#the realm of consciousness is also supposed to reflect

[reginrokkr]

𝐂𝐗𝐂𝐈𝐕. As a continuation of this addendum (heck, it really has been past two years), 「Bedtime Story」 made me quite happy at the notion of realm of consciousness since it became a visual thing through Raiden Ei and further confirmed to be something that happens in 「Flowers for Princess Fischl」, as it was stated that those who are strong enough in magic can have one and we could say that Caribert fit that criteria.

Now, as for what Dain's in particular looks like it's quite emotional that what catches the attention the most is the Sea of Flowers at the End and how it's meant to soften both the Inteyvats' petals and the heart. This would make the perfect scenery to soften once again his weary heart after spending so long without a real home of his own. Suffice to say, it would be a show of deep trust from Dain's end if he were to bring someone to his realm of consciousness. Moreover, that trust and appreciation for the individual in particular would only cement further if he actually brings them to the Sea of Flowers at the End properly.

[bloodlust-1]

.·:*¨ Night Affairs ¨*:·.

Astarion x fem Tav — Explicit 18+

Summary: Oops! Tav accidentally ate a mushroom that causes her to completely lose her mind. Astarion finds her in this state and enjoy each other’s company, A little too much.

T/W: smut!

Notes: this is Pre- Astarion telling Tav his feelings for her. Also, this takes place in the under dark! Happy reading~

Tav’s body felt a subtle change that began to take hold on her. At first, she felt a gentle warmth spreading through her veins, accompanied by a tingling sensation that danced across her skin. Colors seemed to intensify, becoming more vivid and vibrant with every passing moment. Gods, she was feeling the consequences of mistaking a mushroom for something safely edible. Damn it, these mushrooms in the under dark are all confusing to her. How was she supposed to know it’d make her delusional?

It was already time for everyone to settle in their tents. Tav would have been trying to catch some Z’s like everyone else, but As time passed, Tav’s perception of reality became distorted. The world around her transformed into a kaleidoscope of swirling patterns and shifting shapes. Sounds became amplified, echoing through her ears with an otherworldly clarity. Her senses were heightened to an extraordinary degree.

She wondered outside her tent, away from the camp unknowingly, and stumbled her way around the underdark. It was beautiful with its luminous plants of all kinds. Tav’s thoughts took on a dreamlike quality as her mind wandered through uncharted territories. She experienced a profound sense of euphoria and introspection, as if she had been granted access to hidden realms of consciousness. Time lost its meaning as minutes stretched into hours and hours into what felt like an eternity.

From a short distance sat Astarion, admiring the access he had to life again. He wouldn’t admit it, but he loved the adventure away from home no matter how much he missed Baldurs Gate. He was in deep thought about his situation until he heard dragging noises. He reached for his knife as he saw Tav, clumsily dragging her feet around. Her eyes were widened, almost sparkling from reflections from all the glow of the mushrooms. There was definitely something off about her.

Tav's eyes caught Astarion, by his lonesome in deep thought. She noticed his odd stare at her, "Oooh, Astarion! My favorite person in camp. Isn't it soOooOoo beautiful tonight?" She drunkenly plopped her body onto the ground, now sitting next to him.

Astarion's eyebrows crocked, and he noticed her pupils were dilated. "Oh dear, I see what's going on here. What did you eat?"

In this altered state, Tav's emotions fluctuated wildly. Waves of laughter washed over her as she found humor in the simplest things. Tears welled up in her eyes, not from sadness but from an overwhelming sense of beauty and interconnectedness with the world around her. "I didn't knoooow, please don't be mad at me. I just want to see the pretty plants tonight." Tav wiped away her unjustified tears, her mind was going insane. She could only cling to what little hold she had on reality.

Astarion tilted his head and stared at her. He was unable to take his eyes off her, often staring directly into her eyes or admiring her physical features. He adjusted his posture to face her. Admittingly, Astarion was already catching feelings for Tav the night they indulged in each other's bodies. It was just a part of his plan to manipulate her, something he knew how to do all too well. He just didn't expect to enjoy himself more than usual. It actually felt— good?

Astarion cleared his throat, "You must be losing your fucking mind. I bet anything we talk about now you won't even remember by tomorrow."

Tav slouched her head on his shoulder, her body twitching every so often, "I reaallyy don't want this to end. I lovE traveling w-with you guys, so much fun. I'm scared to go back home..." She spoke with slurs and all kinds of messiness. However, due to the fault of the mushroom she ate, the truth comes spilling out of her mouth uncontrollably.

Astarion perked up, "Scared? Darling what in the hells do you have to be scared of?" It wasn't like she had Cazador hovering over her shoulder. She couldn't possibly feel what he felt.

Tav's face ingrained with sadness. She clutched her trembling hands together, trying to steady herself. The fear that gripped her was suffocating, threatening to consume her entirely and the high didn't help her cope either. Home for her was anywhere but home. She wanted to run as far away as possible from this place that held nothing but darkness for her. "It's hard t-to talk about...You know that feeling that power someone has over you. It's hard to escape something that happened for soooo loonnngg." She rubbed her wide tired eyes. The area around her started to feel like it was melting with colors.

Astarion furrowed his brows, oddly, yes, he knew that feeling. But why did she know that feeling, "I do. But why—“

Tav cut Astarion off quickly, "I LOVE making bread. I have a hidden talent for it...Although now it isn't a secret anymore, so now you know." Tav cracked up a laugh, the little random bursts of confessions entertained her. It was hilarious to her. For no reason of course other than the mushroom effect.

"Uhh, right..." Astarion chuckled softly. She's ridiculous. It's actually entertaining to him how obliviously out of her mind she was. This was great blackmail fuel, or perhaps something he could poke fun at her for.

"Y-you are my favorite camp friend." She smiled goofily.

"Friend? What about our late-night tryst, Did you not enjoy yourself?" Astarion felt offended at her comment. Favorite, sure, but friend? This 'friend' comment did not fit into his plans. Although, lately he has been catching himself smiling at Tav more. He started to notice himself staring at her longer, maybe even lustfully? His heart raced whenever she got close to him, this was unfamiliar territory for Astarion. He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, "Would it make you happy to try again?"

"Oh! Yes, yes. Something in me tells me that'd make me very happy. But hold on! You dont reallyyy mean that do you?" Tav leaned away from him, and crossed her arms doubtfully.

"I— actually don't know. It doesn't really matter what I say now, you'll wake up tomorrow with not a zero clue." His mind wondered. Even if he confessed maybe having feelings for her, she would be oblivious. But it could also be a good moment to test the waters. If Astarion got a bad reaction from Tav, she'd forget all about it the next day. This could be an advantage for him.

"What if I told you you're incredible? That my plan to easily course you didn't work. That my master plan fell apart and every little thing we did together felt— meaningful…That in the midst of this mess I actually find myself caring for you?" He softly pushes away a strand of hair that swayed over Tav's face. His heart started to race to see her reaction.

To his surprise, Tav fell quiet and stared up at him. Her face flushed red and her eyes went a little watery. "You do..?" She spoke softly. Her breathing became heavy. Tav went and wrapped her arms around him in a warm and comforting embrace. The world around them seemed to fade away as they held each other tightly.

At that moment, all of Astarion's doubts melted away as he felt genuine affection and acceptance from Tav. He couldn’t believe that she reciprocated his feelings, and it filled him with an overwhelming sense of joy and relief. As they sat there embracing each other, time seemed to stand still.

The hug spoke volumes without the need for words. It conveyed a deep connection between them, finally acknowledging their feelings for each other. It was a moment of vulnerability and trust, where they could let down their guards and allow themselves to be open to the possibility of love. After all, Tav was Astarion's first consensual sex affair where he didn't worry about Cazador. He could not ever imagine taking her to him. She actually made Astarion feel love. This made him only want to protect her from any harm.

"I promise I'll make this sound better when you're not out of your damn mind." Astarion held her close. It was such a refreshing feeling to love someone instead of loathing someone. He felt the heat of his cheeks flush, and Tav tugged on his sleeve.

"C-Can I kiss you, Astarion?" The way she looked at him with those eyes of hers. Big, full of lust. He saw this same look the night they had sex.

He chuckled cockily, "You couldn't help yourself? I would like that." No one ever asked for his permission, it was admired greatly by him. His lips covered hers in a swift motion, and a soft smooch was placed on her lower lip. Her skin was so warm compared to his, and it only made him yearn more for that warmth.

There they were, in an atmosphere lushed with glowing plants as they held each other tightly in its nature. They kissed each other until it got sloppy, their breaths going in haste. Astarion pushed his body over hers, forcing her back onto the soft moss.

Astarion gazed down at Tav. It took him back to that night, how beautiful she looked under the moonlight, and how beautiful she still looked now. He felt lucky to have met such a beauty, she had a charm he only saw from royalty. The kind that has people swooning over her hand, begging to make her their beloved. Not many people could say they bestowed these kinds of looks.

"Astarion?" a whisper left her lips, cutely yet— begging. Her eyes averted from his and she felt her body tense. No mushroom could mask her lust for Astarion's touch, it was written all over her face. Her little trembles of excitement gave it away.

"Just say the words, love. You know I can give you all the pleasures, Your wish is my command." His hands traveled up and down her thigh, caressing her skin tenderly.

Tav nodded as a shiver ran up her spine from his touch. She spoke with a soft tone, one that begged for him tenderly, "I need your touch."

"As do I." He hovered over her small stature, placing his lips gently on hers. A soft kiss it was. It was different from their last kiss because that one was just lust. This kiss had a heart in it, so naturally it felt so much better. Especially when the warmth of her blood heated his cold lips.

Astarion shut his eyes tightly, and a tingle ran up his spine. The passion from the kiss scrambled his mind because why did love feel this good? Love never felt good. Cazador claimed all of his spawns were a family, something to love. That was no love. But Tav, however, felt completely different. Even regular sex felt amazing, which was also just bland for him.

Astarion kissed her lips until they couldn't no more. Both gasped for air as their adrenaline ran threw their bodies. Astarion's shaft pushed hard into the seam of his pants, and it poked her inner thigh. He then adjusted himself so that he wasn't poking at Tav anymore.

"I want to save that for later, my dear. A day when you can wake up and remember it. So you can come to me in the morning with flushed cheeks and a racing heart." Astarion didn't want to sour a moment where he could make love and not just have sex. He'd rather wait for Tav to be completely aware of herself.

Tav nodded in agreement. Her body felt like she was floating on a cloud. Her high still clouded her mind, and her body still yearned for him. "Could you suppose still spoil me...?"

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Cheeky aren't we?" His hand raced down her curves, exploring the warmth of her skin, "I suppose I can, pet." Without a thought, Astarion swiftly tugged down Tav's pants. He pulled her legs apart so that her core was to full access to him.

His lips planted kisses all over her neck. The heat of his rough breaths hit Tav's skin, causing her goosebumps to crawl all over. All the while Astarion's hand was caressing over her folds. His fingers moistened as it stroked over her slit. Tav let out small moans as his fingers rubbed her clit. His motions were skilled, almost like a second nature to him.

“M-mphh…” Tav clutched onto the cloth of his shirt. His kisses grazed over her neck tenderly, and he nibbled on the lobe of her ear, “How does that feel?” He spoke in a breathy tone.

“Amazing.” She purred. Her legs twitched from Astarion’s touch. She became sensitive and more wet as he circled around her clit. He seemed pleased with the performance Tav was giving, the moans were a validation for him. But he wanted feel more of her.

With two fingers, he slipped it into her entrance. Tav gasped out of pleasure, the feeling was all too much and she spreader her legs more for him. He bucked his hand in and out of her. The warmth of her walls encased around his fingers, begging for more.

Tav cupped Astarion’s face, pulling him into a kiss that was muffled between her moans. His tongue danced with hers, a sweet taste he’s been thinking about the day they first kissed. Her back arched for him more, and it was granted, a third finger slipped into her and she pulled away from the kiss. A pleasurable wince left her lips and Astarion looked at her with red piercing eyes. He enjoyed watching her crumble under him. It made him feel powerful.

Tav’s head hung back as moans and groans left her mouth like a lyric to a song only Astarion could produce. Her wet core made it easier for him to fuck her with his fingers fast and swiftly. His arm burned as it continuously fucked her, he didn’t break his motion while beads of sweat formed on his temples.

Astarion suddenly lowered his head, he kept his fingers in her, and now his tongue was over her clit. His saliva trailed down between her inner thighs as her moans grew more intense. Her hand gripped a chunk of his hair, forcing his face closer into her core.

His tongue played with her clit, rubbing it in circles as his fingers thrusted in and out of her. An intensity swelled in her lower stomach, she gripped Astarion hair tighter as her finish comes to a near.

“F-fuck! Ahh— S-starion..” her back arched more and more against his face, like a two magnets attracting each other. His steamy breath huffed against her sex, awarding him with more groans. It was absolute bliss for Astarion. It was his first time spoiling someone like this. It felt so intimate and so passionate. If this is what sex felt like with a lover, he wanted to do it over and over again.

Tav yelled out a final moan of pleasure before releasing onto Astarion’s face. His tongue dragged along her folds, licking up any wetness he could as if he was drinking blood. He kissed her moistened core, he then picked up his head from between her legs.

Astarion used the back of his hand to wipe the cum off his mouth, his eye contact was like daggers. “Mmm…That taste of yours. It’s amazing.” He wrapped his fingers around the band of her pants, and pulled them up. Cleaning her up was a love language for him. To destroy someone sexually and then cleaning up the mess he caused, it was so liberating. Especially since it was Tav.

Tav sat up, her skin moistened red on her cheeks, “you’re too good at that. Do it again.” Tav teased him. She liked to have fun with Astarion even at the most tense of times.

“Cheeky pup. You might get tired of me if I keep spoiling you like this, however I couldn’t imagine ever getting bored of that taste of yours. You’re magnificent.” His finger stroked the side of her face softly. “Shall we get some rest? You’ll be needing it tomorrow when you’re sore.”

💤

The next morning Tav woke up with an aching head and also…a soreness between her legs? She brushed off the feeling and greeted her fellow camp members. Gods was she never touching another mushroom ever again. She pretty much went blank but she remembered a faint memory of Astarion face. But, she couldn’t tell if it was a wet dream or not.

She yawned and went to stroll around the camp to chat. When she made her rounds to Astarion he flashed her a welcoming smile, waaay nicer than he usually was, “Well look who we have here. How’d you sleep my dear?”

Tav pleasantly nodded her head to his kind words. “It was strange…but much needed. How did you sleep?”

“Wonderful. I wanted to say thank you for last night. It was…an experience I won’t forget.” He clicked his tongue softly. His face was smug and he walked away from Tav, who fell silent.

Her heart dropped in her chest and it all clicked together. The soreness, the stickiness she felt in her pants, and Astarion being extra nice. A moment she had alone with him and she could barely remember what was said. Tav was mentally cursing herself in her head. She was very fond of him and honestly, she wanted to figure out their dynamic. Only Astarion could tell the tale of their late night affair, but for now, Tav wondered all about her wet dream. Or so she thought.

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage !

[stevesbestgirl]

Dreamweaver

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Warnings: mentions of depression, a few curses, briefly mean!Morpheus, soulmate tattoo bs, I took liberties with the lore

A/N: I started this forever ago when I was dealing with some stuff with my brother, so if it feels like a self-insert 🤷‍♀️ (no descriptions of reader's appearance)

5775 words

"Dream."

Lord Morpheus, also known as Dream of the Endless, raised his head from his desk, where he was pouring over a book.

"Dream!"

He heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before standing.

"Dream of the Endless, I hold your sigil and I call to you."

"Yes Death, I am on my way to my gallery as we speak."

"Forget your gallery, come here."

Morpheus suppressed a sigh. But with a sound suspiciously like the flutter of a raven's feathers, Dream disappeared from his library, appearing instead beside his sister. Death's gaze did not waver; she appeared to be watching a young pair seated on a mattress on the floor of a simple bedroom. One, a young woman, seemed to be comforting the other, a young man with enough resemblance to be a sibling.

Dream spared only a quick glance, "Why am I here, sister?"

Death finally tore her gaze from the two mortals, "Can't you see it?"

Morpheus watched the pair again, unsure of what he was supposed to be seeing.

"Maybe I'm just bad. That's why she left." Dream could see the wisps of despair puffing up around the boy, evaporating like drops of water on a hot pan.

"You took the fall when I broke Mallory's lamp when we were ten. Don't tell me you're bad," the woman insisted despite her soft tone. "And nothing you did made Bella leave."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Dream's gaze swiveled back to his sister, "I am unsure what it is I should be seeing."

Death huffed impatiently, "Open your mind for just one moment and consider that a mortal may surprise you." When he still stared at her, his jaw growing tight with impatience, she rolled her eyes, "She's dream weaving, Dream. You of all people should be able to tell."

"The dream weavers died out hundreds of years ago."

Death grabbed her stubborn brother by the shoulder, twisting him to face the girl again, "Watch."

Dream watched, albeit a bit disdainful, as the young woman continued to speak. She offered musings about their past. Their childhood seemed to have been a difficult one. But she made jokes, reminiscing and reflecting on what they could learn- how they could create better for themselves. And then he saw it.

Human consciousness, all consciousness really, clung to the Dreaming with tethers. Needless to say, humans clung particularly closely compared to most other sentient life. Each dream, though they varied in strength, was a connection to the dreaming. When a being began to lose the will to live, those tethers weakened.

Her brother's tethers were weak; not quite on the brink of severing, but looking rather exhausted. And while it wasn't possible for her to strengthen the tethers- only their owner could do that, she was reinforcing their connection to the Dreaming. The dreams she was sharing were indeed woven into an intricate web, right on the cusp of his realm.

Her own web was vast, ethereal silver glimmering in elaborate knots and designs, each one a waking dream. This girl's very existence was tied up in his realm.

His only show of emotion was a small parting of his lips, but that was enough for Death. "I told you so."

Dream said nothing, watching the girl speak.

"What are you thinking, brother?" Death prompted, clearly awaiting some kind of response.

"It appears that a new age of Dreamweavers may be upon us, sister."

"Are you going to speak to her?"

"I suppose I am duty-bound to make contact. Soon, more like her will appear, if they haven't already. If they go on unsupervised, they could damage the realm."

Death cocked an eyebrow, "Why do you sound so reluctant? You've never had issue with dream weavers in the past, have you?"

"Not yet. But I have an odd feeling about this one."

*

After departing with Death, Morpheus tasked Matthew with keeping an eye on the girl. She stayed with her brother through the night, the pair of them departing early in the morning and returning a short while later with what appeared to be a third sibling.

Only once the two young men were in each other's company did the girl leave, returning to her own home a short distance away.

She seemed lost in her own thoughts as she puttered around the house, cleaning up odds and ends before changing into a tee-shirt and climbing into bed. Underneath her eyes, dark circles were beginning to swell. She was exhausted.

Morpheus almost felt bad for her; this sleep would not be as restful as she might be expecting.

*

Y/N always had vivid dreams, both waking and while asleep. But she immediately knew tonight was different. Dressed in nothing but her tee-shirt and underwear, her bare feet were chilled against the dark stone floor underfoot.

A shadowed figure sat in a throne at the head of the large room, as though waiting for her.

"Hello?" She took a hesitant step forward, hands clinging to the too-short hem of her tee-shirt, which was barely covering the tops of her thighs.

"Approach, Y/L, L/N."

She did as the voice instructed, stepping forward on unsteady legs. It was male, authoritative and nearly stern. But it wasn't aggressive, or even raised in volume. He simply spoke and expected compliance.

It was also beautiful, deeply toned and unrushed in its delivery. He had an accent she couldn't identify, her mind reeling with thoughts as she approached the throne, still cloaked in shadow.

She felt exposed, painfully aware of his gaze on her. She gave her shirt another nervous tug down, trying to make sure she was covered. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, "What is this place?"

The silence stretched, her fingers abandoning the hem of her shirt in favor of fidgeting with the cuticles of her fingernails. But her hands parted hastily and she sucked in a gasp as she suddenly found herself fully clothed in a pair of dark jeans, socks, boots, and a black jacket over her tee-shirt.

She was relieved for both the privacy and warmth granted by the clothes, but her heart was pounding at the magic, "Am I dreaming?"

The figure remained in shadow, "Yes," he confirmed. "But more importantly, you are in the Dreaming."

She blinked, willing her eyes to make out the figure in the dark as questions bubbled up inside her, "And that would make you-?"

He rose slowly from his chair, towering over her at his full height, somehow still shrouded in shadow, "I am Dream of the Endless, creator of the Dreaming, King of Nightmares."

It suddenly became quite clear to her as she gazed up at him that he wanted her to be intimidated. The question of why still loomed.

"King of Dreams then too, right?" She couldn't find it within herself to give him the reaction he wanted, king or no king.

His voice remained level, "Yes."

"Am I forbidden from laying eyes on the King of Dreams?" She cocked her eyebrow, only slightly, in a challenge. She took a step backwards, inviting him to step into the light.

There was another long pause before he answered, "No, you are not." But instead of moving, the shadows seemed to loosen, pale skin blooming behind the darkness until his face was wholly visible.

It seemed the perfect match for his voice, slim with sharp cheekbones and a shock of deep ebony hair. Long, dark lashes framed his eyes, which were dark, almost entirely black in a way that should have been eerie. But they glimmered like stars, little specks of light dancing deep within their depths and seeming to invite her inside. She felt as though she was falling forward until the darkness swallowed her up.

But inside was far from dark. It was a massive stretch of blackness, yes, but far from nothing. The black was a canvas, swirling with color and light and looking like entire galaxies.

A mess of incoherent thought washed over her, driving her own thoughts from her mind. The galaxy showed her a beautiful woman. She felt insecurity, fear, but also something warm and safe she could only describe as love. Then she saw the sun, but the sun as she'd never seen it before. The sun through the eyes of someone who couldn't go blind. And then came pain, rejection, grief-

"You should not be here."

Then she was back in the throne room, balled up on the floor, her cheeks wet with tears. She sat up, hastily wiping her cheeks, but Dream was already hauling her up by the shoulder of her tee-shirt, her extra layer of clothing stripped away in an instant, "You dare to invade my mind?" His dulcet tones were reduced to a mere hiss. "As the King of Dreams, it is my responsibility to warn you that if you or others like you meddle in the affairs of my realm, it will cost you dearly. It seems that every time I show compassion to a human, you are determined to make me regret it. Cross my path again and you will not receive such mercy a second time."

She wanted to plead with him, to make him understand that it had been an accident. She didn't even understand what she'd done- were those his thoughts?

His change in demeanor stung more than it should have. But his sudden rage combined with what little she'd seen made it clear he would not leave himself vulnerable to her, and perhaps for good reason.

"I apologize for any offense, it was not my intent. I will do my best not to get in your way again." She offered him a sad smile, "And I'm sorry for your suffering."

His eyes glimmered in a brooding smolder and then she found herself jolting awake in her bed, a sheen of sweat glittering on her skin. She made a half-hearted attempt to tell herself it had only been a dream, but there was no denying what she'd seen- what she'd felt.

She felt out of place going back to her everyday life, but her work wouldn't wait for her. And there was plenty left to do for her brother, so she put it behind her, hoping that whatever she had done to draw the King of Dreams' ire was a one-time thing. Their interaction had left a lingering bad taste in her mouth.

She had hoped that her responsibilities would drive the memory from the front of her consciousness, but it continued to creep up on her each time she had a moment to breathe, haunting her rare moments of rest with nightmares. She suspected the King of Nightmares was wholly capable of sentencing her to a lifetime of nighttime terrors, but she wasn't convinced this was his intention. But if she was connected to Dream, as he'd called himself, the only way to fix it would be to visit the Dreaming again.

And now she was thinking about it again. She gave herself a shake; she had another long night ahead of her. So she turned up the music in her car and left for her brother's apartment.

*

"I thought I might see you back here, brother." Death looked smug as Dream appeared beside her in the same place they'd watched from last time.

"And why are you here again, Death?"

"To catch you in the act, obviously."

Dream made a disapproving noise at her joke, but didn't press further. He watched as she and her brother played a video game together. He'd done some reading in her book after her uninvited foray into his mind, though mostly out of spite. It had done nothing to reassure him that he'd acted appropriately.

Her childhood had not been an easy one. Teenage parents, poverty, and drug use had rendered her functional guardian to her two younger siblings at a young age. Once he arrived at the abuse resulting from her first romantic relationship, he'd stopped reading.

The two Endless watched for quite some time before speaking again, but surprisingly to Death, it was Dream who broke the silence. "Why are you truly here, sister?"

"It is part of my responsibilities to check on the humans whose ties grow weak."

"Do you spend this long on every one?"

She huffed a sigh, "No." Stealing a glance at Y/N, she admitted, "When she weaves the dreams, that strengthens the connection, giving a weak tie more time to recover."

Dream tipped his head, "Yes, as you explained last time."

"I'm starting to suspect that the dream she's woven around the center tether may be permanent."

"Is such a thing possible?"

"I don't know. Like you said, this could be a new kind of dream weaver." They both watched her laugh, drawing a laugh from her brother as well. "I wish I could just ask her what she's capable of."

Dream looked back on the way the girl had collapsed in his throne room, realization making his stomach sink, "She is unaware of her abilities."

"As far as I can tell." At Dream's silence, Death glanced at him sharply, "Why do I get the sense that you may have done something foolish?"

Dream was silent, reassessing his interaction with this new information. He'd brought her into his realm, exposed and confused, then put on a show of being intimidating and immediately lost his temper, resorting to threats and expulsion.

He refused to feel shame over actions taken to protect his realm, but he couldn't identify the strange pit that seemed to have opened in his gut. She likely thought him a monster, a nightmare himself instead of their king.

"Dream, what did you do?"

Death's voice broke him from his stupor, though he kept his gaze on the girl, "I brought her to my realm and lost my temper."

Death couldn't suppress an eye roll, but Dream didn't seem to notice, "What was it this time?"

"I suspect one of those new abilities allows her access to memory."

There was a long pause. "She got inside that thick skull of yours?"

Dream broke his gaze to send his sister a scathing look, "Yes."

Death sent her an appraising glance, "She seems to be holding up rather well, all things considered." It was meant to be a joke, but Dream thought the circles under her eyes were damning.

"You are typically far slower to admit you are wrong, so I ask you again, brother, what are you doing here?"

"After my meeting with the girl, I spent an entire evening working on new dreams and nightmares. It was the best work I've done in ages."

Now Death did smirk, "She inspired you then? Is she your latest muse?"

"My days of muses are behind me, sister. Aside from the fact that she is a mortal, my realm needs my full attention."

"Of course, brother."

*

That night, when Y/N fell asleep in her bed, she found herself back in the throne room. Muttering a curse under her breath, she stood, grateful that she'd slept in a pair of shorts this time.

"Approach, Y/N."

She did not obey the voice this time, stubbornly remaining in place and gazing resolutely into the dim light, which was only slightly improved from her first visit.

A moment, then two, passed before there came a sigh. "Very well." Several long strides later the King of Dreams had left his throne to stand before her. She avoided his eyes, afraid to repeat her mistakes.

"Dream King."

"Yes, I suppose I deserve that as well."

Tipping up her chin, she nodded, "You do." She seemed to catch herself, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what I did to end up back here."

"I brought you here- in both instances. You've done nothing wrong, I have realized too late."

She was stunned. She hesitantly met his gaze, relieved when her feet remained planted on the floor.

Dream held his expression steady and nodded, "I apologize for my prior behavior."

She surprised herself by tipping her head, "Thank you." She chewed her lip for a moment, "I'm sorry too. For before. I'm really not sure how I did it."

She knew she didn't have the leverage to flaunt a grudge against the Kind of Dreams. She was pleased with her own politeness, but she would not trust easily.

Dream was silent for a long pause, "What exactly did you see?"

She looked away, "Not much. A woman- a beautiful woman. The sun. And I felt-" His eyes seemed to pull her gaze back in, "I felt some of your pain, I think."

"I apologize."

Her brow furrowed, "For your suffering?"

He shook his head, "For yours, at my hands. We have much to discuss, but you will not struggle with nightmares from tonight on."

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile, "So, I can rest assured?"

Dream either didn't catch the pun or was ignoring it, nodding, "You may. Now come, have a seat." He led her back toward his throne, where a small tea table and a wooden chair sat on the dais beside his own.

She waited, watching him take his seat on the throne before she sat on the wooden chair, ruefully thinking of her own chair at home. And then it was her chair she was sitting in. No sound or movement accompanied the change, it simply was.

Dream raised an eyebrow, as if challenging the action, "Did you just alter the Dreaming?"

Face flushing with warmth, she stumbled over her words, "Not with intention."

His gaze seemed inquisitive, "Have you always manipulated the Dreaming so skillfully?"

She raised a brow, a reluctant smile forming at the corner of her mouth, "I'm not sure that was a compliment."

"Simply an observation."

"Sounds a bit sinister though, doesn't it? 'Manipulating the Dreaming.'"

"What would you call it if someone were to create their own clay sculpture on a block already used by someone else?" Dream wasn't offended by the action so much as he was curious.

"If it serves a new function, I would call it repurposing," she replied thoughtfully.

There was a long pause, "Indeed." She couldn't decipher his tone. "What if I told you that the person who made the original sculpture also created the clay? And that the only clay that would ever exist was his creations."

She sobered up a little, "I'm sorry if I've ruined your work. Once again, not my intention. I have a lot to learn about your realm."

His gaze trailed over the chair she'd conjured, noting the details. The golden colored thread in the stitching that glinted in the dim light of the throne room. The slight wear to the fabric around the arms. Dreams were often vague, even half-formed, because mortals struggled to shape the Dreaming. But Dream suspected he'd find a perfect match to this chair if he were to visit her home.

"Clay is never ruined for having been used for creation. However, some do not take kindly to their working being- repurposed. But that is what I brought you here to discuss."

She gave him a nod, "I'm listening."

His dark gaze seemed to pierce her, "You are something known as a dream weaver. Historically, dream weavers used their abilities to tether many humans to the same dream."

She blinked at him, expression blank for a long time, "I don't mean any disrespect, but could you be mistaken?"

"I could be, but my sister is almost certainly not."

"Your sister?"

"Death."

She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that had grown thick and slow.

"Why would you want humans to have the same dreams?"

"Back in the early days of human development, human dreams were chaotic and disorganized. Dream weavers helped drive human development by uniting many humans under the same dream."

"Dreams affect human development?"

That drew a surprising chuckle from the Dream King, "Dreams are human development. The world exists as it is because of dreams- because of the Dreaming." There was a marked note of pride in his voice at that.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"So like, the depths of the ocean and all the scary stuff down there was all dreamed up by humans?" He nodded. "What about space- the entire greater solar system? Is any of that real?"

"Created by dreams, but very real." She took a moment to process that, stifling a sigh. "You are displeased?" Dream raised a curious brow.

"That's a very human-centric reality. I kind of liked it when we were just little specks of dust among the vastness of the uncharted cosmos."

The corner of his mouth lifted in almost a smile, "You still are. But only because humans have dreamed it so."

"How have we survived this long? It seems to me that human beings have a tendency to destroy more than we create."

"Humans can be very destructive. But they are also very clever. No other species has demomstrated such an capability to dream up solutions to its problems like humans."

"So like, climate change. The solution to all of the pollution, to the whole climate crisis, exists?"

"Not exactly. It may or may not exist now. But it could exist if enough humans were to dream of it."

She rested her head in her palm, forcing a breath; she was starting to get light headed. This was overwhelming. Her next breath did not come as easily as the first, a fact not unnoticed by the Dream King.

"Are you alright?"

"I-" she swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump in her throat, "I think I'm having a panic attack."

Dream calmly reached out and brushed his hand over her forehead, his intent to soothe her distress. Instead, a sharp spike of heat burst through his palm, quickly going icy. He heard her gasp, but couldn't tear his gaze away as the trails of ice left behind dark lines of deep purple criss-crossing over his wrist.

"What the fuck?" Her voice was barely over a whisper, the only evidence of distress the high-pitched strain that overtook her tone. Tearing his eyes from his hand, he saw the same design decorating her hand in a blue so dark it was almost black.

Her wide-eyed gaze flicked up to his, "Did you-" She left the question unfinished, not wanting to make an accusation and unsure of what to ask even if she did.

"No."

"Do you know what this is?"

"No." His voice had gone cold and hard, just like it had been their first time meeting. Her eyes flicked back to the lines marking her skin and Dream saw the panic begin to rekindle in them.

After only a split second of hesitation, he pressed his palm to her forehead again, "Sleep, now. We will speak again soon."

Her eyes grew cloudy, but she fought against his magic with surprising vigor, "No- the- n-nightmares-"

Dream's hand seemed to slide down over her cheek to cup her face of its own accord as her eyes started to glisten with fear, "You will suffer no bad dreams tonight, Dreamweaver."

And as she faded from his realm, her consciousness joining her body in sleep, Death's words about the girl's resilience to seeing inside his head echoed again. But the lines swirling over his wrist stretched from his fingertips all the way up his forearm, nearly to the elbow, demanding his attention. They were delicate, weaving together and knotting at the crossroads between, like a tangle of flower stems and intricate lace. And at the apex of it all, the palm of his hand had an empty circle at the center.

As he stared at the mark on his hand, Dream of the Endless felt something he was neither accustomed to or fond of- he felt lost.

*

"You look like a kicked puppy today, brother," Death remarked, not breaking pace on her way to the next destination. The city street seemed to blur behind her, though her pace appeared normal. Dream's long strides quickly made up the distance, though he said nothing.

Death's raised eyebrow slowly lowered as she noticed the markings on his hand. "It appears that congratulations are in order."

The frown lines on his face only seemed to grow more pronounced.

"Unless-"

"Unless." Dream was unamused.

"Unless you are not pleased to have found your soulmate."

If he were mortal, those words might have rung in his ears, the vibrations enough to make everything he'd known crumble. But they were not enough because he was not mortal and he did not have a soulmate.

"You believe such foolishness, sister?"

"You are so confident it is foolish with the evidence staring you right in the face?"

"This?" He raised his right hand, "This is not evidence. I have never encountered such delusion in any text or reading-"

"And you will not. But if you sought out the people who can remember the farthest back in human history, they would remember."

"If it is so certain, why is it not documented?" Dream sounded annoyed that it was becoming more difficult to be skeptical.

"It is. But it has been changed in writings, splintered and embellished, transformed into something not quite the same. They never quite get it right. But they dream of it. Surely you have seen that."

"I have. Yet I have never met a mortal with markings like this."

Death suppressed a chuckle at his determination to disprove her theory, "I myself have not seen a soul mate marking in a long time. But they exist. I suspected as soon as you'd told me the girl got in your head."

"I suppose that was a sign as well," he mused bitterly.

"Yes, it was. Why are you so determined not to believe, Morpheus? You aren't usually the type to ignore evidence. I thought you would be happy."

"Happy at a cruel joke? Even if I accepted this as truth, it is clearly the result of Desire's interference once again."

Death shook her head, "Soul mates go even beyond Desire."

"Then why is my soul mate a human?" he demanded. "Am I meant to destroy human-kind in my pursuit of happiness, sister?" He knew he was being unfair, demanding such answers from his sister, but he would not allow her to light the hope inside him. He would not have what he wanted, that much he knew.

"Of course you aren't. I don't have all the answers, Dream. But be patient. They will make themselves clear over time."

That was not what he wanted to hear. "Thank you, sister. I must go." And he did, leaving Death alone just as a sigh fell from her lips.

*

All day long, Y/N got remarks about the lines twisting up her wrist. After a night of blissfully peaceful sleep, she woke up feeling refreshed, taking a moment to examine the designs that had followed her from her dreams.

The lines had filled in more since while she slept. What had been dainty lines had thickened to nearly an eighth of an inch- she'd measured. What was more, the deep, rich blue that had made up the original color was deeper now, with glimmers of royal purple, black, and the occasional glint of something golden- like a raven's wings.

The lines seemed to connect at every possible juncture. The empty circle at the heart of her palm seemed like the center, although she didn't quite understand why.

There was a lot she didn't understand; why did she have a tattoo at all? It wasn't exactly normal to wake up with new ink. And based on the Dream King's reaction, it was also not normal for ancient royalty to find themselves with a flash tattoo. But she would hopefully get more answers tonight.

She was embarrassed- mortified actually, at the way she'd freaked out last night. But she had to go back. He'd called her a Dreamweaver, whatever that meant.

But when she climbed into bed that night, she tossed and turned, anxious thoughts keeping her mind active. She felt a strange sense of trepidation whenever she visited the Dreaming; she wasn't exactly in a hurry to piss off the Dream King any more than she already had at their first meeting. But more concerning than the shadow of fear was the sliver of excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.

Despite her efforts to convince herself it was the remnants of the dream, muddling her emotions, even now she could feel his pull. She could practically feel him waiting for her on the other side of her consciousness. And when she finally did drift off to sleep, she never reached a state of rest.

Instead, she found herself seated in the chair she had left behind the night before in the throne room of what she presumed was the Dream Castle. Dream was waiting for her, his throne no longer shrouded in shadow. In fact, the whole throne room was warm and well-lit, her breath catching as she gazed around at the stunning architecture.

"Did you sleep well?" Dream's voice broke her stupor, somehow managing to catch her off guard.

"What?" Her head snapped to the throne, where he was waiting.

She watched the corner of his mouth curl up in a faint smirk, "You were concerned about nightmares, if I recall."

"Oh. No- yes, I um, slept fine." She wasn't sure why she was so flustered.

Dream let out a low hum, "Excellent."

She wasn't sure what to say, especially since Dream hadn't seemed to be in the best temper when she'd been here last. She had questions, starting with what had happened to her arm and ending with what the hell it actually meant to be a Dreamweaver.

"I'm sure you have questions."

She nodded, "A couple, yes."

"I will answer to the best of my ability."

Though her gaze lingered on the marks on her arm, the words that came out were, "What do I need to know about being a Dreamweaver?"

Dream was pensive before answering, "You must remember that the Dreaming, no matter how it responds to you, is my realm. What I say goes." You had to consciously suppress the shiver that wanted to rattle you at the intense way he held your gaze while he spoke.

She nodded, "You mentioned others- who may not take kindly to my abilities."

That elicited another pause, "That question leads to many more questions. Rest assured, I will provide an overview on my siblings, but not tonight."

She bit back the torrent of follow-ups and asked instead, "Are there more like me?"

He gave his head a solemn shake, "There were a great many Dreamweavers at one point in time. But eventually they stopped emerging and died out."

"No immortality then, I take it?" She was only joking, but he shook his head seriously. She suddenly felt shy meeting his eyes, "Are you immortal?"

He cocked his head like he was determining her intentions, "Not as you might think. I am not mortal- I do not age, grow old, or die by natural causes. Though it is exceedingly difficult, I can be killed."

The silence seemed to stretch as she processed what she had just learned. Everything should have seemed overwhelming- she shouldn't believe it. But she could feel the truth of it.

Finally, she held up a clenched fist, her eyes on the dark lines glistening in the light, "What is this?"

Dream was silent for so long that she almost asked again, but he finally said softly, "It is a soul bond."

Her gaze flicked to his eyes; the dancing lights there seemed to be waiting for her reaction. Then it fell to his own left hand, where the matching lines seemed so much more elegant on his pale skin.

"What does that mean?" She asked even though she already suspected.

"I do not know." That caught her off guard; she expected him to know everything. He certainly seemed to know more than she did.

She surprised him by asking, "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

He'd expected her to push for more information. "Have you always had these abilities?"

She offered a chagrined smile, "I didn't even know I had abilities, to be honest."

"You are quite skilled."

He made a vague hand gesture and she wasn't sure what he'd done. Then she caught a glimpse of light above her head, her mouth falling open at the intricate web of silvery white that seemed to hover over her head. She didn't quite understand how she had created this masterpiece of dreams, but she believed him.

It took her a moment to realize that he had paid her a compliment, "Oh- thank you." Her face felt a bit hot. "I have another question." At his nod, she continued, "Will I see you again?"

She couldn't explain it, since his eyes were so difficult to read, but he seemed pleased as he mulled that over, "You are not bound to me; you are free to go back to your life. But should you have need of the Dreaming, it is always here. I trust you can make your way back."

She couldn't place why she felt as though he were flirting with her; he clearly avoided expressing any kind of desire to see her again of his own volition.

She felt the urge to admit she wanted to see him again, grateful to her own good sense for stopping her before the words formed. Dream hadn't spelled out what kind of being he was to her, but she knew he was likely high above whatever a 'soul bond' meant. He was the definition of being out of someone's league.

So she nodded her head, "Thank you, Dream King."

A beat of silence. "Morpheus. You may call me Morpheus."

Her lips curled into a half-smile, "Thank you, Morpheus."

He wasn't prepared for how his name sounded when spoken from her lips. She wasn't prepared for the soft smile that graced his handsome face. Even solemn, he was beautiful. But a smile, faced directly at her- because of her- it was like knowing the sun was shining because of her.

She was so unprepared that she blinked, waking up in her own bed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. A wave of emotions washed over her; loss, frustration, hope, longing. She felt desperate to fall back asleep, to see that smile grace Morpheus' face again. But if that was going to happen, she would have to go to him.

[hypewinter]

Tw for blood just in case

Danny stared up at the sky, for once grateful that he didn't have to breathe. If he did, he'd imagine it'd be very painful considering all the wounds that currently covered his body. He couldn't even remember who he had just fought. Between all the challengers to the throne and the "threats to the timestream" as CW put in, he couldn't keep count. They all kinda blurred together after the 5th fight. All he knew was that his body hurt. And I'm probably bleeding profusely he mused morbidly as he felt liquid trickle from his nose and down his cheek. He barely had time to recover between each fight before he was thrown into the next. Not that the recovery periods were any better. When he wasn't fighting, Danny was sorting through years of backlogged paperwork. His healing factor reflected his state of exhaustion by mending his broken body at an incredibly slow pace.

The young king closed his eyes as the sun set. I'm so tired he thought. With nothing else to do until he was healed enough to move, Danny began cataloguing things that needed to be done once he got back to the Infinite Realms. There was a territory dispute that definitely required his immediate attention. Oh! And then there's that annoying meeting with the observants. Eh, he had been putting that off for a while, what was a little more time. He had to pick his new royal guard. Something Fright Knight was quite insistent on. Ellie also wanted him to visit soon. Danny continued going through his mental checklist, deciding which things could be put off and which things needed to be done right away.

Satisfied with his list, Danny began drifting off. Why waste valuable sleep time right? Before he could fully succumb to sleep's sweet embrace though, a glowing green portal opened up just above him. Danny screamed internally, expecting another challenger to come through. He was currently physically incapable of fighting off another opponent right now and hoped that whoever came through would take pity on him. At the very least maybe they would let him recover his strength out of some sort of honor code? Who was he kidding? He knew the odds of either option happening were slim to none.

Tears slipped out of the boy's eyes as he prepared for his second death. "It was a good run I suppose." Danny croaked. Oh God! He can't believe those were going to be his last words. That was when the figure finally came through the portal to reveal.... Clockwork!? The time ghost blocked out Danny's view as he came close and observed the boy. Then he uttered one sentence "Take a break." With that, green flooded Danny's vision as he was portaled away somewhere, his consciousness slipping away.

--------

Superman stared at the boy in front of him. He lay unconscious in the grass and looked so peaceful one would think he was sleeping. Except for the blood. It was everywhere. Flowing freely from his body and soaking into the soil. Superman couldn't even tell what his original hair color was or what he was wearing because of all the blood. There was also the unnatural way some of his limbs were bent. In fact, the Kryptonian would have assumed the child was dead, had it not been the barely noticeable rise and fall of his chest.

Superman swallowed as he opened his comlink. "Get me Green Lantern and prepare the MedBay." He said as he crouched down. He wouldn't dare to move the kid without proper support. "Don't worry." He whispered, "It's going to be alright."

[helldenizen]

Here's a masterpost for John Doe so he can be a part of @smallartistocbracket

I'm sorry in advance for all my description and text, I'm god awful with writing text and whatever I made up is kinda difficult for me to articulate. If there’s something you don’t get from this description, or have some general questions about John Doe(or my other characters) you’re free to ask!

They are an eldritch being who despite their pretty grim nature, generally is pretty chill. What makes them quite different from other eldritch beings is that they developed a genuine interest in humans. This is also why they have a pretty consistent human body avatar, which they use to interact with people and just hang around in the deep forest of their realm.

His powers are “Delusion” and “Lost”(explanations for those under read more)

Some bullet point facts:

They use any pronouns, but prefer they/him.

They managed to befriend one human, who is a conspiracy theorist and cryptozoology enthusiast(and who is also my other OC: Irwing Pasternak)

Their favorite animals are maggots(and he's generally really like insects, bugs and worms)

Their current avatar body is 188 cm(6’2 ft)

John kinda doesn't understand the way humans communicate with speech properly. So their speech patterns and intonation are all over the place. He doesn’t use intonation on the whole sentence, instead he uses it on every single word. He uses different intonation for every word, and he also makes small pauses between words.  (and that’s apart from them obviously, not understanding some social norms , a.k.a. “things you aren’t supposed to speak with others about”)

Smile is kinda the “default” of his face. It’s also important that no matter the expression he makes, their mouth will always be kinda open.

More info(and art) under the cut:

There’s quite a lot of things I made up about him, but a lot of them are related to other characters and aren't polished enough, so I will write some essentials.

What’s his “Delusion” power?

John Doe is one of four “eternal lies” siblings, and his birth name is Delusion. Though the name doesn’t represent what they are as a whole. John “Delusion” Doe represents the way consciousness affects and interacts with itself. Reflection, Imagination, and everything physiological(and psychiatric) is in his prerogatory, no matter how exactly it affects someone. You can say they kinda “keep” all those things in reality.

What’s their “Lost” power?

But there is more. First, a little background. You see, in my made up universe eldritch beings either spawn into existence themselfs or they are created by another one. If an eldritch being decides to create another one it is expected to do so alone. And that's how it went until John Doe, they were created by two pretty different beings. That’s why he’s responsible for two quite different powers.

“Lost” power makes things, well, get lost. But it’s not just power, it’s kinda the way he “feeds”, and is similar to what is breathing for humans — they are constantly “doing” it, can control the rate and some other factors to an extent, but most importantly, they can’t just stop it.

What can get “Lost”? Everything: humans, animals, plants, different inanimate objects, even information. 

But very basically, getting “Lost”, is being sent to John’s realm, and the consequences of being there. You see, the more you’re in this realm the more information about you is being erased from existence. So even if you get out of there(which is possible), you can find out that your friends and family don’t remember and even legal documents regarding you. If you spend enough time in the realm you will start losing memories yourself, and the end result of this is that you stop existing altogether. Though it’s highly unlikely that you will survive long enough to enter that stage, because this “Lost” realm is pretty dangerous.

On how his avatar body is made

Oh…um…buckle up with this one. And I think this one can be kinda distressing (yea this one, not the whole “Lost” realm stuff). 

You see John can't just create a body for themself out of nothing, he must use something for it. And the thing is, he can only use something that is lost in his realm. If he wants to look human… well… while it is technically doesn't matter if someone/something is alive for him to "use their matter" John really doesn't like the idea of actively killing someone, so he just waits for them to die… and he uses human corpses… and, like, he can just overtake it or "stitch" body from several corpses, but he learnt how to deform body matter that he “owns” to some extent… their avatar body is like, a corpse amalgamation. 

So, basically, what I'm saying, is that his body tone appears purplish, for a reason.

John also struggles with keeping eyes solid because of this, so they don’t actually recreate human eyes with their form. Instead he either makes you see(makes you hallucinate, basically) purple and yellow irises in place of eyes or just normal eyes(that depends on the situation). But mostly, they just wear shades.

[blackvahana]

Anyway. Lightning field.

Closer to being able to consciously understand it now the Daisy Fields - knew the names being similar was related - are a thing developing into... something similar.

There's mindspaces (mental spaces that have decent mimicry of real life) , there's reality shifting realities (elaborate mental spaces), there's... dreaming spaces, uh. There's places in the astral that blend with mental - realms displaced from atomic reality for lack of a better word seem to be on a scale from Perceptual reality to Mental reality for lack of better terms, and no, they're not (here at least) the same thing. Uh. But anyway. This body isn't caught up on things. There's also very mental astral spaces, places where the mind of an entity is undivorceable from the space. Thinking about the End of the World, a place where Lev is just... reality itself. These terms and boundaries are just not... something I'm going to stick with, I'm just laying this out to make a contrast to what I have to talk on

What's interesting me is these specific "ind of God" places that serve as, well, not mindspaces, not "realities", but explorations of the workings of the mind itself. They're like what I call Means of Access, which is effectively these Mental-Real intersections used to create and programme things in the astral, where the programming itself is presented as mental constructs but it's more just perceived that way because it doesn't exist in spacetime. For example, one of the MOA for ANVD is a control room - OK. thanks Grey for that image then - another is... actually, I forgot, so he probably doesn't want to share. But you could translate the programming into say a control room where you turn knobs and a forest where you water trees and such, it's not so much visualisation as it is almost interactive real-time visions

It's like that. It's also like those places in the astral where the spirit is indistinguishable from reality... It's. also. hence why I listed all these things. it's own distinct category

Traversing the minds of spirits - but specifically like MOA where it's not that you're in a mindspace, you're in the minds workings and programmings itself being filtered through Perception

Yeah. Anyway. That's where the lightning field is. The lightning field exists at the gateway point of Indra-Zeus' sort of. I'm going to sya barren womb. The place where a womb should be between the black starry gateway of the cosmic waters that reflect the stars and night sky, and the specific lineage from Zeus. That's twice now I've typed Xeus what's the deal here - oh I know the deal. Thoughts overseen by Lev and not the other old man. Thanks Lev.

Specifically... The lightning field is the electric field of his own brain, metaphorically. It's... I can't stress enough how much it's this circle home around the - hole* around the. nothingness. The cold and the hot that create storms is a distant metaphor. This is... Primordial

So... In setting up the lightning field again... Zeus is one of those people whose brains I'm supposed to be reordering and such now. I guess that's what the lightning field is about... But there's also a lot to be said about how he wants it more accessible again. There's a lot to be said about it full stop, there's a tonne of intricate metaphor that goes into it (thinking about how it holds the cave hand prints of him and select children, and how it's red layered clay, and so on)

It's... interesting. The thing that bothers me is that he's very much the type of person - I say type as if anyone else is like him - to coax people along into doing things for him that are completely and utterly obscured, encoded very literally to the point that various parts of his mind and bodies hold only partial keys and speak their own codes so that even if you gathered all of him present you wouldn't be able to get the whole picture, even he doesn't carry the whole picture... So you know. A little "I'm not taking orders right now" given that holding the keys to deep mind things is... it's not the truth. It's never the full truth from him.

And yet... I know this place like the back of my hand, I'm so familiar with it, and with the way we blur there's a lot in it for me, presumably.

[astro-lekha]

What Does a White Aura's Spiritual Significance Entail? || Astro Lekha

Auras and chakras are related, therefore it's necessary to grasp what they are before delving into the importance of a white aura.

It makes sense that the name "chakra" derives from the Sanskrit word for "wheel," as chakras are spinning centers of energy that function as our life force. From the base of the spine to the top of your head, the body's seven primary chakras are lined up in a straight line. Your physical body and your spiritual energy are linked by them.

What does an aura's white meaning entail? White is supposed to have a very high vibration energetically and correspond to pure light. One of the most uncommon aura hues is white. It suggests utmost spirituality, honesty, and purity.

The Relationship between the Crown Chakra and the White Aura

Someone with a white aura feels pulled to the higher spiritual realm since the crown chakra is situated at the top of the head or just above the head. They are drawn to self-awareness, presence, knowledge, self-realization, and connection to a higher force.

Though not in the traditional sense, the white aura is more strongly linked to the healing arts than any other aura. White often deflects negative energy and auras simply by its appearance because it is a reflective aura. People with a white aura are naturally protective, shielding the weak or vulnerable from potential adversaries.

A solid white aura that is bright and glowing is connected to purity, charity, wisdom, and the ability to resist corruption. Additionally, it stands for greater consciousness, heavenly connection, and healing skills.

However, if the white seems dim or cloudy, this can be a sign of naivete and selflessness.

What Does a White Aura Tell Us About You?

White aura folks, who aren't often empaths, have a lot of empathy and tend to gravitate toward those who are in need. Those with a white aura are frequently attuned to when something is off or when someone is having difficulty. However, unlike empaths, their inherent innocence makes them susceptible to being tricked by the dishonest. Similar to how many persons with a white aura have been used purely for good deeds and helpfulness.

The meaning of the white aura might be much deeper, depending on your personal and spiritual views. It is frequently thought to stand for a relationship with God or someone who is under the watchful eye of angels. People who miraculously survive life-threatening events, for instance, are reported to have had a white aura surrounding them, even if it was just momentary. Whether you genuinely believe in these qualities or not, it is undeniable that folks who have a white aura are generally good and upright people. Honesty, loyalty, refraining from negative behavior, and a visibly apparent sense of selflessness are all obvious to everyone.

Asserting a White Aura identity

White aura persons tend to be naive to other people's genuine motives since they want to see the positive in everything. Unfortunately, they are vulnerable to being exploited by deceitful or manipulative behavior. They may also struggle to grasp reality if they are too spiritually attached to do so. Overly harsh and narrow-minded judgments may result from this practise.

A negative aura and those who align themselves with it are repelled by the white aura's purity. It doesn't have the same intrinsic responsiveness as the purple aura, but it's just as spiritual and determined to help individuals who are in trouble. Although those with a white aura make wonderful companions and lifetime lovers, they will always put their seemingly divine and selfless mission to aid both humans and animals first.

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP WITH THE PEOPLE OF WHITE AURA

As long as you share their moral convictions and refrain from engaging in negative behavior, making friends and falling in love with white aura people is simple. They are dependable and helpful as friends.

Negatively, even if the person with the white aura never expresses it, individuals who have several shortcomings could feel condemned or even unworthy of being in their presence because of a sense of guilt. Whites frequently have a transcendent perspective on life and feel an inner obligation to a higher power or drive, which can irritate soul mates who don't share the same beliefs.

As a result, it's crucial to approach any relationship with a person who has a white aura as a whole. You should act as though it will never change, even when it might in the far or near future.

WORKPLACE, CAREER, AND PROFESSIONAL LIVES OF WHITE AURA PEOPLE

The occupations that include social connection or benefit others are the ones that make white aura people the happiest. It may be quite difficult for them to excel in their career if it lacks both of those qualities because their attention is constantly elsewhere.

They frequently work in animal rescue organizations, as low-level volunteers for charities, as nurses, and therapists, and in other professions where their natural abilities can be seen.

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[lightcreators]

Usually, how predictable current circumstances were would have bored him soon enough. It wasn’t funny when his poor victims succumbed to their own temptations, unable to self-controlling themselves, unable to holding back consciousness inside their brain --- it was part of the game to seeing them agonizing with their desire to put him back in his place, where every following words escaping his lips will turn the task harder, where every second will be an magnificent struggle he would be the discrete whisper on their ears … Nevertheless, how different it tasted --- he appreciated it. An brave Gryffindor who volunteering themselves to be swallowed whole by an Slytherin --- he had been awaiting such opportunity even since his obsession with Potter started over that never-forgotten moment of rejection … Amusement was single emotion vibrating all across his expression, managing only not to be condescending even if temptation stayed. Regardless whatever defence they could use against him, he had the control. For now, how he wanted to playing with them was quite the unanswered thought. Another mocking smile welcomed their last remark. Talent? Oh yes, maybe for common wizards. No, what he was seeking for was achievement, and they could becoming one little fragment of it. Achievement. International acknowledgement, world-wide reputation, becoming part of the large history … it will be his most bright revenge against a world that left him down once. It was the place who merited his metaphoric twin, that ghost he had to brought justice for --- to be known by everyone, to be scary for everyone but remaining trapped within the shadows of the underground, for be that dreadful Emperor in middle of the witches spheres … an combination of three realms he had been dreaming during an entire past life in mental torment. Did they think he could be affected concerning reminder of his reputation? As an Malfoy, mistakes weren’t something he could afford without consequences. As an Malfoy, he cannot experience his teenager years the same manner of other people, for be remnant of a lost legacy of noblesse who had to representating his own family … and he cannot escape responsibilities of an heir he embracing happily. They were also funny to remind him about his wealth. Ah, he was well-placed for know what to expect of rich people. How he was supposed to be offended?  ❝ You have little expectations then~ ❞ He noticed mockingly slowly inside an intense sound before following slowly, remaining deeply amused. ❝ Something terrible~ ❞

Even since consciousness had been made his dream had come true, that he could finally embracing his metaphoric twin perspective and resurrecting him, he promised to himself to never fall into misery again. He wouldn’t become the boy he had been twice. He wouldn’t losing himself inside an complete lack of identity --- regardless if definition of self had becoming more and more complicated to define, inside that stagnant impression none of his feelings belonged to him, nothing of his being was truly unique, remaining that horrible mirror … of reflection where his different features had to looking like his past --- by missing his only chance to becoming another name inside the name of Malfoy. Another giggle betrayed his lips. If his reputation of a tyrant inside Hogwarts was too much to handle for the students, they weren’t ready to having him as future God of the Underground inside the wizarding world --- being the one deciding, and show how tyrannical he can be otherwise. He was curious. Oh, he was really curious. ❝ Are you jealous of me? Are you envious of me? Are you the one standing each time with stars in the eyes by looking at me? ❞ Calmness was added inside these provocative questions, as he supposed it was positive. That inferiority complex, these possible desires swallowed back, he had been experiencing them before, still experiencing them harder that they could imagine. ❝ Reputation and wealth can be anchored.❞ What did he have? What kind of question was what? He was playing with his reputation. With his wealth, he didn’t have to care on the future. ❝ I have an confidential surprise for making sure I’m losing nothing. ❞ 

Oh, interesting answer! Meaning they weren’t all clinging towards the Known-It-All of the Gryffindor House! Well … his gaze cared more about what Potter was doing, his bad. No matter how he was searching to distracting his attention elsewhere, his attention always returned deeply focused over dear Potter. ❝ Oh, interesting! ❞ He offered a happy smile. Happiness was definitely inside his expression, as disconcerting it could be for them.  ❝ Such prideful sentence --- ❞ His reaction won’t be what they could have expected. Impressed? Maybe. Possibly. Probably. For sure, at the moment their form transformed, an spark of intense interest looked at them with an swallowed contentment, where expression of his smile almost turned fully inhuman --- as there was something he could dig inside their psyche. He knew, he was totally aware they had wanted to prove themselves worthy by showing him some proof … but how fast they releasing themselves was a treasure he will not waste. Himself was amused about how he automatically wanted becoming part of their conscience. Himself appreciated how he wanted becoming an slight fragment of their psyche. Waves of approval resonated still inside his gaze, as something truly honest at the moment, as a message that had to be exposed regardless current circumstances, having no consideration for how they might be troubled in consequence for his immediate acceptance. For their surprise, he won’t even comment of it. It was part of the surprise. It was part of butterfly he searched. ❝ You will have a hard time to convince me. ❞ Only these sentences were said carefully. In front of Illusions that could confirming everything, what kind of magic could be higher that it? What kind of magic can be better than him when he was shaping emperors and queens? What could be higher where he was the veil of the universe? What could be higher where he was every form inside the world? ❝ How much do you really understand magic? ❞ He answered another time amusingly and calmly, as he desired wanting more words on their part. Playfulness returned soon enough inside their features, larger than before. ❝ I didn’t buy myself an place inside this school. I’m here because it’s my stepladder for be the best  ---  though I would reconsidering the term best for describing Hogwarts … ❞ He laughed another time. ❝ Glad to know you are happy my future is all prepared for me I have nothing to bother! Isn’t wonderful? Having all the time for having fun for have only that to do of my time! ❞ He was an hard-worker and they probably knew that, about how they must had heard how he wanted to be excellent … as he was feeling incredibly bored by current lessons they received, about lowered magic they were involved with when he had to find that high magic himself. No returned poison was returned during such innocent sentences, as he didn’t care about the amusing attempted venom supposed to hurt him. ❝ My name is more interesting than your thoughts, another surprise! ❞ He mused playfully. ❝ Besides, if I listen to you, and have no identity on my own, I can be anyone I want, mh? ❞ Another laugh followed. ❝ Oh, sorry to inform you I do have real friends able to handle my bullshit, which I am deeply grateful for!❞ Without warning, a darkened gaze born inside his expression, watch them right into their eyes, always mockingly inside his next words. ❝ Do you want to keep me company? Are you begging me to becoming your real friend for making me feel less alone? ❞

               ˜”*°•.      Leave .  Leaving  was  perhaps  the  cleverest  option ,   the  only  way  to  not  give  the  other  the  reaction  he  so  desperately  craved .  However  it   was  impossible .  Every  single  word  that  escaped  Malfoy’s  lips  only  adding  to  the  fury ,  the  aversion .  This  was  exactly  what  he  wanted,  though,  wasn’t  it ?  Touch  a  nerve .  He  was  right .  They  wouldn’t  have  reacted  this  way  if  they  didn’t  care ,  if  there  wasn’t  indeed  a  nerve  to  touch  .  But  at  the  same  time,  maybe  he  was  wrong .  Maybe  it  was  his  face  just  asking  to  be  punched  and  their  good  heart  telling  them  to  give  Draco  what  he  so  desperately  yearned  for .  ❝ Talent  is  what  remains .  Reputation  and  wealth  can  be  lost,  and then  what  will  you  have  ?  ❞  This  was  the  difference  between  them .  Between  most  people  in  the   world ;  people  that  had  too  much  could  lose  it  all .  But  when  you  didn’t  have  anything  ?  You  could  only  earn .

An  eyeroll  was  all  given   upon  the  other’s  remark .  ❝ To  your  surprise  I  am  not . ❞  Granger  was  Granger  and  they  had  nothing  to  do  with  her .  Didn’t  particularly  like  her ,  didn’t  particularly  dislike  her .  They  had  their  friends ,  they’d  sneak  out  in  the  Forbidden  Forest  more  often  than  not  -  not  exactly  what  Granger  was  known  for .  Another  push  as  Draco  laughed  ;  oh  how  close  they  were  to  hexing  him  into  a  frog ;  they’d  be  much  more  useful  as  a  frog  anyway,  much  less  annoying  too.   ❝ I  understand  magic  better  than  you . ❞  The  words  echoed  abrupt  as  they  transformed  into  the  female  form  mostly  subconsciously  than  anything .  Mostly  because  subconsciousness  had  wanted  to  show  off  ,  to  prove  the  other  just  how  much  more  special  they  were  than  him .  ❝ What  about  you ?    Did  you  buy  yourself  a  place  in  this  school ?  Must  be  nice .  Doing  everything  with  your  dad’s  money . ❞  Words  that  came  hostile,  dripping  with  belligerence,  with  something  the  venomous .   ❝ Tell  me  this  Malfoy .  Do  you  like  it  ?  Having  no  name  of  your  own ,  being  none  but  your  father’s  son  .  Having  some  adopted  followers  pretending  to  be  your  friends  because  you  can’t  have  real   ones .   ❞ 

[amxrany]

The World on the Other Side of the Mirror

WARNING THIS IS A VERY LONG POST AND ALSO CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM CHAPTER 6 AND SPECULATIONS ABOUT CHAPTER 7

Once again this is just my theories/speculations, they may be right or wrong but it all depends on you on what you're going to do with the information my potato brain came up with (also this was supposed to be posted a long time ago but my thoughts were so scattered so 😅)

(Translations are from Otome Ayui and ガスマスクゲーマー/Gasmask on Youtube)

So watching the translations for Chapter 6, it can be noted that Mickey appears a lot more in this chapter. In the scene where Epel and Yuu chase after Rook, Mickey appears and says this...

(From Otome Ayui on Youtube)

After all that it also shows scenes of Grim getting taken away to STYX and Ace and Deuce in the infirmary.

The next part where Mickey appears once again is near the end of Chapter 6, where everything was resolved, and we see Mickey again through the mirror. We were also about to show to Grim that Mickey was real but Grim also says that there's nothing reflecting onto the mirror...

(From ガスマスクゲーマー/Gasmask on Youtube)

Mickey also found it strange that he can't see Grim either, only us. He also states that he can only see fog around us, Mickey then proceeds to describe how his room looks like and ask us if we can see it...

(From ガスマスクゲーマー/Gasmask on Youtube)

But since we're on the same case as Mickey where we can only see fog around him, we say no. He was sad that he can't meet more friends in his dream. And then Mickey proceeds to tell us that while we're away he saw someone in his dream room, he also described how they looked like...

(From ガスマスクゲーマー/Gasmask on Youtube)

After that part we hear an alarm going off with Mickey saying he needs to wake up. Mickey then says his goodbyes and him wanting to meet again before leaving which causes to think "Is the other side of the mirror a dream world?"

Now let's go to my theories/speculations:

Let me break this down into parts so that it's easier for me and you to understand:

About Mickey

The Person Who Appeared in Mickey's Dream Room and The Dream World as a Whole

What Will Happen in Chapter 7

1. About Mickey

So now we know how important Mickey is especially in the future parts of the story. But with the things he's been saying throughout Chapter 6 such as wanting to help us find Grim and wanting to make new friends made me think...

Could it be possible for Mickey to find a way into Twisted Wonderland?

It was mentioned at the very beginning of this post that Mickey wanted to help us but he couldn't, so wouldn't there be a possibility that when we're in grave danger Mickey will find his way into Twisted Wonderland? Like Mickey could possibly help us in fighting OB! Malleus, heck maybe even OB!Grim.

2. The Person Who Appeared in Mickey's Dream Room and The Dream World as a Whole

As of right now we don't have that much information about the Dream World other than Mickey's Dream Room and how it was the first time that someone enters his room. Based off Mickey's description, there's only one person who fits the description of "silver hair and mysterious eye color" which happens to be Silver (Mickey why you gotta make our lives harder with the mysterious eye color part 😭), which meant that Silver most likely ended up in Mickey's room in his sleep.

However, since we do know that Silver has his curse/narcolepsy, how did he only end up in Mickey's room now even though he sleeps a lot?

The answer to that question would most likely be that Silver was probably in a deep sleep after the fight with the Charon. He most likely wasn't fighting his sleep anymore which caused his consciousness to move somewhere else. Now this is where it gets interesting...

How did Silver end up in the Dream World of all places?

This would most likely connect to Silver's magic. It's possible that Silver could go into different dream realms or dreamwalk. It is also noted that Silver mentioned he saw us before in a dream, which could either mean he actually saw us in a dream he had or it's just a reference to "Once Upon a Dream". A lot of people also speculated that Silver also has the same dreams as us about the Great Seven.

How come Mickey can see Silver but he couldn't see Grim?

Once again that is most likely because Silver was in Mickey's dream room, not in our actual room or Silver might actually be from another world, since Mickey can also see us, who's not from Twisted Wonderland. Well not necessarily from our world, he could be from another world that we don't even know of. Maybe Silver's ability of dreamwalking is seen as unusual or dangerous in Twisted Wonderland but in the world he was supposedly in, it was normal?

Another thing I thought about is how Silver can help Mickey end up in Twisted Wonderland to help us. Since Silver can travel from the dream world to Twisted Wonderland, Mickey might go with him.

I also have a question clouding my mind for awhile which is...

Is it possible for someone to be stuck in the Dream World?

3. What Will Happen in Chapter 7

Now we do know a lot of things will be brought into light during Chapter 7 (which means a lot of suffering and angst). The biggest topic Chapter 7 would tackle would be about human mortality. We know that Malleus and Lilia are both faes, which means that they'll eventually outlive everyone. Lilia has seen a lot of things in his lifetime (such as the war, serving the queen etc.) but for the case of Malleus, who only saw the castle walls his entire life and when he was the given the opportunity to go out and create relationships with humans, he was treated as an outcast.

Another factor to consider is our friendship with Malleus. We can't forget that we landed in Twisted Wonderland by accident and we're now fighting overblots and all that stuff while trying to find a way back home. For Malleus, we are literally his first friend outside Diasomnia so of course we would be really important to him. But if he gets the news that we're going back home, he wouldn't probably take it well.

Speaking of finding a way home, if Silver's UM or magic in general involves the ability of going through the Dream World and its different realms, then there could be a possibility that Silver can be the key into bringing us back home. Cuz think with me here, Twisted Wonderland as a whole feels like a dream right? Like beasts, flying brooms and magic all feel like a dream, and if Silver can actually go into different realms or whatever then he must have seen our world . Another factor could be the arrangement of dorms by chapter, well more importantly Chapter 1 and Chapter 7. Heartslabyul's story was Alice in Wonderland which is about Alice entering Wonderland, a dream, while Diasomnia's story is Sleeping Beauty, which can be related to waking up from a dream where Aurora is awoken by Prince Philip and they live their happy ever after.

If that's the case, then Malleus would try to prevent that from happening by putting everyone to sleep or perhaps out of blind rage, he unknowingly tries to kill Silver to prevent us from going home, or both could happen who knows. Now before you attack me on the killing Silver part we do know that murder is possible right? Leona tried to kill Ruggie when he OBed and Jamil really tried to murder Kalim to free himself from his servant title so that is possible as well.

If Malleus actually puts everyone to sleep then there's a chance that we might need to go the dream world and enter each of the boy's dreams to wake them up. One more thing I like to think about is what if Malleus breaks the mirror, which causes those who are in the other side of it to be stuck there until someone can find a way out. Their bodies will remain unconscious in Twisted Wonderland until their conciousness finds a way out of the mirror...

But what will happen to the other characters such as Sebek, Lilia, and Shroud Brothers?

The most common theory I've seen for Sebek is that he'll most likely be against yadi yadi yada and all that stuff. While that is possible, I highly doubt it honestly. I really want Sebek to get smacked with character development, that he's more than just a guard of Malleus, but he can also be his own person instead of just patronizing someone so much to the point it's kinda getting out of hand. Sebek is also an easily misunderstood character (I swear some of ya'll don't read his vignettes and it shows), I just really hope that Chapter 7 will explore more about his personality outside of Malleus and his personal issues, especially with his half and half thing going on and his mindset about humans, which is most likely caused by his environment. Sebek's motif is also unclear, so maybe he'll possess multiple motifs such as Maleficent's lightning and Shield of Virtue to correspond with Silver's Sword of Truth.

Ok now for Lilia, I'll be honest I'm quite unsure as to what will happen to peepaw. Yes he does set off a lot of death flags, but the "last wish" part could be interpreted as something else as well. It could mean that it will be last time Lilia will wish to the stars because there is now someone who will be the solution to that problem, which is most likely us. Lilia dying is still possible though, since a lot of games do kill off characters yet still make them playable, but then again this is also Disney so if they do kill him off, they'll most likely revive him out of nowhere so who knows 🤷‍♀️.

I absolutely love how smart it was for the creators to let Ignihyde help us for Chapter 7. Since Chapter 6 tackles about Death and Chapter 7 is a deeper dive into said topic, which is perfect, really. Idia knows what's it like to lose someone, and it was sudden too. So Idia would probably smack some sense into Malleus, telling him that he still has people who accept and love him for who he is, and that he should cherish them because you'll never know how important they'll become once he loses them. Since goodbyes are inevitable, it would be best to spend your time with them as if it's your last time together.

Ortho would also play a significant role in helping us defeat Malleus. If everyone is put to sleep, then Ortho probably isn't affected by it because he's a humanoid robot, and robots don't need sleep. Technology is also something Malleus isn't familiar with, so that can be used as a weakness in fighting. In terms of fighting Malleus...

Wouldn't it be more sad and painful that instead of Silver delivering the final blow, it will be us doing it? How sad will it be that Malleus's only friend is the one who has to smite him down...

But that is all for this post thank you so much for reading and making it this far 🙇‍♀️ You can also send in your own questions or theories in my inbox, since it's currently open. I will try my best to answer any of your questions and I would also like to listen to your speculations as well 😊. May the world prepare us for the emotional roller coaster of sadness, pain and suffering which is Chapter 7.

[windvexer]

Hello chicken, I read on Tumblr that you can die on the astral plane... But I haven't understood properly what it means. If you die there, what happens to the soul? What about the body? If you can't go back to your body, do you fall into a coma?

Thank you for your time.

Hello!

Yes, you can, but you'd really have to work at it. I've spent hundreds of hours in the astral, much of it doing pretty stupid shit, and never been at risk of having my astral body die.

What happens to you depends on the specific definitions of what we're talking about.

For example, I believe in a difference between astral bodies and souls. I do not believe people send their actual souls out when they astral travel. They are basically sending out a copy of themselves into which they have temporarily transferred their focus and attention, almost like an avatar in a video game.

This focus and attention can be mild and low in intensity (as when someone is only partially focused on the astral, but also doing things in their day to day lives), or it can be extremely focused and intense (as when someone loses all awareness of their physical bodies).

However, regardless of focus, all that is dying is an energetic avatar. Your consciousness is still safely rooted inside of your physical body.

We also have to question what we're talking about when we say "astral". The type of astral most people go to is unable to inflict physical harm on our physical bodies. You can absolutely have traumatic experiences, which give you memories of being harmed, but that harm often fails to reflect upon our physical bodies.

There is a method of sending your consciousness out not into a faraway astral realm, but directly into our own world. There is some amount of precedent to suggest that traveling through our world is more physical in general (physical world, physical experiences I suppose) and by moving through the etheric layer of our planet, injury may be much easier to come by. Reports of receiving actual injury or harm while traveling in the "middle world" seem to be more common. Consider old stories where a hare was shot, and they went to the suspected witch's house to find an injury on her person in the exact same space. As to actual death, I do not know.

It is sometimes believed that if your consciousness cannot find its way back into your body (whether or not you consider consciousness to be the same thing as 'soul'), then yes, your body will be in a coma-like state. I recall one account by a woman who practiced advanced dreamwork, and became lost in the dream world and lay asleep, unable to be woken up by anyone, for many hours until she was able to navigate her way back.

However, neither dreamwork nor skin-walking are "astral travel" in the popular sense. The "get relaxed and imagine yourself going through a door" type of travel is very unlikely to bring harm to anyone in and of itself, unless you choose to involve yourself in unsavory situations while on the other side of the door.

[ladywhistleclown]

Benedict Bridgerton x M!Reader: Valentines Fools

Summary: Benedict does something special. Word Count: 3334 A/N: I read this post about Valentines in Regency England, and found it so interesting that I had to write about it. of course, I made it gay. duh. Also, I wrote the ‘poem’ later myself, but its inspired by many LGBT poets/writers from history who wrote poems like it, about hope for future LGBT folks, just very simplified. This is some of my best work, and I don’t want it to get snubbed just because its not f/m, so like, give it a chance! MLM fic is also fun :) Enjoy! Warnings: Fluff, Drinking, Giggly men doing giggly men things (being stupid) -- Valentines Day, in your mind, was a rather dreadful event. Ladies and Lords spent days agonizing over hand-made letters, writing disgusting poetry about love, or rejection. You had never partaken in the act, partly because you had never had anyone to write to, and partly because even if you had, you had neither the patience nor skill to craft such detailed notes of devotion. You thought it best to leave such things to artists and ladies, of which you were neither. This year was only slightly different. After having met Benedict at Lord Granville's, striking up conversations about art, women, and your places in society, you had developed a rather strange relationship, one that you would almost call a courtship, if it wasn’t so clearly an impossibility. Benedict simply wanted to explore something new, something outside the realm of society and expectations, and you, lovesick fool that you were, happily obliged him. It was nothing more than attraction and curiosity. Second son or not, Benedict could never marry a man. Even if he wanted to.

At least you could drown yourself in booze at Lord Granville's. He was a good listener, with even better advice, and you knew that he understood exactly your pain. It was here you found yourself, a day before Valentines, throwing down your sixth beer and lamenting to Granville, who sat patiently by your side. “Society is not kind to those like us.” You sighed, running the tip of your index finger along the outer edge of your glass, staring blankly at it, as though if you drank enough, the answers would appear in the liquor. “No, it isn’t. But we are kind to each other, and ourselves.” He replied, looking over you with pity. You had never been much of a drinker, not for as long as Granville had known you, but your infatuation with Benedict had brought it out in you, and he wondered if it was a mistake to invite the Bridgerton boy here, if it caused an old friend to suffer in a way that was very familiar and personal to him. He knew the pain of impossible love too well, and saw himself reflected in your morose state. “Of course. You’re too kind to me, Granville. I talk your ear off about my foolish troubles with Bridgerton, but never think to ask of yours.” “I am not nearly as troubled as you are. And as I said, we must look out for each other, as the ton certainly will not.” he lifted up his own drink, pausing just before it reached his lips to glance at you, “Perhaps I should dis-invite Bridgerton from future events?” “Oh hell, Granville, don’t torture the man on my account. He enjoys the art and the company, and besides that,  I’d rather him here than at some brothel.” you grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth, an embarrassing slip revealing just how deeply attached you were. “Apologies. The alcohol has loosened my tongue.” “No bother. I understand that jealousy quite well.” Granville said, his voice still light and amused, and you couldn't help but laugh as he took a sip, winking at you before putting his glass down. “What jealousy?” Came a loud voice from directly behind you. You jumped, Granville almost knocking his drink over in his shock. Of course, he would arrive now, when you were drunk and foolish. You breathed out quickly, praying that you would say nothing incriminating before turning to face Benedict. He looked confused, glancing from Granville's face to yours, before reiterating, “What jealousy, Granville?” “Merely of other artists. I’m sure you know it too.” He recovered, taking another drink before gesturing to the table, “Care to join us?” Benedict sat in the chair closest to you, and you shot Granville a look of pure spite. In your drunken haze, everything seemed too much. His voice was too smooth, his smile too large, and the way he draped an arm across your chair, caging you in, was entirely too casual. You promised to whatever God was listening that you would slaughter Granville for this. “Of course I do. You know better than anyone.” He agreed, sliding easily into the conversation. You remained silent, not trusting yourself in your inebriation to respond beyond a simple hum of agreement or a grunt of displeasure. If you allowed yourself to speak freely, no doubt you would be weeping in Benedict's arms like a little girl within minutes. “What do you think?” You started, retreating from your thoughts to find both Benedict and Granville looking at you. Benedict’s eyes shone with thinly veiled concern, tilting his head and gently shaking you by the shoulder, while Granville simply smiled in amusement. “I..was lost in thought. My apologies.” You said quickly, waving Benedict’s hands away and sitting up completely. You were drunker than you thought, and briefly you wondered if you would even be able to make it to your carriage without help. You figured if you couldn’t, you would force Granville to escort you. He certainly owed you, after pulling this little stunt. “You’re wasted. Perhaps you should head home.” Benedict said gently. You huffed, shaking your head. “Don’t concern yourself with me, I can take care of myself. Now. My opinion on what, exactly?” “Valentines,” Granville supplied, glancing into his empty cup, “we were talking about all the effort that goes into such cards and letters. Artistry, in a way. What do you think of it?” “I find the holiday wholly unnecessary. And it takes far too much time to make such delicate things. A canvas is much more secure.” you huffed. Benedict stiffened beside you, although in your semi-consciousness, you barely noticed, your eyes fluttering between shut and open. “So you wouldn’t make any?” Benedict asked. “No.” “Would you receive them?” “I suppose it would be rude to deny such labors of love. But I have never received one, and I doubt I will this year. Ladies don’t send cards to men like me.” you shrugged, drooping over the table. The longer you sat, the harder it was to hold yourself up. If you passed out, it would be a good escape from such intimate topics with Benedict, so you allowed yourself to slump on the table, sighing. “Alright, that's enough. I’ll help you home.” Benedict declared, standing up and taking you by the arm, heaving you up. You groaned in protest, but didn’t fight as he slung your arm over his shoulder and half dragged you away from the table, Granville following behind. “Apologies, Bridgerton. Next time I won’t allow him to indulge quite so much. You may end up getting more than 10 minutes with him that way.” He said cheerily. “I’m sober enough to know when I’m being mocked, Granville.” you opened your bleary eyes to glare at him, finding his eyes twinkling with amusement. He patted your shoulder. “It’s no trouble. I was about to head home, anyway.” Is all Benedict said as he helped you into the carriage, climbing in after you and seating himself on the same bench. Granville waved you both off as Benedict rapped his knuckles on the carriage, directing your footman to take you home. “Now you have me alone and vulnerable. Not very gentlemanly of you, Bridgerton. What would the ton think?” you teased, leaning lazily against the side of the carriage, away from him. You hoped it was subtle, that he thought you were just drunk and loose and tired. You couldn’t bear the thought of him finding out just how weak you were for him. Then he would leave, and you would be crushed. “They would think nothing, because we’re men.” He pointed out, leaning closer to you. You hummed, acknowledging his words, but didn’t reply beyond that. It was only then that you realized how precarious a situation you were in. Drunk, alone, with a man you loved, who seemed to be moving closer and closer by the minute, although maybe you were imagining that part. Anything was possible when you were this drunk. “They would be wrong, though.” Benedict finished softly. He reached over, brushing his fingers along your jaw, moving downward to loosen your cravat. You sighed, tilting your head back to allow him easier access, cursing yourself but unable to shove him away. You were such a fool. “Are you planning something?” You asked. He finally managed to pull your cravat away, revealing your neck to him. He laughed at your question. “With you this drunk? No. I only wanted you to be more comfortable.” He tossed the cloth onto the other bench, leaning safely away from you to stare out the window after. While you were partly disappointed, you were mostly relieved. You wouldn’t have been able to resist, and only would have brought yourself more shame and confusion in regards to him. But Benedict was a good man, and he would never take advantage of you in your current state. Your heart squeezed. Too good of a man. “I’m sorry to be such a burden tonight.” you blurted suddenly. Benedict looked at you, his head whipping away from the window so quickly it almost made you dizzy. “I shouldn’t have drank so much. It was foolish.” “You’re never a burden to me.” He said, his voice soft and indignant, almost as if he was offended by the mere idea that you had inconvenienced him. “You shouldn’t have to chaperone me home like a weak debutante.” “I’d rather you than a debutante. Trust me.” You chuckled, shaking your head and glancing out the carriage window. You could see the square, and your home, fast approaching. It appeared as though your time with Benedict was over for tonight. Relieved and downtrodden, you sat up and attempted to right your swirling vision as the carriage came to a stop. Benedict stood, helping you up and out of the carriage. After explaining the situation to your housekeeper, he hauled you all the way into your home and bedroom, even being kind enough to help you out of your boots as you lay back in your bed, arm over your eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. “I’ll be going, then.” He said quietly, standing up and brushing his hands together. You lifted your arm, making certain you weren’t going to puke before crooking one finger, beckoning him closer. “Come here.” You breathed. He obeyed, moving dutifully to your side, remaining silent despite the question in his eyes. You sat up slowly, ignoring your dizziness. Placing a hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him closer. Benedict, realizing what you were after, leaned down and forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You flopped back into your bed after he pulled away, grinning, although you couldn’t see it, having already rolled over and buried your face in the covers. “Goodnight. I hope you enjoy tomorrow.” He said ominously, the clicking of his heels against the marble floor the only indication you had that he had left. Before you could even think of the meaning of his strange farewell, you were dragged into rest. -- The first thing you registered after waking was the pounding behind your eyes. Moaning in pain, you lifted your arm over your face, blocking out the light that your butler had let in through the curtains. “My apologies, My Lord. Should we have a cure made?” He asked politely, noticing your haggard state. “Quickly.” You begged. He nodded, bowing before swiftly leaving the room to procure you a bit of relief. Sitting up, you turned away from the windows completely, opting to try and find your balance. After a moment, you were able to make your way to your wardrobe, pulling on your breeches and doublet. Today you had no need to dress formally. Valentines was a day you dedicated to staying completely shuttered away from the rest of the ton, tending to your estate and business ventures. It was easier than being bombarded with reminders of love, and much easier than running into any Bridgerton, although one, of course, you wanted to avoid above all else. It would only pain you to see him giving or receiving such intimate letters, especially with the women of the ton. Once your butler had delivered your cure, and you had thrown down the slimy, disgusting mixture, you were feeling much improved. You made your way to your study, smiling at your maids as they bowed before rushing off, no doubt in a hurry to finish their work and make off with their sweethearts for the day. You felt a twinge of jealousy, smiling sadly as you opened the door to your study. Oh. In your study sat piles and piles of cards, all handmade, some gilded with gold while others were trimmed with lace. You picked one up, in awe at its intricate gold-foil flowers, embossed on the front and lined with sharp swirls and embellishments, all clearly hand done with a calligraphy pen. You opened the card. The script inside was as lovely as the rest of the card, although it was the words that brought tears to your eyes. I sit and I look into your face And I see those before us, Who have loved as we do, And I see those after, And I pray that our impossibility Will become their reality. Yours. You choked on a sob, quickly closing the card and setting it down. The last thing you wanted was to ruin something so perfect with tears. It was not signed, and it didn’t have to be for you to know. Benedict. You looked around the room. There were at least 3 large piles of cards, enough to last an entire year, all handmade and intricate. You wondered how long this had taken him. It would take you days just to read them all. Surely, your servants thought you were either the biggest rake in the ton, with all these notes. You couldn’t care less. You gathered them all, handling them as gently as you would glass, slipping them into your desk cabinet and locking it. They were yours, no one else's. Benedict's words were just for you. Dazed, you leaned back into your office chair, holding the first card, running your fingers over the edges and rereading the lines over and over. It wasn't quite a poem, nor a letter, but a sentiment. A dream, a wish. You would be lying if you said that it wasn’t your dream too. A future where love like yours would be special, not sinful. Love. You jolted. And then laughed. How could you ever have doubted him? Surely, it was only love that would drive him to do this. Only love that would have him escort you home, make sure you were safe and comfortable. That would make him sit for what must have been weeks, if not months, working tirelessly on card after card just to take advantage of the one day where letters between unmarried men and women could be sent freely. Of course, he did so for a cover. But was that not also love? He wanted to protect you from ire, from harm, and so he delivered all the letters he felt he couldn’t today, just to keep from drawing unwanted eyes. Crying and laughing all at once, you pressed the note to your chest. How had you doubted his love for a second? His devotion? You truly were a fool, although not in the way you had expected. It took you half an hour to calm yourself, and by that time, your headache was back and worse than before, thanks to your emotional outburst. But another thing was back, too. Your butler, standing in the doorway with an impassive look on his face, glancing about the room, no doubt looking for the heaps of cards the servants had dropped off. “Do you know what card came from which maiden?” You asked, holding up the first card. It was the only card you had yet to put away, and though you were loathe to show it to him, you thought you should make it try and seem as though you had no idea who they had come from. “The cards were delivered mysteriously early this morning, My Lord. No names, no signatures.” “I see. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. None of them will be receiving a response.” You laughed, setting the card down. “What is it?” “A visitor, sir. The Second Bridgerton. Says he has something to discuss with you, about Lord Granville's gathering last night.” Your heart stuttered. “Send him up. No doubt he wants me to apologize for making such an ass of myself last night.” You joked, and he smiled back, giving a quick nod before rushing off to fetch Benedict. You quickly tucked the last letter into your desk drawer, pulling out a decanter of whiskey and pouring yourself a small glass. “No better cure for a hangover than more drink, right?” Benedict stepped into your study, shutting the door behind him even as he teased you. You laughed, pouring him a glass as well. He took it gratefully, sitting down in the chair across from yours, the desk between you two. “You may mock me if you wish, Benedict, but I am feeling positively delightful.” you said dramatically, lifting your cup in cheers. Benedict touched his glass to yours, and you took a sip. He did not. “Would that have anything to do with any deliveries?” He questioned, a secretive smile spreading across his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “That’s why I asked.” You snorted, shaking your head quickly. “It would, if you must know.” Dropping all pretenses, he leaned forward, smiling even brighter now. “So you’ve got them. Do you like them?” “Of course I do,” you breathed, leaning in as well, dropping your voice to a whisper, “how long did they take you? They’re beautiful. True artistry.” “Much too long, as you said last night. But they were worth it, if you like them.” You nodded once. Smiling, he brought one hand to rest on your desk, palm up and spread open. You took it, intertwining your fingers. “Do you truly...love me? In that way?” you asked nervously, avoiding his gaze in favor of staring at your two hands. “No, I spent hours of my precious time making hand crafted love letters for a man I consider a friend.” He rolled his eyes. “If anyone would do such a thing, it would be you, Benedict.” “Certainly not. It would be Colin.” You laughed, and he grinned. Standing, he quickly rounded your desk and pulled you up by your still connected hands, pulling you against him and kissing you firmly. It was sudden, but not unpleasant, and you wrapped your arms around him, carding your fingers through his hair before resting your hands on the nape of his neck. After a long moment, he pulled away, eyes shining mischievously. “I do love you.” “And I you.” you said quickly, desperate to reciprocate. You had spent so long convinced that Benedict only saw you as good fun, that the revelation of love had left you reeling. But you would be damned if you passed up this opportunity to tell him of the affections you had kept secret since your first meeting. In response, he kissed your jaw once before pulling away, still smirking. “But you taste of garlic and egg. You truly should not have indulged so much. Now I can’t kiss you.” Groaning, you turned away from him, clamping your lips shut even as he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing kisses to your neck and cheek lovingly, cooing affections like a lovesick fool. You smiled at that passing thought, leaning into Benedict and returning his whispers in kind, leading him with purpose to your bed chamber. Perhaps you were both lovesick fools. You could live with that.

[elstreem]

ALBW Roleswap AU...thing?

Trying to write about this idea where it's Hyrule that got devastated and so Link seeks help from Ravio and Hilda in Lorule. Long post, but here's what I've written about it. I don't think I'm gonna do anything more substantial for it, but it's fun writing this.

Here's a google docs version that's prolly easier to read: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ar_f6wXBTeY3DGfWeM667QqwvyS-2GfrlZTMCcKQ6BY/edit?usp=sharing

ALBW AU: The Appointed Knight and the Feral Hero

Among the realms created by the Divine mothers, two were tied like the two sides of a coin - both fair kingdoms, with a royal family who protected the sacred relic, Triforce. The Triforce was the sum of the Goddesses’ powers left in these realms, and was even said to be able to grant wishes, leading some to seek its power...unbeknownst to the guardians of the Triforce, it also serves as the cornerstone of their respective realms. No one knows what would happen if the Triforce was broken in some form, for it has never happened before…

As mentioned, the Triforce was left in two particular realms, so close and yet far from each other. The realm bathed in warm sunlight was called Hyrule, while the realm under the cover of soothing darkness was called Lorule. Without knowing of it, the denizens of these two realms prospered similarly to each other. But they were never able to meet, save for when a slight distortion in time and space would show times and places through mirrors and reflections. Only a passing mystery, and were it not for a grievous calamity, perhaps there would never have been a time when Hyrule would need aid from Lorule…

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

The clamor of war rang loudly throughout Hyrule Castle. The castle was besieged by terrible forces, slavering monsters and twisted ghouls, howling as they clashed with the soldiers of Hyrule. Men shouted and attacked, hoping to defend their kingdom to the last. However, this was not where the real battle was to be found. In the chaos, there was only one place of stillness - the castle sanctuary, where the princess stood and her knight stood against the demon king, who had risen again. Behind the two protectors of the kingdom, the Triforce shone with a radiant light. “Hand over the Triforce,” Ganon rumbled, hands flexed around a trident. The princess stretched out a hand, tapping into her magical heritage. Link readied his blade and shield - they would never let this monster ruin the world with the Triforce’s power. Never.

The battle began, trident slashing, magic weaving, sword and shield parrying. Link and Zelda fought desperately against the strength of Ganon, who shrugged off their attacks as though it could only annoy him. With a roar, Ganon swatted away Link, the young Hylian’s slight frame getting thrown into the wall with force to crack his bones. Zelda cried out, but she did not waver - even as Ganon lunged forward to lay his hands on the Triforce, she spun around and reached for the relic herself.

“Oh goddesses, protect us!” Zelda wished with all her heart, but even as her words tapped into the Triforce’s power, Ganon’s own hand had reached the relic.

Even while bloodied and bruised, and screaming from the effort, Link got up, trying to move, desperate, as Ganon wished for Hyrule’s destruction.

The two wishes, opposite to each other, warred within the activated relic. Link tried to run, to reach for Zelda even as the Triforce shattered with explosive power, with blinding light pouring out of it.

In those terrible last moments, Link saw the princess turn to him, her form becoming rigid. Ganon too, had stopped - and Link found his own consciousness dimming, burning with only one thought. He had failed his home.

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

The sun was yet to rise and all was still in the dark hours preceding dawn.

Or so it was supposed to be, if it weren’t for the angry yells of a woman and a sound of scurrying feet.

The village Blacksmith groaned and hauled himself up from his bed, drearily wiping a hand across his face as his wife rushed into the room.

“Now what is this ruckus all about!?” the Blacksmith complained.

“The stinking thief is back! I told you to report it to the castle, but no, you just had to wait for proof! Well, here’s the proof you want!” the hassled woman said sharply, and she grabbed hold of her husband’s arm and fairly dragged him outside, causing a string of complaints. She ignored the fact that he was barefoot and still in his sleeping clothes and hurried him into the cold air of the early morning. She paused very briefly to grab a fresh torch, and continued along. When she stopped, the Blacksmith was not in the most agreeable mood, but even he could see the damage.

The pots they used for storing water and grains were smashed, and their little garden that had once been full of promising vegetables had been ransacked. But even with the messy scene one could see paw prints in the dirt.

“What was it?” the Blacksmith asked, taking the torch from his wife. He knelt to take a closer look at the destruction.

She sniffed and crossed her arms. “I wasn’t sure - I just heard the sounds of a pot getting smashed and I rushed on over here. I only caught it running away, but it looked beastly, all matted fur and glowing eyes - ugh!”

It would be no match for you in your state, the Blacksmith thought, and he hid a grin. Keeping a straight face, he stood up again and said, “Well, I’ll call on our neighbor to help. No need to alert the Castle.”

She gave a disbelieving snort. “That lad is good for nothing but lounging around!”

“But still, he’s the appointed knight of the realm. Go on inside dear, that is enough trouble for one morning,” the Blacksmith said.

After putting on work clothes and making sure that everything was secured, the Blacksmith walked on over to a house on a hill, keeping his eyes peeled for any lurking creatures. However, upon reaching the house, the man gave a groan - of all the mornings he made this trip, today was the miraculous day the appointed knight was not sleeping in. The house was dark and a piece of paper was tacked to the door. The paper read:

“If you’re looking for me, I’m at the Castle!” - Knight of the Realm, Ravio.

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

Morning came and went, the sun’s rays bringing cheer and light to the land. Within the Castle’s kitchen, the maids and cooks were bustling about, preparing food for lunch. But in the middle of all this activity, a boy was sitting still, snacking on an apple as he idled the time away.

“Surely you have business to do, Ravio?” one of the exasperated cooks asked, watching Ravio take another apple from the kitchen’s stores and eat it.

“I’m in the business of filling my energy up after an early morning training!” Ravio said, grinning as much as he could with a mouthful of apple.

“...right,” the cook muttered. Sure, Ravio had been in the castle before dawn’s light, but all the staff saw of him was him taking a nap in the knight’s training room.

A page popped into the castle kitchens, and seeing Ravio, marched up to him. Ravio’s grin slid off his face as he saw the page’s gleeful look. He knew what that meant.

“Her Grace, Princess Hilda, commands the Knight of the Realm to the Counsel Room!” the page said as loudly as possible. The nearby kitchen staff snickered as Ravio stood up and wiped the apple juice off his face.

Ravio might not fear monsters, but he had a healthy fear of his closest friend.

-------

"I tell you, your Grace, something has been ferreting around, stealing food and making a ruckus. The missus reckons it’s some sort of beast from what she saw. Maybe a wolf? But then again…"

"There are no wolves in Lorule."

"Exactly!"

"Well, wolves or no wolves, if it is disturbing the peace our appointed knight of the realm should be looking into it," Princess Hilda of Lorule said.

Her crimson eyes flicked over to said knight of the realm, even if he wasn't acting like it. Ravio might have looked the part, wearing armor stamped with the royal sigil of Lorule. It was an impressive enough sight that most never minded the lack of a sword at his back. However, instead of standing at duty, he was slouching, idly tugging at his scarf and wishing the audience would be over.

Hilda cleared her throat and tapped her staff on the ground, making Ravio jump nervously. As carefree as he was, he did not like testing Hilda's temper.

"Yess, your Grace?" Ravio asked.

"The Blacksmith brought his problem personally to the castle, Ravio. And I say, you must look into it this time," Hilda said, emphasizing her last two words.

Ravio groaned. Hilda was annoyed that the Blacksmith had to bring this problem up personally. Okay, so he was the knight of the realm, but that did not mean he had to solve every problem his neighbors had, right?

Then again, it seemed like a monster was involved.

~~~~~~~

The bushes underneath the trees rustled, and as Ravio followed close, he saw a pair of eyes looking out at him from the shadows. They glowed as they caught the light, and Ravio hesitated - human eyes did not glow like that, which could only mean this was a monster.

He quickly grabbed his Hookshot, and fired - the claw shot through the air. The beast leapt clear, but was too slow by just a second and caught a glancing blow. Ravio heard a yelp, and some footsteps going away. Ravio gave chase - even a glancing blow from a Hookshot was enough to give the most hardened monster some pause. And a pause was all he needed for another shot, and whatever his faults, Ravio had a good eye. Again the Hookshot pierced the air, and this time he scored a direct hit. Ravio knew it from the way the Hookshot had struck.

He hurried after the beast and came into the circle of trees, where he found something lying limp on the ground.

"Got you," Ravio murmured to himself, grabbing his bow. He readied an arrow at the beast, and was about to loose the projectile when the beast twitched and groaned - but the groan did not sound at all beastly.

Ravio dropped the bow and came close - yes, now that he was near he could see a hand peeking out from underneath some clothing. Perhaps a humanoid monster? But in the next moment he heard a soft whisper, and the creature went still. Ravio dropped to his knees beside the figure and turned him over, gasping at what he found. The "monster" was a lad his age, covered in a dirty old cloak. He couldn't see much of the boy's face as it was covered in grime and dirty blonde hair that spilled over one side of his face, but it was definitely a human.

"Hey! Can you hear me?"

All he got as a response was a sigh. Ravio's blood went cold, remembering how the boy had gone still. Ravio dropped his head onto the boy's chest, and listened hard - it was faint, but there was breath and a heartbeat within him.

Moving quickly, Ravio pulled up a bottle of Red Potion and carefully tipped it to the boy's lips - he was unresponsive at first, but when Ravio put a drop of potion to his lips, the lad's tongue licked it away. Very, very carefully, Ravio put a small amount to the boy's mouth, and he swallowed it. In this way, the boy finished the bottle of red potion, which brought back some color to his face.

"Hey, hold on, okay? Stay with me, here," Ravio said. He slung the boy's arm over his shoulders, and putting his own arm around the boy's hip, he stood up. The boy's head leaned limply into Ravio's shoulder, and Ravio fought the urge to sneeze - the guy smelled bad - like he'd been sleeping in the wilds and rolled through mud, kind of bad.

The lad was dead weight, and Ravio had a hard time pulling him along. It was with relief that Ravio heard the Blacksmith calling.

"Ahoy! What have you got there? The beast?"

"Nah, I clobbered the beast good, it should stay away. But I found a stranger, he clearly needs help," Ravio reported. The knight's normally jolly tone was urgent and the Blacksmith knew he wasn't goofing around.

"Alright, here I go! Phew, this one needs a bath," the Blacksmith grunted as he scooped the boy up easily.

"And a good meal - he feels almost dead," Ravio panted, relieved at having the weight off his shoulders.

"Bother, the house is full of weapons to be shipped - we should put him in your house, yeah?" the Blacksmith said.

"Mine!?" Ravio said in dismay.

"Of course. You helped him, you have to see it through," the Blacksmith said.

"Oh, I guess. He better pay rent," Ravio muttered.

For all of Ravio's words he was anxious for the boy and was relieved when the Blacksmith put him into his own bed.

~~~~~~

The boy wandered back inside, shrugging off his cloak. Ravio looked up with a smile and then gasped in surprise - with the grime wiped away, he could have sworn the face he was looking at was his own.

Well, not quite - the stranger's hair was blond and his eyes were blue. Also, he had seriously dark bags under his eyes and hollow cheeks, like he had missed many good meals and nights of sleep.

"Whoa - wow, this is a shocker - talk about seeing your twin," Ravio said.

The boy looked blankly at him.

"…look .are you really just speechless with shock all the time?" Ravio asked.

The boy shifted his feet uncomfortably.

"Well, nothing for it. Here, maybe some food will loosen you up. You look faint with hunger," Ravio said.

The boy nodded gratefully, and dropped himself into one of the chairs at the table.

Ravio brought out a plate, filled with goods from the castle - bread, butter, fried eggs and apple slices. He had a feeling that the boy was hungry, and he was right - though the lad tried to restrain himself for politeness, he gulped down the meal as if famished. Ravio busied himself with cleaning his kitchen, which was a little dusty.

“Well, you look much better now that you had a bite or ten in you,” Ravio said as the boy set down his spoon and fork with a sigh.

~~~~~~~~~

"Well Ravio, have you considered one thing?"

"What?" Ravio asked, shifting uncomfortably at seeing Hilda's raised eyebrow.

"That maybe…you're talking way too much to give space," Hilda said tartly.

"Hey!" Ravio said in indignation. Hilda didn't show any outward signs of amusement, but Ravio knew her long enough to know that her eyes were smiling at the joke. It almost made the little jab worth it.

"Anyway, I shall go see this stranger, see if I can loosen his tongue," Hilda said.

The response however, was far more dramatic than the two expected. On seeing Hilda enter the room, the boy's eyes widened, and he hurriedly dropped to one knee and put his hand on his chest in a knight's bow. Hilda and Ravio traded glances.

"Please stand, good sir. I heard from Ravio about your appearance…but please, tell us more about yourself," Hilda said.

The boy raised his head, but looked down again and sadly shook his head. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out. He raised his hands and folded them in front of his throat.

"Ah, so you cannot speak…I'm sorry to have asked it without consideration," Hilda said.

The boy shook his head as if trying to reassure her there was no offense.

~~~~~~~~

A stone statue stood inside the blasted courtyard. Even petrified, the beauty of the strange lass was not marred at all - her form perfectly captured in rock. She would have looked lovely if it weren't for the expression of horror on her face. The wolf circled the statue, and Ravio read a great sadness in Link's blue eyes.

Ravio drew close and saw, among the petrified waves of the lass's hair, a crown, and her dress bore a banner displaying a royal crest similar to Lorule's.

The wolf sat down, facing the statue, before raising his head and giving off a lonely howl.

--------

Aaaand that's it. I have a few more ideas to toss into this (Link and Ravio searching for the lost Master Sword of Lorule? Hilda facing off against Ganon?) but I highly doubt I can add anything more weighty to this. I don't even have a proper explanation for why Link turns into a wolf (though in my mind, what's happened to Hyrule is a similar situation to the Twilight, where time has stopped and the souls of Hylians are left as wandering, dazed wraiths.) I might post other writing scraps if I feel like it?

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

Insurgent Ferocity: The Playful Violence of Rebellion

“We don’t just talk about violence; it is our element, our everyday fate...the conditions we are forced to live in...”

Os Cangacieros

Social control is impossible without violence. Society produces systems of rationaized violence to socialize individuals — to make them into useful resources for society, while some of these systems, such as the military, the plolice and the penal system can still be viewed separately due to the blatant harshness of their violence, for the most part these systems have become so interconnected and so pervasive that they act as a single totality — the totality which is the society in which we live.

This systemic violence exists mostly as a constant underlying threat — a subtle, even boring, everyday terrorism which incuces a fear of stepping out of line. The signs and orders from “superiors” which threaten us with punishment or poverty, the armed, uniformed thugs who are there to “protect and serve” (huh!?!), the barrage of headlines about wars, torture, serial killers and streeet gangs, all immerse us in an atmosphere of subtle, underlying, rationalized social violence which causes us to fear and repress our own violent passions.

In light of the systematic social violence that surrounds us, it’s no surprise that people are fooled into viewing all violence as a single, monolithic entity rather than as specific acts or ways of relating. The system of violence produced by society does become a monolith which acts to perpetuate itself.

In reaction to this monolithic system of violence, the “pathology of pacifism” develops. Unable to see beyond social catagories, the pacifist creates a false dichotomy, limiting the question of violence to the ethical/intellectual choice between as acceptance of violence as a monolithic system or the total rejection of violence. But this choice exists only in the realm of worthless abstactions, because in the world in which we actually live, pacifism and systematic violence depend upon each other. Pacifism is an ideaology which demands total social peace as its ultimate goal. But total social peace would require the complete suppression of the individual passions that create individual incidences of violence — and that would require total social control. Total social control is only possible through the use of the constant threat of the police, prison, therapy, social censure, scarcity or war. So the pacifist ideal requires a monolithic system of violence and reflects the social contradiction inherent in the necessity that authority strive to maintain peace in order to maintain a smoothly running social system, but can only do so by maintaining a rationalized system of violence.

The rational system of violence not only perpetuates itself, but also evokes responses, often in the form of blind lashings out by enraged individuals, which the system then manipulates into justifications for its own continual existence, and occasionally in the form of consciously rebellious violence. The passionate violence that is suppressed turns in on the one feeling it, becoming the the slow-killing, underlying violence of stress and anxiety. It is evident in the millions of little pinpricks of humiliation that pass between people on the streets and in the public places of every city — looks of disgust and hostility between strangers, and the verbal battle of wits exchanging guilt and blame between supposed friends. This is the subtlest and most total form of rationalised violence; everyone conforms out of fear of each others’ disgust. This is the subtle form of violence practiced by pacifists.

“I do not dream of a gentle revolution. My passion runs to the violence of supersession, the ferocity of a life that renounces nothing.” —Raoul Vaneigem

Those of us who are fighting for the freedom to create our lives for ourselves need to reject both sides of the choice society offers between pacifism and systematic violence, because this choice is an attempt to socialize our rebellion. Instead we can create our own options, developing a playful and passionate chaos of action and relating which may express itself at times with intense and ferocious violence, at times with the gentlest tenderness, or whatever way our passions and whims move us in the particular moment. Both the rejection of violence and the systemization of violence are an attack on our passions and uniqueness.

Violence is an aspect of animal interaction and observation of violence among animals belies several generalizations. Violence among animals does not fit into the formula of social darwinism; there is no perpetual war of all against all. Rather at specific moments under particular circumstances, individual acts of violence flare up and then fade when the moments pass. There is no systematic violence in the wild, but, instead, momentary expressions of specific passions. This exposes one of the major fallacies of pacifist ideology. Violence, in itself, does not perpetuate violence. The social system of rationalized violence, of which pacifism is an integral part, perpetuates itself as a system.

Against the system of violence, a non-systematized, passionate, playful violence is the appropriate response. Violent play is very common among animals and children. Chasing, wrestling and pouncing upon a playmate, breaking, smashing and tearing apart things are all aspects of play that is free of rules. The conscious insurgent plays this way as well, but with real targets and with the intention of causing real damage. The targets of this ferocious play in the present society would mainly be institutions, commodities, social roles and cultural icons, but the human representatives of these institutions can also be targets — especially where they present an immediate threat to anyone’s freedom to create their life as they desire.

Rebellion has never been merely a matter of self-defense. In itself, self-defense is probably best achieved by accepting the status quo of its reform. Rebellion is the aggressive, dangerous, playful attack by free-spirited individuals against society. Refusing a system of violence, refusing an organized, militarized form of armed struggle, allows the violence of insurgents to retain a high level of invisibility. It cannot be readily understood by the authorities and brought under their control. Its insurgent nature may even go undetected by the authorities as it eats away at the foundations of social control. From the rationalized perspective of authority, this playful violence will often appear utterly random, but actually is in harmony with the desires of the insurgent. This playful violence of rebellion kills “inadvertently as (one) strides out happily without looking back.”

The playful violence of insurgence has no room for regret. Regret weakens the force of blows and makes us cautious and timid. But regret only comes in when violence is dealt with as a moral question, and for insurgents who are fighting for the freedom to live their desires; morality is just another form of social control. Wherever rebel violence has manifested playfully, regret seems absurd. In riots (other than police riots) and spontaneous uprisings — as well as in small-scale vandalism — a festive attitude seems to be evident. There is an intense joy, even euphoria, in the release of violent passions that have been pent up for so long. Bashing in the skull of society as we experience it on a daily basis is an intense pleasure, and one to be savored, not repudiated in shame, guilt or regret. Some may object that such an attitude could cause our violence to get out of hand, but an excess of insurgent violence is not something that we need to fear. As we break down our repression and begin to free our passions, certainly our gestures, our actions and our entire way of being are bound to become increasingly expansive and all we do we will seem to do to excess. our generosity will seem excessive and our violence will seem excessive. Unrepressed, expansive individuals squander in all things. Riots and insurrections have failed to get beyond temporary release, not because of excess, but because people hold themselves back. People have not trusted their passions. They have feared the expansiveness, the squandering excess of their own dreams and desires. So they have given up or turned their fight over to new authorities, new systemizers of violence. But how can insurgent violence ever be truly excessive when there is no institution of social control, no aspect of authority, no icon of culture that should not be smashed to powder — and that geefully?

If what we want is a world in which each of us can create our own lives free of constraints, relating with each other as we desire rather than in accordance with socially defined roles, we have to recognize that, at times, violence will flare and that there is nothing wrong with that. Fullness of the passions includes full and expansive expressions of hatred and rage — and these are violent emotions. Though this violence can be used tactically it will not be systematic. Though it can be intelligent, it will not be rationalized. And under no circumstances is it self-perpetuating, because it is individual and temporary, spending itself fully in its free, passionate expression. Neither moralistic non-violence nor the systematic violence of military struggle can break down authority since both require some form of authority. Only the expansive and passionate violence of insurgent individuals playing alone or with each other has any chance of destroying this society...

Forward everyone!

And with arms and hearts,

Speech and pen, Dagger and rifle,

Irony and blasphemy,

Theft, poisoning and fire,

Let us make...war on society.

[rein-ette]

A cleaner version of my previous ask 😅

Engport, babysitting (catsitting, plantsitting etc) or fire, please?

Oooookayyyy, so. I wrote...something. It's for the engport + fire prompt, but if I'm going to be completely honest it doesn't have anything that much to do with fire, though I swear I did come up with it because I was thinking about things related to fire. And this first part of it doesn't have much engport either, though there's certainly a lot of Port. It does have a cute small animal in it, if that's any consolation.

I do also have another idea for plantsitting, so I might write that at some point, but I didn't want to keep you waiting much longer so -- please accept my apologies and this fic that I can almost guarantee is not what you thought it was going to be.

Warnings: abuse of Greek mythology and one scene from Spirited Away. Also skulls. One skull. And I guess, death? But not really.

The realm of the dead was turning out to be a lot less crowded than Gabriel had expected. Since many mortals died every day, he had imagined that the banks of the river Styx would be crowded with souls, screaming or writhing or whatever spirits did in agony as they waited for their passage to the Underworld. Instead, Gabriel stood alone on what appeared to be a train platform, in the middle of a river so still he could easily see his own reflection in it, and so wide it might as well have been an ocean. Gabriel only knew it was a river because he could sense that the water was drawn to him like a curious child to pretty flower, responding to his immortal parentage. Unconsciously, Gabriel flexed his fingers and wondered if the steaming waters of the Styx would listen to him if he tried to command it. Probably not, and seeing as he was going to be knocking on the door of her master momentarily, Gabriel did not want to be introduced as that nephew who had angered the Goddess of Hatred the moment he had woken up in the Underworld.

Fat lot of good his powers had done him anyways, since he had died at sea.

Hadn't mother always told him the Oceanids were bad shit?

Sighing, Gabriel looked around again at his surroundings. He realized with no small amount of surprise that, while he had just been alone, now several shadowy figures stood with him on the platform, the edges of their figures melting in and out in the thick fog that rose from the waters around them. He tried to examine their faces to see if any of them were the spirits of his crewmates, but whenever he thought he could make out a feature their faces dissolved back into the fog. Exasperated, Gabriel glanced back at the river, noting with another jolt of surprise that now he could see the dark outline of a set of train tracks beside the platform, about half a meter underwater and stretching away into the blackness. Not long after he registered that, he heard the rumble of a train in the distance.

I suppose that's my ride, he thought to himself. The old myths said that Chiron ferried people on a boat across the Styx, but apparently the Industrial Revolution had come to the Underworld as well. Snorting at the thought, he dug in his pocket for his gold coin, which any good sailor always kept in case the ever-capricious ocean claimed them — even semi-immortal sons of river goddesses. Clearly, this was a good habit, because being semi-immortal had not saved Gabriel from that torpedo, which had reduced his poor ship to a lump of floating scrap metal before Gabriel could call up enough power to fill a water bottle, and, oh, all those poor soldier boys who would now never get a chance to die in a gruesome war and fulfill their heroic fates —

Gabriel could not find his coin. Frowning, he searched the front pockets of his admiral's tunic as well, even though he knew he had not kept it there. When that yielded nothing, he moved on to his back pant pockets, then his boots. For the first time since he had drowned in the icy cold Atlantic (which, admittedly, was not that long ago), Gabriel felt a shiver of true panic run through him. How would he board the train without his coin? How would he enter the Underworld? How would he join the ranks of the heroes in the Elysian Fields, where he belonged? Had he perhaps lost his coin when he had rushed to the railings to survey the damage on deck and was promptly dropped into the roaring Atlantic when a stray bit of flak from the exploding engine room tore clean through his right leg?

Now that he thought about it, that seemed likely.

At least he’d gotten his leg back.

The train slid to a rippling stop into front of him. With a soft swoosh, the doors opened, and Gabriel found himself staring at a man who, despite his smart train conductors uniform, could not have been anyone but Chiron, given that his face was a gleaming skull and his eyes literally balls of hellfire. It seemed the god had tried to update his aesthetic for the 20th century as well.

Chiron proffered to him a small wooden box, in which Gabriel could see several gold coins. Desperately digging through his pockets one last time, he finally shook his head. "I’m sorry, I don’t have the fare, I —"

The doors slid closed in his face, and immediately the train began to pull away.

Muttering a few choice curses, Gabriel stumbled a step away from the edge of the platform and watched as the train picked up speed and swooped away into the darkness.

Somehow, he doubted it would be returning to this station.

In the ensueing silence, Gabriel weighed his options. He could sit on this platform and mope, possibly for eternity. He could jump in the river and hope that his aunt either saved him or tore his soul into shreds from the agony. He could try walking along the rails in the direction the train had left, also possibly for the rest of eternity, in the hopes of reaching the entrance to the Underworld eventually.

Gabriel took off his shoes and chose the last option, despite feeling that sulking for the rest of eternity held a certain amount of appeal. He was very good at sulking. Nevertheless, he waded into the water at the end of the platform and found immediately that Hatred was lukewarm, not freezing cold like he had imagined — a nasty, suffocating lukewarm which swirled thickly around his thighs with the collected resentment, broken promises, lurid thoughts and heavens knew what else of millions of miserable souls.

He had feared the water might send him immediately into convulsions of unbearable pain or suck his consciousness right out of him, but as he continued along the track nothing remarkable occured. Perhaps the Styx had sensed his godly parentage and was protecting its kin. Or perhaps Gabriel had collected so much resentment in his long life that the river didn't even recognize him as a foreign body. Whatever the case, Gabriel held his shoes gingerly in one hand and sloshed on.

Quickly, he lost all sense of time, distance, or direction. It felt like he had barely taken two steps before the platform he left was swallowed by the fog, and the tracks underneath his feet curved and meandered like a small stream itself, without rhyme or reason. Gabriel realized that even if the water had not immediately destroyed him, he could not walk forever, and when he finally collapsed from exhaustion he would either be eaten by whatever dwelled in this wretched river or drown over and over in its depths until it dissolved him like a piece of wet toilet paper.

Still, he could not turn back. There was no hope even if he managed to return to the platform, and while a lesser man might have cowered in fear on dry land anyways, Gabriel had spent most of his twenty one centuries of life fighting and wandering across the oceans anyways. Wading through an infernal river until even his immortal soul crumbled into the waves — it seemed somehow like a fitting end.

To distract himself from his happy thoughts, he began to sing. At times it was just a wordless tune, but when he felt inspiration hit he added lyrics. He sang of his birth on the sun-kissed banks of the Douro, the eldest son of its beautiful immortal gaurdian and a local Roman nobleman. He sang of his siblings, not all of whom had inherited his mother's immortality, and he sang in particular of the one brother who did and accompanied him through the aching, bittersweet years that followed. He sang of the lands he had travelled, some bursting with life and colour, others stunning in their harsh, barren beauty. He sang of his lovers, the princes and the ladies, the soldiers and the nymphs and the humble farmhands whom he had courted, bed, and occasionally wed — but never to last, for mortal lives were but a flicker in the endless night and even the immortal ones could not tether down his heart for long. The stars called him, the waves called him, and Gabriel always, always answered.

He suppposed now, though, he had finally found his last resting place.

This thought was immediately followed by a less melancholic one: I didn't know polecats could swim.

Gabriel stopped singing and instead stood and watched as the little furry animal approached, paws paddling furiously as it slipped through the water. It stopped when it neared him and splashed around for a bit, before lifting its snout and looking pointedly at Gabriel, its dark eyes gleaming and intelligent.

Gabriel hadn't known that polecats could give pointed looks, either.

He cupped his hands and extended them to the animal, which immediately scrambled on and promptly snuggled up in his palms, curling into a little content ball. Unable to hold back a smile, he stroked its slick, midnight fur with a thumb, marvelling at how soft and warm it was and how docile it seemed.

Well, he thought, at least I still sing well enough to seduce a polecat.

"You've seduced more than just a polecat, that's for sure," someone muttered.

-- part 2 is here --

[questionsonislam]

How does Islam view Racism?

The following verse forbids racism:

“O mankind! We created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that ye may know each other (not that ye may despise each other). Verily the most honoured of you in the sight of Allah is (he who is) the most righteous of you. And Allah has full knowledge and is well acquainted (with all things).” (Surah Al-Hujuraat, 13)

In the same surah, the following is stated:

“The Believers are but a single Brotherhood: So make peace and reconciliation between your two (contending) brothers.”

As it is understood from the verses above, God regards only believers as brothers not people of other nations. According to Islam, a person who is not a believer cannot be the heir of his believing father. When there is no belief, worldly, organic and racial relations lose their importance.

The apostle of God (PBUH), who said, “No man is a true believer unless he wants for his brother that which he wants for himself”, guides us about how this verse has a reflection on our realm of deed and emotion.

What should be done when hatred and enmity occur between believers though they are supposed to love each other? The continuation of the verse orders the following: “make peace and reconciliation between your two (contending) brothers.” Let their hostility turn into friendship, love and brotherhood.

Yes, according to the decree of the Qur’an, all believers are brothers of one another. They are a family. On one line. The people who cause separation between them are considered to have worked for enemies knowingly or unknowingly.

A divine lesson from the surah of Hud: In the event of Noah’s flood, when Noah said, “O God! My son is also from my family. (my breed)” O Noah, he is not from your family (breed).” So a person’s unbeliever and rebellious son is not considered from his breed. Then, an unbeliever from his race cannot be his friend or brother. Here is a related verse from God where there is no room for intentional misinterpretation:

“O ye who believe! Take not for protectors your fathers and your brothers if they love infidelity above faith: if any of you do so they do wrong.” (Surah at-Taubah, 23)

This verse is another explanation of the verse, “The Believers are but a single Brotherhood” in which there is a fine and deep consciousness.

Your father or brother who does not believe is not your friend.

Those who befriend them are considered to have disobeyed the truth and oppressed.

He is considered to have used his sense of love, which is given to him by God as a gift, in the wrong place and oppressed…

He/she caused himself/herself to be put into Hell with his/her wrong decision. He/she has suppressed his/her soul.

By doing so, the unbeliever has a better place than a believer in his/her heart and he/she has become an oppressor with his/her great injustice.

Allah who is “Malik Yawm ad-Deen” (The Owner of the Day of ad-Deen) states the following: “The Day whereon neither wealth nor sons will avail. But only he (will prosper) that brings to Allah a sound heart..” (Surah ash-Shuara, 88-89)

Is the relation between the son and father not the first step and the most advanced level of racial closeness? This verse informs us that this closeness will have no value at all on the Day of Judgment. So what value does racism have at this point? On that day, no property or the number of sons of any person will have any value at all.

On that day, the only valid thing will be the Submitted Soul. The pure heart of a person which is submitted to and become the slave of his Creator’s orders. A soul who does not tied his affection to anything but Him. This soul is precious no matter who owns it. And Paradise is the place where the reward is given to the submitted souls. Every believer will be given a position according to his/her ihklas (sincerity), deeds, morals and ambition there. All positions exist there according to these values. There are no separate positions for races in that place.

[frankendeers]

I am Made of Love and It’s Stronger Than You: Steven Universe and Models of Queer Resistance in Science-Fiction

Chapter 1. Science-Fiction and Resistance in Queer Subjectivity 

“In other words, queer resistances emerge when the mechanisms of heteronormativity are exposed, when the concepts of gender and sexuality are being rearticulated in ways that defy the exclusion of subjects whose identities, desires, and practices are considered contradictory and unintelligible, and when ‘the presumption of heterosexuality’ no longer holds.” (Dhaenens, Articulations of Queer Resistance 4). 

In order to articulate how Steven Universe makes use of Science-fiction conventions to explore models of queer resistance, it is first necessary to examine how queerness is woven into the fabric of its setting. Although Gems as a species are distinctly queer, their society serves as a metaphor for the various ways the centre seeks to regulate categories of identity and desire. This section will not only demonstrate how the show utilises its speculative elements to express different modes of queerness, but also argue that herein lies a possibility for resistance. In the world of Steven Universe, queerness is not merely a vector for non-normative forms of desire and expression but also a powerful tool to dismantle systems of oppression. Refusing to assimilate to the hegemonic discourse means exposing the artificial processes with which these are constructed and denaturalising them in the process. These forms of denaturalisation function simultaneously as a legitimising force for queer subjectivities. It will, furthermore become clearer, how Steven Universe sees queerness in itself as a force of positivity. 

1.1. Gender and Performativity 

One of the most notable aspects of the show is the fact that all members of its alien race, the Gems, are presenting as female. Due to his hybrid nature, Steven is the only alien character to exhibit a male gender identity. This immediately separates Steven Universe from the values of hegemonic society which usually sees the masculine as representative of universality: “[…] the female body is marked within masculine discourse, whereby the masculine body, in its conception with the universe, remains unmarked.” (Butler, Gender Trouble 17). The show subverts the expectation of maleness being an unquestioned neutral, by never fully explaining why the gems refer to themselves using female pronouns and to what extent they actually identify with womanhood. Instead, Steven Universe asks the viewer to accept this premise and, in the process, turn the feminine into the new “unmarked” position. 

While the idea of single gender alien societies is not new, it is indicative of science-fiction’s power of questioning “heteronormative implications of progress” by “reimagining […] gender, sexuality, and identity.” (Thibodeau 263). In other words, while the Gems are repeatedly shown to be a highly advanced species, their singular gender separates them from the concept of heterosexuality. In fact, the heterosexual matrix cannot operate in Gem society, as it relies on both the existence of a rigid gender binary and the stability of the two genders it represents (cp. Butler, Gender Trouble 184). 

Steven Universe’s Gem race adhere to neither standard. Thomas adds that the Gems themselves have no biological sex or gender identity, in a way that humans might understand, therefore inviting queer analysis (cp. Thomas 4). Seeing as Gems are “outside of human conceptualisations of sex and gender” (cp. Férnandez 64), it only follows that their means of reproduction must also differentiate itself from human ideas about birth and sexual intercourse. In its place, the show offers an alternative model that shows Gems as artificially grown in gigantic plantations referred to as “kindergardens” (“On the Run”). The inorganic nature of Gem production completely subverts the heterosexual narrative around the importance of birth and family making. Such an analysis harkens back to Lee Edelman’s polemic No Future: Queer Theory and The Death Drive. Here, Edelman famously argues that the centring of the Child as the symbol for heterosexual reproduction stands in direct opposition to queerness. The Child is used to always deflect political action onto the future, stalling meaningful change (cp. Edelman 3). For Gems, neither children nor heterosexual reproduction are of any concern. The show establishes that they “burst out of the earth’s crust already knowing what they’re supposed to be” (“Greg the Babysitter” 06:50— 06:59). By utilising the genre of science-fiction, Steven Universe thus suggests to the audience that a separation of creating life and heterosexuality is possible, which broadens the perspectives about queer possibilities. 

The possibilities configured in the show’s alien species also expand to the realms of more profound matters of queer identity. The episode “Steven the Sword Fighter” reveals that Gem bodies are not material. A Gem’s consciousness is merely stored within her gem which in turn projects the body to the outside world. Therefore, a Gem’s appearance is merely “a conscious manifestation of light” (“Last One Out Of Beach City” 09:46—09:50). This feature of alien biology relates to Judith Butler’s theory on the performativity of gender. According to her work Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, gender is not essential nor innate, but produced through repeated performative acts. These behaviours are regulated by cultural norms which then are projected onto the body: “[…] [A]cts, gestures, and desire produce the effect of an internal core or substance, but produce this on the surface of the body, through play of signifying absences that suggest, but not reveal, the organizing principle of identity as a cause. Such acts, gestures, enactments, generally construed, are to express fabrications manufactured and sustained through corporeal signs and other discursive means.” (Butler, Gender Trouble 188). True to this notion, the Gems reflect their identity onto their bodies, proving that, at least for them “gender is always a doing” (Butler, Gender Trouble 34). Steven Universe successfully shows by means of alien biology how femininity is a performance that can be presented by anyone or anything (cp. Thomas 6). This is a notion that is conform with queer theory’s aim of rendering essentialist notions of identity obsolete (cp. Hall 93) and contributes to the larger goal of achieving queer liberation. 

The ways the different characters make use of their abilities to play with gender are manifold and reflective of their progression as characters.  Valentín rightfully states that one of the more interesting aspects of the show is the unique ways in which all characters straddle the lines between masculinity and femininity (cp. Valentín 203). 

Amethyst in particular promises deeper insights into the potential of different configurations of gender and identity. As Gem bodies are essentially illusions, Gems have the explicit power to shapeshift, stressing the usefulness of speculative elements for queer explorations. Here, Amethyst stands out as she makes use of this power the most, constantly shifting between different appearances. She impersonates people, turns into animals, and even embodies inanimate objects for her own amusement. The casualness with which she regards shapeshifting show cases a fluid stance towards identity that is explicitly revelling in the act of imitation and queers her abilities. Moreover, it could even be said that Amethyst constantly parodies the notion of identity itself and mocks those with a more rigid mindset. Thomas implies that her experimentation with different gender expressions suggests a complicated relationship to identity, while still remaining open and playful (cp. Thomas 6). When Steven’s father, Greg, tells her, he is uncomfortable with shapeshifting, she transforms into him and replies: “Oh, I forgot. You’re so sensitive.” (“Maximum Capacity” 09:00—09:10). For Eli Dunn, these instances can force the viewer to recognise the implications of gender as a construct in ways that hold meaning for making a queer worldview more accessible: “The ability of the Gems to change their gender representation at will is a type of magic that fundamentally disconnects notions of gender from gender identity in the mind of the viewer. When the viewer is told that the Gems bodies are constructed and unreal, the viewer is forced to reconsider the implications of the female coded body traits […]” (Dunn 47). 

Regardless, Amethyst’s queer approach towards identity does not mean a complete disconnection to the concept itself. On the contrary, the effects of internalised self-hatred are most visible in Amethyst’s expressions of body variance. A later episode shows Amethyst’s physical body being repeatedly destroyed, forcing her to retreat into her Gem and regenerate (“Reformed”). Due to her impatience, she does not undergo the process as intended and returns in a deformed state. As the episode continues, her teammates chastise her to do it properly, leading to her spitefully taking on more and more ridiculous forms. While doing so, she mocks the notions of what constitutes a “proper” body at all: “Just as bodily surfaces are enacted as the natural, so these surfaces can become the site of a dissonant and denaturalizes performance that reveals the performative status of the natural itself.” (Butler, Gender Trouble 200). In this way, Amethyst’s alien abilities function as a tool of critique, revealing how the body can act as performance. The interesting part is, that Amethyst’s questioning of bodily norms does not only read as  decisively queer, but also thematises how repressive norms can affect an individual. 

As Gem society is extraordinarily normative, Amethysts are expected to attain a certain standard of height. Even though shapeshifting is a possibility for Gems, the ability requires conscious effort and is therefore not sustainable. It is because of this reason that Amethyst’s lack of height is considered a defect on Homeworld. Melzer states that identity performance always acts within a “highly regulative set of norms” which dictate what is considered a valid representative of any given category (cp. Melzer 43). Amethyst moves between gendered positions by means of coping with Gem society finding her to be insufficient. As height is often associated with strength and masculinity, Amethyst occasionally takes on the wrestling persona of “Purple Puma” (“Tiger Millionaire”). While in this form, she towers over ordinary people, exhibiting a flat, hairy chest and uses masculine pronouns for herself (cp. Valentín 204). Jack Halberstam recognises that some forms of female masculinity are a form of “social rebellion” or “the place of pathology” wherein women use masculine signifiers to escape restrictive expectations (cp. Halberstam, Female Masculinity 9). These observations are in accordance with Butler’s assertion that gender as a performance is “open to splitting, self-parody, self-criticism, and those hyperbolic exhibitions of “the natural” that, in their very exaggeration, reveal its fundamentally phantasmic status.” (Butler, Gender Trouble 200). 

Not only does Amethyst’s repeated mockery of body and gender norms expose them as illusions, but the show itself hints at experimentation with identity possibly alleviating feelings of inadequacy. Amethyst confesses later that she does not need the figure of Purple Puma anymore, as she now accepts herself the way she is: “I needed it when I felt like I wasn’t good enough. But I don’t feel that way anymore” (“Tiger Philanthropist” 07:10—07:16). Nevertheless, the show manages to avoid pathologizing queerness. The end of the episode shows Amethyst return to her alter ego, not in search for validation but because her time as a wrestler “meant everything (to her)” (“Tiger Philanthropist” 09:03—09:06). Without disregarding the play on parodic masculinity as a coping mechanism, Steven Universe attests a healing quality to the experimentation with gender. The alien body is presented as the site of social criticism, as well as positive connotations to queerness itself. These positive feelings towards queerness are depicted as harbouring an immense power for resisting further oppression. 

How an acceptance of one’s own status as a queered entity can be harvested for resistance, is perfectly encapsulated in Amethyst’s confrontation with the enemy Gem Jasper. The parallels between these two opposing factions are clear: Jasper, similarly to Amethyst, was created to be a Homeworld soldier. Contrary to Amethyst, however, Jasper is described as the perfect example of what her specific Gem type should be (cp. “Beta”). Jasper herself asserts her superiority and makes clear the consequences of not fulfilling Homeworld’s demands: “Every Gem is made for a purpose: to serve the order of the Diamonds. Those who cannot fit inside this order must be purged!” (“Earthlings” 02:00— 02:06). In this sense, Jasper functions as the embodiment of Homeworld’s hegemonic discourse that excludes undesirable bodies and identities. She looks down on queerness and explicitly connects her abilities to serve the rigid system to her own worth: “Fighting is my life! It’s what I was made for! It is what you were made for too, runt.” (“Crack the Whip” 07:35—07:42). As Jasper repeatedly judges Amethyst according to normative standards of body and identity, Amethyst’s desire for victory over Jasper is framed as Amethyst complying to Homeworld’s demands. Instead of accepting her difference and alignment to queered identities, Amethyst attempts to meet Jasper on her terms which can only result in failure: “Steven... I can't win. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work, she came out right, and I came out... wrong...” (“Earthlings” 03:54—04:05). It is when Steven redirects her focus onto the strength of their shared status as queer subjectivities, that they decide to team up: “That's just what Jasper thinks. She's the only one who thinks you should be like her! Stop trying to be like Jasper. You're nothing like Jasper! You're like me! Because we're both not like anybody.” (“Earthlings” 04:05— 04:18). In this way, Amethyst’s acceptance of her queered body leads to a connection to Steven as an ally in shared marginalisation. Their subsequent fusion defeats Jasper with ease where both of them alone where unable to do so. 

Although fusion will be examined in detail later, its role in this encounter is particularly meaningful. Fusion, as the process of merging bodies, revolves around the feminine realms of emotional connection and the queer concept of blurring the boundaries of body and mind, turning it into the perfect metaphor for the strength of acceptance and unity for queer liberation purposes. In contrast to Jasper, Amethyst’s closeness to fluid identities and queerness makes it easier for her to engage in fusion and find strength. While it is true that Steven Universe does not negate physical limitations, the show proposes queer solidarity and self-acceptance as means of liberation. 

The theme of gender expression standing in direct correlation to healing is also explored from a different angle in the character of Pearl. Pearl’s relationship to gender fluidity and performative identity is best understood when analysed through the lenses of lesbianism and female masculinity. Naturally, this beckons the question of how technically genderless aliens can be regarded lesbian. This is deeply connected to the nature of the category woman itself. Jack Halberstam criticises the mindset of restricting the boundaries of womanhood while leaving the lines of masculinity open: “[…] why is it [….] that one finds the limits of femininity so quickly whereas the limits of masculinity [….] seem fairly expansive?” (Halberstam, Female Masculinity 28). The policing of womanhood can be traced back to the masculine as unquestioned neutral territory when the feminine is only allowed to be represented by a highly specific set of features. When we return to Butler, the problem starts to dissolve in her theory of performativity. Womanhood is a set of behaviours and not dictated by biology: “The very subject of women is no longer understood in stable or abiding terms.” (Butler, Gender Trouble 2). The category of woman is henceforth rendered queer, as it is unstable and subject to change. 

To regard Pearl as a woman and lesbian is therefore to view her identity not in terms of heteronormative discourses of biology, but allowing for the possibility to extrapolate valuable insights about gendered positions in society: “However, in an exploration of the fundamental instability of the category “women” does not find against feminism but, in resisting the urge to foreclose prematurely that category, licenses new possibilities for a feminism that constitutes “women” as the effect of, not the prerequisite for, its inquiries.” (Jagose, Way Out 273). With regards to the popular definition of lesbians as women cultivating romantic relationship with other women, identifying Pearl as a lesbian is a valid point of analysis. Steven Universe takes great care to repeatedly emphasise and explore the relationship between Pearl and Steven’s mother, Rose. The romantic attraction Pearl harbours for Rose defines her character and affects most of her actions throughout the course of the show. Interestingly, her progression in terms of lesbian affiliations and resistance towards Homeworld’s demands are reflected onto her body in increasingly explicit ways. Pearl embodies a progression into female masculinity where her gender performance changes with her widening understanding of liberation. This harkens back to Halberstam’s identification of female masculinity as a tool to subvert masculine power by turning a “blind eye to conventional masculinities and refusing to engage” (Halberstam, Female Masculinity 9). 

To understand this better, one needs to examine the role Pearl is meant to fulfil in the social hierarchy of her home planet. Pearls, as a category of Gems, are made to serve and entertain elite Gems: “[…] Pearls aren’t made for this. They are meant for looking nice and holding your stuff for you […]” (“Back to the Barn” 03:02—03:12). Pearls are therefore, more than other Gem categories, marked with femininity and womanhood. Simone de Beauvoir remarks upon women’s role as subservient to  masculine powers, always forced to obey as the perpetual Other (cp. de Beauvoir 29). Pearls are not only meant for the purpose of servitude, but also reduced to their appearance which usually mirrors that of her master: Upon examining Pearl, a Homeworld Gem remarks: “It looks like a fancy one, too. Who do you belong to anyway?” (“Back to the Barn” 03:38—03:42). Pearl herself disturbs these lines and expresses liberation through a refusal of participation in the hegemony of Homeworld, going as far as to openly rebel against it. 

The progression becomes ever so clearer when the programme offers a flashback to show how Pearl conducted herself on Homeworld. Her dress is designed to be decidedly feminine while she defaults to a subservient body position. As Homeworld demands conformity to the role of a “Pearl”, the parallels to earth’s gender discourse become highly visible. Despite the Gem at the core of their being serving as the only material reality behind their existence, Homeworld society expects a certain set of presentation and behaviours from each Gem. Deviation from the norm is not allowed and can be met with punishment. With regards to her latter transformation, Pearl’s position on Homeworld recalls Butler: “Femininity is taken on by a woman who ‘wishes for masculinity,’ but fears the retributive consequences of taking on the public appearance of masculinity.” (Butler, Gender Trouble 70). After Pearl flees to earth and joins a rebellion against Homeworld’s regime, her presentation and performance become masculinised. She takes up sword fighting, fully knowing that this is not acceptable for a Pearl (“Sworn to the Sword”), and her subsequent regenerations take on more masculine aspects with each iteration: “The lesbian body, then, (like every body) is discursively constructed, a cultural text, on the surface of which the constantly changing, and contradictory possible meanings of “lesbian” are inscribed and resisted.” (Jagose, Way out 280). 

First, Pearl’s dress is exchanged for a pair of leggings with a tule skirt serving as a layer (“Gem Glow”), the second transformation shows her abandoning the skirt while still suggesting a feminine alignment by incorporating a large bow into her outfit (“Steven The Sword Fighter”). Meanwhile, the colour pink becomes less apparent in her design with time. The show suggests Pearl’s move from the feminine towards the masculine end of the spectrum that is used to embody resistance to Homeworld’s demands of femininity. In other words, Pearl’s female masculinity is constructed in the same way, even conceived through the same discursive means, as the hegemonic identity she inhabited before (cp. Jagose, Way out 278). Pearl’s identity becomes queered as her body proves to be signifier of gender fluidity that always changes within contexts (cp. Butler, Gender Trouble 188). This can be seen as a typical articulation of queer resistance, as it not only exposes the artificiality of gendered categories but also refuses to replicate them (cp. Butler, Gender Trouble 201). Steven Universe implies a connection between queer desires and the ways they are reflected on the body. Halberstam himself states that this mixture can be particularly dangerous to heteronormative society: “[…] when and where female masculinity conjoins with possibly queer identities, it is far less likely to meet with approval. Because female masculinity seems to be at its most threatening when coupled with lesbian desire.” (Halberstam, Female Masculinity 28). 

The programme outright states that the moment of awakening for Pearl is directly incited by her love for Rose to whom she was gifted as a servant: “I was supposed to make her happy. I just never could” (“Now We’re Only Falling Apart” 03:06—03:10). Seeing how Rose is uncomfortable with the restrictions on Homeworld, Pearl incites the first sparks of rebellion in an effort to make her happy. She suggests tricking the authorities and spending a day on earth when it was explicitly forbidden for Rose to do so (“Now We’re Only Falling Apart”). This slight misdemeanour quickly spirals out of control, as both Pearl and Rose grow endeared by Earth and develop a desire to live there freely. The liberational implications of their actions are hard to miss. They harken back to the building of queer utopia which proves how queerness itself “is a longing that propels us onward, beyond romances of the negative and toiling of the present. Queerness is that thing that lets us feel that this world is not enough, that indeed something is missing.” (Muñoz 1). 

However, Pearl’s freedom from authorities may be paradoxically stifled because of her connections to Rose. The programme grapples with the fact that Pearl’s wish to follow Rose may be interpreted as her remaining subservient to her former master instead of breaking free. To counter that, it can be said that Pearl’s love for Rose is completely inappropriate to Homeworld society. When Pearl attempts to fuse with Rose, she exclaims: “This is very not allowed.” (“Now We’re Only Falling Apart” 09:58—10:01). This means that their lesbian relationship is a societal taboo that gives room to further transgression and ultimately, rebellion. How exactly queer love and the war against oppression are cause and effect of one another within the show will be examined at a later point. For now, it is important to note that Pearl’s inability to let Rose go is presented as a failure to completely liberate herself. While the relationship is still queer, it is not equal and remains tenuously connected to the hierarchy out of which it was born. Various scenes suggest that even after Rose’s death, Pearl is unable to let go of their relationship: “Everything I ever did, I did for her. Now she’s gone. But I’m still here.” (“Rose’s Scabbard” 09:30—09:35). It is when Pearl accepts Rose’s death and experiences attraction to a human woman that her arch is completed. The episode “Last One Out Of Beach City” shows Pearl trying to flirt with a mysterious girl and breaking various rules in the process: “I am done thinking about the past. Tonight, I am all about the future.” (“Last One Out Of Beach City” 04:50—05:00). The symbol for overcoming the boundaries of her past and freeing herself from the last constraints of Homeworld’s oppression are encapsulated in her wearing a jacket. As a Gem’s attire is normally an inseparable part of her body, wearing clothes overstep Gem conventions and signify human territory. Here, she crosses lines between cultures to fulfil a romantic desire. Even her interest in the girl itself is significantly queered as an example of interspecies romance. 

The importance of this experience can be observed with Pearl’s last regeneration. Her new form reflects the change towards a more queer, liberated identity onto her body. The colour pink is entirely absent from her design, signifying her removal from symbolic femininity as well as her freedom from Rose. The ways the design incorporates pants and a jacket recall the events of “Last One Out Of Beach City” while suggesting a close alignment to the classical butch identity (“Change Your Mind”). (Fig. 1. Pearl in her jacket. “Last One Out Of Beach City.” 02:52) Amethyst shrugs off masculinist notions about strength and overcomes her desire to fit into hegemonic society by questioning the nature of normativity itself. Pearl, on the other hand, escapes demands of femininity and her fate as a servant with the transformative power of queer desire. Consequently, Steven Universe uses the alien biological components of shapeshifting and the fantastical element of alternative societies to subvert expectations of hegemonic gender and reveal the artificiality of identity as a construct. While doing so, the programme also refers to Butler’s theories in ways that renegotiate queer subjectivities along the lines of political change: “The critical task is, rather, to locate strategies of subversive repetition enabled by those constructions, to affirm the local possibilities of intervention […]” (Butler, Gender Trouble 200). Both Amethyst and Pearl gain the strength to overcome the hegemonic oppression put upon them by their home planet through means of performativity. The queer reality of Pearl’s and Amethyst’s victories negate hegemonic assumptions about identity in ways that threaten oppressive forces. Queering one’s own identity is deeply connected to envisioning a future where categories break down. By engaging in performative practices, one is already in the process of building this exact world: “Performativity and Utopia both call into question what is epistemologically there and signal a highly ephemeral ontological field that can be characterized as a doing in futurity.” (Muñoz 26).

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