curling around it.

I never dream.

* * *

For a second after I awoke, I thought I was back home. The wall was to the right of my head and the dim light through my closed eyes was exactly how I remembered it. I lay there, relishing the illusion, until someone across the hall slammed their door. The spell broke and I woke up properly.

The room was silent, dark, and stuffy, and the sunset painted a deep orange square on the far wall. My mouth was dry and my head pounded. The water in my pack was still cool. From the rest stop in the desert that had been full of dreamers.

I shook my head despite the pain, trying to dislodge the vision that clung to my brain like a gummy tentacle. 

I slid open the window and took a breath of dry air. It was time to do my job and talk to some locals. I put more clothes on and grabbed my things from my pack, leaving a note for Koda and the rest of the group on the door as I left.

Archiving. Common area then closest tavern. Opened window for air. Watch for dreamers.

The door locked firmly behind me and I trotted down the worn steps and out of the bunk building. It was going to be a clear night, but the day wouldn’t let go just yet. Long shadows from the town’s other buildings stretched across the courtyard. The grand windows of the main hall were dark, but I saw a figure inside, silhouetted against the dusk as she swept the floors.

I wondered what this place had been before the crash. Maybe after the crash, for a little while, before the dreamers started dragging people away from the waking world. Before people figured out how to escape or constantly look over their shoulders and whole towns were swallowed up. 

Who knows how long it took the first dreamers to reach this little desert town after their capsule hit the Pacific. Maybe they hitched a ride on the bottom of a desert bus, or on the wheels of an airliner passing overhead. Or maybe they just brainlessly slithered their way across the desert, chasing whatever it is people have that draws them.

I checked above the door to the common room, but it was clear. I pushed it open and the figure at the far wall stopped sweeping when she heard the creak.

“Hi,” said Sam. Her voice echoed off the hardwood floor and high ceilings. “What can I do for you?”

“Just some conversation, if you don’t mind,” I said. “I always talk to one or two people in the places we pass through.”

“I’ve got a busy evening ahead of me,” said Sam, “but go ahead. You’ve got until I finish this room.”

By the looks of things, she was close to done. I felt my way over to one of the threadbare seats, trying not to bark a shin on a low table, and hastily made myself comfortable. Most people liked talking about their lives to anyone who’d listen. Sam was a rare sort.

It was too dark to take notes, but that was fine. I barely wrote things these days anyway since I was always walking. I clicked a few buttons on the hand recorder.

“So, Sam, you were born post-crash, right? Was it here in Theater?”

“Mm-hmm. Born and raised.”

That was unfortunate. She didn’t look old enough to have a PC birth year but you never knew. I was still waiting to hear about the first few crash years from someone who wasn’t Koda.

“Was it always called that?” I asked, and watched her silhouette pause mid-sweep.

“No, we used to be Aberdeen.”

“What’s the story behind the name change? Did it have anything to do with dreamers?”

She sighed. “We opened a theater. It keeps everyone sane. We’ve got original plays by one guy, but the theater’s closed right now.”

“Until next Thursday,” I pointed out helpfully.

“That’s right. Opening night,” she said and picked up the broom.

“Is the playwright available to interview?”

Sam paused in the doorway to the lobby, a shadow in the dusk.

“No. He locks himself in the tower of his house for a week before he finishes a play. Also, if you want to interview more people, the tavern’s right off the square. Sorry for not being too talkative tonight, but it’s been a long day and my work isn’t done yet.”

That was disappointing, but then again I wasn’t sure if I had the energy for an extended interview. It had been a long day. 

Lights came on outside. The streetlights here still worked, but I wasn’t sure how much longer the local power grid would stay up. That was a question for Mandela. Towns with good grids were always nice though, otherwise we’d be checking for dreamers everywhere. 

I wandered in the approximate direction of the town’s center. Star would have been able to find it in an instant, but I just walked towards whichever cluster of lights was brightest. 

Before long, the tree-lined street opened onto a plaza. A few strings of weak electric bulbs spanned the area between rusted traffic lights. More people wandered around. I didn’t like how carefree they seemed. The plaza was well-lit and full of good lines of sight, but you never knew what lurked around the corner in a dark alleyway.

The tavern was a large building at the far end of the plaza. An unlit sign indicated that it was called the Albatross. Inside, it was dim and quiet. I ordered the weakest beer I could find and settled in a corner, taking notes and wondering when the rest of the couriers would show up.

Eventually, I’d had enough. The place had filled up with more people. I got another drink and made a circuit of the main area until I saw what I was looking for: two people roughly my age who seemed to be enjoying themselves. I caught their eyes as I approached.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked. The locals smiled beerily and made welcoming gestures, so I pulled up a chair. After some small talk, it was established that they were Will and Hog (real name unknown). As for mine...

“Crane? That’s not a real name,” said the ever-observant Will.

“That’s right,” I replied. “You guys don’t know about road-names? You don’t do them?”

“What?” said Hog.

I paused, unsure how to explain the concept. They were big boys.

“It’s, uh, it’s easier to do certain things when you’re a little detached from people. On the road. 

“Imagine you’re traveling through some difficult mountains, and someone in your group gets grabbed by a dreamer. Of course you take care of them while they’re dreaming. But imagine an entire day passes, or maybe more, and you have to take care of this person and watch your own back at the same time, and you have no idea when or if they’re gonna make it back up. Imagine the next town is a week or more away, and the entire time you’re not moving, but you’re eating into your supplies. Then a storm rolls by, or the temperature drops, and you have to get moving, so you make a choice...”

I gazed into the distance and brought my drink to my lips, letting the timeout bracelet on my wrist catch the light.

“What?” said Hog.

“Forget it,” I said. “It’s an old courier tradition.”

I neglected to mention the superstition about real names and other people in dreams, and that most courier teams inevitably became close after a few weeks on the road.

“What’s your real name?” Will asked.

“My home-name? It’s a little similar to my road-name. But it’s bad luck to say it right now. And I’m not going to part with it on the road like this,” I added, trying to indicate that some peer pressure and a little more beer would convince me to part with it.

Will nodded sagely and glanced at my half-empty glass.

“So,” I continued, “what’s with the playwright? I hear he’s a recluse.”

“No, he’s a man,” said Hog, and laughed a deep hur-hur-hur.

“Shut up,” said Will, scratching the back of his neck. He turned to me. “Mr. Haywood is great. He keeps us sane.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You gonna be around for opening night on Thursday? I hear the newest play is going to be some powerful stuff.”

“What kinds of plays does he write?”

“Weird ones,” said Hog.

“Absurdist dramas,” said Will.

I nodded and left a gap in the conversation, trying to get more out of them without appearing too nosy, but they didn’t bite.

“You guys squash any dreamers lately?”

There was a pause. Hog scratched some stubble. “Not really.”

“Do you know what they are?” said Will. “You’re from one of the cities, right?”

“We left from Chicago, yeah,” I said. “Nobody knows what they are yet.”

Will set his drink down a little harder than he intended, slopping foam over his knuckles, and leaned over the table towards me. 

“Hog and I think they’re alien recreational devices.”

“Alien weed,” Hog added proudly.

“Not like weed, man,” said Will. “I told you. It’s like alien acid. You have to forget your earthly attachments and see your own death so you can ascend.”

I was glad that the survival folklore had made it to Theater, but less thrilled to see it come up in this context. The two-step solution was supposed to be used in life-or-dream-death situations, not half-baked conspiracy theories.

A small group pushed through the doors of the Albatross. One of its members waved.

“Next round is on me,” I said, and pushed my chair back. “Enjoy your night.”

I got in line and bought a large bowl of stew. The other couriers were almost finished with theirs by the time I got to their booth.

“You guys have a nice walk? I’ve been archiving. Scoot over.”

“Archiving brews, maybe,” said Star.

“False,” I said. “I’ve been assembling my data and I think Theater is close to a major breakthrough on what Dreamers actually are.”

“Really?” asked Mandela. “What are they saying?”

“Check this out.” I produced my notebook and spread it flat on the table. Everyone peered over their bowls as I carefully added another tally mark for Alien Weed.

Star dropped her spoon and rolled her eyes.

Mandela groaned. “I hate townies like that. You know they’ve never lost anyone to a timeout.”

“I tried to tell them about timeouts, but I don’t think they got it.”

“What, they couldn’t even imagine it?”

“I’ll buy us some drinks,” said Star. “Koda can tell you about the town.”

“They don’t get many couriers,” said Koda.

“Star said she’d been through before,” said Poke.

“That was years ago. I guess they haven’t had any since.”

Odd movement in my peripheral vision made me glance towards the bar. Star had been cornered by one of the locals. He gestured and stabbed a finger in our direction. In Mandela’s direction, to be specific, because although I couldn’t hear him, I saw his lips curl around with that and his nose wrinkle as he snarled the epithet. Then he lunged forward and threw a haymaker.

I started, and Poke and I instinctively moved closer on either side of Mandela, but the fact that Koda was still in his seat meant that things hadn’t gone completely south. I thought about what I had just seen and relaxed a little.

Visuals and body language were always important before a fight, doubly so in a room full of strangers. Anyone watching would have seen Star’s palms up in a placating gesture, head and gaze lowered as the aggressor loomed over her. That’s why it was okay for her to block the haymaker with her elbow and hit the man very hard in the throat. The kick to the stomach was probably warranted too.

The townie’s flailing arms cleared a table as he fell backwards. Star stood still, the model of restraint, as glass broke around her. Koda strode up a moment later before the other locals got to the scene to break up a fight that had already ended, and knelt down by the fallen man. Then he stood up and turned to Star. He said something and they both looked back at us, saw Poke and I sitting on either side of a very nervous Mandela.

I looked around the room. Will and Hog were glaring at me. The arrangement of legs under their chairs indicated they had been about to get up.

As conversation started to rise around the Albatross once more, Koda and Star leaned over to the bartender and had a hushed discussion.

There was a quiet noise next to me. Mandela and I looked over at Poke, who had just sheathed his knife. 

“What?” he asked.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” I said.

“I checked my rifle at the truck stop. I gotta have something.”

Star returned with drinks.

“Good news!” she said. “We’re going to drink these, and then we’re going to leave!”

* * *

I woke up again after less than an hour’s worth of sleep. I was still a little tense from the bar fight. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering if Star was also wound up and awake in her room, and then slowly sat up and looked out the window. 

A single light shone in the dark town. It was in the spire of a house on a hill, not far from here. The playwright was working late, and I suddenly needed to see.

The nap I had taken earlier in the afternoon had screwed up my sleep schedule, and a walk in the cool air before crawling back under warm blankets would help. Some part of me, the archivist that refused to leave a blank section in his notebook, told me this was a good idea.

I debated it internally and reached a decision after a few minutes.

The springs under the cot squeaked as I sat up, and I froze and looked back at Koda and Poke. Neither of them stirred as I pulled on my outdoor clothes, but I still kept my moon-shadow clear of their faces as I padded towards the door to pull on my boots and jacket. I paused at the door for a moment and decided to lock it. Koda had a spare key.

I stayed in the darkness as I made my way over to the playwright’s house. It was easier to see other things in the shadows when you didn’t walk in the light. The last thing I wanted was for a dreamer to fall on me, I thought as I checked the branches of a tree before passing underneath it. I imagined the rest of the couriers waking up and having to deal with an angry local who’d found me underneath a dreamer in someone’s backyard, or — I shook my head just thinking of it — some idiot panicking and pulling it off my neck before I made it back up. Dream death was supposed to be a peaceful way to go, but still.

In the still air, the bush ahead of me rustled. I stopped and waited for fifteen seconds until a dreamer slipped out from underneath it and crawled around the corner, trailing twigs and leaves.

Dream death. That happened once in my hometown, when I was much younger. They never said who accidentally pulled the plug. I supposed the guilt was punishment enough.

At least our group had never needed to deal with a timeout on the road. I’d met courier teams who had done it and they didn’t tend to stay together very long afterwards. Aside from the obvious reason of being down one member, a lot of people just couldn’t face the possibility of doing that to another person again. And so they stayed home, or traveled alone until a dreamer grabbed them.

I rounded a corner and stopped. I was at one end of an overgrown courtyard, which Haywood’s house overlooked. A single window on the second floor was lit up, and through it I could see the top of the playwright’s bald head. It looked like he was bent over a desk.

Something told me I needed a better view. This was straying out of night walk territory and into trespassing and spying on townie territory, but I didn’t care. Just like the snow market dream from the other day, I sought higher ground. In this case I climbed a toolshed in someone’s backyard and peered up at his window. 

I couldn’t see much. Haywood’s head didn’t move. He was still bent over his desk.

I climbed further, made it to someone’s covered back porch by way of a thick tree branch, and paused when I tried to make sense of what I saw through the window.

Haywood was bent over his desk, but in an odd position. His arms weren’t writing, but folded on the desk under his head. He was wearing a shapeless hoodie, hood rumpled over the back of his head and drawstrings pooled on the desk. It was an odd hoodie, made of suspiciously nice material for a town in the middle of nowhere. No patches on its surface, and it looked almost translucent...

When I finally understood that a dreamer was pulsing quietly on his spinal cord I almost fell off the roof then and there.

Instead, I just froze in a half-crouch for a few seconds and felt the hairs on the back of my neck dance and tingle in the dark. Like the few minutes after chasing away a spider when every itch feels like it has eight legs, every rustle of wind and click of timber sounded like a gelatinous lump slipping off a ledge. There was a dreamer on him, in his second-floor room with a closed window. 

If dreamers could get into these houses, I needed to go check on the rest of the couriers.

In my panic, I had barely registered the movement in the window. Haywood was stirring. His post-dreamer movement was the slowest I’d ever seen. He sat up with a faint smile and stretched, staring at the wall the entire time. This wasn’t a man flailing around in his first waking moments. This was a man deep in thought. This was a man who reached up and tenderly plucked the alien off his neck like he was picking a flower. This was a man who put the creature in an ornate lacquered box when it was done with him, efficiently cleaned the seeping wounds on his neck, and leaned forward with fire in his dead little eyes to start furiously writing down whatever it was that he had just experienced.

I was very glad we wouldn’t be here for Thursday’s opening night, I reflected in quiet horror as I climbed down from the roof.

I had to warn the group. Had to grab Mandela and Koda and Star and Poke and get out of this cursed place as fast as we could. Grab a truck, maybe, if Mandela could switch out a battery and get it ready for the road on her own. Worst case we all go on a midnight walk together. 

On the face of it, I knew there was nothing logically wrong with talking about dreamer encounters. Their subjects were only taboo due to superstition. But to purposefully seek the nightmares out, and then bring them into the real world and immortalize them...I shuddered. 

My body strained to run, but I knew enough to methodically pick my way back to the truck stop the same way I’d come. I looked at every bush, every overhanging eave and every tree, and despite that the dreamer still almost got me. I was almost to the truck stop, getting greedy with my time, so I barely noticed the tentacles swing up into the leaves. I wasn’t sure what I had seen and so I stupidly walked under the tree to check it out.

Looking up in curiosity was what saved me. My hand intercepted the dreamer as it dropped out of the trees, just barely kept the tentacles away from my neck. The fear and nervousness and disgust at this entire night converged on this thing, and it made a soft pop as I crushed it in my fist. A single tentacle waved at my neck and went limp a moment later as it expired without any further noise. I stuffed it into a knot in the tree and wiped my hands on the rough bark.

The rest of my night walk was uneventful. I moved slowly and methodically and avoided two other potential dreamer encounters before I got to the lodging building.

I crept up the ancient stairs and opened the door to the shared room as quietly as I could. I didn’t know what I expected. Koda sitting on the bed with a light on, maybe, like an angry parent. Poke glaring at me with his rifle on his lap.

I was greeted by nothing but two slumbering shapes. While I was gone, the moon had moved. Now only their edges shone silver in the room. 

I closed the door and leaned against it, thinking while I watched them. What would I accomplish by waking everybody up now? We’d scramble to get our things together and get on the road in the middle of the night. We’d be half-asleep and with an angry town behind us. Probably without a truck. Best to wait it out.

I locked and bolted the door and got into bed, where I stared at the ceiling until dawn.

* * *

Poke was the first one up. He was the type of person who was never affected by post-sleep drowsiness, even after a dreamer encounter. He went from stirring to sitting up and awake in a matter of moments, and that was why we always relied on him to make the coffee.

Even so, I wasn’t prepared for him to turn to me and say “Crane, you look like shit.”

I blinked at him. “It’s been a long night. I’ll tell you guys about it when we eat breakfast.”

Once the rest of the group had gotten ready, we picked up some supplies and food, and walked to the plaza to eat and soak up the early-morning light.

“How was your midnight walk, Crane?” Koda asked after a minute.

I froze, sandwich halfway to my mouth, and looked around the plaza. It was empty.

“I went to Haywood’s house.”

“Who’s Haywood?”

“The playwright. I figured out which house it was from talking to the townies.”

“And? What was it like?”

The sandwich was a lump of glass in my throat as I swallowed.

“Bad,” I said quietly.

Everyone leaned in.

“I know this sounds insane, but Haywood is purposefully going under with dreamers. He keeps one in a box in his desk. I walked to his house last night and I saw him come up from a dream and put it away. Then he started writing everything down.”

“He what?!” Star yelled. It echoed around the plaza as Koda put a finger to his lips.

“He what,” said Poke.

“He’s turning his dreams into plays. He’s making people act them out. And I think he’s been doing it for a while because his neck is” — I shuddered — “all messed up. It’s like there’s been a dreamer on him every night for a month.”

“That’s not good,” said Mandela.

“No, it’s not,” said Koda thoughtfully. “None of you saw anybody crush a dreamer yesterday, correct?”

We looked at each other and shook our heads.

“I think people here have different superstitions. I don’t think they want to kill them.”

We pondered this.

“I think they know about Haywood,” I said, “but I also think they’re scared of me, and want to get us out of here as quickly as possible. Sam didn’t want to talk to me because she knew I was writing everything down. Also, she kept pausing when I asked her about the theater.”

“That sounds about right,” said Koda.

“You didn’t say anything earlier?” said Poke.

“I wasn’t sure until I heard from Crane. Star seemed okay with the town.”

“That was years ago! I was only here for a night and I was a little preoccupied.”

“We need to get out of here as soon as we can, I think,” I said.

“I’ll go get the truck then,” said Mandela, getting up. “You guys can pack up whatever’s still in the rooms.”

I clapped a hand on her shoulder. “I think we should all stick together.”

The rest of the group was already packing. 

“Yeah, we’re not splitting up,” said Star.

We walked back in a group. The town center was sleepy and deserted, but more people were out and about as we got closer to the edge of the inner area.

“Packs now, then check out, then truck,” said Koda.

I opened the door to our room first. “Did one of you leave the window open?”

Koda frowned. “Check everything” — he put a hand on Poke’s chest as he surged forward— “carefully. I’ll check the other room.”

We rummaged. No dreamers, nothing missing.

“All clear,” said Koda from the next room. “Let’s get on the road.”

I was secretly relieved to see Sam not at her desk. We left the keys and headed to the garage.

It was smaller than I’d expected. The concrete floor was clear of tools but covered in oil stains. A truck sat pointing towards the door, which was already opened.

“Oil,” said Mandela quietly. “That means...” and she trailed off as the single mechanic there stood up from behind his workbench.

“Is this our truck?” said Koda. “Sam said you’d have one ready for us this morning. We’ve already checked out and we’re in a hurry.”

“Er, it can be,” he said. “I was about to put the last battery in.”

“Can we help?”

“No, no, I’ve got it,” he said, and we watched him unplug the battery and struggle to lift it off the ground.

“Here,” said Mandela, and leapt up onto the truck bed. She levered the battery bay open and paused.

“There are two empty slots here. I thought you said the truck only needed one.”

Mandela and I shared a look. Don’t ask questions here, we’re just good couriers trying to deliver our package as quickly as possible. We aren’t scared of a town full of dreamer-obsessed idiots.

“We’ve got the second one,” I said quickly, unplugging another battery. Poke helped me lift it into the truck bed as Mandela and the mechanic finished installing the first one. Koda and Star had already picked up the keys and were beginning to load up our packs.

Ten minutes later, we were out on the open road. The truck whirred quietly over the cracked highway. Koda was on the first driving shift.

“That town sucked,” said Star, dangling an arm out the window. “I don’t remember it being like that the last time I passed through.”

“Sure lived up to the name,” said Poke.

“I wonder what the play was about,” Mandela muttered. “Nothing good, probably.”

“You know,” said Koda, still looking at the road, “when I was a kid, we had naturally occurring dreams. People really liked to talk about them. There was no superstition around it.”

Poke wrinkled his nose.

“The funny part,” Koda continued, “was that nobody else wanted to hear about them. Nobody! It was universal. We all treated our own dreams as these incredible secret visions, but anyone else who heard about them just thought they were nonsense.”

“So you’re not too sad about missing the play, huh,” said Star.

“Not in the slightest.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You know, that town is pretty close to battery death,” said Mandela. “And I think they’re only just realizing it now.”

“Yeah?” said Poke.

“Do you remember the flywheel Sam was using for her computer? They know the basics of how to run a computer with dead batteries, but they’re still working out how to make it efficient. The wheel was too small, and running on bad bearings. Also the gearing was off, so Sam had to push the pedal faster than normal.”

“Hmm,” said Koda.

“And Sam said they don’t use gas anymore, but those were fresh oil stains on the floor. They probably found some old barrels and are trying to run some generators or something, and didn’t want us taking that last battery.” 

I scribbled furiously in my own shorthand, watching Mandela gesture as she spoke.

“Also, speaking of which, the batteries on this truck” — she jerked a thumb behind us — “are terrible. They’re not gonna fail on us before we get to the next truck stop, but I don’t think we should leave it parked in the sun if we can avoid it. I’m gonna see if I can disconnect the cables when we stop for the night.”

I glanced back at the San Francisco-bound package tied down in the truck bed. We were still a long way out, but were making progress. We would definitely be there before winter. Maybe I could make it home next year in time to spend the summer with my family.

“You must have a lot of notes, Crane,” said Mandela. “Gonna write us a story about them?”

I had so many notes. I had to tie the events of the last day and a half into a neat little package, not to mention the voice clips about the playwright and the townies’ views on dreamers to integrate and the visions from the dreams, plus my own memories before they faded and the notes from Mandela rambling about battery death...

“Eventually,” I said, reclining my seat. “For now, I’m going to get some damn sleep.”

[n0tamused]

A/N: This is based off of this post I saw on tiktok theorizing that BootHill must've died a brutal death for only his head to remain.

Content: angst, scramble drabble, she/her, female reader, BootHill needs comfort and he gets it, BootHill written prior to his release

“-Hey, hey, BootHill, breathe, my love-” Warm and cautious hands cup the cheeks of her loved one who sat shaking on the very corner of her bed. Hair messy and some fallen in small clumps from the struggle with his artificial body. “Shh, you’re with me.. there’s no one around, just me” she tries to soothe him again, worry rising like a bubble in her throat at her partner’s distress.

BootHill’s eyes flickered between red and gray, jumping around the room but once they were on her, they looked at something past her, through her. Even with half of his human body gone he wasn’t spared of the terrible memories and dreams. Every once in a while they’d come back to haunt him and drag him through all the suffering once again. Like once wasn’t enough. And in his scared stupor he didn’t rise from the bed before tugging his own hair and trashing the bed, even managing to hit her in the pure state of his delirium in attempts to pull off the ropes he felt in his nightmare.

Ragged breaths fan across her hands and she has to call out to him a few more times until she finally gets a response that he’s finally lucid. “Huh-? Huh..what?” He stumbles, hoping to summon strength to feel again, with his hands, Metal wraps itself around her wrist, squeezing then lessening its grip before squeezing again. “It’s okay.. it was just a dream.. See? Just breathe, come on.. do it with me”

Worry is etched deep between her brows and her frown in the dim light of the bedroom, but she manages to calm him down. But with each twitch of his body she regrets the lack of things she could do. She would’ve intertwined their fingers together, would’ve hugged him until he realized he was being held - but what use of it was it when he physically couldn’t feel touch? It was like explaining colors to a blind man. She might as well cry with BootHill.

But she has to stay strong, and patient above all else. She needs to be his rock at this moment. “Come.. let’s rest some more. We can just lay down for now” she leads him to lay down after her, moving his head despite his confused and pained grunt, setting his ear to her chest. Her hands go to his hair and she holds him there, just like that. And she feels his weight fall onto her, no longer resisting.  The thump of her heart draws him in until it becomes the center of his world. He sees darkness before his eyes, but hears the light of the heart kept away from him, safe behind her ribs.

It was an anxious thump, fastened with fear and lack of air, before easing into a smoother rhythm. BootHill didn’t realize he was shedding tears until her gentle fingers brushed over the edge of his eyes, prompting them to close. “ ‘m sorry..” he muttered, swallowing a breath before he nuzzles his head against her chest, shuffling so his artificial body followed the long lost habit of his past self in the form of hugging. Mechanical arms practically trap her under him, and she only hugs his head closer. This is the least she could do..

Hearing him cry into her chest broke her heart, feeling how her shirt became damp,  and hearing him murmuring apologies for every tear that fell tested her strength too. He felt broken and lost, in hatred of the fate he was forced into and the suffering he had to endure, and he couldn’t give up, for that would mean betraying you. He just had to keep moving. 

BootHill can’t betray the only person left that he loves, and that loves him in return. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[glassartpeasants]

How to Love

Eustass Kid/Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, semi-slow burn?, beginnings to chapters are hard </3

A/N: yeah here we are. just wanted to set a light on what the base plan is. Also, this takes place RIGHT after the prologue ends. hopefully, it's good for a first chapter.

music playlist

~~~

Your heart beats harshly against your ribs as the events of only moments ago replay in your mind like a broken record. The images of the two most significant people in your world, your boyfriend and your best friend, betraying you, makes your head spin. It almost feels unreal, like a nightmare instead of reality.

But it wasn’t a dream. It was a harsh reality, a stark contrast to the life you thought you were living.

Instead of waking up next to your boyfriend, you find yourself in a disorienting place: your ex-best friend's ex-boyfriend's car. Random items you managed to grab scattered across the passenger side and on your lap. The smell of Eustass’s cologne, a scent that used to bring comfort, now only added to your heartbreak, still plaguing your nose.

“Thank you, Law. You really didn’t have to.” Despite being almost inaudible, Law still heard you like you were screaming. The tremble in your voice notifies him of his own inability to speak without breaking down.

“It’s fine. Thank you for telling me about (.....)-ya’s infidelity.” The fact you even told him in the first place shocked him. You had known (.....) for years, and she was your best friend, while you only had a class project with him. Given that it was a whole semester-long, you were willing to throw away a friendship just like that. 

“You're a good guy, Law. You don’t deserve to be cheated on. Whether we’re friends or strangers. I would have told you regardless. No one deserves such heartbreak.” Law can see tears slipping down your cheeks out of the corner of his eyes. The fact that you're trying to stay strong after being the one to discover the affair is admirable in a sense. It could also be that you didn’t want him to see you cry. The latter sounds more plausible.

“I'm glad I didn’t delete your number. It would have been awkward if I had tried to catch you at work.” A small, sad chuckle left your lips. The tension in the car was too much, and you needed something to keep your mind distracted so you didn’t start wailing in front of Law.

“That would have been a scene I’m grateful we avoided. I like to keep my private life and work life separate.” 

“I’m the same in a sense. I don’t tell my co-workers much except to recommend shows or movies. I know you're more of a book guy, but have you seen any shows or movies recently?”

“(.....)-ya made me watch a movie the other day. It was a horror movie.”

“Oh. Was it good?”

“No, it was terrible.” You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at Law's cold tone.

“Bad effects, or was it a storyline issue?”

“I could’ve made a better movie with a budget of two dollars.” Even though tears still fall from your eyes against your wishes, Law manages to make you laugh to ease the pain.

“Well, have you read any good books recently?”

“Haven’t had the time.” Law’s admission made your eyes furrow together. You know the medical field could be rough, but there wasn't enough time for him to read?

"The bookworm hasn't read recently? Are you sure you're the real Law?" A small smile tugs at the corner of Law’s lips as he listens to you talk, but even he can only hide the effects of heartbreak for so long.

Whether Law knew it or not, you could see tiny droplets of water gather in his eyes. Seeing him trying to hold it together made it just a bit harder to prevent yourself from breaking down. You grip the seat of his car and try to regulate your breathing. Clenching your teeth together,  you lay your head on the window and look outside. The sudden tap of water hitting the glass makes you jump. You look around and watch as more water droplets start hitting the car. 

“It’s raining. I thought it was supposed to be sunny all day?”

“I thought so, too.” The thick, tense silence rose once again, making it hard to breathe. If there had been enough room, you would have curled yourself up in a ball and cried. But you could do that when you get to...

“Where are we going?”

“My apartment. Just for now.”

“Ah, okay. Do you have any alcohol at your place?”

“Maybe some (.....)-ya left. Why?”

“So we can drink away our sadness.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.” A second silence covers the car.

“So I can drink away our sadness.”

“We’ll see when we get there.”

~~~

Your feet feel heavy as you walk into Law’s apartment. It’s been a while since you’ve been inside it. After the project was finished, you stopped coming over. Law’s busy schedule and your own just didn’t mix. Sometimes, you’d text him to check up on him and ask him how he was doing. He’d take hours or a day to respond, but you never held it against him. He always answered before it had been 48 hours, so it was okay with you.

Looking around his apartment, you see things that hadn’t been there before: some plants, many pictures on the wall, a TV, and some knickknacks you recognize that belong to (.....). The atmosphere was more welcoming than when you first visited Law’s apartment. If an apartment could feel like a hospital waiting room, then that’d be Law’s place before (.....) put her touch on it.

Placing your things near the couch, you take a deep breath as you rub your sternum to try and soothe the pain in your chest. All the pictures of Law and (.....) smiling happily nailed to the walls made your throat go dry. The images of your own apartment clouded your vision as you remembered your own photos with Eustass. Pictures of times when you did matching Halloween costumes, went to concerts together, relaxed at a beach together, or the two of you would just stay home. Every picture held a memory. 

A once cherished memory is now tainted by the image of betrayal. No amount of effort can make that image disappear. Even your happiest memories become blurry when you hear (.....) calling out Eustass's name. It ignites a fiery rage inside you, and seeing (.....)'s face everywhere makes you clench your teeth. You feel like tearing apart every picture of Law and (.....) just to remove her face from your sight. Every bone in your body screams at you to lose control. To destroy everything that reminds you of Eustass and (.....) until it is nothing but microscopic pieces.

But you weren’t home. The home you once had was now lost to time. For now, your ‘home’ depends on whether Law will allow you to stay the night for tonight.

“You can stay the night on the couch for tonight if you want. I have blankets in the closet over there.” You let out an internal breath of relief from Law, answering your question without being asked.

“Thank you, Law. Can I make you dinner or something? Just so I can repay your kindness?” You watch Law lean against the kitchen counter before crossing his arms. His eyes staring out into space.

“I haven’t gone shopping yet this week, so I don’t have much.”

“I’m sure I can craft up something.”

“If you want, then go ahead.” The sound of a ringtone brings a silence to the both of you. You check your phone and see the screen’s black.

“I think it’s yours.” Pulling out his phone from his pocket, you watch Law look at the screen. A frown crosses his face immediately, letting you know the caller. Letting out a heavy sigh, you watch him answer the phone.

“What do you want (.....)-ya?” While you couldn’t understand what she was saying, the tone of her voice was frantic. You could hear sobs coming from the other line. Hearing them pissed you off to hell and back. Didn’t (.....) have a shred of decency? How dare she plead and beg after she committed such an act?

You had to sit on the couch to calm yourself down just so you wouldn’t start screaming at (.....) through the phone. As soon as your body relaxed on the couch, a wave of soreness came over you. It feels as if you’ve been working out for hours on end and only now stopped. Even your eyelids felt heavy as you feel tears starting to form and blur your vision. Trying to breathe normally falls short as you begin to hyperventilate. Your lungs burn as you can feel your throat constricting. It feels like you're swallowing your heart just to keep yourself quiet.

“I meant what I said (.....)-ya. I’m breaking up with you, and that’s final. You can come get your things tomorrow afternoon.” Hearing Law’s voice helped soothe a part of your aching soul. Hearing something other than your own ragged breathing helped calm down the streams of tears that were flowing down your face.

“I’m done talking with you (.....)-ya. Goodbye.” The sound of Law’s calls ending made you rub your face, trying to hide the tears that plagued you seconds ago.

“Your more civil than I would have been. I probably wouldn’t have even picked up her call.” Your voice cracked as you tried to let out a small laugh.

“She was asking me for a ride. Apparently, her and Eustass got in a fight, and he threw her out in the rain.” Scoffing in disbelief, you turn your head to look at Law, hoping he wouldn’t notice your puffy eyes.

“She asked you for a ride after cheating on you? Serves her right, getting thrown in the rain. Hope she gets a cold.” You can see Law’s body tremble and how he bites his lip. His eyes get glassy as he looks at the ceiling.

“Fucking a man.” Even from across the room, you can hear Law whispering to himself. You hated seeing him like this. Watching someone you care about hurt only adds to the pain you feel.

“Hey…do you wanna watch something to get our minds off them?”

“I should go back to work. They probably need me.” You let out a hum, hearing his words. A slight feeling of rejection crosses your mind, but you're quick to shake it off. The last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable. And if he was the type to work away his feelings, who were you to stop him?

“Well, drive safe. It sounds like the rain is hitting harder.” The sound of rain beating against the windows of Law’s apartment was finally acknowledged. Its beat almost matched Law’s own heartbeat as he thought about the phone call only minutes ago.

Hearing (.....)’s voice felt like nails on a chalkboard as she tried to explain what happened. The voice that once calmed his aching heart was now the reason it hurt. It was astonishing how fast his whole world flipped upside down. Earlier today, he couldn’t wait to come home and see (.....) and have her talk to him about her day. But now, instead of (.....) smiling at him, you were sitting on his couch with puffy eyes.

The way he could hear the tremble in your voice and how the light shined against the path of tears left on your face made his own wave of emotions try to surface. Even if he could tell you were trying hard to hold them back, he could see tears collect against your eyelashes. The sight had tears accumulating in his own eyes, making him look up at the ceiling to try and stop them. He didn’t need to show how bad (.....)’s betrayal has affected him. At least not in front of you.

Sure, you guys were going through the same thing together, but it wouldn’t help him or you if he let his own emotions out. It’d just be easier to shove them down, ignore them, and work until the pain left. He’s done it before, so he can do it again. 

“Um, Law?” Looking back down, he sees you standing in front of him. You refuse to meet his eyes as you fiddle with the bottom of your shirt.

“Yeah?”

“Can I hug you?” Law felt his heart skip a beat hearing your request. A part of him told himself no that he’d break down the moment you wrapped your arms around him. Yet, the voice of someone he used to know told him something different.

“Okay.” As soon as the words left his lips, he felt your body smushed up against his. Your arms held him in a tight embrace as the sound of your hushed sniffles made Law finally cave. Wrapping his own arms around you, a sense of comfort filled him. The feeling of being cared for once again was nice yet terrifying. As soon as the feeling would come, it’d leave just as fast.

But for now, he’ll indulge in your hold.

~~~

The blanket that wrapped around you did little to replicate Law’s hug. Sure, you were warm, but it wasn’t the same. It reminded you of how alone you were. You had no family in this city, and your only friends were (.....) and Law, but you wouldn’t count him as an option due to the current predicament. It felt like you were running in circles with every idea that popped into your head. Always leading to a dead end and making you start all over again.

You couldn’t go back home. It’d take you around three to four hours to drive there! Plus, you didn’t leave on a good note with your parents when you left for college. And if their last words to you were anything to go by, they didn’t want you back. You shake your head at the thought of your parents.

“No. No need to drag myself down even more thinking about them.” Slithering your hand out of your blanket cocoon, you grab your phone that was on your right. The black screen stared at you as it showed your reflection. Eyes red from tears earlier and a cut lip from biting on it so hard earlier.

A ding echoes across the empty apartment as the phone's black screen soon turns on. The quick flash makes your eyes burn before squinting to try and get used to the brightness. Once adjusted, you see a message from Law hiding in your notification bar.

-“I need a favor from you.”

-“Sure, what ya need?”

-“(.....)-ya is supposed to be getting her things this morning. I want you to make sure she takes everything and leaves her key in the dish by the door.”

A frown skims across your face as the thought of seeing (.....)’s face makes your stomach churn. It’s only been a day, and you're already forced to see her face? At the same time, Law did allow you to stay the night last night. So, despite your distaste for seeing (.....), you agreed.

-“Will do. Can count on me :)”

-“Thanks.”

-“How’s working going so far?”

-“Fine.”

-“That's good”

The urge to ask him what his plans were with you after you did him this favor ate at your conscience as soon as you sent that last text. Law was really the only one whose place you felt safe enough to sleep at. And he’s the only person you have in the entire city. You didn’t have a license since a lot of things were always within walking distance, so you never had a reason to. 

But now, you were on the complete other side of the city. What used to be a five-minute walk to your job now would take at least thirty minutes. You had no idea where anything was on this side of the city. Sure, you and Law would go grab an energy drink from the gas station when the two of you worked the night away on that old project, but that was two years ago. Who knows? Maybe that gas station doesn’t even exist anymore!

“Do you go here a lot?”

“To buy an energy drink and coffee every now and then.” The sound of small pebbles crunching under your and Law’s shoes goes unnoticed as you walk next to him.

“Okay, so every day then?” A laugh escapes your lips as Law rolls his eyes, yet a small smile plays against his lips.

“This gas station is the only place that sells my favorite one.”

“Which is?”

“Can’t tell you. What if you take it?” A smirk appears on his lips as he puts his hands in his pockets. Scoffing, you place your hand on your chest in fake offense.

“I can’t believe you’d think so lowly of me. Stealing your beloved drink? Only a monster could be so heartless!” Hearing Law let out a chuckle from your words made a heavy feeling of confidence run through your veins. He was always relatively quiet when in class, so it was nice to see him show emotion other than ‘bored.’

“How much farther? I’m dying to know the favorite drink of the future best doctor in the world.” A faint pink tints Law’s skin as he tries to look away from you, hoping you don’t see what your comment did to him.

“You really think so?” Despite trying to copy your playful tone, you can hear his self-doubt and hopefulness that your words were true.

“I know so! No one works harder than you! If anyone says otherwise, tell me and I’ll kick their ass.” Law could feel his palms grow sweaty, and his heart beat a little faster. 

Sure, he’s gotten praise from his teacher, but hearing it come from someone he had just met and barely knew felt a little more sincere? Why, he didn’t know, but he won’t complain.

“Will do.”

KNOCK KNOCK

The sound of light knowing pulls you from your memories. Looking up at the clock, you see it’s nearly three pm. You sigh as you shed the multiple layers of blankets you were snuggled in. The rage and anger from yesterday are still strong in your system, making you clench your fists. You walk towards the door when you hear your fingers popping from the sheer force. Unlocking it, you take a deep breath before fully opening it.

In front of you stood a very unkempt (.....). Her hair was in a messy ponytail, accompanied by red eyes and a red face. Makeup from the night before was still applied to her skin as mascara streaked down her face. Your eyes even caught the barely covered hickeys and bite marks that shined through her concealer.

“(Y-Y/N)?...Why are you…Where’s Law?” Her pitiful voice made you squeeze the doorknob tighter to try and calm yourself.

“He’s at work. Not that it’s any of your business, but he was kind enough to let me spend the night.” Your eyes narrowed at her as you couldn’t help but glare daggers at the marks on her neck. Noticing your stare, (.....) moved her shoulder to cover her neck.

“I see…” You move to let her in and shut the door behind her. She lets out a shaky breath before beginning to take down the multiple pictures hanging along the wall. The sound of sniffles hits your ears as you watch her grab the frames with shaky hands. Listening to her hold back tears made you struggle to hold your own.

How could she have done this? Years of friendship only to throw it away for some dick? Did you mean so little to her? You’ve been with her for everything! Breakups, grandparents passing, getting in trouble together, anything and everything you’ve done for her! If she needed a kidney transplant, you would’ve volunteered right away!

Now, seeing how a friendship can easily be thrown away like trash after years made bitterness fill your heart. If your best friend and boyfriend could betray you without so much of a second thought, what does that say about the strangers all around you?

What does that say about you? Did you do something to deserve this? Was (.....) mad at you and thought fucking your lover would get back at you? There had to be a reason. To be an explanation for the horror you saw yesterday. Maybe after a drink or two after (.....) leaves will calm you down.

~~~

“You got everything?”

“Yeah.” Just as she was about to walk out the door, you remembered that she still hadn't given you the key.

“I need the apartment key.” Putting your hand out, you move your eyes to your hand and back at her.

“I-I don’t have it.” Furrowing your brows, you sigh.

“Don’t bullshit me. I’ve known you for years, and I know when you lie. Now give me the goddamn keys (.....).” You watch (.....) bite her lip before digging into her jacket pocket. The light shined off the key as she gently put it in your hands.

“Can you say goodbye to Bepo for me?” Confusion hit you like a train at her request.

“What the hell are-you know what? Fine. I’ll say bye.”

“Thanks.” Closing the door, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. After locking the door behind her, you placed her old key in the dish Law has near the door for his keys. (.....) request puzzled you as you tried to think of what she was talking about.

“What the hell is a Bepo?”

Just then, a light pitter-patter echos in the apartment. Your heart stops as the sound gets closer. There shouldn’t be anyone else in the apartment but you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you try to move quietly towards the kitchen to grab something to defend yourself.

“Meow!” You stop in your tracks upon hearing that noise. Embarrassment floods your body as you move even closer to the noise. Upon turning the corner, you see a white cat walking in your direction. A big white cat.

“Can’t believe I got spooked by a damn cat. Didn’t even know Law had a cat…a fatass one nonetheless.” Bending down, you move your hand to let the cat smell you. A smile appears on your face when it rubs against you.

“Hmm? What’s this?” Moving the fluff from his neck, you see a collar with a tag. Squinting your eyes, you finally see the name engraved on the tag.

“Ohhh…your Bepo! Well, aren’t you a cutie-pie?” With (.....) 's request finally making sense, you fight to actually fulfill it. With a sigh, you pick up Bepo and hold him gently. 

“Let’s send your dad a selfie. I think he’ll appreciate it.” You go to the couch, pick up your phone, and find the right angle for the picture. When you find the right spot, you smile as Bepo rubs his head against your face.

“Say cheese!”

~~~

It’d been a long day at the hospital. It felt like nothing went right. Sure, he put in his all, but he had to tell people how they were diagnosed with a terminal illness or dealing with dumb co-workers. The only good thing today did for him was keep (.....) out of his head. But now that work was over, the nagging thoughts could finally bother him once more.

Sighing as he unlocked his apartment door, he was immediately hit with the smell of something cooking. Whatever it was, it smelled good, and he was happy that he didn’t have to make anything tonight. When he went to put his keys in the dish designated for them, he saw (.....)’s key lying in the middle. A wave of relief washed over him as he finished taking off his shoes and coat.

“Oh, Law, are you home?” Your voice rings in his ears as he walks further into his apartment. He spots you setting up the table while humming to yourself.

“Yeah, I’m back. Did you make something?”

“Well, you’ve been at work for sixteen hours, so obviously, you should be hungry! Not to mention that you deserved a home-cooked meal after working so hard.” Moving closer to the dinner table, he sees a plate of grilled fish along with a can of what looks to be sparkling water. The smell of his favorite food drew him closer, and he felt a sense of calm filled him. It’d be the second night in a row you made him dinner.

“Where did you get the fish? I don’t remember having any?”

“Oh, after (.....) took her stuff and left, I used GPS to find a store nearby, and there was an organic type of food store only two blocks away! So I went shopping and got things! Except for beverages, so I stopped by the gas station we used to go to and got sparkling water 'cause you don’t drink and no way you’d drink an energy boost at eight pm.” You continued talking, but it was lost on Law’s ears as he stared at the set-up table. The fact you put yourself to go grocery shopping and making him dinner made his sour mood from only moments ago lighten.

“Thank you.” As he moves to wash his hands in the sink, he sees his beloved cat following you and purring.

“I see you’ve met Bepo.” Upon speaking, the cat changed his attention to Law. Bepo begins to meow as he prances towards Law’s feet before rubbing against them. Leaning down, Law gives him a few pets before washing his hands.

“I didn’t even know you had a cat. Did you just get him?”

“No. I’ve had him for almost a year and a half. Why?” He watches you lift your eyebrows and look at Bepo before looking back at Law.

“What?”

“Law. Do you see how big that cat is?” Despite just washing his hands, Law picks up Bepo and holds him in his arms.

“What about it? He’s growing.”

“That cat is obese. He needs a diet.”

“Bepo is perfect the way he is.” You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched him hold Bepo protectively and away from you.

“You can be delusional all you want, but come eat before the food gets cold.” Turning your back, you begin to dish up after washing your hands. You can hear Law rewashing his own before sitting on the opposite side of the table.

As awkward as it may be, the presence of one another brings a slight calm to your new chaotic world.

~~~

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[championari]

Alright. I said I would write this and I’m gonna stay true to my word.

I’ve been seeing a lot of takes since The Giggle has come out questioning the potency of 14’s ending. People have been citing multiple different times during the reboot era where the Doctor has “settled down” somewhere, from Darillium, the university in S10, to even Trenzalore. However, I think all of these comparisons are apples to oranges, completely missing the details of each instance and how The Giggle’s ending rebukes all of them. 

So, because I cannot leave an inaccurate take alone, I’m going through every single one of these instances and explain why 14’s ending is different from them, in chronological order.

I’m gonna start with a weird one: S7EP4, The Power of Three. Because it provides a good example of all the things we’re going to be talking about. 

Prior to this episode, long time fans already had a good idea that the Doctor…does not do well in monotonous environments, a truth that is consistent across multiple incarnations.

“I don’t do families.”

“Street corner, two in the morning, getting a taxi home. I’ve never had a life like that.”

“Here you are, Living a life, day after day. The one adventure I could never have.”

“Christmas dinner.” “I don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Oh god I had a terrible nightmare about you two!” [Talking about Amy and Rory having a normal life in Leadworth]

The entirety of The Lodger

“There’s a bigger, scarier adventure waiting for you in there.”

The Power of Three, spells this truth out in bold, montage style marker pen. The Doctor “needs to be busy”. Why, as Amy later asks?

Personally I think this answer varies slightly between regenerations, based on experiences and losses each face goes through. 9 couldn’t imagine a life of peace coming out of a war, a war that he had a major hand in. 10 continues that idea, with the added baggage of losing Rose. 11’s reasoning is a bit subtler: he says to Amy that he is running to things before they go, as if he now understands how short beautiful things last. He’s going from one thing to the next in avoidance of staying to watch things die. 

“And what’s the alternative? Me standing over your grave?”

This doesn’t change by the end of the episode. The Doctor explicitly tells the Ponds that he’s only staying to watch the cubes, and once the threat is gone, he’s already out the door. He only stops because of a potential threat, an idea we will return to in the next example. He even accepts the idea of Amy and Rory wanting to stay behind: “things to do. Worlds to save. Swings to swing on. Look, I know. You both have lives here. beautiful, messy lives. That is what makes you so fabulously human. You don’t want to give them up. I understand.” The Doctor is saying, ‘I know you have lives here, and that I can’t always be a part of that. And that’s ok.’ 

This episode in my opinion is a perfect microcosm of The Doctor regarding this topic, spelling out explicitly why The Doctor can't ever settle down. The Doctor needs to have something to run to because they don't feel secure enough in any place to not allow their altruism outweigh their need to process their trauma. The only thing that could motivate the Doctor to stop, even just for a second, is the promise that their friend(s) will be there too. The next example is the worst-case scenario of this issue.

Trenzalore is an interesting case. When I first heard of it being counted, I immediately shut it down, because Trenzalore was a literal war zone (wars are obviously not a good place for mental health time). But in doing research, there is actually way more baggage contained in this period making it unsuitable for this argument than just that fact. 

Trenzalore was set up to be the Doctor’s final resting place, where they would truly die. It wasn’t the first time a death prophecy had surrounded the Time Lord, and once again, just as with The End of Time, the thing that kills them is, what Davros would later call The Doctor's “greatest indulgence”: compassion. Tasha Leem warns 11 that she will burn the planet upon the possibility of the Time Lords returning, a warning the Doctor takes extremely seriously.

“This planet is protected.”

“Christmas has a new sheriff.”

For 300 years, 11 stayed true to his word. He fought long and hard, for the townspeople and his own. He was celebrated and was loved. But Clara returning with the TARDIS revealed how he really felt about all of it. 

“Everyone gets stuck somewhere eventually.”

“But you didn’t have your TARDIS.” “Well, that made it easier to stay.” 

There’s an unspoken sentiment in these words, echoing 11's philosophy in Power of Three: the Doctor will always want to leave, in this case, to understandably avoid his prophesied death. But he doesn’t, because “Every life I save is a victory”. Their compulsion to help, their innate capacity to help those in need. So often it’s been their greatest strength, but here it’s framed as destructive selflessness. 11 has become so wholly committed to helping others before himself that he’s willing to accept his own death. 

Clara correctly calls this out: “What about your life? Just for once, After all this time, have you not earned the right to think about that?” The Doctor didn’t stay on Trenzalore for himself, he stayed for everyone besides himself. It’s only because Clara gave the Time Lords a proper verbal smackdown that the Doctor managed to survive. Had they not intervened, The Doctor would've suffered and died, once again to protect them, despite already saving them from annihilation in the previous episode, Day of The Doctor. Trenzalore wasn't The Doctor stopping, it was a century-long effort to keep satiating the bottomless survivor's guilt they still carried from The Time War.

Darillium is yet another case of looking like a time the Doctor settled down somewhere on the surface. But the details don’t match that conclusion. The entire thesis of 12 and River’s final conversation was about the fleeting nature of their situation. 

“Times end, River, because they have to. Because there’s no such thing as happily ever after. It’s just a lie we tell ourselves because the truth is so hard.”

The Doctor says this, cries at hearing the Singing Towers, despite already knowing they have 24 years in a night. Because he knows it can’t last. There’s already a deadline on their moment of peace before it’s begun. Eventually River must go to The Library. 

The final quote of the episode punctuates this: “And they lived happily ever after.” Fading away until “happily” remains. Because they didn’t have their “ever after” and they didn’t “live”, because a person can’t entirely experience life to the fullest with a clock hanging over their head. 

While they got their moment of happiness, it was only a moment. 24 years is just a blink of an eye for a Time Lord, and sure enough, we see by the end of “The Return of Doctor Mysterio”, the next chronological episode, 12 is ready to leap back into the fray. Still the same overall Doctor he was before.

The University is an extension of this. We find out that the only reason he has stayed is to guard Missy in the vault. When 12 tries to mindwipe Bill (an eerie parallel to both Donna and Clara), he directly says: “I have no choice, I’m in disguise. I have promises to keep.” Just like with Trenzalore, The Doctor’s altruism has trapped him somewhere he doesn’t actually want to be. The second he hesitates, he immediately runs after Bill, inviting her into the TARDIS and sneaks off to the universe behind Nardole’s back.

So, now that we’ve gone through each past instance, what’s the connection? What’s the key issue(s) that prevented the Doctor from permanently stopping in any of these cases?

The (fear of) loss of their friends, and the Doctor’s own self-loathing. Either out of fear of the march of time, or the chains that their altruistic nature binds them to, The Doctor always runs away from the picket fence life.

Now, let’s look at 14 and how this ending departs from all other examples.

Wild Blue Yonder and The Giggle more prominently explains 14’s origins as a coping mechanism. The reason why 10’s face came back was to retreat to an incarnation that didn’t invoke the loss of The Ponds, Clara, and Bill. The second destruction of Gallifrey and the reveal of The Timeless Child. The Doctor’s avoidance of their trauma has now been made physical, just like how mental stress can often manifest as physical changes or ailments. 

“We stand here now, on the edge of creation, a creation that I devastated, so yes I keep running, of course I keep running!! How am I supposed to look back on that?!”

Already this is a departure from the instances we’ve discussed, because by the very nature of having 10’s face again, it’s forcing the Doctor to ask why. 

“It’s like I'm trying to tell myself something. Like I’m trying to make a point.”

But 14 chooses not to answer it, because answering it means accepting the truth: it’s too much. The trauma can’t be avoided anymore, because The Doctor would always be reminded of what they’re trying to avoid by looking in a reflection. 14 telling Shirley, “I don’t know who I am anymore.” Then asking Donna, “what am I? What am I now?” It’s not because he’s been given a blank slate and doesn’t know what to do with it, like other regeneration stories. In trying to run away again, to bury the trauma and pain, The Doctor has made it more visible than ever, and doesn’t know what to do with that. 

Ironically, the Toymaker causing the bi-generation was the greatest gift he could’ve given the Doctor, because 15 was exactly who 14 needed to see. He’s happy, energetic, full of life and wonder, but also empathetic, understanding and open. He’s the only other person in the entire universe who The Doctor will listen to (well, one person, we’ll get to the other later), because he knows all of the trauma they went through, and yet, made it through ok.

“But you’re fine.”

“I’m fine, because you fix yourself.”

15 is leading by example, their own ‘ghost of Christmas future’ but positive. 14 now has an ideal self to strive towards, a face born from love and empathy. 14 doesn’t have to ground herself out of moral obligation, 15 will now protect the universe. 

But that leaves one question: why Donna? Out of all of the people to settle down with, why her? That’s easy: because she gets it. 

Donna, out of all of the companions the Doctor traveled with, understood the soul behind the legend, because she recognized someone fundamentally similar to herself. One of Donna’s signature character flaws is her horrendously low self esteem: “I’m nothing special.” no one ever listened to her (thanks Sylvia, for at least cleaning up your act later), so she covered up the silence with noise. She held onto whatever indisputable moments of genius she had to drown out the cacophony of voices shutting her up. Wild Blue Yonder explained this perfectly: Donna believes she is both brilliant and stupid at the same time. 

She lives in two contradictory self images at once, and so does The Doctor. The genius and the idiot. The universe’s most fascinating person, and the person who would easily throw away their life for the betterment of others. She’s seen their blinding arrogance/rage (the Racnoss, Jenny) and their crippling self doubt/loneliness, and always met both with empathy and kindness. 

“Doctor! You can stop now!”

“Cause sometimes I think you need someone to stop you.” 

“It won’t stay like that. She’ll help you. We both will.” 

“Is ‘alright’ special Time Lord code for ‘really not alright’ at all?” “Why?” “Cause I’m alright too.”

Donna shouldered the burden of destroying Pompeii, she silently hugged 10 after coming back from Midnight. All because she knew what all of that would feel like in her own life. She didn’t need to know the history of The Doctor and Davros, because she saw her best friend afraid and knew he would want comfort, because she would too.

Even if Dalek Caan manipulated the timelines to get Donna to him, That friendship was completely real to both of them. We saw what Donna was like without the Doctor in Forest of the Dead and Turn Left, and she always felt some level of unhappiness. 15 years removed from them and she still felt as if something was missing. In every future/reality, she always wanted them there. Same for the Doctor too. Within only a few episodes of losing her, 10 started to fall into becoming the “time lord victorious”. 12 looks the way he does because of Donna’s plea to adhere to his name, and save people. Even before 14 came into existence, the Doctor was willing to tell other people how important she was to them, on account of River recognizing Donna by her name: “you’re Donna, Donna Noble.”

Donna didn’t just travel with the Doctor and she wasn’t just friends with them. She completely understood them, their soulmate. Two halves of a greater whole, The DoctorDonna. 14 stayed because there was a more stable incarnation to take his place, and because his best friend would be there alongside him, helping and supporting him through and through. The Doctor stayed because, for the first time in their life, they felt safe. In where they would be staying, and what they would be leaving behind. 

That's why 15 doubling the TARDIS was so significant. In giving 14 her own TARDIS, 15 is allowing his younger self to have what they always removed from the equation: free will. The Doctor can still go anywhere they want, which makes them even more motivated to stay and fix themself. 14 can feel safe staying with Donna, Wilf, Mel, Rose, Shaun, and Sylvia because the option to travel is still there.

And the truly amazing part of all of this is that the TARDIS knew it from the beginning. Was it a coincidence that very soon after 13 regenerated into 14, the TARDIS landed close to where Donna and Rose would be shopping? 

“You didn’t always take me where I wanted to go.” “No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

The TARDIS brought the Doctor home, and this time, they stayed. Because it was a place where they wanted and needed to be. 

[mychoombatheroomba]

Let You Down

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 12

You should have known better.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

TW: angst, flashbacks/nightmares, guilt, terrible emotional responses to feelings

You remembered hearing about how comets could get stuck in orbit around a planet, pulled from their path by the force of gravity if all of the factors were right. It was something you’d heard in school at some point, in another life. It was impressive to think that something could be hurtling lost through space and still manage to get dragged off course. How could that even happen? How could everything in the universe line up just so - enough to stop such a force? To trap it? 

Now, you were starting to understand it.

Over the next few days, neither you nor Leon mentioned what happened, and you, for one, were glad of it. You weren’t sure what there was to say, anyway. Not when you both had other things to focus on. 

You were thankful for the preparations for assessments, because it was easiest to look Leon in the eye when you were giving a correction, or going on about what he might have to expect in the coming weeks. You might even have been able to pretend it hadn’t happened at all, were it not for the way you felt his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking. Or the way your own mind would conjure up some delicious impossibility when you let your guard down. 

Luckily, you’d had a year to learn how to fend off dangerous thoughts. Training was your weapon, and it had worked well enough so far. 

The trouble was in the company you kept. It was difficult to keep your mind off of Leon when he was at your side so often. At mealtimes and in your personal hours, you found your mind drifting. Even as the two of you sparred, or shot, or pushed yourselves through the obstacle course, imagination crept in. You would glance his way, catch sight of him straining against you in a fight, or aiming down the barrel of his pistol, and then you’d feel that pull. 

Then, you started feeling it even when Leon wasn’t around. 

You thought about sparring with him, pinning him to the ground and dragging your lips across his throat. You’d imagine him making those wonderful noises, looking at you with that same intensity he had when he fought. 

A momentary desire. A want that could be handled. That’s how you liked to think of it, because that was easiest. 

It was harmless enough, you thought, because how the hell would you make it work, anyway? You were training almost constantly, and even when you weren’t, the base was under constant surveillance. You were still technically a Sergeant, even here. Whatever Leon’s official rank was, you were fairly sure that you were a step up the ladder, and the rules were clearly set against that kind of fraternization. Even if Leon wanted you in the way that you wanted him - a possibility you were trying hard to talk yourself away from - there was almost no way the two of you could act on it. 

I wouldn’t worry about something that’s not going to happen.

You’d said that to Leon, and now you could take your own advice. 

And yet, you worried anyway. 

At a point, you stopped being angry with yourself about it. That point came not too long after you reported to Major Krauser after a night watch. 

You’d woken up before everyone else, readying yourself to be more exhausted than usual for the rest of the day. It was a long shift, as always, because there was seldom anything going wrong on base. The worst case scenario was usually a recruit trying to sneak out at night, or writing letters when they shouldn’t be. Still, you’d learned long ago to take the job seriously, and so you kept a watchful eye over the base as you went, noting that little nook by the officer’s barracks and on the west side behind the mess hall where you knew the cameras were blind. 

Places where you’d seen soldiers hiding out for a smoke, or to steal a drink, or . . . 

If indeed there was a world where you and Leon were to act on whatever was between you - if there was anything between you - then you supposed it might be there, in the blind spots of the cameras, when no one was looking. As you finished your watch, you couldn’t help but imagine that world, letting yourself indulge in the thought, however admittedly shameful a thought it was. 

You felt like you were getting away with some great crime, in a way. Or, you did, until after you gave your report and Krauser didn’t dismiss you right away. 

“You and the rookie,” Krauser began, and you felt your blood pressure skyrocket, your mind going on high alert. There was only one rookie he could be talking about. “You’ve been spending a lot of time together.” 

Your thoughts bombarded you in quick succession. 

He knows-

How the fuck would he know? 

He knows-

You’ve only been thinking-

“Yeah,” you nodded dumbly, trying to assess both what emotion the Major was speaking with and how guilty you looked. “I’m trying to get him up to speed.” You almost considered praying that he wouldn’t ask any of the questions you dreaded. Then again, whatever higher powers that were up there had never been merciful to you before, why would they start now? 

“You’ve done a good job,” Krauser said, and you wished you could enjoy the compliment. “He’s not hopeless anymore, I’ll give him that.” 

“He’s never been hopeless,” you defended, your affection for the man in question squeezing the words out of you. 

Krauser noticed. You could see it in his eyes - the way his mouth tightened. Still, he shrugged in the end. “Maybe not, but he’s actually keeping up, now. Hell, he’s doing better than most of his unit. Even if he’s soft.” 

That bit, you weren’t sure you could argue with. He’d jumped in to save you from being hurt, after all. He’d asked you about who you were as a person, what sort of music you liked. Who you wanted to be. Leon was not the hardened soldier that everyone else on base was. Maybe that was what endeared him to you, in a way. And maybe that was what scared you about him. How long would that soft side of him last? 

“He’ll get there,” you said, your voice quieter. 

“Not if he’s never challenged,” Krauser asserted, and you couldn’t help but furrow your brow. Every day in this place was a challenge. What the hell more did the Major want from him? “I know you’ve been giving him advice,” the man went on, “and that’s alright. Good, even. But I’m going to have your unit help me with their test, and I don’t want any details spilled. Understood?” 

Ah. That was what he wanted to talk about, then. Maybe you were in the clear, after all. “Understood, sir.” You said it because you were so relieved he wasn’t asking about you and Leon on a more personal level. Then, a beat passed, and you thought about what the Major was implying. “What are we going to be doing?” 

“We’ll start getting you ready for it tomorrow,” Krauser said, and that didn’t make you feel better whatsoever. “I’ll go over it when we meet for afternoon drills.” 

That was all the explanation you were going to get for now. Whatever it was, if your entire squad was going to be involved, then it was probably going to be bad. Different than your own assessment had been, all those weeks prior. Knowing Krauser, probably more brutal. You had something new to think about now, at least. Something constructive. Something attainable.

“Am I dismissed, sir?” you asked. 

You were more than a little surprised with the answer. “Not just yet,” Krauser shook his head, taking a step closer. “The rookie. He tell you about Raccoon City?” 

The question caught you off guard in a way that Major Krauser so often did, with words or weapons. 

“You know?” 

Stupid question. “I read his file. What they'd let me see. Know you two have some shared experience.” 

“. . . Yeah, he told me.” 

“And you told him?” 

The sky was bleeding a rising red. Bleeding just like you. You smelled smoke-

A shadow passed over the sun-

A red beret above you-

A gruff voice. “This one’s still alive!”

You weren’t supposed to have spoken about it, you supposed, but that didn’t change facts. “Part of it, yeah.” Krauser would either understand or he’d write you up. Maybe that discipline was what you needed. Maybe it would knock your head back into gear-

“Good.” Krauser nodded once with approval, and again you were a little shocked. “Need you two to stop feeling sorry for yourselves. If you have to pull each other out of the muck to do it, that’s fine by me.” 

A few years ago, that comment would have lit an inferno in you. It would have burned you up with rage, because who was this man to tell you how to live with your own grief? Who was this bastard to say that you couldn’t mourn for the life and the people that you lost? You were different now, though. You’d served for long enough to know a hardass drill sergeant’s talk when you heard it, and you knew Jack Krauser well enough to know when he was pushing you forward instead of holding you down. This, however harsh, was the former. 

“Will do, sir,” you nodded, almost smiling. You have been doing a lot of that, lately. 

Krauser didn’t quite return the look, but that was alright. He just nodded, seemingly content that he’d made the points he wanted to make. “Dismissed.” 

⧫⧫⧫

He knew it was a dream. 

It had to be, because there was no way you were actually underneath him, hands clutching at him. Looking up at him with wide, dark-fire eyes. Your fingers wove in his hair, pulling him down-

Down-

Down-

Until his lips were against your own. 

Oh, it was a dream. One he’d been having more and more, lately. And however wrong it was, however Leon knew it improper to be thinking of you like this, he let himself drift through it. Get lost in it. It was so much sweeter than his dreams had been of late, how could he not savor the little whispers of his name from you? 

How could he not let himself sink into that bliss? 

How could he not try to memorize the way your hand felt as he took it in his own? 

The way you clung to each other like a lifeline-

The way your breath hitched-

The way the world seemed to fall away-

“Did you forget about me that quickly?” The words turned his blood to ice. It wasn’t your voice. No, he would know that voice anywhere. Dreams were the only place he could hear it, now. 

He wasn’t kissing you, anymore. You were falling away from him, the ground giving way . . . and then, you weren’t you. Just as she had so many nights before, Ada was looking up at him, her gaze as dark as the emptiness that waited for her, if Leon let go.  So, he held on, knuckles turning white, wishing that he could change the past. 

But this was a dream. Not real. Just a reminder of hard truths. 

Most nights, though, when he dreamed of Ada falling, she seemed accepting. Afraid, but accepting. Now, as her hand slipped from Leon’s, there was nothing but accusation in her eyes as she fell down-

Down-

Down-

Until she was gone, like she had never truly been in the first place. 

⧫⧫⧫

Whatever nonsense you were planning, it was curbed when you saw that Leon was sitting by himself at lunch.

It wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that when you moved to join him, he glanced up at you, and then looked back down just as quickly. His jaw tightened. He gave you a mumbled greeting, and then went quiet. 

“You alright?” you asked, and he took a breath before he answered. 

“Yeah. I just didn’t sleep well.” 

You knew well enough what that meant, no one better. Krauser’s words lingered in your head, joining the concern that was already there. However else you were thinking of Leon lately, he had been there for you. Least you could do was return the favor.  “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He looked up at you, conflict plain in his expression. Whatever was happening in his mind, his answer was simple. “Pass.” 

You’d both long since learned to respect that much from each other, so you nodded and let the subject drop. Even if you wanted to dig deeper. Even if it was plain that Leon was far from “fine”. But you were the last person alive who could accuse someone of hiding what they were feeling, or not wanting to talk about it. You’d been doing it for a year now, after all.  

“Knives today?” You asked, when the silence grew to be too much. 

Leon just nodded. 

⧫⧫⧫

Leon understood how you could get so lost in a fight, now. He knew why you would spar to clear your head. There was so little room for other thoughts when you were truly in the moment, when all you let yourself think of was the blade you were up against. The blade, and not the person. 

Easier said than done, when you were the one holding that knife. 

Still, for the most part, Leon found that he was able to keep his thoughts on the combat. Moves and countermoves. You’d advance, and he would block. Answer your attack with one of his own. It all started to blur together, his mind rushing to keep up with you. It was getting easier. He almost forgot the dream that had him in a chokehold all day. Then, everything would get muddled when you would pause at a safe distance, your eyes finding his own as the two of you planned your next move. Or, when in the heat of the moment, the two of you would find yourselves locked together, struggling to get a knife around the other’s guard. 

Those were the moments when Leon’s will would falter. 

-his lips were against your own-

-you clung to each other-

-her hand slipped from Leon’s-

He swore beneath his breath as your knife smashed against his fingers, and he took a moment to shake the pain from his hand. 

“You sure you’re alright?” 

You would be able to tell that his mind was a mess. Right now, though, he wished that he was a stone wall. Unreadable. He didn’t want you to so easily tell what was happening behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he lied again, “I’m alright.” 

The look you gave him spoke for itself. That’s bullshit.

Even with that look, though, you didn’t push him. Because you were, beneath all that training and cold steel focus, a good person. Leon knew it, even if you likely wouldn’t agree. He knew it, and it made things all the more difficult. If you were just some emotionless soldier, intent on molding yourself into a killing machine, he could have ignored what he was feeling. Instead, you were . . . well, you.

“Okay. Just focus on me, alright?” you said, your voice quiet and steady and just a touch too compassionate. He shouldn’t begrudge you compassion, but his emotions were a jumble as it was. 

Still, he followed your command, doing his best to quiet his more traitorous thoughts. It got easier when, after a quick exchange of attacks, he managed to get his knife through your guard, pressing the tip of its blade to your chest. 

Victories were coming more and more often now, but each time Leon won against you, he couldn’t help but feel proud. Even now, when his mind was all shadows and doubts. Of course, encouragement from you didn’t hurt, either. 

“There you go,” you praised as he stepped away. You were smiling.

God, your smile. 

“You know, you’re getting pretty good at this.” 

The compliment did raise his mood, despite everything. “Good enough to pass assessments?” 

“You’d better be, or what the hell have we been doing this whole time?” It was said with good humor, and it made Leon huff a little laugh. 

“Fair enough.” 

“You’ll be fine,” you reassured him, and he had no choice but to believe you, when you were looking at him like that. “That said, you up for a challenge?” you asked, the concern on your face being replaced with a grin. 

He loved it when you smiled like that - it made your eyes light up like a devil that meant well but was going to leave a trail of fire behind them anyway. You were trying to distract him, he figured. Trying to get his mind off of whatever was bothering him the only way you knew how. A challenge with you was usually more of an impossible feat - something he could strive for, but never quite achieved. Still, because he needed that distraction, he found himself nodding. “Sure.” 

With that, you slid your knife into the pocket of your fatigues. Armed versus unarmed. Same way you’d fought him on that first day. “Let’s see how many wins you can get in a row.” You bent your knees, getting into a ready stance. 

Leon felt the corners of his mouth curve upward. “Wouldn’t it be more of a challenge if you were armed?” 

“Well, maybe I wanted a challenge, too.” You swiped at his knife hand, knocking it out of the way for a stomach jab. 

Leon blocked. Slashed at your arm. Near miss. 

He pushed the offensive, just as he’d been taught. By Krauser. By you. 

You tried to catch his wrist, but he twisted away. Instinct guided him to his first victory - a knife slashed across your belly too fast for you to avoid in time. You didn’t wince away from it, and Leon was glad of that. In fact, you gave him an approving nod. “That’s one.” 

The second victory went to you, when you leveraged the knife out of his hand and the unarmed bout that followed ended with you locking your arms around his neck from behind. “And one for me,” you said, and he could feel your breath hot against his ear before you let him go. You’d been on top of him hundreds of times, now. Why was it now that feeling you against him set his blood pounding? 

He knew that, on some level, it was because of the whispers of fantasies he’d indulged in of late. Dreams that he’d let play out when he shouldn’t have. 

Focus. 

Another round. His win. He switched hands as you tried to bind his attack away, caught you first in the arm, and then later in the well between your neck and shoulder. You were breathing heavy, your eyes filled with what Leon could only hope was determination. 

On and on the two of you went, fighting with everything you had. You had more wins, overall, but it was no surprise. The fact that Leon was winning at all was a step in the right direction. 

And as the two of you fought, Leon felt the despair that had been dragging him down all day begin to fade. Each of your little smiles, or jabbing comments pulled him into the moment. The here and now. You didn’t give him the opportunity to think of the past, because if he let himself slip, he would lose. 

That became abundantly clear when you stripped the knife from his hand and came at him. Now he was on the defensive, his body alight with electricity as he realized the danger he was in. 

You slashed at him once. Twice. Leon just barely got out of the way in time. 

A kick sent Leon backwards, and he rolled to come up on all fours just in time to see you rushing him. 

The sun had set. The only lights were the street lamps overhead and the dim light coming from the officer’s bunkhouse. Still, it was enough to catch on the blade of your knife as you brought it down on him, holding it in reverse like the fang of a spider ready to pierce his skin. 

The light caught the blade in your hand, yes, but it also caught the handle of the one still in your pocket. 

Leon took the chance without thinking, rising onto one knee and moving one arm to block as the other went for your hip. Your eyes widened as he closed his fingers around the knife, and you moved to stop him too late. He pulled the weapon free of your pocket, cutting an imagined line across your stomach before holding it to the inside of the leg that was forward. Right where the femoral artery ran beneath the skin and muscle - a place that would bleed you fast in the real world. 

So close to a more compromising position, that Leon nearly froze as he realized just where he’d placed that knife. 

Nearly. 

Instead, he found himself keeping the blade there, and looking up at you with an almost-grin of his own. All that kept it from a full smile was the uncertainty of what your reaction would be to the move. You looked surprised, yes. But there was something else there, too. Something darker that danced where the lamplight couldn’t reach. Even if you’d just lost the fight, you looked otherworldly standing over him. “Smooth move, pretty boy.” 

Something in him tensed at the nickname. Sparked. He was losing the fight against those thoughts of his. Had to push through. “Sorry,” he said, even if he didn’t really mean it. “That was kind of cheap-”

“No, it was smart.” You lowered your still raised knife, and Leon let his blocking arm relax. He let his knife fall away, too, glad of the low light hiding the redness in his cheeks and ears as he rose. “If it’s there, might as well use it.” Even so, you went and put the knife back on the table where it belonged. “Now, let’s see if you can find other ways to surprise me.” 

Leon took to the challenge eagerly and won the next round in doing so. Your head tilted back on instinct as he rested the knife against your neck, and there was no anger at the defeat to be found. You were both tired. You shared the same quick breathing and pounding hearts. Sweat beaded at your brow, the same as it did at Leon’s. The day was almost over. All that to say, Leon wasn’t surprised when you grinned at him over the knife. “Think you can make it to three?” you didn’t move away as you spoke. 

What he’d dreamed of didn’t matter anymore. Only this moment did. However dangerous it was. 

“Do I get anything if I win?” 

You didn’t break his gaze as you answered. It let him see the way your pupils dilated, and with the way his blood was pounding in his ears, there was no guilt to be found at the way it made him feel. “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” you said, and Leon knew that he had to win.  

And so, the last fight of the evening began, set to the tune of the radio as it always was. Leon paid the music no mind, because the dance that the two of you were locked in was something else entirely. Something that no music could ever hope to score. 

It went on for a long time - Leon swinging the knife at you, and you avoiding it. You stepped back and to the side, but never forward. Never towards him. After hours of you teaching Leon to get in close, Leon knew that you were planning something. The wildness in your eyes only confirmed it. 

Wild and alive - so different from the way you’d looked on that first day. He’d thought you were ice, then. Now, he was staring at a crackling flame and couldn’t look away.

You exhaled as you retreated from another attack, stopping just short of the wall of the officer’s barracks. “What are you doing all the way over there?” Leon asked, fairly sure that you’d spoken those exact words to him at one point or another. 

You just shrugged, keeping your guard up. “Waiting.” 

“Could be waiting a while.” 

There was that devil-grin again. “Then come and get me.” 

Leon knew it was a trap. You’d all but spelled it out for him. Still, he advanced, taking a few more swings. If he could get you caught against the wall, then he might be able to get the upper hand. Slash, slash, and thrust. The last one aimed at your heart, meant to get you to back up. 

He supposed that he should have known not to back you into a corner. 

You reached for Leon’s arm before he could pull it away, trying to trap his hand against your chest. So you could pull the knife free, he thought, but was quickly proven wrong as you turned and dropped down. Your back to his, your free arm bracing against his own, and Leon had only an instant to prepare as you leveraged his body over your shoulder. 

The impact came hard and fast, and his entire body shook with the force of it, and he couldn’t help the yelp he made as the air was knocked from him. 

He felt the knife get pulled from his grip, but he was lucky enough to get his feet under him quickly. Dazed, he forced himself around the moment he could. His free hand found the back of your knee, his shoulder bracing against your stomach just as he felt the knife come down on it. He probably could have stopped there, called it a defeat, but he was already moving and there was no stopping his momentum as he pushed all his weight against you, pulling your leg forward at the same time. You toppled over, your back kicking up dust as you hit the ground. 

The struggle that followed was a blur. All Leon could think was that you still had the knife, and that he had to get it away. Down and away. Your surprise was probably all that saved him.

He pushed himself up and forward, arms moving against yours. Grunts and groans, the sound of boots scraping at the dirt, and then metal hitting the ground as Leon pinned your arm down to the side. 

His forearm came down over your throat, stopping just short of applying any real pressure. The rest of him was atop you, keeping you firmly against the ground. He was so caught in making sure you couldn’t escape, in the way his head was still spinning from his fall, that it took several seconds for him to realize that he’d won. 

When that realization came, though, it didn’t matter. Not when you were looking up at him the way you were. Winning didn’t mean a goddamn thing, because his face was so close to yours, and your eyes were dark - so, so dark - as they searched his own. A fire so dark it burned black. A sea so deep, he couldn't see the bottom. Couldn’t even imagine it. 

And both of you were at its edge, silently asking each other the same question. 

Should we jump?

He didn’t get to answer the question for himself before he felt your lips against his. 

You’d kissed him. 

For reasons he couldn’t fathom and didn’t care to, you had kissed him. 

The moment was stretched and pulled every which way, and Leon could only struggle to grasp onto something he could make sense of. Closed his eyes so the rest of him could get a clearer picture. He was aware of the way he took a sharp breath when he felt you against him. Your body was beneath his, and the warmth of it was suddenly so strange. He wanted to sink into it all the same. Get lost in it. He had to move the arm at your neck when he felt you straining against it. And your lips . . . he couldn’t help but move his own against them, tasting the dust you were both covered in. He couldn’t help but breathe his dream into reality, happy to do it for once.

Happy because how long had he wanted to press his mouth to yours? How many weeks had he imagined this moment in one way or another? How many nights had he dreamed of your hand weaving through his hair, pulling him down-

Down- 

Down-

Until she was gone, like she had never truly been in the first place-

The memory struck him like a bullet, tearing clean through him so fast he didn’t fully realize it had hit him. Ada. Her lips against his. Her eyes looking up at him. Accusing. “Did you forget about me that quickly?”  That wasn’t a memory, but it stung like one. It rotted away at him, poisoning him with one thought above all else.

How could you? 

And in the moment of panic that followed, Leon pulled back, like he was flinching away from something hurting him. He didn’t even fully realize that you’d stopped moving your lips. That you’d taken your hand from his hair. 

All he knew was that you didn’t chase him when he pulled away. Instead, he found your eyes distant. 

“We can’t do this.” You said it like you’d known it all along. Like you knew whatever was between you was moments away from dying, and there was nothing you could do to save it. Or, maybe, like you were steeling yourself to let it go. 

“I’m sorry-” he said, but you shook your head. Didn’t let him try to explain the disaster of his thoughts. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Your voice sounded empty. That mask of calm was back on, and Leon felt like he was watching you slip through his fingers, too. “Can you let me up?” 

Leon did as he was asked, his body moving while his mind stayed behind, trying to pick up the pieces. To figure out what had just happened. To staunch the bleeding, even if it was too late. He only remembered to give you a hand when you were already halfway to your feet, and if you saw the offer, you didn’t take it. 

He had to say something. Had to explain-

Saying your name caught your attention, but you didn’t hold his gaze for long. “I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t worry about it.” You didn’t let him finish, and it ran a line of frustration through him. Before he could even think to protest otherwise, you were continuing on, your words strung tight, ready to snap. “Let’s call it a night, yeah?” 

He could have refused. 

He could have insisted that you talk, that you clear up everything that had just happened. That way, he could tell you why he’d pulled back. Maybe learn why you’d let him. But lights out was soon, and there wasn’t enough time in the world to explain himself. If you even wanted an explanation. So, in the end, Leon just nodded, his words just above a whisper. 

“Okay. Good night.” 

⧫⧫⧫

You watched him go, trying hard to ignore whatever was squeezing your chest. Constricting it. Panic and longing in equal measure, you supposed. 

You’d stopped it. 

You’d stopped before it could get worse. 

That was what mattered. 

You were safer this way. You both were.

You busied yourself with putting the knives away. Straightening yourself up. Then, when you were sure you were well and truly alone, you let yourself hunch over, bracing against the locker where the training equipment was kept. There was too much to think of; you couldn’t get a lock on any one thing. It all came at you sideways and backwards, and there was nothing you could do but take the blows because you should have known better. 

You should have fucking known better.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N:

The lads are struggling, I apologize for their lack of emotional awareness. Or maybe their emotional hyperawareness. All this to say, they've both got enough emotional baggage to sink a cruise ship, and god I wish they could see a therapist about it.

Also, if the song had come out by 1999, Leon would absolutely listen to Let You Down by Dawid Podsiadło while angsting about Ada and the Sergeant. I certainly listen to it while angsting about them. But then again, I just listen to that song while angsting about anything. Thank you very much, Cyberpunk Edgerunners.

[jbeefletcher]

Thots and feelings about Dragon Age : The Veilguard (I'm disappointed)

DRAGON AGE : THE VEILGUARD SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT (CRITICAL)

I truly cannot believe the direction they went for this game.

Everything in Veilguard, from equipment and combat to the story, characters and lore - EVERYTHING has been simplified and sanitised to the point of complete sterility.

It’s not glossing over some minor lore points to make itself less daunting to new players. It is completely erasing or ignoring major points of its own lore in order to be palatable for the widest audience.

It should have been a direct sequel to Inquisition, but is instead a complete 180 from it. It is so completely disinterested in continuing on from other games that it actively tries to pretend that the 3 previous games didn’t happen. To make it absolutely clear that all of your characters, decisions and experiences from the previous games couldn’t matter any less, it basically turns all of Southern Thedas - every area we have ever been to or interacted with - into a giant smoking crater. Everything we’ve done in any of the previous games is undone. All the areas that we helped, the people that we saved, all the peace and order, all the political stability or instability, all the structures we established or destroyed - gone. Destroyed off screen. Like it never even happened. Wiping the slate completely clean so it can march forward with this new terrible direction and not be burdened with trying to tell the same cohesive story that it’s original player base were fascinated with and waited 10 years for.

All they had to do was continue telling the story they were already telling, in the world setting they already established. If BioWare were so indifferent about making a Dragon Age game with any semblance of cohesion or follow through, then they should have just made a different IP that would have quitely flopped like Anthem did.

And to all the dudebros saying this game is failing because of woke, fuck you. This game is failing because they gutted everything that made it a unique, interesting and immersive world in lieu of churning out a generic, soulless fantasy MMO to sell as many units as possible to people who never gave a shit about Dragon Age before.

After waiting 10 years for this, after seeing the constant nightmares of its production cycles (plural), mass staff layoffs, mass quitting and the overall apathy and exhaustion of everyone involved, I’m beyond disappointed. I’m crushed.

[hueningsloverr]

౨ৎ making the bed !

pairing: hueningkai x slightly toxic!reader summary: life was miserable for you. it wasn't for kai. and while he could never change your circumstances, he was there for you. word count: 0.6k extra: inspired by olivia rodrigos making the bed ! and it's not happy. y/n has mental health issues !! implied death of a loved one . lots of mentions of being drunk .

you were notoriously aggressive. not in a negative way, just well... set in your ways. you always got what you wanted in the end, even if you didn't always go about it in the best ways. which is why it was shocking huening kai was so drawn to you.

kai was thoughtful, where you were thoughtless. not much happened in your brain before you made a decision (not that you were dumb anything, you just were brash!!!) yet kai was meticulous, calculating.

to you, everything was a sign for something else. you played pretend, dressing up behind fake smiles and forced laughter. there was such little joy left in your life. anything fun you somehow managed to ruin.

and kai was all too familiar with your behaviour. it worried him.

some nights, you would disappear, only to show up at his door at an ungodly hour. drunk. only propped up by two slightly-sober friends. he'd let you stay with him. he knew you couldn't go home. not like that.

yet come morning, you'd be gone. you'd push and push him away for around a week, then show up drunk once again. your drunken confessions usually lasted under ten minutes, yet they made everything make sense.

you were miserable with your life.

you were more miserable when you would startle awake in the middle of the night, kai instantly rushing to your side.

he was always there.

he had to be.

the one night he wasn't, everything changed.

"i’m sorry, i heard about-" kai began, already fumbling for words. what do you say to someone who may lose the person they hold closest to their heart? there is nothing to say. nothing to fix the wrongs.

"don't. she is not your sister lying on that hospital room." you snapped, yet there was no visible anger in your eyes. not towards kai at least. towards the world, maybe. but not towards him. you were hurting.

"i know what it feels like to have someone you care about in danger. when there's nothing you can do for the one you love. all there's left to do is sit through the storm, and pray it doesn’t sweep them away."

two years.

every night whilst you slept terribly, battling the nightmares, he sat awake in bed, wondering what could have been different had he been there.

he brought it up once to a friend, who simply laughed in his face. they told him you had a 'victim complex'.

you were fucked in the head, basically.

and kai knew that if there was even any truth to that statement, you were already trying to fix that. you were seeing someone, getting help. your life was out of your control, and you were working to get it back.

some days were simply worse than others, for both you and kai. you teetered on the edge of love. drunkenly, you would tell him you loved him. and stupidly, he would believe it.

a chemical imbalance in your brain. or so kai tried so hard to believe. anything besides the choice that sometimes, you were just cruel.

it was hard to believe that, though. because when you were good, god you were amazing. you could be so sweet, so apologetic. you regretted being who you were. and it was obvious to kai when you would cry into his sweater, a sobbing mess.

you, at the end of the day, were the one who made all those bad decisions. you were suffering the consequences. you were the one to blame. there was nowhere to hide. accountability was knocking on your door. and while you refused to answer it for the time being, kai would be there when you were ready.

he always would. you're the one making the bed, but kai would always be by your side.

authors note : this is the one based off of making the bed! i am a terrible person. i don't know why i chose to injure a sibling. maybe cuz i feel like ive lost mine idk. lol. idk i might go on hiatus im not doing the best rn and i think how terrible this is reflects that like this was just projection.

©2024 — all rights reserved to hueningsloverr , please do not plagiarise or translate any of my work

[thescrapwitch]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you @grey-gazania and @dreamingthroughthenoise for tagging me! Sorry for the very late reply!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

Currently, I have 63 works, though a few of them are on-going multichapter ones. If I narrowed it down to only complete fics, it would be 58. 

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

501,530 words!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently the Silmarillion has me in a chokehold and I am having SO MUCH FUN putting tragic elves into all sorts of situations. There’s a lot of free space and flexibility in its canon which is fun to play around in, and so many AU possibilities. Before that I wrote for Linked Universe/Legend of Zelda, which had a large cast of characters whose found family/friendship dynamics had me hooked. 

(we shall not speak of what I wrote during my Fanficion.net days, back when I was very small and very terrible at writing 😛)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Looking at all my fics, my Linked Universe ones have the most: Rescue Mission, Malevolence, Bad Joke, Untitled Goose Fic, and Weatherworn Heart. 

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! I adore comments and go back and reread them often, so I try to at least say thank you to people who’ve left one after reading my fics. 

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This is a tough one! I have a few Hurt/No Comfort ones (all focusing on poor Maedhros). I’ll go with Despair Like Poison, in which I find a way to make the beginning of the Silmarillion EVEN WORSE. Its based on a Tumblr post I made (which I now can't find????), and I might continue it, once I figure out exactly how dark/angsty I want it to get!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Rest for the Weary and the Damned, the final fic in the main storyline for my Maglor is an Eldritch Horror series. After many problems, everyone gets to be together and live happily ever after, including everyone’s favorite eldritch monster.  

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, but I don’t tend to write a lot of romance/ship-focused fics, so that could be why.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No, not my thing to write. 

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Crossovers aren’t really my thing to write either. 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! It's always such an honor when someone asks if they can translate my fic. 

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, though I do get a lot of inspiration from comments and side-discussions. Untitled Goose Fic happened because of a Discord discussion, and Trial of Crablor Feanorion was written because of a commentor’s remark about animal trials.  

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Silvergifting can be so much fun and so messed up and I love writing it. 

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My poor Legend of Zelda 1920s AU fic is crying at me from the depths of my WIP pile. I am so sorry. One day, maybe, I will return to it, but I have so many other things that I want to write…

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, story structure, and weird stuff. Eldritch monsters, sentient houses that speak to you in nightmares, crabs who were once elves, dreamy-not-entirely-sane narration; those I feel like I can do well. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Description! Specifically, description used to set up a place, to make the world around the characters feel more textured and real. I am trying to get better at it. 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I have enough typos writing in English, I do not have the confidence to try and write in anything else. The Tolkien fandom has a lot of languages and I’m always in awe of the people who can include them so well into their work.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Megaman.EXE, way way back in the early days of Fanfiction.net, all of which has now been thankfully eaten by the internet. 

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I say it every time someone asks, but it has to be The Haunting of Imladris. That fic was a gift: it gave me a world to flesh out for my eldritch!Maglor series, it gave me confidence to write horror (which I’d never done before) and it gave me Lindir. I will always adore and be grateful to it.

Tagging: @camille-lachenille @thelordofgifs @searchingforserendipity25 @sallysavestheday @lordgrimwing @eilinelsghost @chthonion @gardensofthemoon and anyone else who wants to join in!

[klein-sodor-bahn]

Time for a Heinrich lore dump!

Welp since I built a Lego-not-Lego model of my him I think it’s the best time to talk about my favorite fast boy Heinrich.

Heinrich is/is based on the real life preserved engine DR BR 18 201 or the number it currently wears 02 0201-0 (Which looks god awful on the smoke box imo). Heinrich’s history is basically the same, but enough chit chat it’s time for lore!

And it all starts with the VES Halle (Saale). The facility was located in the GDR (East Germany) and needed an engine to haul newly built express coaches at speeds up to 160 km/h (ca. 100mph) and beyond for testing purposes. A newly constructed Diesel for this task would have been too expensive so it was decided that the new engine was going to be a steam locomotive. For historical context in East Germany steam lasted into the 1980s.

So the project came to life, spearheaded by Dr. Baumberg from the VES. He for example is responsible for the design of streamlining which was inspired by SNCF 232.U.1. Another quirk this engine received was Giesl-Ejector. Which most of you know Peter Sam has too. In 1960 the construction began. The works responsible was the RAW Meiningen which is still operational as the Dampflokwerk Meiningen (they built Tornado’s and are involved in the P2 project). To realize Baumberg’s vision the engineers decided to attempt something. They had heard about Henry’s rebuilt at Crewe years prior. So an engine called Heinrich was brought in together with parts of two other engines and a tender from a forth engine. This original Heinrich was DRG 61 002 one of the two Henschel-Wegmann Tank engines.

They went to work and on the 31st of May 1961 their job was done. But to the shock of everyone involved behind the scenes this new engine woke up only knowing its name: Heinrich. What had gone wrong was that original Heinrich didn’t want to be so heavily altered so he basically perished, only traces of his memory remain. This has consequences for current day Heinrich. He has terrible nightmares which cause him to have bouts of insomnia. And becoming a scaredy-engine when left alone by his crew at night. But regardless this Frankenstein’s monster of an engine was not only successful but also became the fastest, in service steam locomotive in the world. The men at the VES grew fond of their new engine. They dubbed him Jimmo, because they felt like Heinrich sounded too pompous for such a chipper and friendly fella. Heinrich/Jimmo was rarely seen outside of the VES, when he was he could depart 10 minutes late and still arrive on time at his destination. Early on it was decided to give him oil firing and during the oil crisis Baumberg insisted on keeping it or he would need an army of firemen for to get Jimmo going. Because the high speed has its price, after all the three cylinders that power a set of 6 driving wheels with a diameter of 2.30 meters (ca. 7’5”) don’t power themselves. Heinrich after the end of his service life changed owners a few times. Nowadays he’s owned by the WFL and lives at Nossen which is near Dresden.

He’s revered by engines and enthusiasts alike. But he’s rather reluctant to be that famous. He only leverages his authority if an engine acts like an asshat. Heinrich has a strong sense of justice, but also a habit of being very direct. Which often results in him unintentionally trampling over the feelings of others. This brutal honesty is something Henry and Charlie like about him. Heinrich is also helpful and curious about the world. Although his curiosity occasionally results in embarrassing mishaps. Like when he chased a butterfly, demolished a set of buffers and ended up off the rails. Another quirk is that when turned on the turntable he instantly falls asleep. He and Henry become friends almost instantly. Henry helps him overcome his fear of the dark. And also influences him to become a bit more mature. Heinrich is also very respectful towards engines like Flying Scotsman and Saxonia. He even called Henry “sir” when the two green engines first met. Heinrich loves going fast. He gets ecstatic when he travels at high speeds. It’s a child like joy. He’s truly one of Germany’s finest.

[sometipsygnostalgic]

she ra homestuck

following conversations with @roquereptil and @phosphoricbomb​ i have a thought

i have almost certainly had similar discussions on a deeper scale about Entrapta specifically (Heart or Void player Entrapta), but i want to pull it back a bit and talk about a lot of the characters!  

specifically, the notion of Prospit and Derse. So which characters do you think would be Prospit and Derse? 

My analysis is based on the characters who you find on those planets. All of the Prospit kids are optimistic or otherwise idealistic, they have dreams and ambitions and largely live in fantasy. Not 100% of them do, but you see these characters taking a kick to the head at some point and their hopes and dreams get crushed. 

All the Derse kids live in a cold hard real world. Usually with difficult backgrounds. They already know things are shit and frankly to them the game solved everything. 

There are a couple of exceptions, like Feferi Peixes who is an optimistic Dersite (but anchored to Meenah Peixes who fits Derse perfectly), Sollux Captor who is on BOTH PLANETS (but for all intents and purposes is Dersite), and Nepeta Leijon who is in a grey area - more on that in a moment. 

PROSPIT

Glimmer - She’s the most determined Prospit brained character .Glimmer isn’t under any illusion of greatness, however, she believes strongly in the Rebellion and friendship and in becoming as heroic as she can be to protect everyone. Glimmer has plenty of doubts but she swallows them in bold overconfidence.  

Adora - Similar to Terezi Pyrope, Adora comes from a fucked up background but still idealises the values instilled in her of good and bad, and is determined to be a hero.. even if it means cutting down the person she loves most dearly. Unlike Dave who tries and fails to deny the call, Adora is basically running to be kiled for the good of all. Probably a Hope player. Pray that she isn’t the Time player.  

Bow - Just like Glimmer and perhaps the inspiration for her ideals, Bow believes strongly in the Rebellion and the good of people. His brain is filled with happy thoughts. He is the most Prospitian to ever. 

Of course, all three characters will have their hopes and dreams crumbled into dust over the show, and pick them back up again. 

Sea Hawk - He is irrelevant enough to be Dersite but for some reason this guy makes me think of John Egbert. He just loves setting things on fire and doesn’t give many fucks about much else. 

Perfuma - She reminds me of Jade Harley and Kanaya Maryam a little bit in that she is trying sooooo hard to be the good natured friend who knows everything that’s going on and is ok with adjustments to plans, however she is bottling up an insane rage and concealing half of her own character. Like both she really does believe in the things she talks about even if she can’t follow through those ideals.  

Wrong Hordak - He’s very idealistic and simple, even after he switches sides. A happy boy. 

Horde Prime - This is definitely my most interesting entry here. Prime sees himself as the savior of the planet. Everything that is not him is irrelevant. He doesn’t have any of Vriska or Catra’s pain, he doesn’t have the true awareness of the world that has been burned into Dersites, nor does he have the compassion for others that the other Prospits have. Prime is not like Caliborn, who started off irrelevant and had to fight to become the most important man in the universe. Prime has no flaws, he has no fears, and for that reason, he embodies the light of Prospit. 

DERSE

Catra - Her brain is filled with terrible thoughts and fears and what separates her from Vriska is that Catra does not see herself as remotely relevant, she is chasing validation, not clout (which Vriska sees as the same thing). In contrast to Adora, Catra already knows the world is terrible and she frankly has no hopes or dreams, there is no sunshine in her nightmares. Horrorterrors eat Catra’s brain for lunch and she goes Grimdark at the first opportunity. Gets a period of recovery at the end of the show like Rose and the trolls!  

Scorpia - If Scorpia actually believed anything she ever said, that would swing her onto Prospit. But she’s never had any self confidence, she’s never had faith that her friends care about her, or that her grandfather wanted what’s best for her. She’s always in a state of denial but always knows that her life is fucking terrible, and that only gets worse for Scorpia over the show. Like many Dersites, however, there is that light at the end of the tunnel, and Scorpia is very very strong. She’s a lot like Roxy and Nepeta. 

Hordak - I see nothing remotely prospitian about this man who hates himself and his very being. Hordak just kind of Suffers throughout the whole show. He is defective and broken and discarded by his master. He is in many ways the opposite of Prime, no matter how he tries to emulate him. Hordak’s Homestuck counterparts are seen in Eridan Ampora and Dave Strider. Eridan has Hordak’s rage and villainy, Dave has the broken and scarring relationship with his father. 

Entrapta - Like many Dersites, Entrapta battles with irrelevance. Her friends leave her to die, her second set of friends leave her to die, maybe it’d be better if a defect like her just stayed out of it. Entrapta is like Nepeta - Neither character is “fit for the purpose” that they were put into society for, both are heavily implied to be autistic and seen as defective because of it. And both characters run headfirst into dangerous situations. Entrapta however has a lot of powerful energy happening when she’s in a good mood which you could compare to Jade Harley, but I think while the characters are very similar, Jade believes herself to have a lot more control over her fate and loses it at the end to a self sacrifice narrative (EXACTLY like Adora), while Entrapta starts off with little to no control over her situation and ends up as one of the most powerful characters despite it all (like Aradia?). 

Mermista - She reminds me of Rose, Dave, and Sollux in that Mermista always appears five stages of done in any given situation, and she appears to have had some shitty responsibility thrown on her, but give her a few minutes and she will dork your ear out. I don’t think there’s any real darkness or despair hidden behind Mermista’s character, which separates her from the other 3, but I think she’d be an excellent Derse dreamer. 

Yeah my analysis of Derse was a lot deeper than Prospit but that’s probably because of the four Derse humans being much deeper characters than the four Prospit humans... 

EDIT: 

Here are a couple of points on some characters I forgot to mention.

Shadow Weaver - It's difficult because Light Spinner might qualify as Prospitian but Shadow Weaver screams Derse to me. Weaver's closest counterparts in Homestuck are the Condesce, who is Derse, and The Handmaid, who is also Derse. However, Weaver originally came from the light, unlike those two characters. I think Prospit Dreamer Weaver would be very interesting. Maybe she starts off on Prospit and sells her soul to the Horrorterrors! I guess if she's anything like a human kid, her biggest similarities are Rose and Dirk, who are both Dersites!!! But those characters have a humility that Weaver lacks.

Micah - Doesn't get enough character development to properly quantify, I think maybe Prospit because he's very determined and idealistic even though he's been through a hell of an ordeal! He survived on Beast Island for like 15 years because he wanted to see his family again. Young Micah was also incredibly talented and Light Spinner's prodigy student. He's a lot more similar to Glimmer than Angella is, and Glimmer is totally Prospit.

[elysia-nsimp]

OC introduction: Heaven (Twisted Wonderland)

^ fairy gala outfit, I did use a ref, if ur curious and I find it again I’ll share :3:3

Basics

Heaven (she/her) is a Ramshackle student mainly based off of the bride from the Haunted Mansion, and minorly based off of the Mayor from Nightmare Before Christmas. She is… some kind of ghost, many assume, though she’s always been that way, rather than having died. Her age is, for the most part, unknown.

While usually floating, Heaven when standing on the ground is … I’d say 5’8. She’s thin, perhaps a little too much-so, and very… uncanny. She almost never blinks, and primarily eats using the mouth on top of her head, rather than the one on her face. She also only has three clawed fingers on each hand, not including her thumb.

Rarely is Heaven actually seen in any classes, and when asked about her, professors don’t typically seem to recognize the name as one of the students. However, she claims to be very good at history and ancient curses. She does not enjoy flight class because there’s “too much sunlight.”

Hobbies, Talents, Preferences

Few people even see Heaven, much less know what she does with her free time. For the most part, Heaven remains invisible, with the only sign of her presence being an odd feeling that you’re being watched or that something terrible is going to happen.

Despite this, it’s been made very clear that Heaven strongly dislikes men. She’s incredibly distrustful and will be openly aggressive and even violent towards masc presenting people who she deems some level of threat. Of course this isn’t like, all men she encounters, she’s just kind of iffy and guarded for the most part… but if you fail the vibe check? Oof good luck.

Total girls girl tho. One of the other girls murders someone? Heaven will hide the body no questions asked.

The one thing most students have come to agree on about Heaven, is that she enjoys using her range of weird ass abilities to freak people out, including but not limited to: the mouth on her head which has a sharp black tongue in it, her unpleasant aura, the fact that she knows information she realistically should not be able to know, her ability to seemingly predict the future, random teleportation… there’s more but those are the big ones.

She is. very ominous.

Backstory

Heaven is a princess, one of a now destroyed kingdom that exists somewhere in the spirit realm. From a young age, Heaven kept telling her parents that bad things would happen, to which her parents would assume she was doing kid things and making it up… only for the exact events to later happen. Because of this, word spread and the kingdom began to believe Heaven was a bad omen, bringing disaster wherever she went, and her parents locked her away in the palace Elsa From Frozen Style.

She grew bitter and upset that no one listened to her, and only assumed the worst from her because she was young. As a result, the day she learned her unique magic was the day the entire kingdom fell, being destroyed in a massive tornado no one could have predicted—no one but the one who’s overblot caused it.

Heaven was exiled from the ruins of the kingdom, while her parents and the survivors of the disaster sought refuge in a neighboring kingdom. From there, Heaven traveled on her own for a while, before deciding that the Ramshackle dorm in the living world would be a good place for her to stay… where no one knew who she was or what she had done.

Oh also she was supposed to marry a prince from another kingdom but she hated that idea. Then she fell in love with my buddy Howl’s oc Prince Jude an oops guess what, that was the prince she was supposed to marry so now they’re happy together yaaay

Unique Magic

Let the truth be revealed ,

And set free thy soul,

Lest thy fate be sealed,

And lest chaos reign control.

From this day, we doth decree,

Anticipate our destruction,

Cataclysmic reduction

Make mine own visions reality!

Calamity From Above!

An extremely powerful UM that will almost always result in extreme damage to the user. It festers a natural disaster, mimicking the extent of the user’s negative emotion.

This usually manifests as a tornado for Heaven, and given the nature of the spell, will send her into an overblot if used incorrectly.

Relationships

Ace

Heaven hates this mf. She bites her tongue because the prefect (in this version, Comet in specific), is friends with him. He sometimes feels her stares from seemingly nowhere.

Deuce

Actually, Heaven thinks Deuce is a pleasant person. He gets a pass :)

Leona

Heaven… respects Leona. She doesn’t like him, but she respects him.

Ruggie

She is ready to throw Ruggie into the next zipcode over

Jack

She’s skeptical of Jack. Not sure if she approves of him or not yet.

All of Octavinelle

I cannot put into words how much she does NOT like these three. She has close eyes on them whenever they’re near Comet, which is… often. She has thrown a pan at Floyd before because he was getting too close to Comet, and she would do it again.

Kalim

She thinks he’s obnoxious and loud, but he kind of reminds her of her husband, so he gets a pass.

Jamil

She WILL bite him /neg

Rook

BITES HIM BITES HIM BITES HIM /NEG

Idia

Shockingly??? Heaven considers Idia a friend?????? Like they met once and had a pleasant conversation (Idia was shaking like a chihuahua in the snow) and Heaven decided “this little man is silly, I’ll be keeping him :)”

Malleus

Heaven holds high respect for Malleus. She’s still keeping an eye on him tho.

Lilia

“Anyone who fucks up their food that badly cannot be trusted.” -Heaven

Sebek

HATES HIM. SHE HATES HIM SO MUCH.

Bonus!! Comet

Comet is her bestest friend in the whole wide world :))) she’d murder someone for Comet no hesitation:)))) you wanna date Comet?? You gotta pass Heaven’s vibe check :))))) (Comet will not let Heaven commit murder for her, Heaven is distraught by this)

Other works

Hejejejjewj playlist

Media

Thank Howl for the second one lol

[weirdstuffinthewoods]

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

I'm awful at starting niche blogs, so I'm trying to stick to what I know and love. Something I know very well and love very much is this box set right here that I'm still mad at myself for getting rid of (I bought the 3-book treasury it's just not the SAME)

If you're a millennial of any age, you were probably traumatized by one or more of these bad boys. Alvin Schwartz sat down in the late 70s (book 1 was published in 1981!) and said, "you know what? I'm gonna scare the pants off a bunch of kids and they'll thank me for it later." And you know what? I kinda do.

I've spent a lot of time trying to find the root of my horror obsession, and I thought it was seeing the 1990 made-for-TV version of IT at a sleepover in 3rd grade, which resulted in two traumatic years of night terrors, calmed only by...reading the book it was based on? And then all of Stephen King's other works that were definitely not appropriate for a barely 9-10 year old? (For years, I'd skip the adulthood sections of IT when I read it because I found them so boring, so I had a half-finished story in my mind. Go figure.) But that wasn't it. I thought maybe it was finding the Informania: Ghosts and Informania: Vampires books at the Scholastic Book Fair and poring over them obsessively for years (more on this at a later date) but nope.

It was Scary Stories, Alvin Schwartz, and Stephen Gammell.

If you want some of the story surrounding these books, I recommend the Prime/Freevee documentary "Scary Stories". I remember none of it, but that's the ADHD and I can't help it.

From a quick Wikipedia search (they have never steered me wrong and this is a for-fun blog y'all), it looks like Alvin Schwartz is a folklore dude, which I aspire to be. He published multiple other kids' books of folklore aside from the Scary Stories trilogy, including A Twister of Twists, A Tangler of Tongues, but these were illustrated by a dude named Glen Rounds and I mean look:

A little weird, but not nightmare-inducing by any means. Although the amount of hair is concerning. American folklore gets lost in the shuffle a lot so it's cool for kids to see it. Then, a bit before 1981, he meets this fuckin' guy:

Who yes appears harmless but single-handedly molded me as a person with just some watercolor and pencil. Without his illustrations, Scary Stories wouldn't have the legacy they do today. Proof? The books were rereleased in 2011 with different illustrations. From the guy who illustrated the Series of Unfortunate Events books (Brett Helquist). I'm sure those were fine but like come on.

as compared to

Which one is a kid (ie me) going to cover with one hand while desperately trying to read the other page?

Stephen Gammell has a decades-long career which is briefly highlighted in this Bloody Disgusting article, excitingly enough. Before Scary Stories, he actually did another scary book series for kids which has some unsettling illustrations

and he did some historical illustrations for stuff like Thunder at Gettysburg and Terrible Things: An Allegory of the Holocaust which no I will not be looking up because I need to sleep tonight.

The article also goes on to mention how amazing Schwartz's research abilities were considering none of these stories were original- they were just collected from around the US and the world and compiled into a (not kid-friendly, no, but) kid-interesting version. There were also audiobooks (books on cassette? I guess?) for at least one of them so I assume all three, and I distinctly remember (I'll point to the exact stories later):

sitting:

-in broad daylight

-at the reading table in my classroom, probably 3rd grade too

-headphones on, volume up

-sweating absolute buckets because I was listening to this baby which ETSY SOMEHOW HAD

ARE YOU JOKING ETSY??? I'm okay though I don't need the nightmares back.

George S. Irving deserved every penny he got for this work and a whole lot more because that man scared the shit out of me. Also found out as I was reading his Wikipedia article that he played Heat Miser in The Year Without A Santa Claus. Well. The more you know, I guess.

Anyway, going forward, I'm going to go in depth on some of my favorites, and hopefully you come with! Send me questions or suggestions on stuff you want me to talk about or look at :)

Also yes I've seen the movie no I will not talk about it here but maybe later because it's been awhile since I saw it

[dizzybevvie]

whag is YOUR FAVOURITE DRAGON from the tv shows!!!!!!!!!!

thank you so much :( /pos

Meta-wise, Ive talked before on one of my old accounts (@i-hate-spitelout-jorgenson) about how much I find Snaptrappers really really interesting. As a kid who spent most of my time watching riders/defenders of berk, and watched the 3 short films just as frequently, I was very used to seeing dragons appear on Riders Of Berk and recognising them from the Book Of Dragons short. Whispering Death, the Skrill, Changewing, Thunderdrum, scauldron, etc all appeared first in BoD and then in RoB which I LOVED. I felt so in the loop. The 2 exceptions to this are the Timberjack, which had its design recycled into the Typhoomerang and also appeared in httyd2's "Where No One Goes" scene (and potentially in The hidden world?), and the Snaptrapper, which never appeared in the film franchise again. Its in the mobile game, its in School of Dragons, its even in the comics. But never in the film franchise, which I always found really interesting.

Actual self-indulgent wise though???

Im going to disqualify the dragons that appeared in httyd1 (not including those in the Dragon Book Scene) so Night fury, Deadly Nadder, Monstrous Nightmare, Hideous Zippleback, Gronckle, red death and Terrible Terror cant compete.

I mean, for pure fear factor the first two to come to mind are the Skrill and Screaming Death.

I was TERRIFIED OF THE SKRILL. Especially because as a kid i was terrified of Dagur. Who is essential to any Skrill based plot line. But the way it was frozen in ice, the way hiccup staggered back when he realised what it was, the realisation it could still be alive, was so fucking haunting. It being able to counter most/all of toothless' attacks was so terrifying as a kid man. It being sealed back in the jce at the end of the episode felt genius to me at the time but I love that they released it in rtte. thats character development.

The screaming death's set up was also, terrifying. Its worth noting that I caught RoB/DoB mostly on reruns so I probably didnt watch it in order, but I saw each episode LOADS of times and probably pieced it together. The whole episode with the whispering death where it has a weakness to light was such good set up for the screaming death because when it didnt have the same weakness i was SHOCKED AND DUMBFOUNDED. Also the screaming death fire out the back of the head effect is awesome?? AND THE FIRST SHOT WHERE YOU JUST SEE THE TUNNEL IT CREATED... YEAH. NIGHTMARE MATERIAL FOR 5 YEAR OLD ME, 10/10 NO NOTES.

[baltimorebullets]

This week I saw RUMOURS (2024) and THE LINE (2023), which means talking about POLITICS, FUTILITY, COMPLIANCE, and MASCULINITY!

RUMOURS (2024) - I really don't know if comparing this movie to Apocalypse Now (1979) is astute or obvious or big "Guy Who's Only Seen Apocalypse Now: Getting big Apocalypse Now vibes from this" vibes. They're both dream-(or NiGhTmArE-) like, they're both about the futility of individual action among immense power. We're rolling with it.

So when I encountered Apocalypse Now in an academic setting, it was in a media class, not a political science class, so when we talked about Vietnam Syndrome, we talked about it within the framework of, like, what vulnerably and failure meant to the patriarchal identity of the US versus the "public aversion to American overseas military involvements" that Wikipedia talks about. There are, obviously, deeply narcissistic aspects to centering white and/or American and/or man pain within narratives about the Vietnam War, but I think there can be value in looking into the mirror and having some real self-accountability.

(Which is also a problematic statement. Even while maintaining the concept of borders and citizenship, which is, like, whatever, why is the GI more self than the American who abstained, who fought (and died) against the war, the Vietnamese-American refugee, the abandoned children of war. There are people, artists, among them, with vital perspectives on what the Vietnam War means.

One aspect, I think, is that it can be eughh a bit challenging to objectify someone's experience and trauma as A Learning Opportunity, from the outside. There's a quote from, I think, a Holocaust survivor, but for the life of me I cannot find the source right now, so to paraphrase: "I don't like writing about, because people don't like what I have to say about it."

Second is how it can play into a sort of... one of the good one fantasies, where, again, the voyeur can take their guilt and empathy and use it to mentally separate themselves without having to follow through materially. Like, me, personally, my grandfather was trained Marine who didn't make it over to Vietnam only because they called the whole thing off too soon. And my other draft-eligible uncle had hepatitis. I feel zero obligation to maintain my family military legacy, but I don't think I'm doing anyone but myself any favors by distancing myself from it, especially given that, you know, one of my baby cousins just enrolled at West Point. Which in itself is yet another testament to exactly how much good the US has done in correcting itself. LMAO)

Anyway, to refocus. If Apocalypse Now is a trippy nightmare, Rumours is a dream. It's beautiful, hazy, glossy, glowing, romantic, fucking funny. It ends with the world on fire, with the G7 world leaders wearing mylar blankets as capes, giving a terrible speech, the whole reason they were meeting in the first place.

Rumours is a very careful kind of apolitical that doesn't immediately feed into conservative fantasy but does still encapsulate the kind of pointless circlejerk all this shit can be. Or feel like. Or be. If you're a vulnerable person, it sure as fuck can feel like there is not a single solitary thing moving anywhere ever, and no one cares, and it's all just noise. If you're a person who has ever so much as a laid a pinky on The Systems, the noise starts to make a bit more sense, or at least have a rhythm. And you know people are trying. And that sometimes shit takes time for a reason.

... but are they really? As we really? To borrow a few words from my man Tyler:

Black bodies hanging from trees, I cannot make sense of this (Uh) Hit some protest up, retweeted positive messages (Uh) Donated some funds then I went and copped me a necklace I'm probably a coon to your standard's based on this evidence Am I doin' enough or not doin' enough? I'm tryna run with the baton, but see, my shoe's in the mud I feel like anything I say, dawg, I'm screwin' shit up (Sorry)

Like, you cannot tell me that I'm wrong for feeling guilty about every aspect of my existence, something that is, ultimately, propped up by being an American. But is it productive? Fine. Fine. You caught me. The guilt of privilege lives on within me, and it is still not productive nor helpful.

Which is all very therapized of me.

Before I broke up with my last therapist, I remember telling her that I feel like she has me on palliative care — nothing was changing, nothing was going to change, and it was good enough to change the framing, to con me out of my anger and frustration and the friction it causes. But the thing about palliative care — the thing about the stupid fucking speech these bozos are trying to pull together the whole movie — is that it does actually improve outcomes. Framing and communication are actually important. Especially when there's nothing tangible to put in the tank. It feels so shitty to be part of the tapestry that is American imperialism and it's the end of the world and it's our fault and everything we do is futile or actively makes things so, so, so much worse and we still have the responsibility to see this shit through.

(But isn't that also the fantasy? If Apocalypse Now is yet another war movie feeding the masculine masochistic urge to be the arrow-cum-comet shot by some force, some God behind them, somehow both righteous and blind, does Rumours — or what I'm choosing to take from it, since it is very much an apocalypse movie ushering on a new dawn — simply sell a softer version of that paternalistic fantasy, where the obligation to at least try to cleaning up after ourselves gets conflated with being The Natural Order of Things, Or Else? Shit, I dunno. Even talking about therapy, the reality is my mental health improved because my material life improved, and trying to swallow what CBT has to say arguably made shit a whole lot worse for a hot minute there. There are some real limits to rhetoric.)

Anyway, good movie, pretty movie, liked it a whole lot.

THE LINE (2023) - So to keep talking about war movies, you know that whole thing about how a war movie can't ever actually be an anti-war war movie, because to be good movies, they're always too damn cool to be able to sell the point? I think The Line kind of proved that point.

Maybe it's a side effect of staring Alex Wolff, who did a fine job, but if I see Alex Wolff, I'm thinking about Hereditary -> Ari Aster -> ✨💐🐻 MIDSOMMAR 🐻💐✨ which is like. Perhaps unfair. But a thing about me is, I love a story about cults. Indoctrination. Things going on behind closed doors. One part nosy, one part outsider-looking-in syndrome, one part, as Plath put it:

Being born a woman is my awful tragedy. From the moment I was conceived I was doomed to sprout breasts and ovaries rather than penis and scrotum; to have my whole circle of action, thought and feeling rigidly circumscribed by my inescapable femininity. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars — to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording — all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night…

Shockingly, I had to Google the full quote, where I found a lot of people talking about the literal safety angle which. Yes. Of course yes. There were far too many literal fraternity brothers at the showing I went to and I: did not care for the vibe at all. But the aspect that's stuck with me is the feeling of the available female experience being so fenced in, and it being so impossible to be a neutral presence, or a trusted presence. Do I need to explain this further? I like cooking more than I like football 🏈, but that's about as far as I go when it comes to meeting expectations. There's has to be something better, more exciting, more real, somewhere, please, god, let me out, let me in.

Of course, the reality is that most men, most masculine spaces, are not actually that much of a revelation.

The university I went to was not a very Greek-life forward one, and it wasn't pit-of-vipers competitive, either. But it was elite. But also, like, not elite enough to not make it kind of cringe to call it elite. But—

Point being, I did think that The Line did a respectable job depicting the reality beneath the romance of exclusivity. Most of these people are not particularly impressive or interesting. The relationships can be shallow, or convenient, or an annoying obligation. The privilege of being in that room can be a punishment. You put up with so much fucking bullshit for a few lines on your resume and names to put in as references, and it can still all fall apart for you, or not matter at all for the next guy.

... but, like, there are still reasons why people buy into the myth. There's a scene really early on, where Wolff's character explains that his fraternity is important because he's building relationships, and that's more important than his shitty GPA, and, like, listen. He's not entirely wrong. It's a bit of a cope, to use the modern parlance, to tell yourself that fraternity brothers as a whole are completely washed when it comes to genuine intelligence and ability — that they aren't also genuinely ambitious and frustrated by dead weight — but that can very much be a secondary strength when it comes to staying on the path to success. It's a whole immature, vulgar, emotionally draining system based on shallow promises, but people keep showing up for a reason, beyond simple stupidity, and IMO that's where The Line fell flat.

But that also brings us back to the question up top: Assuming we are in fact not supposed to like most of the characters, or want in on what they have going on, how would you make that "better" without putting a shine on it? ... Is it just me, looking at this going, "lol, gross, no thank you, wasn't falling for that one again, anyway"? The aforementioned frat bros at my viewing were pretty thrilled with the movie; did they feel like it was an accurate representation? If yes, is a "haha, fuck that shit" kind of representation or a "haha, the good ol' days" kind of representation? I didn't ask. Sometimes being an anonymous listener is good motivation to sneak right out the back door, too.

[crystalelemental]

Apparently I lied. I needed to test out Lana here, because I had some Big Opinions about her that...have been challenged. For anyone wondering, she's 2/5.

General Overview Lana, as a sync pair, has a great supportive effect in her Terrain, but her only supportive function is DPS. This is my least favorite thing in the world, because this kind of approach generally overshadows allies, and renders them irrelevant. Lana's lower stats, however, makes it so allies compete. Her DPS isn't too exceptional on single-target, and her sync is downright terrible. It's basically the Archie effect, only without the issue of only having one application of your field effect. I may or may not be saying the Tapu are better than Master Fairs.

But all of this leads to me considering her pretty shit in Gauntlet. Poor single-target DPS and horrible sync is a recipe for disaster in this mode, especially when you have a flat 0 defensive tools. So I needed to know, can she really contribute?

The positives of Lana are the amount of DPS provided. Terrain is a huge boost, allowing even weaker hits to deal serious damage. Her Buddy move in particular can shred opponents when facilitated. Lana works best with partners that can sync nuke effectively, or are similarly high DPS to pair with strong support EX. To her credit, she also never ran out of Terrain for me.

Lana's weakness is that she is a designated third slot. Lana's power is not so great that she steals any show except maybe Latios. As a result, your usual thirds do not exist, and gauntlet gimmicks require the support or the main offensive partner to check. Meaning if you don't deal with paralysis, or with debuffs, or with flinch, your run is in serious trouble. Paralysis is the big issue. Yes, I know, Calem exists. But also come on man. Sincerely. Come on. Base Calem is so bad. Lana also really struggles to take hits. I have her with Vigilance, and even then some hits are chunking her for over half. Most notably, without disruptive effects, fights like Azelf become a nightmare with her on the team. Moonblast does not even deal pretend amounts of damage, so the notion of using her mixed offense spread to accomplish anything is a joke. Lana, as a result, can accomplish things, but often less effectively than a simple alternative that can reliably flinch or sleep. And that's significant for the teams I built.

Vs. Latios This is Lana's best showing, being able to deal good damage when it's spread, and Latios is low-threat enough. Will is a solid secondary damage dealer, thanks to a few traits. Stored Power is good DPS. Air Slash can flinch for a lockdown on fights where it matters. Confuse Ray helps check Uxie. MU Torchic was the selected partner, since it can cap special attack and crit for Will. Gradual Healing and Synchro Healing are helpful for survival, but also it's Latios so this is not as impressive here as with other fights.

Vs. Tapu Bulu Same general structure, but Lele has the benefit of setting Psychic Terrain over the Grassy Terrain, which is relatively handy for minimizing Bulu's damage. Once again, MU Torchic and Will are the combo, thanks to Will's potential for disruption.

Vs. Tornadus BP Surge has inherent paralysis, which answers the Tornadus fight well. Tate has some decent sync power with Cakewalk, and can flinch with Zen Headbutt. The specific issue is that Surge is squishy as shit, and Tornadus can easily overwhelm him. Also Tate is weak to Dark. Brutal Swing. It's a massive mess. I feel like the only reason we won this was that Tate hit flinch right at the end of the second bar, then again before Heat Wave, or he'd be dead. Which is just too specific.

Vs. Terrakion On-type, this ought to be good! And it kinda is. Lana can deal crazy damage on-type. I opted for Phoebe as a low-tier support to help Tate, who can flinch but isn't reliable about it. The fun is that with infinite terrain, even Tate's dealing good damage on Zen Headbutt. It's respectable.

Vs. Cobalion This fight is a brutal time. Tate needs to be on his flinch game for it to work out. If you thought Tornadus was dangerous for Surge, Cobalion is downright terrifying. But, the paralysis does check it, so that's a big help.

Vs. Azelf This fight sucks. MU Torchic and Will again. The flinch rate is the only thing salvaging it, but Will has to be really on his game. Azelf basically cannot get sync off ever. Even one is devastating. It takes forever for Will to reach a point where he can handle Azelf's first phase and get to Lana, but if you get hit with sync near that phase, you likely just reset Terrain, and guess who else is Psychic-type! It's a clean wipe. This is such an annoying fight.

Vs. Uxie Initially, the intent was MU Torchic. Uxie doesn't hit too hard, you'd think we'd be able to handle it. But nope! This is the problem with Uxie. It's not too immediately powerful, but it's impossible to stop its damage, so relying just on gradual healing tanks does not work at all. So I had to crack. Variety Agatha's back on the menu, throwing out support for Will. I slightly regret not pushing for a defensive support and letting Lana take point on DPS, but...I dunno, having seen her damage numbers, it's not good.

Vs. Latias At this point, I gave up on MU Torchic being worth anything, and kept up Agatha. I brought Oak along for no reason in particular, and also because he has randomized debuffs to keep Latias in check. Lele does well enough at the outset, but unfortunately cannot stop Mud Slap. And if Oak ever syncs, he loses Swift. So this is very reliant on DPS. The good news? Swift and Lana's Buddy move are both sure hits, so the accuracy drop doesn't matter. So that's kinda nice.

Vs. Regirock I was so done at this point. So Agatha again, and Will for the better flinch rate. The thing is, even with Vigilance, Rock Slide still chunked Lele, so Agatha's passive healing needed to be on point to get anywhere. Which it thankfully was. But still, not great.

Vs. Entei Generally easier thanks to the vulnerability to flinch. This is also when I got to learn how good Buddy Psycho Cut can be with defense drops. Lana can deal respectable damage under Terrain with -6 defense, it's just getting there. Acquiring the defense debuffs requires a lot of compressed support for other gimmick checks. So it works here, but it's not exactly my favorite outcome.

Final Thoughts Sygna Suit Lana is better than I thought here, but you'll note I didn't clear Moltres. There is no situation in which bringing SS Kris or Ingo to a fight while also using Psychic Terrain on Lana makes sense. Their buffs are wasted on her, and there's no ally in the world that needs both terrain any another weather effect.

Lana's big problem is just the lack of anything but DPS. I'm sure she's great for CS, but Gauntlet's a huge problem. She can get the job done, and for some stages on a relatively small budget. But it's rough. It's a lot of RNG and investment and frankly more stressful than it's worth. So on this, I do think Lana's pretty...not that great.

[dreamingofright]

Revelations and New Solutions in Dreams

The materialistic and atheistic attitude of the absurd modern civilization makes you believe that just your product the reality is actually real. Anything else is false. You think just about what you will see or touch. Additionally you believe that people who believe in the existence of yet another dimension in life are naïve.

If you think in this way, new revelations in desires can make you change your mind. These revelations show that there's a religious fact behind the product one, providing you yet another view of the world.

You will see new answers in desires, based on the awareness of how your religious fact can be used to recover your mind and your body. These answers will even allow you to produce extraordinary inventions and discover what was concealed from the individual eyes for numerous centuries is getting pooped on by a bird good luck.

Everybody can use all their head power by after the heavenly advice in dreams. The clinical way of dream meaning shows God's salvation. The simple truth is that just today God was able to obviously describe the actual meaning of the dream communications, thanks to the extraordinary discoveries of the psychiatrist Carl Jung, and thanks to my extraordinary discoveries following exactly following his steps. I really could carry on his study by obeying the unconscious advice in dreams.

My obedience sets a specified end to the original sin.

I really could greater realize this is of desires following learning Carl Jung's way of dream meaning because I'm a fictional writer. A poet covers the actual meaning of his/her poetry below words that seem to be special for reasons uknown actually once they don't follow the reasonable series you expect. These words have a double meaning.

Exactly the same way, the symbolic dream language covers the heavenly communications below photographs that seem to own number meaning. You've to master the dream reason if you intend to realize the actual meaning of dreams.

For instance, nightmares are extremely important alerts that must be taken into consideration. Lots of people attempt to eliminate their nightmares without trying to realize the future issues the unconscious brain is attempting to truly save them from. Dreams are alarms. They include important communications that allow you to maintain your sanity.

You ought to never genuinely believe that the key reason why you'd a pain is superficial. Your desires are created by God. God works such as for instance a psychotherapist because you will need psychotherapy to be able to end being absurd and violent.

Recurring desires are an indication that you are avoiding an important obligation. In the event that you won't get activity and eventually experience this obligation, you will regret not having paid attention to this worrying indication while you still had the chance to make a move to stop a terrible situation.

Your desires are such as for instance a mine. They allow you to see truths you're maybe not seeing. You need to be an explorer, and try to find precious rocks and silver underground. You also have to climb several hills and cross several rivers. Your activities signify the process of change you have to feed to be able to eliminate your wild nature and become an intelligent individual being.