#none of these are even close to objective truths or anything like that

[everestgale]

Sorry if this is a bad hour but I have a question. Is there any part of StP you think is genuinely bad?

No worries! I usually respond to asks when I have time/when I'm in the mood to talk anyways, so it's never a bad time to send an ask!

In general, I don't think I really feel comfortable with saying any parts of StP are genuinely bad, per se, because the game is just so expertly crafted and means so much to me personally that I'd be lying if I said I'm not biased to it. And also I'm no media expert, I'm not even that great at media analysis either, so I generally tend to be quite reserved with judgements; there is no way I could, in good conscience, say that any parts of StP are objectively bad or anything like that.

What I can share, though, are my personal dislikes about the game and its writing. There aren't a lot of them, and of course, the positives far, far outweigh the negatives (I wouldn't be here if they didn't), but I still have a couple of issues with the game, and I want to talk about one:

Happily Ever After lets the Long Quiet, or rather, you, the player, get away with too much.

Now for full context, Happily Ever After is one of my favorite chapters in the whole game. It is deeply personal to me, and I resonate with it on a very strong level; it emotionally devastated me, in the best way possible, when I played it for the first time (Paranoid variant), and this chapter holds a very special place in my heart.

...that being said, I dislike the fact that the game never acknowledges that it's your fault that everyone is miserable and stuck in the cabin. You made the decision to stay in the cabin, but the game never calls you out on that, never forcing you to acknowledge that you did this. It weakens the ending of the chapter for me, especially with the princess asking "Do you... still care about me?"... I know the game gives you a lot of options in that moment, a lot of which are written well, but the option to say "Of course I do" just feels so off and so hollow to me, and I can't seem to verbalize it quite well, but it really annoys me.

In general, the ending is very sweet, but in my opinion, it doesn't feel that earned, precisely because the game never acknowledges your fault and never lets you to truly apologize for it, to feel remorseful for it, to earn that moment of dancing under the stars. Though, I do very much like that scene from the princess's perspective, as I've rambled about in tags of this post, as this symbolic moment of her finally getting her wish fulfilled after being denied and denied and denied for so long.

I'm sure I'm not expressing my thoughts very clearly, and I apologize for that, I just feel quite passionate about HEA because it really did impact me so much, and so these personal dislikes about the chapter irk me because it feels like a missed potential to me, on an already such a great chapter. If it affected me this much and this deeply when, in my opinion, it has a pretty major flaw in its story... I can't help but imagine how much more powerful it would've been without said flaws.

Though like I said in the other post, even with those problems, I adore this chapter a lot. And this kind of extends to the whole game too, whatever issues I might have with the game, those all pale in comparison to just how many things the game did right, and just how much this game has impacted me, and just how much I love and adore this game, and just how much this game has changed my life. Thank you, Slay the Princess, thank you, Black Tabby Games, and thank you, Slay the Princess community, all for being so wonderful <3

[takenbypeter]

The Suspicious Activities Of A Blind Man

Matt Murdock x reader

Words: 837

A/N: This fic is kinda a meet cute, sort of. I kind of hate this story but I saw this gif and wanted to post something for Matt today. I might make a part 2 to make this a bit better but for now it is what it is

You always believed you had a good read on people. The way they held themselves, the way their expressions displayed. You weren’t perfect at it but you thought you were good enough. 

So imagine your surprise when you see the blind man, the one you see pass by your store every single day to get to his business or office or whatever it is that he’s always looking so good for, turn one day into an alley and instantly pick up his pace, throwing his cane and sprinting.  

After seeing that, your mind went into haywire, excuses for the man came up but none of them could explain what you saw. 

To be honest you didn’t know what to do with this new information. I mean there was no one you could really talk to about this and you hadn’t even talked to the guy once, just seen him in passing. 

You thought that was it, you were just going to have to sit with this weird information for the rest of your life. But sometimes life is funny that way because the next time you were at a bar guess who was there too. Mr. Blind Man. 

You had just stopped by for a quick drink after a shift when you had noticed him with what looked like one of his coworkers. 

Watching from afar you waited for the perfect moment. And suddenly there it was. His coworker made a hand gesture towards the bathroom, and then he left.

You didn’t know what gave you the strength to go up to him, maybe the curiosity of knowing the truth, but whatever it was, you did. 

As nonchalantly as you could, you slid into the empty seat beside him with a drink in your hand. Taking a moment to casually nod your head, you then lean towards him a little, “I know your secret.”

Matt, who seems a tiny bit surprised that you’re beside him tilts his head in your direction. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”

The man was much more striking up close than you had initially thought, but you wouldn’t let that factor distract you from your objective. 

“Yes, you.”

His face contorts, an amused smile threatening to take place on it. “Having a drink?”

“No, not that!” You lean a bit closer lowering your voice, “You’re not really blind, are you?”

Your words practically make him spit out his drink in comical relief because that is not where he thought you were going. 

“Me? I’m not blind? I’m sorry. Do I even know you?”

You press your lips together and your eyebrows pull down, a line forming between them, “no. Well I know you. Not in like a weird way but you pass by the shop I work at.”

“The one on 9th avenue?”

At his early reply you narrow your eyes again, “...yes”

Sensing the suspicion in your voice he explains unprompted, “I can smell the pastries on your clothes. I’ve been meaning to check it out but haven’t gone around to it yet.”

You lean back still eyeing the man, this was all a little too strange for you. And he still hadn’t answered the question, was he blind or not?

“That’s not the point, the point is the other day I saw you. You sprinted down the alley and didn’t even need your cane.”

His mouth opened and you waited for him to say something, anything that excused his skeptical behavior. But instead all he said was, “must’ve been the wrong guy.” And he turned back to his drink. 

“Wrong guy. Wrong guy? Are you kidding me? I’d never mistake a face that good-looking.” The sentence left your mouth before you could even think about it, as you were too focused on the blind portion of it all. Of Course though, he caught it. 

“Good looking?” There it was that entertained smile again that was trying its hardest to divert you. 

“Look man, I don’t know if you’re crazy or maybe I’m crazy but between you and me,” you leaned forward, “what’s your secret?”

Smirk never leaving Matt’s face he leaned closer, the distance between your faces shrinking. “Do you want to know my secret?” 

You instinctively nod, even though you’re still uncertain whether he was actually blind or not.

He tilts his head to the side as if making sure no one was around to hear his next words. 

And in a hushed voice he admitted, “There is no secret. I’m a regular ole’ blind person.” He leaned back his mouth agape while you sat there in disbelief. 

Before you could even come up with something, anything to say, his friend came back. “Matt, everything alright?”

Matt, leaning back into his original position, turns to him, “everything’s great, I’m ready to head out.”

With a single nod he gets up and reaches for his cane before turning back to you, “I’ll see you around.” And that was it. 

He left you sitting there wondering, who really was he?

[kiyokowastaken]

Chihiro

James Sunderland x Female Reader

CW: none, pure fluff, OOC James, slight angst. This was honestly written by hearing Chihiro by Billie Eilish.

Summary: This takes place a couple of months after Silent Hill. You find yourself finding a home with James, glances and touches are exchanged. Feelings are danced around and scattered, what will happen?

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REBLOGS AND NOTES!! I truly do appreciate it, please do comment for what you would like to see next. I hope you enjoy this one, bye lovelies. (^��^)

A couple of months had passed since the whole Silent Hill situation, you walked with James towards his car as all you have known was the quiet and peaceful town of Silent Hill before it became a hell hole of monsters and terror. The whole outside world was new to you, you weren’t sheltered, yet you didn’t find yourself longing to get out of Silent Hill until now.

After James read a letter that was written to him by his wife, he had the face of guilt, grief and just utter sorrowfulness littered on it. He never spoke about the letter only stating that Mary wanted him to move on with his life and that she forgave him.

There was a period of no contact with each other as if you guys were merely ghosts to each other. You would only share small ‘hi’s’ before James went up to his room and shut himself in after a meal. Months passed and James would slowly come out of his shell little by little. He would give you small smiles before bidding you goodbye as he got a job for himself.

If anyone looked into your humble abode they would think that you two were the perfect married couple. James had a well paying corporate job and you were the stay at home wife, dutifully waiting for her husband to come back work from a long day of work but truth to be told. You didn’t take well to others. Often thinking that they’re speaking ill of you behind your back, James didn’t mind it. He didn’t mind providing for the both of you and to be honest, it gave him a sense of normalcy.

You wouldn’t deny that James wasn’t attractive, he had a well-sculpted face. Dirty blonde hair that you once ran your hands through and was met with soft locks of hair, that god-forsaken stubble that he often shaved now due to his job and those drowning blueish grey eyes that haunted you in your dreams.

Those beautiful eyes of his.

He was so expressive even if he didn’t use many words. His eyes used to shine and glimmer when Mary was mentioned as he still held adoration for his late wife. They slightly darkened in color when he was frustrated or just tired but mostly, you loved them when they looked at you.

They held such a softness to you as whenever you guys locked eyes, it felt enrapturing. The crow feet that showed when he crinkled his eyes due to one of your lame dad jokes, it made him addicting to observe and James could say the same about you. The way your hair would shine in the sun, the scent that wafted through the old house that he shared with Mary was addictive as well.

Whenever he got close to you, the scent of vanilla and a soft hint of his own cologne lingered on you. At times when you swore that James was busy upstairs, he would creep down the stairs and see you swinging your hips along with the soft music that played in the background. Your hair swaying with your movements made you look so precious in his eyes. He often wondered if this is what Mary felt when she would see him fiddle around with little wood works that he would do for his wife.

You weren’t even doing anything, you were just busy washing dishes or even folding the laundry at times. The soft tunes of Frank Sinatra on the Vinyl Record Player filled the once silent and empty house.

It felt domestic and truth to be told, it scared James. He always had a hard time with change and you were changing everything he knew. You by all means didn’t change anything that related with Mary if anything you were respectful about such objects.

Yet, the once dull grey window covers were now white with small pink flowers. Fresh flowers were always present in the dinning table, the scent of vanilla that you carried had replaced the rose scent that Mary once carried. It made James always feel stagnant in time when he saw you try and be normal even after what happened, he never blamed you. You were experiencing life for once in your life and he would never fault you for that.

Some days passed and when you both were dining you cleared your throat as you looked at James, “Hey James, may I ask you a question?” James perked his head up as he finished chewing his food, “You may always ask me anything, what’s it?” You bit your cheek before asking him, “Do you want to have a picnic with me whenever you have time? I..I miss our conversations.” James was stunned, he was at loss of words. You enjoyed talking with him?

James was a quiet man, his time in the military was always a quiet and boring one. The rule was that you speak when spoken to or just remain quiet and not many spoke with James. He always kept to himself and was reversed to mostly himself, but when Mary came into his life. That changed, he came out of his shell more and talked openly, yet he always kept himself soft spoken. He only yelled when extremely angered or pestered and even then he had a lot of patience.

So, it surprised him that you would find him likable enough to spend a day with him and even want to talk to him. He thought for moment, he had the next two days off so he had time and he did want to take you out somewhere eventually, “Sure, do you have a place that you want to visit for this picnic?” He asked as his food seemed to be his last priority right now.

“Mhm, well, I will thinking here. The house has a nice backyard and we don’t have to worry about loud people, plus..it’s free and cheap.” James is was dumbfounded as he thought that maybe you would want to go somewhere but he just found himself nodding, “Sure, that seems good.”

—

You found yourself unable to sleep all night long, you were too excited about your small ‘date’ with James. You already had dishes in your mind that you were going to make and soon enough, you found yourself drifting off to sleep even for a couple of hours. A soft groan leaves your lips as you hear your alarm going off. You smack your hand around your side table before it goes silent, you momentarily forget why you even put it on before you sat up and rushed to get off your bed as you started to get ready.

You now stood before your bed and looked down at the dresses you had available. One seemed like a bit more of a going out dress, so you decided on the comfortable and more practical dress with short sleeves. A bit of an overkill but you wanted to look good for James, you slipped on the cotton dress and the fabric perfectly accentuated your every dip and curve of your body. You fixed your hair before heading out of your bedroom towards the kitchen.

James offered to help with the food and you gladly accepted it but you still woke up a bit more earlier so you could get the ingredients ready and start to prepare since you and James have gotten used to each other’s schedules. A few minutes passed and you were finished with the first food, you made some sandwiches since James wasn’t really a fancy food type of guy. He preferred classics with your own special touch, you looked up at the clock and saw it now showed 2:30 P.M.

Damn, did James oversleep? He was so eager just yesterday night but now that some time had passed and the third dish was done, you were starting to become a bit nervous. Maybe, he had taken back what he had said about this whole picnic situation, your thoughts started to over flood your mind until you heard the stairs creaking under fast footsteps.

There stood at the entrance of the kitchen a half awoken James stood, his normally neat blonde hair was poking out in different directions and on the corner of his mouth drool was noticeable. It made you laugh to yourself as quickly washed your hands before heading towards James, “Good morning sleeping beauty, how was your beauty sleep~?” You teased the half awoken male.

“I’m so sorry..I didn’t mean to oversleep, I usually turn off my alarm during my days off. I’m very sorry.” James said as his mind was still half asleep, he slurred his words a bit as his steps were a bit wobbly. “James, it’s quite alright, don’t worry about it. I understand how demanding your job can be, I’m almost finish either way.” You said with a soft smile towards the male.

James stood there as he looked behind you and saw food on plates before looking at you with a sorry look. You didn’t know if what happened next was because James was still half asleep and didn’t register what he was doing but the male walked towards you as his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you flush against his own sturdy body. He radiated this warmth that made you close your eyes as you felt at peace, his hands pressed against your back as if he didn’t want you to slip from his hold.

A woody scent mixed with your own smell that lingered in that house now, it made you press your face against James’s chest while he rested his face in the crook of your neck as inhaled your vanilla scent. The scent made James’s shoulders slack in relaxation and at this moment, the food didn’t matter. The little moment you were having, it felt like a dream. Until James must’ve realized what he was doing which caused him to pull away slowly, “Sorry..it seems like I got carried away. Let me get dressed and I will help you with whatever I can.”

It felt like two souls disconnecting and becoming out of sync whenever James pulled away from the rather imitate hug. He gave you an awkward smile before slipping his hands off of your waist and back to his side as he walked off and back upstairs. You on the other hand felt your body become warm as you just took a deep breath before letting it go and returning to the food.

A few moments later, James had gone outside to set up a place for both of you since you were done with the food. Food was being transferred outside as the temperature was just right, it was fresh and the sun had slightly subsided. James’s backyard was quite big due to him and Mary living almost out of town. The food was placed on a thick blanket that James had laid out underneath a big tree that provided both of you with shade.

Soon after you both were now sitting underneath the tree, no words were uttered but it wasn’t awkward. It felt peaceful. Quiet. The sounds of birds singing and the feeling of the wind blowing through your hair, it felt nice. You got lost in the moment and closed your eyes meanwhile, James was looking at you.

You were the definition of beauty, a flowering blooming in the spring. The dress really flattered you, it made you look regal in James’s eyes. Yet, what really enraptured him was the softness in your eyes that you held for him. The way your eyes would glint and glimmer only for him, it sent this man into a spiral. You made him feel like he wasn’t a broken man trying to move forward for his wife. You made him feel like he renewed.

You made him feel whole.

Treasured.

Adored.

And that was dangerous, he didn’t want to hurt you like he did with Mary. He didn’t want to love you so hard that he broke you. He was afraid, he was scared of accepting your feelings only for you to end up in a casket. James was battling with his own inner thoughts that he didn’t see you taking a bit of frosting off a cupcake that you gotten and swiped the frosting on James’s nose which caused the male to snap out of his thoughts as he saw the white on the tip of his nose.

“I lost you for a second James, are you okay?” You said as you finished your cupcake as James wiped the frosting off his nose and brought his hand up to lick the frosting off. James had to physically stop himself from groaning as your cooking was divine, “Yeah, I’m good. I was just lost in thought for a moment, anyways, let’s dig in.” He said with a small smile of his own as you nodded.

—

Some hours had passed, it was now noon and the sky was painted a beautiful orangey red with a splash of purple. The food was finished and you and James were talking about everything and anything. Laughs were shared and the conversation seemed to flow so well between the two of you as James occasionally locked eyes with you and the glimpse of his normally stoic features now turned soft and carefree made you feel good about yourself.

It made you know that you weren’t the cause of his discomfort and worry, well, right now. A idea suddenly popped into head and out of nowhere you told James, “We should play tag!” James couldn’t help the tilt of his head to the side in confusion as the idea proposed was out of nowhere, “Tag? You want to play a child’s game?” James questioned you.

You didn’t know if your expression of slight embarrassment made him change his mind but he accepted. You jumped up from your spot while James stood up with a smile engraved on his face due to your excitement, “Go, I will give you a head start.” James declared as you merely nodded and rushed off as adrenaline started to pump throughout your body.

The breeze swept your once neat hairdo into a crazy mess as you couldn’t help the small giggles coming out of your mouth as your ankles were tickled by the somewhat tall grass. Your dress swept behind you as you felt the presence of James running behind you. You let out a squeal of excitement as you started to run faster, “I’m going to get youuu~” You could hear James coo out as you turned around slightly to see the male right on your tail.

Your legs screamed in exhaustion as the tall grass was a pain to traverse and you were about to give up before James tackled you onto the ground. He wrapped his arms around your head to protect you as he turned to take the fall so that you landed on top of him. Adrenaline pumped throughout both of you, pants and heavy breathing were heard as you struggled to get out of James’s grasp as you wanted to challenge him. You weren’t going to give in that easily.

Deep intakes of air mixed with airy laughter were heard as James had a permanent smile on his face as he allowed himself to indulge in this. He usually had a heavy hand but with you, his touches were featherlight and tender just like how you touch him. He grasps your wrists with his hand and pulled you back to him as your legs were wrapped around his waist, foreheads pressed against each other as both of you tried to regain your breath.

Your hands were let go as James’s hands grasped your waist and your hands grasped his shoulders. Eyes were closed before slowly opening, beautiful blueish grey eyed stared into your own eyes and you swore that you saw your future with this man. As you both were sat in tall grass and the atmosphere was just right, you closed your eyes once more and tilted your head to the side as you pressed your lips against James’s lips.

You didn’t think about anything else but showing this man that you loved him. You loved him regardless if he sees himself as a monster, you loved him even if he was broken and tired. You loved James in any version of himself and if that was your demise then so be it. You were utterly his and you only hope that your kiss conveyed that.

James was stunned for a moment before he kissed back, his hands grasped and tighten around your waist before he placed on your face. His hands grasped your face and caressed your cheeks as your hands moved from his shoulders to hold his hands against your face. James didn’t know how this was going to end, he didn’t know the future.

But he was tired, he was tired of avoiding you and these feelings within himself. He couldn’t do it no longer, he would forever mourn the loss of Mary. His beloved Mary, his first love and his wife but maybe you were sent by Mary to show him that he should move on with his life. You were his chance to be loved completely for who he was. Maybe, Mary and him lived happily in another lifetime and in another universe but in this one, he found solace in your touch, in your arms.

You both separated from each other’s lips as you looked at one another, “I can no longer hold back how much I need you, James. I have fallen in love with you.” You whispered as James continued to cradle your face, “Neither can I, I have forbade myself from showing you how much I need you in my life.” He said back as he leaned to press another desperate kiss on your lips to which you returned back.

“May you do me the honors of being mine?” James said as you swore that you heard wrong if he weren’t for the way James looked at you like if you created the very fabric of life. “Yes, I will be your James.” You said as James had never felt any more lighter than in that very moment.

What was now yearning and silently pinning for each other, transformed into two people falling madly in love with each other regardless of their past as they had their futures to build with each other.

As now underneath the night sky, the stars witness two lovers finding solace in each other.

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

May I request an Arlecchino concept?

I can try. I stopped playing Genshin during Sumeru, so this is primarily me researching and gaining info from the internet and friends. I hope you enjoy this regardless of that :) Doesn't help that we still don't have much info on her....

Yandere! Arlecchino Concept

(Pre-Version 4.6)

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Violence, Blood, Mentions of murder, Subtle possessive behavior, Kidnapping mention, Isolation, Dubious/Forced companionship/relationship.

Arlecchino seems to be manipulative, acting as a spy for the Fatui.

Her main objective is to find the Hydro Gnosis, prying about to find the true Hydro Archon.

She acts kind, often being described as a "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing".

She wants others to trust her... but we can assume she is willing to use others like most other Fatui.

Arlecchino would originally see her obsession over her darling as a distraction to her goals.

When you meet Arlecchino, she comes off as cordial and graceful.

She's strict but still capable of being lenient towards subordinates.

Other Fatui feel she is acting and isn't truthful with her motives, loyalty, and behavior.

This manipulative behavior of hers makes it easy for her to hide her obsession.

If she does have some sort of interest in you, she hides her true motives.

Imagine if Arlecchino had Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet gain info on you.

She never says why, just asking them to learn more about you.

When they're busy, Arlecchino herself watches you closely to know more about you.

She doesn't understand her obsession... which is why she spends time getting information on you.

After all, your presence drives her thoughts crazy.

Arlecchino is very tactical in her way of thinking, carefully gaining info on you.

You barely can tell her obsession when she speaks to you for one reason or another.

Although it is odd to others that she seems so interested in you (Mostly the Fatui are intrigued).

Her views of a platonic or romantic relationship towards you are naturally quite twisted.

She's literally the Knave, so....

A platonic obsession is obviously not the typical "friends/allies" relationship.

That's not even getting into the idea of her having a romantic fascination over you.

Arlecchino will come off kind and cordial towards her obsession.

You won't catch her true motives until it's too late.

She tries to play off your conversations as "friendly chatter".

For once maybe she doesn't want to be diplomatic, yeah?

But then she begins asking oddly specific questions about you.

Arlecchino, despite claiming to be a friend, seems to want to know too much.

All the while she tries her best to keep up the trust between you two.

Arlecchino treats speaking with her darling as a balancing act.

She tries to maintain your trust with truths and lies... along with gather more information on you to fuel her obsession.

As her obsession grows... she even considers isolating you.

Those too close to what's hers is done away with.

May her polearm be coated in blood and the smell of burning flesh greet her nose...

Many will perish by her hand if it means she can have her new obsession all to herself.

When Arlecchino has enough of waiting around and gathering research, she'll escalate her obsession.

It's either the moment she loses your trust or gets impatient that sets her off.

She can't lose you to anyone or anything... you drive her insane.

Do you really think... you can just leave her now?

By the time you learn of her true identity, by the time you see how unhinged you make her...

You're taken away.

You're thrown in a cell, somewhere where none can find you.

She doesn't let any other Fatui touch you.

You're hers now, the person who had been driving her insane is now within her grasp.

She doesn't apologize for her manipulation.

Obviously Arlecchino doesn't care if you feel betrayed... much.

Even when she tries to reach out to caress your face... you flinch away and it hurts her a bit.

Despite this... she never lets you go.

You're hers... it's final....

She doesn't even care if you call her a monster as long as she has you.

Arlecchino clearly cares for you to some degree...

That's why you're here, all alone, with just her by your side... isn't it?

[avelera]

Sandman Meta: Hob has exactly zero way of figuring out who Dream is (before they reunite)

More than once in a fic I've written from Hob's POV I've had readers note their astonishment that Hob has not yet figured out Dream's identity, even if Dream does not reveal it himself.

Even in fics of mine where Dream reveals his name, like in Giving Sanctuary, I have Hob be slow on the uptake when it comes to the extent of Dream's powers, even things like being able to enter and control dreams, and the reason I do this is carefully considered and based in the fact that Hob would have no way of knowing who Dream is or by extension what he can do.

So I kind of want to take a step back and address in detail just how actually impossible it would be, objectively, for Hob to figure out who Dream is in a world that doesn't have The Sandman comic for him to read to figure it out.

This is, of course, because, from a Doylist angle, Neil's "Dream of the Endless" is not based in any single mythology. Indeed, Dream as we know him is cobbled together from at least three or more different mythological figures, none of which combine to actually form the "Dream of the Endless" we see in the show or read in the comics. The Endless are completely made up for the comic and the Sandman, Morpheus, and Oneiros are all from wildly different mythologies and none of them actually overlap to form the complete picture of who Dream is as an entity in the Sandman show or comic.

So even if someone straight-up told Hob that the person he meets is the Sandman, Morpheus, or Oneiros (btw, there is no singular figure of "Oneiros" in Greek mythology) he would still not be able to put together the full picture of who Dream is. Even if he's given the name "Dream of the Endless" to work with, those words combined don't mean anything on their own if you don't have what an Endless is filled in, because it was made up entirely for the comic. (Of course, a fanfic author absolutely could make up such a book for their fic but it would be a creation for that fic, serving a purpose within that story like to tip Hob off, though I think it's entirely reasonable to make up a book in the Sandman world that goes into detail on who the Endless are. The Magdalene Grimoire, btw, is not that book. It only talks about Death. Death is a figure in many mythologies including the Christian one, but Dream is not. Even Burgess needs the Corinthian to tell him who Dream is in the show, and he's an occultist.)

Couple all of this with Hob's personal experience with Dream, encountering him as part of a wager with Dream's sister Death to see if Hob could bear a life of immortality, you get far more clues that would send him hurtling off into a totally incorrect direction before you'd get anything close to the truth, if we assume only the books available in our world are available to him.

So the reason this is a bit of an irritation for me that there's this idea that Hob has "all the clues" to figure out who Dream is because it smacks of a logical fallacy.

Basically, it's easy to see that the answer to a complicated math problem is "obvious" if someone just hands the answer to you. But challenging people to actually solve it themselves could be quite a bit more complicated. And in this complex formula solving for "Who the fuck is Hob's mysterious stranger?" there's actually so many blank X's of unanswered questions that I genuinely think there's no way for Hob to solve this equation without someone giving him the answer.

Let's go through this systematically, using just what Hob knows as observed on screen in the show.

1389 - a pale man in all black with a ruby at his throat approaches Hob's table and challenges Hob to meet him there in 100 years. He then smiles enigmatically and leaves.

That's it. That's all Hob has to go off of. He never sees Death, he has no idea about the wager. As far as he knows, Dream gave him immortality. It would be the most logical conclusion given that the day before Hob didn't have immortality and the day after, presumably, he does.

1489 - The only confirmation he has is actually seeing Dream there in 1489 and the first thing he asks is, "How did you know that I'd be here?"

Dream does not answer him. Hob takes a few stabs at guessing his identity which reveals his Christian European context: are you a wizard, or a saint -- to be clear, these are two types of human magic users that make sense to Hob for his context. The only other figure he can think of is The Devil. He doesn't ask if Dream is a pagan god or a faerie, he assumes a man with arcane or divine magic, or the Devil.

Dream says that he's not the Devil, much good that would do if he was a Devil who could just presumably lie to Hob, and says he's interested in Hob's experience and implies that he will grant him another 100 years of life. He is sarcastic and unimpressed about Hob's wonder at the world. He doesn't even actually show much interest in Hob being in the printing business. He only shows a spark of interest in Hob's continued desire to live, and then immediately takes off.

1589 - The only new information Hob gets this year is 1) Dream is supremely uninterested in food or the wealth Hob has earned, or his family, and 2) puny little Will Shaxberd, a crap playwright with no shot at becoming anything more, suddenly becomes a famous playwright. He would eventually become a renowned playwright in his day but keep in mind, Shakespeare didn't actually become mega famous centuries after his death. In his day, many people thought other playwrights like Marlowe were better.

My point is, from this Hob doesn't necessarily get even the pieces to determine that Dream likes art. It might seem obvious to us because Dream is Prince of Stories, but that's not the offer Dream gives Shaxberd. He just asks if it is Will's will to create dreams to spur the minds of men. Yes, we know that Dream wants Will to make dreams for him, but in Hob's context, Dream is just asking what Will would sell his soul for, just like he overheard Hob saying he had no intention of dying. From this perspective the only strong conclusion Hob can draw is that Dream grants wishes.

From this, Hob could conclude that Dream is a djinn/genie, or perhaps a faerie, but there is absolutely nothing to indicate he's associated with dreams or literature directly besides a mention of creating dreams nested in the context of asking Shaxberd what he wants, giving him a supernatural gift much like the one Hob believes Dream gave him.

At this point, the domains of Dream's power are very muddled for Hob because he doesn't know Death gave him immortality. So as far as he knows, Dream can give immortality AND make an amateur playwright into the greatest writer who ever lived. Putting these two things together does not bring you naturally to the domain of dreams by any stretch.

(I will note here, that in Giving Sanctuary, I had Hob learn that "Death" is Dream's sister before he learns Dream's name. There, his initial conclusion is that Dream must therefore be Famine, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and the one known for wearing black (and not eating seems like a clue with Dream too) my point being that having another, small piece of the whole puzzle still would probably send him flying off in the wrong direction given his cultural context.)

1789: The next time Hob gets any hint that Dream has powers is with Lady Johanna. He uses his sand to show her her, "old ghosts". Note, she does not fall asleep but rather begins to hallucinate.

The Sandman myth has its origins of Scandinavia and it is first written down in in "Der Sandmann" a context that Hob might have access to, if he's very well read, in the early 1800s. By the way, the description of the Sandman in that book bears a striking resemblance to the Corinthian, because he eats the eyes of naughty children, and very little to Dream beyond the use of sand in his magic.

There is absolutely nothing to link the Sandman to Morpheus the Roman God of Dreams, who was made up entirely by Ovid in the Metamorphoses and never mentioned anywhere before that. That's because Neil Gaiman was the first to link those two mythological figures.

And on that note, there is no Oneiros attested to in Hesiod. The mention of Oneiros is actually to the "Oneiroi" an entire tribe of dreams and nightmares who are the children of Night (Nix). There's Hypnos (Sleep) who is the brother of Thanatos (Death) but that is about as close as we get to the Endless in any other mythological source besides the comics. And again, Dream does not put Johanna to sleep, he makes her hallucinate.

1889- Again, there is precious little to go off of. Dream is tight-lipped as ever. The only thing he gives away is that Lady Johanna later helped him with a task, a fact Hob is visibly annoyed and I daresay jealous about, and when he lashes out he refers to himself as, "One such as I."

But "One such as I," only reveals something Hob already knew: that Dream thinks highly of himself. That doesn't actually reveal that Dream is even magical, he could just be nobility or a powerful immortal magic user and refer to himself that way. Hob already knows that Dream is magical, and immortal, and probably some sort of high born or aristocrat. He's probably known that since 1389 given how Dream was dressed and given that giant fuck-off ruby (which actually might make Hob, in that day, wonder if Dream was a relation to the Black Prince)

That's it. That is the grand total of everything Hob has seen of Dream.

Hob in the comic will eventually admit, in The Wake, that he figured out who Dream was on his own. But this is after Seasons of Mist when Dream toasts him in Hob's dream and Hob wakes up with the impossible bottle of wine on his bedside. He has another encounter too with Dream where Dream eventually accedes to Hob's request to make the men who killed Audrey, his dead girlfriend, know who she was. Presumably, Dream makes them dream of her.

So Hob in the comics by the time we get to The Wake has more to go off of to make the link to the Lord of Dreams. Hob as we see him in the show, has had much less to go off of.

Even if you give Hob one piece of the puzzle, like one of the names like Morpheus, or The Sandman, or Oneiros, that still doesn't help give him the whole picture. The word "Endless" would be meaningless. He would have to have read at least three pretty obscure books that span a period of 2,000 years (between Hesiod and Der Sandmann) to get the three books that Neil primarily drew from to combine these figures into the Dream of the comic.

Look, my point is, unless someone gives the answer to Hob, and explains the full extent of what the Endless are, he's got little to go off of. Arguably, not enough at all to solve for "X" as to who Dream is, even if he's given more pieces. This would be a tough problem to solve.

[krispdreemurr]

so disclaimers before I begin: I have been semi-consciously avoiding anything but the most basic of takes on ch3 bc i am allergic to writing other people’s characters where they can see. so this is just me and my dear friends beyond I think I saw another lesbian tenna and liked that. also none of this is like “how I think canon will be” it’s just for funsies

so, Mike! (she/they)

[art thanks to @everyone-needs-a-hoopoe ! please behold their pop filter. they’ll bap you with it.]

mike and tenna [he/him but in a lesbian way] are old colleagues, working on the same all-consuming dark world tv network together. tenna quickly became the shining star holding it all together, while Mike stuck mainly to backstage work. she was honestly content with that; she was always better at making other people shine than being seen herself, and was happy with that.

(continued under read more)

however, as time passed and Toriel irl stopped watching TV and so on, Tenna got frustrated and increasingly status-conscious and more and more worked up. he wanted so badly to draw attention back and to be known again, and it was kind of eating him up inside.

mike took it on themself to try and fix things.

she did research, she went exploring, she wandered far backstage… and eventually, of course, she met a man.

she came back to Tenna with tips and tricks, better understandings of the world, and Tenna, caught up in his own world, took Mike’s new passion as being about Mike wanting fame herself. he was more than happy to oblige his old friend, and got her an air slot and an interview show. this was… not what Mike had wanted, at all, but she was too caught up to not go along.

and for a while it kind of worked? with the Insights Mike was getting, she was able to run an incisive, sharp show, probing at the deepest secrets of her guests. tenna seemed delighted by it all, encouraging mike to put on more of a character and go further and further, while meanwhile the man in the dark encouraged Mike to look further and further for answers.

and during this time, through the man’s guidance, she even made a friend! she helped him get his ads on air and told him to never give up on his dreams, and he told her to never stop getting bigger and to push herself beyond any limit she thought she had. they were close companions, and definitely didn’t enable each other’s worst tendencies or anything.

it wasn’t sustainable, though. finally they burned out. on air, they went into a long rant about all the truths of the world, swinging wildly between false tv-ready personas, less and less coherent, until Tenna cut the channel and ordered them out.

she’s been on the fringes and in the backstage since, trying to find some truth, some way to make things right again. she remembers one thing the man told her - that there was a power that could be used to restart from the beginning and tell the story all over. maybe if she got another shot, this time…

when the three-four heroes appear, she’s on their side, at first, or at least providing neutral ground. she wants to get Tenna and the Lightners to talk it out and make it work. when that backfires, though, well. maybe they have some demands to make of Kris.

object-wise, she’s mostly just part of the TV nature, but she takes some from a radio newscaster Kris fell asleep listening to on a long drive sometime in the distant past. her Secret Boss Speech Quirk is that she can only ask questions - she’s a microphone, her role is to amplify what others are thinking, not to make her own thoughts known.

in terms of “things to make Kris have a meltdown” - I’ve talked a lot about kris having to choose the flashy showmanship of a dark world over a quiet night with a friend, about how despite everything they hope that by being the hero and leader they can be known and loved a little… but a role in the spotlight that doesn’t suit them is always bound to crush them in the end. mike is proof that forcing yourself to be something you’re not to earn love and affection from those you care for is always going to end with you being even more alone than before.

there may also be room for some parallels of her and Ralsei, with her frantic wants to help, smooth everything over, and be loved. admittedly I've thought less on this angle but like Ralsei does deserve his own parallel weird themlet

she really needs better taste in women.

[eggs-attorney]

[<<< First] [< Prev]

Reiker: Right… To be clear here, you tracked Flash?

Axel: O-oh! Uh… Whoops. Meant I went after Yanshu.

Reiker: Yanshu, huh? How? Wouldn't a 'bot be easier to track?

Axel: Well, he was a rogue, so I couldn't find a GPS monitor on him, but these lil' Omni-Tools here have trackers inside. You can see where they are with the admin console for the maintenance department.

Axel: Lo and behold, her tools showed up at Sprocket Park. I have the GPS report to prove it!

GPS Analysis Report has been added to the Court Record.

Reiker: (Well, there's that… Now for-)

Reiker: Mr. Bolton, would you mind telling us more about your attempt to remove the core?

Bolton: A-ah, uh, removing the core…? RIGHT, during maintenance! Yeah, uhh… So I told Yanshu if she couldn't get it out, I would. Shooed her off despite the whining.

Bolton: See, these screws that were in there, they definitely weren't a Robotnik regular. When I went through every doohickey on my Omnitool, none of 'em fit, and when I went to try and unscrew it with something close, it completely stripped!

Reiker: Like… The screw broke?

Bolton: Yeah, yeah! I couldn't do anything to unscrew it, and the second I started trying something else, mole girl comes back saying she couldn't find anything, but that she'd try to mold a tool for it with the 3D printer. I told her that was fine, so long as it was on my desk by the time she clocked out.

Bolton: But of course, hours later, I realized that girl took off with her lil' spy friend right after her shift! I clocked out and gave chase after him. Figured I'd just have to remove it forcefully.

Reiker: OBJECTION!

Axel: … Huh?

Reiker: There's no reason for you to have waited so long! If she left after the appointment, shouldn't you have gone after her right then and there!?

Axel: Man, I'm a supervisor. You think I keep track of every person every second of the day? I'm bouncing between employees from clock in to clock out! Besides, it was her last appointment for the day.

Reiker: But you waited all the way until 8 PM?

Eggman: Mr. Strait, those are the standard working hours for one of my Robo-Techs. Due to the varying schedules of Robian citizens, we perform these maintenance appointments from 6 AM to 8 PM.

Reiker: … But he didn't check his desk all day?

Axel: I'll admit the maintenance sheet was under a bunch of other papers. I can only suspect she threw them on top to cover her tracks.

Eggman: Hmm… Well, I truly don't see a point to this objection. Overruled.

Reiker: (Shoot! I thought i had that for sure. Maybe I should ask Yanshu…)

Reiker: Your honor, before I continue with my questioning… Now that my defendant is not on the witness stand, do you mind if she comes behind the defense desk for a private sidebar?

Eggman: Eh… I don't see why not, but make it quick.

Yanshu: Oh, um… Do you need something, Mr. Strait?

Reiker: So, I have two questions…

Reiker: First off, if Flash was your robot, and you were worried about Axel finding out about him… Why did you let him tinker around with Flash?

Yanshu: Well, I figured he'd need a lot of muscle to get any of those pieces out… Truth be told, I was worried Flash would have an issue like this, so I installed some strip screws last time I did work on him.

Reiker: Oh, right, those screws that are meant to never come out…

Yanshu: Yeah, those! I really didn't wanna leave, but sticking around was gonna be suspicious, and, well… Axel's kind of lazy. I don't even know if he remembers my name half the time…

Reiker: Yeah, he seems a bit… Dull, but do you think it's possible he did it?

Yanshu: I… It had to have been. I didn't have my Omni-Tools with me! I never take them anywhere outside of work…

Reiker: Before we get into that… I wanna ask about the incident. Were you there? Did you see him?

Yanshu: Right, right… Well, I didn't see the moment it happened, or much of anything besides Flash broken on the ground…

Reiker: So you didn't see Axel at all?

Yanshu: N-… No?

Reiker: So he lied! He must have gone for Flash, but how?

Reiker: (Think, Strait! Something's gotta conflict with his testimony…)

Reiker: (Yanshu seems sure that Axel didn't remove anything during maintenance, but something must be different… Maybe he added something instead?)

Updated Testimony: Maintenance Supervision

1:) So I had just gotten back from lunch. Yanshu was the only one working, so I decided to go check on her.

2:) I went over and immediately noticed the weird personality core in the E-5000 she had.

3:) I tried unscrewing 'em with all my tools while Yanshu looked for something to remove them, but all the screws just broke!

4:) She couldn't find anything, and my next appointment came along, so I told her to keep at it and left.

5:) When our shift ended, I found the maintenance sheet on my desk, but with no core!

6:) I chased after Yanshu. I knew she was probably making off with the spy 'bot, but by the time I got there, he was destroyed…

[Next >]

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Autumn (Sandman One-Shot)

​GIF: Originally posted by @thisgameissonintendo

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x gender neutral reader

Summary: One-shot. Reader self-insert. Pure fluff. Friends to more-than-friends. Morpheus has made you a dream based on one of your favourite things and you explore it together.

Warnings: Physical intimacy, kissing.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Happy First Day of Autumn Sandfam! Hope you enjoy this one, would love to hear what you think, and also to know which season is your favourite and why. All my love, Saskia <3

Sandman Masterlist

--------------------------------------

"Can I open my eyes yet?" You stifle a giggle with the back of your hand, feeling very much like a person awaiting a surprise on their birthday.

"So impatient," Morpheus replies with a teasing lilt to his liquid velvet voice that sets your laughter free.

"Is that a yes?"

"I am simply adding some final touches."

Ever the perfectionist, you think with a grin.

You inhale deeply, making use of one of the only other senses you could use in this situation. The air is crisp, fresh, with an earthy undertone; you are definitely outside, but where, you have no other clues to help guess.

Morpheus had certainly not given anything away when he had found you sketching in the Dreaming's orchard, charcoal in one hand, half-eaten apple in the other. He had simply told you there was something he wanted to show you.

Curiosity mounting, you had eagerly taken your friend's outstretched hand and promised to not look until he gave the word.

Finally, there is movement in the air beside you. Morpheus' fingers ghost your upper arm to signify his proximity.

"You may open your eyes now," he speaks quietly yet authoritatively by your ear.

You look, blinking to adjust to the sunlight filtering through the swaying branches of numerous trees, before taking the view in properly.

You notice the colours first, their vivacity and variety:

Umber, sienna, scarlet, amber, saffron. All under a pale blue, wispy cloud sky.

Leaves are falling thick and fast. They swirl and undulate in the soft breeze, coming to rest on an already leaf-smothered ground.

Little collections of chestnut coloured mushrooms are dotted next to the tree line. Droplets of dew have gathered on their caps, lending a gorgeous sheen to their already lovely appearance.

Everything you saw was a showcase of autumn.

"You remembered," you say breathlessly, referring to a conversation that had taken place a few weeks ago where you had professed your love for the season and all it entailed.

You look to Morpheus with a sunbeam smile, asking for permission to explore. He nods, extending his arm, communicating that it was all yours.

Your steps into the leafy clearing are gleeful and bouncy, creating satisfying rustling and crunching noises as you go towards the well-established trees. Melodic birdsong echoes from the canopy above you. Swathes of moss begin where the layers of leaves end. You carefully hop onto it and enjoy the way your shoes sink a little into the plush, verdant carpet.

Fingertips trail over the greyish, dappled trunk of a sycamore tree before you move to the tactile, deeply ridged bark of an ash.

You slip your arms around the second tree, close your eyes and give it a big hug.

Everything feels right in this moment.

You open your eyes to see Morpheus watching you from several paces away. There is a twinkle in his deep blue eyes; clearly he finds your display amusing.

The rich autumn colours contrast beautifully against his monochrome attire. None of the falling leaves come close to his person, reminding you that even now, even when he looks to be still, there are a multitude of responsibilities ticking away inside his mind, including the control of the objects within this tranquil dreamscape.

A dreamscape that he wanted to share with you.

It is times like these that you are confronted by the truth of just how special your friendship with Morpheus is. There are fleeting moments where you wish it could be more but for now you are simply an Endless and a mortal who find solace in each other's company.

Pushing yourself away from the tree, you come back into the clearing and find a spot among the leaves to sit. Morpheus joins you after you pat the ground and call his name.

No words are exchanged for a while. You simply pick through the surrounding leaves to find the most vibrant example. A scarlet one, fallen from an aspen is what you settle on. You tuck it in your coat pocket and meet Morpheus' wistful gaze.

"Thank you, I really needed this."

He nods formally. "When you said that you found yourself missing the autumn splendours of the Waking World, I decided to make a version for you to visit at your leisure."

You are taken aback. "You made all this for me?"

"Yes," his tone starts off measured as ever but gives way to something you have never heard before. "Does it have your approval?"

The sudden insecurity is impossibly endearing. You reach sideways to touch the back of his hand.

"Approval? Morpheus, it's - well, somewhere I could only dream of."

He bows his head. "It pleases me to hear that."

"I hope it didn't take up too much of your time to make it all, I know how stretched you can get."

"I cannot deny, it has occupied me a little more than the construction of other recent dreams, however, I believe it necessary to put time and effort into making gifts for those whose pleasure and happiness you find important. You deserve to feel those things, Y/N, and being able to contribute to them in some way brings me pleasure of my own."

You don't know if it the fiery colours around you heightening your reactions but hearing Morpheus talk about pleasure is doing something to you.

It is fuel to the embers that had been smouldering within your body for a couple of months now.

It makes you feel delirious. You find your attention languidly drifting between his eyes and his lips.

Blue to pink, pink to blue.

Then he mirrors your action and it all becomes too much.

"I really want to kiss you right now," you admit, the words rushing out without proper consideration.

"Very well," he answers instantly, not allowing you even a fraction of a second to regret your sudden divulgence.

Doubling down on this approach, he turns his body to face yours and gently cups your face in his long-fingered hands.

He's staring at you so intently, his thumbs run back and forth over your cheekbones, the unwavering attention and sensation causing you to shiver and sigh.

He moves closer and his pupils blow out from anticipation.

Morpheus' perfect lips are now mere centimetres from yours. Fluttery nerves fill your insides. You are so overwhelmed that this is actually happening.

You close the gap, testing the waters with a kiss that is soft and tentative. Morpheus is instantly hooked, initiating a second one that allows you to discover just how skilled he is.

Your hands move up to tangle in Morpheus' unruly hair. At present, you cannot remember how long have you been longing to do this but you are not disappointed by how silken it feels under your palms.

The kiss between you becomes intense, his tongue joining the dance with a bone melting deftness, and soon you want to feel more of his body against yours.

You go to lay back on the bed of leaves.

He pulls away, concern etched in his brows, forehead and eyes that questions if he has gone too quickly.

You smile softly to assure him that all is well.

"Come here." You draw him backwards with you, allowing him to straddle you. During the manoeuvre, his coat falls open enough for you to see the galaxies swirling within the lining.

He wastes no time in leaning down to kiss you once more, starting at your lips and moving to your neck when he senses that you need to breathe.

The touches of his mouth, the feeling of his body covering yours protectively, the weight of his hips aligned with your own; it has you moaning appreciatively.

He withdraws but remains close, astute eyes drinking in every detail and emotion on your smiling face, the halo-like glow shimmering on your hair.

"So beautiful," Morpheus murmurs reverently.

"Your dreams always are," you say, looking past him at the translucent clouds hovering in the sky above you.

His deep voice rumbles deliciously as he speaks his reply, a false admonishment, "You know that's not what I meant."

He playfully nudges his nose against yours. "This dream pales in comparison to you."

You blush as brightly as the leaf that you had stashed within your pocket. Morpheus traces his fingers over the blossoming redness, marvelling in how the extra heat feels under his touch and how his words were the ones that put it there.

"Kiss me, please," you ask in a whisper.

He arranges his coat to cocoon you against the seasonal chill and then obliges you with a deep and passionate kiss that spreads internal warmth right out to the tips of your fingers and toes.

If your winter continues like this, with Morpheus to hold and bond with, it is shaping up to be infinitely more delightful and cosy than any that have come before.

[beaconfeels]

"I cannot make speeches...If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me." --Jane Austen in Emma

Stiles awoke with a yell, his heart pounding in his chest. The room was dark, and it took him a bit to orient himself. That’s right. He’d fallen asleep on the couch at Derek and Peter’s apartment. 

The dream was still present with him, overlaying reality enough to make it hard to slow his heart, to unclench his fists from the blanket someone had apparently put over him while he slept. 

He heard rustling from the hall and a murmur of voices that made him snap his head toward the noise, heart picking up again. 

Then he registered the words, “Go back to bed, I’ve got him,” and his brain finally caught up to the fact that he’d simply woken up the whole house with his middle of the night terror. 

Someone came into the room then, and Stiles was apologizing before he even recognized who it was. “I’m so sorry. I’m fine now. You can go back to sleep.” 

It was Peter who knelt beside him, Stiles’s eyes adjusting enough to make out his face, and the one raised eyebrow he gave as he reached over to uncurl Stiles’s hands from the edge of the blanket. He hadn’t even realized he was still hanging on for dear life, as if the blanket could somehow shield him from anything that was coming. 

“I’m okay,” Stiles whispered, because despite his racing heart and the vivid images still splashed across his brain from his nightmare, he was objectively alright. Nobody would really be hurt if he spent the rest of the night alone trying and failing to fall asleep again. 

“Come on,” Peter said, holding out his hand. 

Stiles took it without protest. He’d learned that Peter was every bit as stubborn as he was, and while he sometimes enjoyed their arguments, he was too tired to push up against the brick wall of Peter’s resolve just now. 

Peter led him to his bedroom, and Stiles wished there was a light on so he could see it better. Despite how close they’d gotten over the past years, he’d yet to see it fully.  Peter’s bedroom was sacrosanct. Even Stiles and his endless curiosity knew it. It was the only part of the apartment he hadn’t poked his nose into every corner of. He’d glimpsed bits of it when Peter came in and out—rich wood, a king sized bed with dark linens, gray walls—but nothing significant. 

“You’ll see it in the morning,” Peter said, humor in his voice. He read Stiles’s mind accurately far too often. 

Peter pulled him into the bed with him, and tugged him right into the curve of his body, like this was something they did all the time. 

The shock of being brought into Peter’s bed and Peter’s arms seemed to have swept away a lot of the residue from his bad dream, but now his heart was racing for a different reason. 

“Shhh,” Peter soothed. He wrapped his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck and pulled him closer still, until Stiles wrapped his arms around him and pressed his nose into the crook of his neck. 

He breathed in Peter’s scent: warm sleepy skin, a lingering of the light, woodsy cologne he wore, and that undefinable smell that was just the Hale family scent, one that had begun to smell like home to Stiles. 

Peter’s hand rubbed in soothing strokes up and down his back, and Stiles let himself relax into it. 

He didn’t let himself think about Peter much outside of annoyance or friendship or any other platonic feelings Peter had managed to raise in him on any given day. He’d slammed the door shut on anything that spoke of love, or even a crush. He’d had enough unrequited love in his lifetime. 

Yet here in the dark, wrapped up in Peter’s arms, his longing slammed into him like a freight train. It left him in fragments of ache and want and hurt and please. 

He clung to Peter and he squeezed his lips together because none of this could come out. He wouldn’t let it ruin what little bit of peace he’d managed to carve out. 

Then Peter was pulling back and Stiles used every bit of willpower he had not to whimper. 

Peter’s voice was low but urgent. “What’s wrong?” 

He furrowed his brow. Had Peter smelled something of his emotions? But then Peter swiped his thumb across Stiles’s cheekbone, and he realized he was crying. 

“Baby, what is it? Is it the nightmare?” 

Stiles let out a hitching breath at the endearment, the ache blossoming behind his sternum. “I just want this so much,” he whispered, as if the darkness would swallow it up for him, let him say it without consequences. 

Of course the darkness did no such thing, and in any case he was dealing with someone with super hearing. It was a futile hope. 

“What is it that you want?” Peter asked. 

“You. This. Falling asleep beside you. Waking up beside you. Arguing with you,” he was still whispering, still pretending it couldn’t blow up in his face. 

Peter did not whisper. He flopped on his back and covered his face with his hand and said vehemently, “Thank fuck. Finally.” 

Stiles’s mouth dropped open. “What?” 

“Sweetheart, I’ve been trying to woo you since the moment I met you. I was about to give up.” 

“What?” Stiles said again, feeling remarkably stupid even as his heart fluttered. 

Peter laughed, and it sounded incredulous. “I flirt with you constantly, I compliment you and defend you, I’ve eaten—and paid for—more meals with you at that insufferable diner you love so much more than I’ve eaten anywhere else in this town. I keep you and your dad stocked in meat and fresh vegetables from the farmer’s market. I bought you your last laptop! I’ve never had to work so hard for anyone in my life.” He laughed again, pulling at his own hair like he maybe wanted to tear it up by the roots. 

Stiles’s cheeks heated because yeah, it did seem incredibly obvious in retrospect. “Sorry?” He said, grimacing. 

Peter rolled back to his side, cupped Stiles’s cheek with his hand. “Don’t be sorry,” he said, voice gone soft and tender, “I loved every second of it.”  

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You should probably kiss me now,” Stiles said. 

“I’ve done all the work so far,” Peter countered, “maybe you should kiss me first.” 

That seemed fair enough. Stiles nudged Peter until he rolled onto his back, and then he laid half on top of him, propping himself up on one elbow so he could really get a good look at him. He leaned forward and kissed Peter gently on the cheek. “You’re everything to me,” he said. 

Peter looked away, like Stiles being soft with him was almost more than he could take. “Stiles,” he said, and his voice sounded rough and a little desperate. 

“I’m going to make you so happy,” Stiles promised, then added, “I mean, I’m going to keep making you insane too because that’s, like, a core part of our dynamic, but you’re going to be happy about that too.”  

“I know,” Peter said. He smiled, and it was genuine and beautiful and kind of made it hard to breathe. 

Stiles cradled Peter’s head with his hand, and then he kissed him. Slow and sweet, and then hard and passionate and then slow and sweet again. 

He was going to have to create a new file system just to store Peter’s little moans and intakes of breath and the way his hands wouldn’t stop roaming all over Stiles’s body. 

Hours later, he lay with his head on Peter’s chest and Peter said, “I love you,” like it was a simple fact. Like it wasn’t too soon, or complicated at all. 

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe this would be the one thing that got to be easy for them. For once in his life he decided to be an optimist. 

[lux-lost]

The angel moves through the halls on soft soles, cautiously quiet. The entities around it are not safe. The angel can feel their eyes on the back of its head. The taste of their gaze lingers on its skin, whispers the things unsaid into its ears. They think the angel is their kin, if suspiciously unusual. But in truth, it is a foreign object that sticks out and could be hammered down at any moment if it draws too much attention. They presume ownership over the angel, and that makes them dangerous. 

The angel’s exoskeleton is tight around its ribs. It warms and hides its form, and yet, that’s not enough. The angel feels the machine in its chest stutter and stumble nervously every once in a while. Every moment is stolen, could be the last. It breathes carefully, holding onto its core for stability.

Someone pulls the angel into a hug and it lets its body be soft and inviting. It feels the same softness from the other side, but none of that makes it past the bright glow of the angel’s aura, which conceals the hard shell tightly laced around its vulnerable parts.

The angel consumes and enjoys some very fucked up things. It is a deviant one, a pervert. Nonetheless its core is so pure and clean, any contact with the outer world could sully it. The angel is not ugly inside, not like other beings. Peeling back the layers only lays bare rosy flesh and silvery scar tissue. No rot, no maggots, no danger.

It is of vital importance to protect its angel core, to conceal it from prying eyes and prodding fingers. If someone witnessed that core, they’d judge the angel for it. They’d think it childish. Or lifeless. Or boring. Their ugly thoughts would dampen its glow. Some might even actively seek to ruin it. 

To keep itself safe, the angel needs to be very closed off. But it cannot be solely solitary. After all, the angel’s presence is a service, a service to those around it. It has to say and do the right things when in the presence of other beings. To uplift. To entertain. To make itself worth their while. 

For this purpose, the angel may occasionally draw upon its core to extend its glow to others. Its light can be used to illuminate the innocent, protect and nurture them as well. It’s the angel’s treasure, all it has to offer to other entities. When it is in their presence, the angel forfeits itself to them. It needs to be invited. It needs to be dismissed. It needs to be told what to do. The angel can provide something to those who need something, but it can’t really take anything.

The angel has to be very careful about what it invites back in when it puts out. Many people have a lot of beauty in them, but then something ugly as well. When eating apples directly from the tree, one has to watch for worms and mold.

The angel cannot just go around getting close to people carelessly. They may bait the angel with beauty, but then trap it in ugliness. They may try to tie it down with tendrils of need and despair, integrate it into their ugly lives, compel it to commit sin. It’s not their fault for having ugly parts, of course. The world is an ugly place after all, it poisons and corrupts. 

The angel is not immune to this corruption either, it gets infested sometimes as well. When that happens, it has to isolate and cleanse itself. Burning the poison away hurts, of course, but better than letting it fester for too long. 

The angel does not demand a pedestal, but it is certainly constructed to be put on one. To really be safe and fulfill its purpose, it needs to be put on one. Even when sullied, it still remembers and longs for its former purity. It’s this need for perfection, the yearning to be a shining idol on a pedestal, that drives its machine parts.

The pedestal, freely given, is its only form of power, the only power a being of its kind is allowed to hold. The angel actually can’t do shit. Its power is fully derived from those who put it on its pedestal. The angel’s light is a farce, nothing but smoke and mirrors for those who want to believe in it.

You have to understand, you may need the angel, but actually, the angel needs you more. It needs you to need it. It only has the worth you give it. It only has value in the needs it can meet. Without your need for its light, it has no reason to pretend it’s shining. It can’t really help you through your misery, but you can feed on its light until you feel better. If you weren’t miserable, you wouldn’t really seek out the angel, would you?

You can draw the angel in by making it feel needed, bind it with attention and affection. It doesn’t take much, just a little bit of kindness. It will attune itself to your needs. You can trust it, it’s loyal. When you don’t need it anymore, it is safe to just abandon it. It is safe to just forget about it. You don’t even have to tell it that you’re discarding it, it will figure that out itself after a while.

[staring-at-my-keyboard]

Chatting over Dinner

An isolated moment shared between a family, some of which are interdimensional travelers.

୨⎯✎✎⎯୧

Just a Gravity Falls Blind Faith AU snippet that was the result of me wondering about the character dynamics of the BF twins and the Pines after said twins stumbled through one of the scattered rifts that the Pines were fixing in 'Lost Legends'.

୨⎯✎✎⎯୧

Fluff

Comedy

TWs:

⇾ none!

Blind Faith twins: Sixer & Lee

Canon Mystery Twins Classic: Ford & Stan

୨⎯✎✎⎯୧

“So I says: ‘Which one of us here has more eyes?’ Then wham! He stabs me!” Lee recounted, punctuating himself by slamming a fist on the table, causing the silverware to rattle. Mabel gasped, and the Fords jumped.

Sixer frowned. “Not h-how it- it- it went… at all.”

“That’s how it went because I say that’s how it went,” Lee argued flatly. “Tell me again, which one of us goes on useless rambles about the 'inherent non-existence of objective truth' or whatever the hell?”

“N- not in th-this… this instance.” Sixer retorted.

“What, so stuff is only up in the air if it’s convenient for you? Like that one time you denied eating all the walrus butter?” 

Sixer opened his mouth, paused, then sank back in his chair, tips of his ears red.

“Uh-huh. I thought so.”

“Walrus… butter?” Dipper cocked his head.

“Kinda similar to peanut butter, believe it or not- at least in that dimension. It was for seeing stuff that normally wouldn’t exist with normal human eyes, even ones like this-“ Stan gestured to his bionic one with one hand and shoveled potatoes into his mouth with the other, with a mumbled ‘damn these are good.’

“Woah! Ford never mentioned anything like that!” Dipper enthused. “Can you tell me more?”

Stan said something through his food that was along the lines of ‘Can you let a guy eat a meal first?’, although it came out more like “C’n y’l guy eath’meal f’rth?”

“How did you acquire that, by the way?” Ford inquired, gesturing to Lee’s eye while halfway through eating a tomato like an apple. “I’ve found precious few worlds whose cybernetic offerings even rarely cater to the human body, much less a part of it as complicated as the eye.”

“Well, Sixer here made it for me!” Lee answered, practically glowing with pride. “He even retrofitted it with heat and night vision! Pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.”

“Really?” Ford leaned towards his counterpart. “Do you still have the schematics? If so, you’ll have to show me at some point. I’ve always struggled with combining biology and technology harmoniously, but you’ve done a wonderful job here.”

“See, that’s what I keep telling ‘im, but for some reason he insists on disagreeing with me.” Lee tutted.

“Could… could be b- b- better.” Sixer mumbled. 

Lee let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, yes, everything could be better, but that doesn’t negate the quality of its existence in the present,” Ford reassured, before standing and leaning over the table towards an increasingly confused Lee. “Regardless of what may be missing, this is still remarkable! I wouldn’t even know where to begin in suggesting improvement! If I could…”

Ford came dangerously close to just manhandling Lee’s face before Stan grabbed his sweater and hauled him back down into his seat.

He swatted the back of Ford’s head. “Give a man some space, you dork,” Stan turned to Lee apologetically. “Sorry about him.”

“Please. Do you know how many times my Ford has just randomly grabbed my face when he thought my eye was glitching? Plot twist: it never was.”

Both Fords groaned.

[jaxxsoxxn]

Me, waving my fingers at Boomer, ominously: Ohhhh, you're gonna get projected on so harddd

Anyway, some hcs that will probably be mentioned in my future fics!

Boomer has horrid object permanence (totally not like me /s) - he can and will forget about some things unless they're right in front of him, the list of those includes: food, people, the whole idea of eating/hunger, sometimes clothes, plans.

Also, Flash adores it slightly, because when they're deeper into their relationship, every time he pops up (even if he was gone only for a second) he gets a kiss and a "'ello" mumbled to him softly. He abuses this power a lot.

Cap believes that anything that can fit in his mouth could be eaten. Does not question if it should be eaten.

He was born in a small town/village in Australia, everyone knew everyone type of thing. Sadly that also meant that everyone knew he was a bastard in the literal meaning of the word.

Loves his mother, does not believe she loves him. Thinks that she's just a good person, that's why she took such a good care of him. She does love him, btw.

I usually hc that she died when he was pretty young, leaving him alone, but in a world where she didn't, she'd love Barry.

"Not only ya gave me a son-in-law, ya also gave me two premade grandchildren?! Oh Digi, lov!"

Digger absolutely dies of embarrassment every time she calls them not only her grandkids but also says they came "premade" or "prebuilt"

Wally calls him sarcastically Digi once and Boomer looks him dead in the eyes and says "I'm fucking with your father figure."

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, Wally...

If Owen lives, I'd imagine he's actually pretty close to Wally in age, if not even older, since Boomer's like 45 years old in my head.

Wally, 22 years old, looking at his new "step-brother" who's 25 years old and looks totally unbothered about the new family he aquaried (he knows every single Flash fam member while none of them know even his name for the first few months)

Owen is a lot like his father, but I'd imagine he's softer around the edges than his dad. Also, lesser accent, since he moved a lot, most of his life.

Owen had rough teenage years, but Boomer was a rock trough them. Good for them.

Flash fam takes a lot of time to get used to two different speedsters - usually the biggest difference is the fact they're use reverse Speedforce or smth alike, but this time Digger is a straight-up fake speedster, while Owen isn't one (even if he has patience of one), though his agility is through the roof. (In some versions, while Owen is! A speedster, he only throws his boomerangs superfast, instead of running! Which is, like, crazy)

At the moment, Owen is acting rather careless. He's well known around most of the Rouges, which also means that if anyone is trying to get to them, they might focus on him. He might or might not ignore the danger fully and deem it "silly"

Flash fam, when they start getting used to them, are actually easily swayed towards Owen. Digger doesn't hold it against them, using "once a rogue, always a rogue" excuse, while the truth was simple: Owen was a kid or practically a kid to most of them - he's easily impressed and not many things can beat the excited kid looking at you like ya hung the stars & moon in the sky Those hcs took a while to get out, but here they are (maybe bc I got fully into Owen at some point while writing them, oops-)

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 4: Oliver's Exam

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Restraints, slavery, non-sexual nudity

Lot Seven. That's what he was to these vampires, a commodity to be purchased for his desirable blood. The door clicked and locked behind him, and he was well and truly trapped in the auction house.

He kept up the pace behind the vampire as she led him by the leash, stopping to knock on a door. "Cecily! I've brought Lot Seven! Are you free to process him?"

The door popped open and a sickeningly cheerful looking woman poked her head out. "Of course! I'm dying to see this one."

Oliver felt utterly humiliated as a tall vampire woman emerged from the room and began looking him up and down as though he were an object. Even if he could pull free of the leash, there was nowhere for him to go. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his nerves steady. The only possible way out of this would be to look for a good opportunity, not blindly panic.

"Let's get you processed and checked in," said the new vampire, Cecily, as casually as though she were checking him into a hotel room. She led him by the leash into a room, which looked a bit like a medical clinic, surprisingly sterile for a place run by vampires. There was a thin man in a white coat in the room, writing something on a clipboard. 

Cecily pushed him down onto a wooden chair, attaching his leash to a ring in the wall. She pulled up a chair as well. "I have a few questions to ask you for our records."

"Why should I answer them?"

"They're to help you find a good placement."

"You mean sell me to the highest bidder."

"Of course," she said. "So what's your name?"

He sighed. "Oliver Pines." He could hear the scratch-scratch-scratch as the man with the clipboard wrote it down.

"Age?"

He briefly wondered if young people commanded higher prices. "Thirty-two."

"Any health conditions?"

He wanted to say that he had some kind of deadly, contagious disease, in the odd chance they'd throw him out, but the words couldn't form. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly a few times, feeling quite stupid, before saying, "No, I'm quite healthy."

"My ability forces you to tell the truth," she said to his unspoken question. "Now, drinking, smoking, any other vices?"

"No."

"Isn't it too bad? You could've indulged in all of those things if you had known you were going to end up here. Just as well, though, being a teetotaler raises your value."

Her words stung. If this was indeed the end of the line for him, there were so many things he could have done. He didn't exactly regret not indulging in vices, but... he could have at least gone to his favorite cafe more often, taken that trip to the mountains, bought finer food and clothes instead of saving for a future that would never come...

"What was your occupation?"

Oliver didn't miss that she said "was". "I own and run a shop specializing in rare and antique books."

Scratch-scratch-scratch went the pen against paper. "Interesting," Cecily said. "That's an interest some vampires share. Any other notable skills?"

"None, really. I had mostly devoted my life to books. I do enjoy sketching, but I'm not that good at it." All the things he had wanted to learn and do... "I should have taken up vampire hunting."

He expected anger or offense from Cecily, but instead she laughed. "I was a vampire hunter, you know."

"You? But..."

"It's often the fate of hunters to be turned," she shrugged.

"And now you're here. Processing humans like cattle."

"And now I'm here," she agreed, clearly not wanting to elaborate. "Speaking of processing, it's time to get those clothes off so we can give you a brief medical exam."

"My clothes?" he said, shrinking away.

"It's nothing lascivious, it's a medical examination. Now stand," she said, gesturing. "And I don't recommend trying anything with two vampires in the room and the door locked."

They were always warning him, weren't they? Don't do this, don't do that, it's futile. The logical thing to do, he thought, would be to bide his time and save his strength until he had an actual chance at escape, and not wear himself out and suffer punishments from pointless struggle. But maybe that's what they wanted him to think. Every step along the way a little more freedom had been lost, and now he was locked in a basement and about to have his clothes removed.

He couldn't take it. He needed out. He couldn't stop his legs from bolting for the door.

He didn't even reach the end of his leash before Cecily grabbed him. "Really, you're choosing to do this now? And you were doing so well..."

"Let me go!" he shouted hysterically. "I want to go home! Let me go!"

"Just calm down, you're not going anywhere --"

"Let me go! Let me go!"

"Thomas, get the sedative."

"No!" He pulled at her arms, desperate. "No, I don't want to be drugged. Don't do it, please!" The thought of being rendered unconscious in this hellish place, of being even more at the mercy of these monsters, was unbearable.

"Then behave yourself," said Cecily. "I'll give you one chance, but only because it's easier to process you if you're awake."

She relaxed her grip, and Oliver slumped over, his sudden burst of fight gone. He had been right in the first place, to try and survive and hope an opportunity presented itself. He'd always been physically weak, but he had his mind, and he had to preserve it as much as possible, even if it meant suffering indignities. As long as he stayed sharp, didn't give into despair, avoided the drugging and conditioning as much as possible...

"Much better. Thank you for your cooperation," she said cheerfully.

"Get it over with, monster," he said bitterly. None of the vampires seemed to particularly care about impudence, which he feared was a bad sign. Taking offense at the words of their captive would have belied insecurity. These vampires, however, were all supremely confident in their business, acting as though processing humans was no more than a day at the office. They didn't get angry about anything he said because it was nothing more than the harmless barking of a dog to them.

And perhaps they didn't care about anything he said because they fully expected to "correct" him with conditioning later on.

As he ruminated, Oliver was led to the center of the room, his leash detached from the wall and attached to a pole, as though he were livestock. Cecily produced a large set of metal shears and began to cut his shirt away.

"Is that really necessary?" he said. He liked that shirt, it was soft and a very fetching shade of blue.

"All of your clothes are being burned anyway," she said matter-of-factly. She removed his shirt and cut away his undershirt as well, exposing his chest to the room, which was at least warm. "We'll set aside your shoes and valuables and give them to your new owner upon purchase."

"How thoughtful."

"You can keep your glasses for now if you wish."

"Yes, I do," he said, surprised to be even allowed that. Being able to see properly was one small mercy, although he expected that he was only allowed to have his glasses because it was in some way more convenient for the vampires.

She removed his shoes, putting them down on a table, and pulled off each sock, the lovely blue argyle socks that he had mended so many times, their final fate to be burned. Next was his belt, and he winced as she removed it, wrapped it up in a neat coil and set it next to his shoes. He braced himself, reminding himself that he couldn't fight or he'd be drugged again, as she pulled his pants off, picking up each foot. She pulled his beloved pocket watch and chain out, admiring it for a moment before putting it aside. And then his shorts were tugged off as well, and he was standing naked before the vampires. He couldn't stop himself from letting out a pathetic whimper.

Cecily and Thomas were all business, though, looking over his body and scratching things down on the clipboard. Thomas pressed a stethoscope to his chest and ordered him to breathe in deep; Oliver could only manage a shallow, ragged breath, but it didn't seem to matter. He took a penlight and shone it into Oliver's eyes, examined his ears, forced open his jaw and looked at his teeth, checked his hands and nails.

"What's the verdict? Am I healthy enough to be a meal?" he said, trying to distract himself with dark humor.

"Easily," said Cecily. "But neither of us can afford you."

Oliver swallowed hard. As a child, he'd had a secret wish to be special, to be involved in the supernatural. Being some rich delicacy for vampires was not the way he would have wanted it to play out.

Part Three >> Masterlist >> Part Five

[trudemaethien]

*skidding into your ask box in clown shoes*

ship: Rex/Cody

prompt: b a b y

okay okay prompt: yearning, responsibility, spoil

i do keep poking the next bit of that, promise, it’s just not quite. ready yet. pokepokecomeON

you have tagged me thrice for a last line, so have a pair of lines from the baby-fic and a freestanding other from an entirely unrelated work, then on to the main event:

“Cody kebbu bajur te’orikih sirbur buir,” Fox reports smugly, and Rex looks at Cody sharply.

“Kih’ika ven’gaii gar buir,” Cody hastens to add, “nu ash’ad, naas’mhi.”

—

The Admissions people had said the cadets who scored high enough for rank would be allowed their names back, and RF-7448 would very much like to be himself again.

Rex/Cody

Yearning Responsibility Spoil

(and bc i know what u like ive written u P A I N 😭)

“It only remains to decide the staffing of your new command, Anakin,” General Kenobi said to his newly knighted Padawan. “I have some suggestions, unless you have any requests for specific personnel?”

Around the meeting table, officers shifted. During this impromptu meeting called to inform the 7th Sky Command of Padawan Commander Skywalker’s unexpected promotion to General, Commander Cody had quickly drafted up his own set of suggestions, but unless General Kenobi was reading them from his mind with the Force, it was almost certainly not the same roster.

General Kenobi had not informed him in advance about this, let alone consulted him. Once again, a natborn was given precedence over Cody, no matter the absolute lack of experience, time in grade, or non-military promotion above more deserving leaders.

He suppressed his objections, and there were many, with utmost professionalism for as long as it took Skywalker to answer—not more than half a second.

“I want Rex,” the young Knight declared. “He’ll be my Captain and he can pick whoever else he wants to come along.”

Cody wasn’t that good at suppressing past his face, it seemed, because Kenobi and Skywalker both jerked around to look at him, Kenobi confused and Skywalker glaring. “Is something the matter?” they both asked, with very different intonations.

“He’s the best,” Skywalker said. “That’s what I need.”

“Did you have someone better in mind, Commander Cody?” Kenobi asked politely.

Cody steeled himself. “There is no one better,” he answered, and that was the Force-damned truth. “Captain Rex will submit his staffing recommendations within the hour, if there’s nothing else for us to cover here, Sirs?”

He couldn’t look at Rex as he sealed their separation. It was out of his hands.

“No, I think not,” Kenobi said genially. “You may go say your goodbyes.”

Cody swallowed his feelings about that into a black hole, and said, “Thank you, General Kenobi. Skywalker.” He stood and saluted properly and left the room after the rest of the clone staff.

They kept it proper all through the passageways, but as soon as the door of his quarters latched closed, Rex barreled into him and Cody caught him with all the strength he could muster.

A sob shook through Rex’s chest, and Cody squeezed him roughly. “None of that, now,” he reprimanded his brother.

“Fuck,” Rex cursed into his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Cody said wearily, “yeah, I know.”

“That nattie, jetii, civvie prick! Doesn’t think about anything except what he wants, and the rest of us have to put up and shut up; kark him,” Rex snarled.

Cody sighed heavily; he did not disagree.

“And you’re just letting him—you have Kenobi’s ear, you could—”

“I could what, Rex? It’s already done and dusted. Outmaneuvered. If he’d asked me first I could have guided it, maybe, but he didn’t, so my hands were tied. You were there!”

“Yeah,” Rex said bitterly, pulling away, “I was. The best. Not even a token protest, Cody? I’d rather you have called me half-rate and subpar, and gotten him to take …Checkmate, or Bliss instead.”

Cody said nothing, letting those words echo between them. Rex drooped.

“Sorry,” he muttered and sank onto Cody’s bunk, elbows on knees and face in his hands.

Cody knelt in front of him and pulled his hands away. All the reluctance and heartbreak he’d hidden in the meeting was clear on his face now and Rex could hardly meet his eyes.

“I don’t want to go,” he said futilely, voice small.

Cody closed his eyes to keep from tearing up, and bowed his head, leaning into Rex’s hold. He had to master himself for a long minute before he could speak.

His voice only shook a little when he said, “I love you, Rex.” Another steadying breath. “We still have a little time. Do you want to go over who I recommend, or—”

“Or,” Rex said, pulling him up from his knees. “Definitely, or.”

Responsibility Weighs Heavy 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51600688

[gaoau]

shaken with ice

Straight-Up warnings — none. word count — 3.2k

next.

Izana sits on a bench as he recognizes he's been burnt down to ashes by himself. If fraternal love was all he had, then why did he actively destroy it? All because he couldn't handle the scorching, sour truth of not properly belonging. He sits and wonders why nothing ever happens anymore now that Shinichiro is dead. He wonders why the world moves on and keeps turning, but everything around him remains impossibly still. He took as much as he could from his brother to build himself around Shinichiro's love, yet he's been left with nothing but an empty hole in his chest. He sits and wonders why he needs a random fourteen-year-old to force him out of his rut—still, his surroundings stay monochrome.

Izana sits on a rooftop as he wonders what it is about being isolated that harms him so much, to the point he can't even acknowledge it. He finds his strength better when being by himself, so isolation should be his best friend, right? Right? He's been alone and abandoned his whole life, so Shinichiro leaving him behind should be no different. He has no one to understand him, no one to keep up with him, no one to sympathize with him—he has no one to be as empty as him.

He doesn't bother looking at Kisaki while he explains his schemes. For a moment, he considered maybe Kisaki would do, but his malice can only fill up so much of his heart and nothing more. It's not what he wants. It's not what he needs. He allows Kisaki to use him as much as he pleases; so long as their objectives align, he doesn't mind playing his part to regain what he's lost. It's only been a few days since they started making their moves to build Tenjiku into the perfect opponent for Toman. Kisaki talks and talks, smoothing out the logistics of this convoluted plan. It's dreadfully boring and it feels like nothing is happening at all.

Izana isn't sure if he hates to admit this or not, but he's surprised when he hears the door to the rooftop open behind them. As far as he's concerned, no one should be coming up here for anything. The click of the lock comes accompanied by a muffled voice he's never heard before, grumbling, "What the fuck are you making me climb all those stairs for?" There's an edge in the tone and a faint drawl on the corners of the sentence. Izana cranes his neck back to find hooded eyes that match the boredom dripping from their every syllable.

He knows these nonchalant eyes—not exactly. He's seen this bored gaze before, he's seen this bored girl before. At least once or twice, sharing a few words with Kisaki before exchanging money. This is, however, the first time he's close enough to hear her speak. The black mask covering her face moves with every word she pronounces. He thinks, somewhere, in the corner of his mind, that it's amusing how her monotone voice fits her empty demeanor perfectly. His attention is trained on her as she marches up to Kisaki without bothering to glance at the other three people on this rooftop.

Izana catches Kisaki rolling his eyes in annoyance while turning towards this newcomer. "Your report, of course," is all he replies with, lips curling into a scowl.

There's a faint twitch in her brows, hooded lids narrowing just a bit more. It's interesting how a millimeter can change her expression from awfully bored to mildly irritated. "Can't I do it over the phone? The train fare's expensive."

"Do you want your pay or not?"

Her face returns to its passive neutrality, but Izana easily takes notice of one of her brows arching higher than the other. "With the agreed bonus, I'm assuming."

With a nudge into Hanma's gut, Kisaki nods towards [Name]. Almost instantly, a sickening grin grows on Hanma's face and a low chuckle tumbles from his tongue. He pulls crumpled yen notes out from his uniform pocket, carelessly dropping them onto her open palm. Izana wants to laugh at how easy it is to give him orders without exchanging a single word. [Name] visibly cringes, brows bunching up, and steps away from Hanma before she accidentally breathes in his insanity. She busies herself with smoothing out the money to make sure her bonus is intact. Kisaki glares her down.

Silence hangs for longer than any of them tend to tolerate. The bills move swiftly in her hands as she counts, "…six, seven, eight, nine thousand. Good."

"I'm waiting, [Name]."

She sighs, folding her pay neatly and saving it in her jacket pocket. Then she looks Kisaki in the eye. "I dropped her off at her place before hopping on the train. Hanagaki-kun was there at her door, looked kinda fucked up." She doesn't miss the disgruntled scowl twisting behind his glasses. She contemplates her next words briefly. She has her pay anyway, he's not going to try and raise his hand at her. Her lips curl into an amused grin underneath her mask. Izana notices her eyes narrowing as she looks down on Kisaki. "He doesn't look half bad with his hair down; I can see the appeal."

"Stay on topic," he clips immediately.

A chuckle escapes her, oddly flippant for someone that must know how Kisaki operates. She continues, "She got the first-aid and patched him up outside. From what she's told me, her father still isn't all that cool with delinquents." She scans him up and down for a moment. "By the way, your call almost blew my cover."

"I told you not to save my number."

"I didn't." She rolls her eyes, but they remain as bored as when she walked out here. "I was busy eavesdropping on 'em when you rang me up."

"How long ago was this?"

"Fifty minutes, give or take."

"You left them there alone?"

"Yeah?"

Kisaki has heard enough, it seems, as he shoos her away with his hand. "Report back tomorrow, too." He doesn't wait for her to give him even a measly nod of confirmation and turns back to Izana to finish their earlier one-sided conversation.

A shrug bounces off her left shoulder. "Sure," she pronounces with that flat monotone, dripping in dreadful boredom. Without so much as a polite goodbye, [Name] saunters her way towards the door. Izana keeps his eyes latched onto her back until she disappears into the building. Her nonchalance, her sheer uninterest vibrates against his brain in camaraderie.

It's not every day that [Name] goes on a small trip to Yokohama just to earn some cash, but it is fairly often. Izana cannot wrap his head around an empty space becoming emptier simply because she isn't around. He believes he can hear her monotone voice all the way from Shibuya. As soon as she shows up and snarls a few words at Kisaki, his eyes locate and stick to her. It's almost appalling to have to endure her flippant gaze being bored in his kingdom.

Izana is, admittedly, curious, for lack of a better word. He knows very well his own reasons for being empty and bored and saturated with his unmoving surroundings, but why her? Why [Name]? Why is she here? Why is she bored? Why does she work for Kisaki? Why does nothing ever happen for her either? He's heard Kisaki complain about her plenty of times, making mention of how obnoxious her nonchalant demeanor is and how much it grates on his nerves. He keeps her around because she's useful to him. Izana understands that. He doesn't understand [Name].

Kisaki makes her wait, Kisaki addresses her like she's a slave, Kisaki uses Hanma against her, Kisaki orders her around without regards. Izana can see it in those inexpressive eyes, that she absolutely despises Kisaki more than he despises Sano Manjiro. He watches from afar as she pulls down her mask briefly. Her flat lips are painted a dark color he can't distinguish when she's sitting this far away—it might be black as much as it might not be. From her jacket pocket, she produces a small yellow ball. It disappears into her mouth and her mask is back up in a matter of seconds. A few minutes later, she repeats it all over again.

Izana is, not admittedly, very curious. He listens in on their conversation when Kisaki approaches her to discuss business again. Her mask moves as she speaks. Kisaki is the only person she's familiar with around here, surrounded by Tenjiku gang members, but she remains hostile while glaring at him like she wants to smash his glasses into his face.

"Did you talk to him like I said?" Kisaki asks her sharply.

[Name] rolls her eyes, sighing in exasperation, "Yeah, said something 'bout wanting to save someone. I'm guessing that's Hinata-chan?" Her inflection rises in a monotone question. By the look on her face, she isn't even interested in knowing who lives and who dies as long as she gets her money.

"Anything else?"

"He fucking hates you." Her eyes narrow. Izana thinks there's a smirk on her flat lips behind that mask. "He's ready to beat you into oblivion, so watch your back, ATM."

"Don't tell me what to do; that's not what I pay you for." A faint frown settles on her brows at his words. If not Hanagaki, [Name] looks ready to beat Kisaki into oblivion herself before he can think about acting snarky again. Izana wants to know why she bothers showing up. "Keep Tachibana busy. Don't let her see Hanagaki that often anymore until this settles down." That's his last order of the day. He hands her a few bills and leaves her on her seat.

She nods her head automatically, muttering, "Sure," as she lifts her middle finger up at his retreating back. Izana keeps his eyes stuck to her while she slips another yellow ball into her mouth, counting the numbers on her pay. He is, admittedly, interested. This mirroring emptiness is something he wants to have. The nonchalance in her narrowed eyes becomes twisted in his clouded brain when he can't rationalize why nothing ever happens for her either.

[Name] finds this extremely annoying, but she's not exactly willing to do anything about it. She keeps getting calls from Kisaki at random, asking her to take a forty-minute train ride just to give a report. Why he's decided to base this new gang of his in Yokohama is beyond her and she doesn't care to ask. The issue is the burning, piercing discomfort stabbing her on the back of her head. Clearly, there's someone who's got their eyes on her, but considering she's surrounded by feral scumbags that could easily snap her in half if they wanted to, she knows better than to look around and figure out who it is.

It happens every single time she hangs around for a while, which says a lot when it's only been two weeks since Tenjiku became a thing. It gets increasingly more obnoxious, but she really doesn't want to take her chances and make eye contact with someone that will stab her for the hell of it. She remains bored at her surroundings, remains flippant towards Kisaki's threats, remains nodding her head and going along with whatever plays out in front of her. Then Tenjiku's head enters her field of vision, unprovoked. She figures if she had checked earlier, she would have been better prepared for his swallowing eyes staring at her so intently.

Izana has considered actively asking Kisaki about this little dog that runs around for him to have eyes where he can't casually see. He doesn't, though, because he's not one to be curious about people he doesn't need. The more he sees [Name] idly sitting and eating those yellow balls, the more he contemplates he's not as unique as he'd originally led himself to believe. Mikey isn't quite empty yet—Izana knows that better than anyone else—but [Name] is.

Or at least, he's convinced.

He doesn't have a name for what the voice in the back of his head is telling him. He can only recognize a faint lilt that sounds oddly similar to Shinichiro. It's not an unfamiliar feeling; he's been withdrawing from it for so long, that having it return to him unannounced is borderline euphoric. He's had more than enough of [Name] popping candy into her mouth and looking like nothing exists in the world but her. Izana is here—he's in the same world as her and he's just as empty as her and he wants her nonchalance before she wastes it all on someone like Kisaki. Whatever it is, he craves more of it.

[Name] holds his gaze with narrowed eyes that don't care how much power he has over her. Izana simply watches her every move, paying close attention as she pulls down her mask so he can finally establish her lips are colored black. Hidden inside the pocket of her jacket, he hears plastic crinkling. She pulls out one of those yellow balls. When she opens her mouth, the sunlight bounces back from the piercing on her tongue before it's blocked by her flat, black lips again. Then the mask is back up.

He's curious; why does she do any of the things she does? If she's so dead bored of everything around her, why bother showing up here? It doesn't make sense to him why she even bothers painting her lips when she'll cover them up with that stupid mask anyway. It moves along with her mouth as the candy clacks against her teeth. He hears the muffled shattering when she bites down on it.

Izana extends his open palm in front of her. [Name] limits herself to raising a brow, only slightly, barely noticeable unless he's looking for it—and he is looking for it. "Share," he orders. It's an order. It is an order. This is his kingdom, and [Name] is a part of it as long as she's here, bored or not, whether either of them like it or not. He's her king.

Her expression flattens again. She produces a clear plastic bag from her pocket, filled with candy balls she took the time to unwrap earlier in the day. It pokes at his brain and burns on his subconscious, how obnoxiously calm she behaves in the face of someone that could kill her in the blink of an eye. Not that he's planning to harm her yet, but he could. She presents the open bag to him, silently, and leaves him to take as many as he wants without complaint.

He takes two. There's powder coating the hard candy. "What are these?" he asks before popping one in his mouth. Instantly, he cringes. It's impossibly sour.

"Super Lemon," [Name] answers with that flippant tone he's heard mock Kisaki.

He shatters the candy and chews his way through burning sourness the same way he's been watching [Name] do all this time. Izana knows he's never been fond of lemons or limes or even the mildest of citrics, but he finds today he despises Super Lemons more than anything. He swallows the candy before shoving the other one in his mouth as well.

That burning sensation stabbing her on the back of her head doesn't stop, and although it still disturbs her, [Name] is no longer concerned about getting her head bashed into a rock for breathing in the wrong direction. Now that she knows it's just Tenjiku's head, she cranes her neck to the side, immediately locking eyes with Izana, who's completely ignoring whatever it is Kisaki is telling him. She holds his stare, because it's not just Tenjiku's head. It's Kurokawa Izana and she's afraid of what he can do. She's heard a lot about this guy, more than she needed. He will kill her if she refuses him a Super Lemon.

Izana wonders why nothing ever happens. [Name] stares at him, leaning on that wall like she's so fucking over everything happening around her. He hates her sour candy, but he despises the way she looks at him more. It's like she's analyzing him instead of understanding he's as empty as she is. And then she looks away, bored. 

She clearly hates being here. She's clearly bored. She frowns in contempt and sheer disgust as Kisaki snarls more orders. She nods her head regardless of the hatred in her face and does as told. None of it makes sense to Izana. Why is she here? What is she doing? Why is she bored of his kingdom? Why does nothing ever happen?

He doesn't care to ask. He dismisses Kisaki in favor of reaching his palm out for more Super Lemons. [Name] offers her clear bag for him to take as many as he wants. It stings his tongue every time he eats another lemon drop. He contemplates if he wants to admit his curiosity to himself. Cringing at the sourness overtaking his mind, he blankly stares at her. "[Name]," he calls, because he's only ever heard her given name. She meets his eyes with a questioning hum. "What's the fun in working for Kisaki?"

[Name] laughs to herself. "I actually hate Kisaki more than I let on." Izana disagrees. He's always quick to catch on to her reactions. Her attention flickers to the side while she shrugs, spotting Kisaki glancing back at the call of his name. A chuckle tumbles off her lips when her employer only glares daggers. She turns back to Izana with a hooded gaze, like nothing ever happens in her life either. "It's whatever. He makes up for it in cash."

It's the money. She's in his world for a few bills. "So you're smarter than Kisaki's dog, huh."

"Hanma?" Her brows rise and she giggles quietly. "Plenty."

Izana takes a step closer to get up in her face. She presses her back flat on the wall, but no emotion crosses her eyes. "You know we're planning to kill people, right?" Because it's the money for her, but it's everything for him. There's an empty space Manjiro carved by stealing everything from him.

He sees her shoulders relax, eyes narrowed. "The ends justify the means, I guess."

Something in the back of his mind tells him that his only sister dying isn't justifiable means to a stash of cash. He doesn't voice it, because disagreeing means they're not the same anymore. Kakucho, his servant, the one that's been with him for years dares talk back. Whatever this is—nonchalance, understanding, boredom, validation; call it anything—Izana gets high off of it. He allows it, otherwise things will never happen.

[fairygeek777]

Thinking about Dendy and how manga Dendy was super cruel to Usagi but really had none of his own agency and everything he did from act 11-13 was calculated and done for the sole purpose of obtaining the Silver crystal. Bro did not give 2 figs about anything else.

But 90s Dendy while still pretty cruel, was also simply carrying out orders with his own whims. Not the whims of Mamoru Chiba but Dendy had his own personality and goals unique to him if you think about it. Like he really is just taking the time to interact with Sailor Moon however he wants until he has to get back to business. Regularly has to say "btw im still your enemy you shouldnt trust me. Give me your crystal" after he hesitates to attack her, protects innocent cilvilians (who just happen to be her parents) and whisks her to safety (not within his job description) more than once. The cruelty of 90s Dendy comes from how the Dark Kingdom -specifically Queen Beryl- treated Mamoru. I think forcing him back into the armor of his past life was pretty cruel. Mostly because that armor was like a prison for him and probably became associated with bad memories for both he and Usa despite the memories they also had in SilMil.

Just a reminder, manga Dendy was playing on Usagi's familiarity with him. Whether it was something he was actually aware of or just information that Beryl fed him is up to debate. But his approach to his mission was specifically to get close to Usagi Tsukino in her cilvillian form. He definitely knew the whole time that Usagi was Sailor Moon and Serenity. Meanwhile 90s Dendy never intentionally interacted with Usagi. Only ever Sailor Moon and the one time he did Usagi was a stranger to him. Her identity meant nothing. He wasn't even allowed any kind of association with his life as Mamoru. Where Manga Dendy's cilivillian life was used to further the objective, 90s Dendy was kept as far away from his as possible.

By the end of it he's a puppet not even able to make his own choices as he was before. And when he finally comes back to his senses as Mamoru it just makes me think how he was so completely dragged into this after only just learning the truth about himself and Usagi as well and he "wakes up" wearing clothes from a life long past and the first thing he sees is the girl who has been fighting for her life and his battered and bruised by his hands. And the worst part is he doesn't even get the chance to do or say anything more than "thank you" and "goodbye" before he's attacked.

Like Mamoru never even met Beryl before that moment. He had no prior association with her and the second he comes back to himself she can't even accept him as anyone but the ideal prince she wants him to be and rips away any choice he had.

I dunno my heart just goes out to Mamoru whenever I see this 😭😭

At least Manga Mamoru was allowed to live at the end of the arc 😭😭😭