#verse: Surface Pressure

[animatronicabundance-archived]

@gunactii​ asked:  ❛  alright ,  let’s  try  again ,  shall  we ?  ❜ // glamrock bonnie to glamrock freddy !

“Bonnie, I am not sure if that is a wise idea.”

Freddy’s ears are low as he takes off his hat, and observes the destruction this lesson in bowling has caused. He’s rather sure one of the many lost balls are in the roof but he’s scared to look up.

“I do not think the Pizza Plex could take anymore attempts from me.”

Freddy Fazbear can sing and debatably dance, but apparently they didn’t program any skill for bowling in his noggin.

[horrifichaunts]

Glam Freddy tag dump!

[unbloodiedmartyr]

i read your shruefic exploring their relationship with their family.. and oh my god. Oh My God. the shruemplications....

the shruemplications!!!! im glad you enjoyed it :))

and yeah a big part of what led me to that interpretation was how in (i think) their first call they say they dont have leverage, so Shrue's partner just needs to call them back. you could interpret this as Shrue's lack of leverage over the government but i dont think so!! they seem to be trying to portray that they are safe and protected by their position - "i think our scientists are really going to impress us" etc. - so it makes less sense that theyd suddenly admit otherwise over a presumably monitored phoneline at that point in time. i interpret it more as there's nothing Shrue can hold over their family to make them call back, and there's a whole host of juicy relationship implications that come with that. and then theres how they say, "i need that comfort from you?" like its a question??? like they have to beg because theyre unused to seeking comfort like that??? and then, in their final call, they list divorce before any other reason for their partner not calling back, implicitly revealing that they view it as the strongest argument!!

also, as was said on siltcord, Carson is really just an improvisor and not a strategist. i doubt he would have planned far ahead enough to bother actually faking Shrue's family, nor would have have needed to for his lie to have its intended effect.

[anewkindofme]

I know the boys get jealous of each other interacting too much with their parents initially but does April get jealous of them playing with Owen?

Not really. She’s a little older than them when she regresses and has the frame of mind “the “babies” need him more right now”. Also, Alex had siblings growing up but they were equally neglected by their mom. He had to be the adult. April is used to her younger sisters getting more attention. She never had to be the adult, but she also never really had an adult in her corner.

If anything, it’s the opposite extreme where she doesn’t want to be a bother or make Owen think she’s being difficult (because when she was younger, she was told so much not to be so emotional and the little ones needed them more). So, she’s fine with it and will make her own problems smaller when the boys are around. Which is an issue Owen has to work out with her.

(Also there’s a whole conversation to be had about girls being considered more mature and people not realizing they’re struggling vs how boys tend to make their struggles more obvious by acting out. But…rant for another day)

Ask me questions about my series!!

[animatronicabundance-archived]

fazeruined​:

Once again it’s night time in the Mega PizzaPlex, the lockdown having just initiated. Nearly no humans to worry about.

Once again, “Gretel” furtively gets the whole place to herself. Kind of.

The robots can be a problem for her stealth if she gets spotted, and there’s a singular other human– but she’s fine with that, even. That human will get her just desserts when it’s time.

But that time, doesn’t seem to be tonight, unfortunately.

There’s something else more pressing for Gretel to worry about tonight:

She opens her duffle bag, and in terms of edibles, she finds only ¼ left of a burger, and she’s starving. Stable, full meals, are a luxury. That ¼ of a burger is long cold and maybe stale by now, but it still makes her mouth water. Yet, she painfully restrains herself from eating it just yet– it’s the only food left she has, she has to make it last.

Which means, tonight is the night of stealing more food. With her stomach quite audibly eloquent, Gretel snuck around the PizzaPlex, her aim being to make it over to the Atrium, where the most of the food places are located, like a hub.

Freddy wasn’t sure what it was that itched his circuits and made him want to go for a walk tonight when usually he stayed near his room. Maybe it was the 4 small walls feeling suffocating compared to the rest of the PizzaPlex, maybe it was him looking for too long at the bowling ball in his room ….but whatever it was it made him want to go for a walk. Monty was in his golf course and Roxy was hanging out with Chica in her room so all he had to really worry about was Officer Vanessa.

Thankfully he was aware of where most of the cameras were so after an awkward effort to avoid being seen by Chica and Roxy, he was off on a not too well seen path into the atrium. He was just going to sit down on one of the benches and take some time with his thoughts.  Freddy couldn’t make himself go anywhere near Bonnie Bowl, but perhaps sitting where he could see it on the ground floor was good enough.

His ear slightly twitches at the faint sound he just heard nearby. Much too soft to be Monty and the others were in their rooms, Officer Vanessa maybe? She often had a heavy walk though and the sound he thought he detected was lighter. If he didn’t know any better, as their closed right now, he could have sworn he heard a child somewhere nearby in the atrium.

[reeselovesfoblog]

People with f/os in musicals, how do you react to your f/os verses in songs? :3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey um if it's cool could I request, Welt, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, Gallager and Aventurine reacting to reader to questioning their interest in them?

An example: The confession

Them: I have feelings for you Reader: ... Um *shocked*.. I feel the same but.. *trails off* Them: but? Reader: *squints* you sure? About me? Please reconsider your choice. Them: ...

thank you if you decide to do this! No pressure though!

Jing yuan would raise a brow before vaguely asking you to come with him somewhere he had been meaning to show you for a while and thought that now was the perfect time.

The place where he takes you was just like any other flower garden you’ve been to before but from the way the light glinted off of the waters surface, to the way the flowers blossomed in a variety of unique colours, and other small things like that made the flower garden look ethereal.

Jing yuan chuckled at your expression.

‘You see why I brought you here?’ He asks.

‘…no, not really, why?’ You replied, looking at him in confusion.

‘I’m trying to show you that while you may not think yourself as anything special, much like this flower garden, there are a multitude of unique things tailored to you that make you shine in the eyes of the ones who views you highly.’ He responded as he lends his hand out for a bird to perch on and softly smiled as it moved up to his shoulder where it sat comfortably, trying its hardest not to fall asleep.

‘For every flower is a beauty to behold regardless of their shapes, their size or their colour that even a daffodil can be considered of equal beauty of a roses in someone’s eyes.’ Jing Yuan continues, looking at you from the corner of his eye to see whether his words were sinking in. ‘And my flower believes themself to be a withering daffodil but to me, they’re a rose unlike any other. Stubborn, strong willed, but.’

‘But?’ You echoed, nervousness creeping through your veins as Jing Yuan moved in front of you and leant forward so that he was right next to your ear.

‘But they refuse to accept words of their worth and beauty from someone who cares about them very much, but I hope to change that soon enough, if they let me.’ He whispers as he presses a kiss to your cheek and pulling away to plant a kiss to your forehead.

Dan heng

While he’s happy that you felt the same way towards him, but felt his heart sink when you told him to reconsider his feelings for you.

‘If you are not ready for a relationship, then I understand, but I wish that you wouldn’t look down upon yourself when you’re anything but what your mind is telling you that you are.’ He says as he holds your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks as his eyes shone with concern. ‘Just know that I’ll always be by your side to resolve any issue you may have, for I do not wish for you to be burdened by this alone when I can help lessen it’s impact on you.’ He adds.

Dan Heng would do anything and everything in his power to make you see just how much you meant to him, even if it meant asking March to pull up pictures where his infatuation with you was glaringly obvious.

He would bring you poetry books and read out verses that perfectly describe his innermost thoughts and feelings towards you and how he views you on a daily basis. Dan Heng feels as though he could never convey just how truly unique and magnificent you were on his own. He’s tried but compared to the works of acclaimed poets, it just lacked fluidity in terms of the flow of words.

Everything else fades away when you entered his peripheral vision, almost as though he was made to notice your presence no matter where you were, only to just stare at you with a look that could only be akin to someone who had just found their other half after so long.

Welt would sit you down somewhere and want to talk about it because he truly didn’t think that these were your own words coming from your mouth.

He believes they were someone else’s and he hated that you had started believing this person’s words as reality, when they were the furthest thing from the truth in his eyes.

He wants to help you unlearn what everybody else has thought of you in the past because it doesn’t matter, their words hold no weight until you allow it to. No one’s perception of you was in any way shape or form a reflection of the real you, for every person you’ve ever had a positive effect on posses a different perceptions of you.

The only person who knew the real you was you but it was obvious to Welt that you might’ve forgotten who that version of you was by worrying yourself to death about the thoughts and opinions of everyone else. So Welt was more then happy to help you see that you were so much more then what you think.

He doesn’t know who wronged you in the past but they’ve left everlasting damage on your tender soul, but he was going to do everything he could in his power to show you the you that he sees every time upon seeing you.

Gallagher

‘I’ve got nothing to reconsider when it comes to you sweetheart.’ Gallagher was quick to tell you as he grabbed one of your hands, squeezing it. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘But-‘ you started.

‘No ifs, ands or buts.’ He interrupts you. ‘You’re prefect the way you are and I won’t hear otherwise because I’ll always go out of my way to remind you as to why i care about you, okay?’ He says as he lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. ‘Just let me take care of you and get rid of those pesky thoughts residing in your head by telling them to fuck off.’

You couldn’t help but chuckle at this as you allowed yourself to find comfort in Gallagher’s side as you were greeted by his bodily warmth that made you into melting further against him. ‘I just don’t want to be a bother to you that’s all.’ You murmured, insecurity making your throat tightened, rendering it hard to swallow.

Gallagher felt his heart break for you as he brought his arms to your waist to rub soothing patterns into your side as he presses his face to the side of your head, pressed reassuring kisses there as he whispered sweet nothings as to why you were perfect, beautiful, sweet and caring of all whom you come across, whether they were deserving of it or not.

Aventurine

He understands more then you knew because the moment you admitted to liking him in the same breath as berating yourself, he was about to ask what was it about him that you liked exactly.

You were both in the same boat that was about to capsize from your shared self hatred for yourselves, but Aventurine would be damned if he let you think of yourself in any negative light when you’ve been nothing but a beacon of pure, genuine light for him since first introductions.

He’d much rather be the one drowning in self doubt than you.

He’d have you stand in front of a mirror and asks what you see.

‘Someone who’s lost themselves along the way,’ you answered solemnly, ‘someone who’s lost sight of who they once were because they were too caught up in the opinions of others and waiting on them hand and foot, only to revive nothing but scraps.’ You added and Aventurine couldn’t help but feel himself becoming infuriated, not at you but at the people who have made you feel as though you were lesser than, who made you feel as though you should be outcasted because you didn’t fit into their narrative.

However the sound of your sniffling brought him out of his need to get back at these people for you and saw that you were beginning to tear up and was quick to wipe them away before they fell. ‘Don’t weep for people who don’t have a heart, for they’ll always think themselves superior by materialistic means that they will inevitably loose to time and bad decisions.’ He tells you as he rests his head on your shoulder, looking at you through the mirrors reflective surface. ‘You on the other hand have something that they could never hope to obtain via money.’ He adds.

‘And what’s that?’ You asked, looking into his eyes and noting that despite their dullness, they were still the most beautiful and expressive pair of eyes you have ever seen.

‘Empathy, humility, compassion, kindness and an appreciation for the simple things that many overlook and possess the ability to see the beauty in broken things.’ Aventurine replies, his voice becoming soft towards the end, clearly referring to himself, as he held onto you tighter as though you’d slip from his grasp much like everyone else had. ‘So don’t compare yourself to others who should be looking towards you as an example instead.’

You moved your head to properly look at him, not use to seeing this side of him, so serious and determined to make you see reason. ‘You really mean that?’

Aventurine smiles as he kisses you on the nose, chuckling. ‘Of course! You’re my good luck charm, I’d be hopeless and in a whole lot of trouble without you.’ He says as he presses another kiss to your nose, adoring your expression as you scrunched up your face, muttering under his breath. ‘Cute.’

[ma1dita]

love like a blister

the five stages of loving losing luke

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.7k 

summary: (post-tlt) set directly after lovers, or partners in crime; The one where you learn to mourn someone even if they're still alive. Loving him and losing him are one and the same; the aftermath of his betrayal. this work references a lot of previous works in the series! (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: yeah… yall been asking for this so buckle up. luke is not present in this one, moreso you/trouble dealing with the after. i let annabeth breakdown a bit since ep 8 was amazing but felt choppy to me. this is not the end of the trouble!verse i promise!!

(posted 2/12/24, betaed by mootie lari @mrsaluado)

—

DENIAL - bursting under pressure

we grew up together, what do you mean you grew into a person i can’t love?

Annabeth and Percy find you standing at the edge of the forest clearing—staring at the space where you let the love of your life vanish into thin air. 

You let him leave. 

It’s almost harrowing when the three of you make eye contact, not a single weapon in your possession, only your dying lantern and heart bleeding with the confirmation of Luke’s betrayal. 

Knees shaking as Annabeth stalks over and her sword still raised with tears in her eyes, she’s no longer Luke’s little sister but a formidable warrior set on protecting camp—on protecting Percy.

And you failed in doing either of those things you promised yourself at the beginning of this summer because you ignored the signs of Luke’s behavior— until this very moment. There’s a pressure in your head that dampens your senses, overtaking the control you have over your being as you deny any knowledge of what happened tonight. 

Because in truth, you put the pieces together at the same time they did, just a little too late. She looks at you now with the fury she wasn’t able to project on the real traitor.

“You knew,” she grits her teeth, on the defensive as Percy scrambles up from the ground.

“Annie, I…”

Percy stares at you in horror, a few steps back with Riptide in his injured grasp, and suddenly he understands what it means to see you break. They both feel it instantly as your lantern goes out. Heavy despair drapes over all of you as the madness rips its way through your body, almost breaking through your skin as it emanates through the air. The two children had never felt anything like it before, swords shaking in their hands as they’re filled with the sensation until it bubbles over and they can’t do anything but watch you, their usually poised head counselor lose your grip on reality.

But this can’t be real. 

Out of all of the plans you both made, it was never deemed a possibility that Luke wouldn’t be there with you. Now you stand in the darkness of the forest, hands raised in surrender to a crime you didn’t commit.

There’s so much pressure and it hurts holding it all in, hurts so badly—everywhere until you scream.

“DAD!”

You stare at their small faces surrounding you in anguish, both of them talking but not a single word registers in your mind as you keep shaking your head and screaming for your father for the first time in your life. Before the words the words can form between your lips again Dionysus is there, not as an immortal god but carrying the wrath of a protective father, and there are no forces that can fight against that.

It all moves fast from there, black spots blurring your vision brought by the sheer strength of your tears. Though you don’t feel strong right now, instead there’s nothing that can describe the feeling but hurt as you’re frozen in pain.

The kids watch Mr. D check you for any injuries, but what they’ll never understand is that the wounds Luke left behind are on the inside, and you are bleeding. He shushes you, but the words fight their way out of your mouth, almost in disbelief. “Did I do that to him?”

Your father scoops you into his arms, godly strength and fatherly concern surfacing as he cradles you like a little girl like he should have all those years ago.

The haze clears as Mr. D quells the misery that reverberates through the air and it’s quiet again as your eyes fall shut. For a moment, Percy can’t help but wonder if this is another performance of yours, another way to throw him off of the traitor’s scent. But as your hand falls out from under Mr. D’s arm, he grabs onto it anyway. The son of Poseidon remembers how you and Luke always looked at each other like you were equals, and realizes that for once, the actress was outplayed at her own game.

ANGER - words leaking like an abscess

i never knew loving someone so much would be a crime

There isn’t a protocol set in place for when one of your cabin counselors and all-star campers defects with plans to wage war on the gods. There is even less of a precedent set in place for when the head counselor and daughter of the camp director is left to pick up the pieces, hands dirtied by the evidence he left behind. Perhaps your job description was never truly clear anyway.

All you know now is that you’ve been sitting in a rickety wooden chair in your dad’s office for hours now, tied up—for formalities. 

This must be your punishment from the gods for every way you were different. Maybe if you were braver, maybe if you didn’t force yourself to only see the good in him, maybe then maybe, he could’ve been saved too. Surely undoing all of that would be considerably less painful than being questioned by everyone you love about the one you love. 

For once you didn’t have any good answers.

“Like I said to Chiron. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know what? Use your big girl words. Just do the right thing, like you always say!” Clarisse barks in your face. The centaur tuts at the daughter of Ares, making her step back and cross her arms. The boys are more silent but still suspicious, and Lee asks if you really thought Clarisse was the traitor.

“I didn’t. I was the last one to know,” you grit, looking at Percy who surveys you with hesitant eyes, “I just thought Luke was leaving. I didn’t know why.”

“How do we know you’re not working for Kronos too?” 

One of them says it, you’re losing track as to who when you blink hard and long, but the words spill out of you like a festering wound— fast, acidic, and painful.

“Do you REALLY think I could turn my back on my home? My friends? Is that how you all think of me? After everything!”

“You’d do anything for that boy and we all know it,” Silena says with a scowl very unlike her, though you suppose everyone’s out of sorts from exhaustion.

“Not that. That’s where him and I are different. I would never be able to do that.”

You think you hear Silena bite back a sob as she turns away from you, not meeting your eyes.

Mr. D was unable to judge you since you were his only daughter. He’s been gone most of the night and you feel so alone even if the room is filled with familiar faces that don’t even want you here. Charles, Percy, Lee, Clarisse, Silena, Katie stand still as they judge you— Annabeth didn’t even come to the Big House, her mind probably already made up. 

Chiron says there will be a vote, the procedural way—like how you taught the cabin counselors how to handle disagreements, though they were never expecting to vote on your dismissal from camp. Tensions are high, some rightfully angry at the war looming over your heads, others looking at you with pity from the other corner of the room. All of them, your friends, still, you hope.

6 votes, since you and Luke didn’t count, and Annabeth’s abstention. They did it outside, away from your view and you sit in the silence of the office, angry at what’s become of you. Tainted and tarnished, you don’t bother to find out who voted what, knowing things won’t be the same after this. 

Your dad comes back a little before dawn, having asked a favor from Apollo to determine your innocence–to prove that you’re telling the truth. But by then, Charles and Lee are already untying you from your chair and you’re being let go. You wonder what changed once they were able to speak without being in your presence. Remaining seated and staring at all of them with your jaw set in stone-cold wrath, Percy thinks for a moment that you look like Luke.

The first rays of light shine through the window upon your sullen frame— a confirmation from the sun god that your heart was always pure. It still feels like a loss. There’s no medal or award for getting left behind, and winning has always been more of Luke’s thing.

You resign from the position of head counselor by the time sunlight spreads across the campgrounds.

BARGAINING - to make yourself new from the inside out

isn’t home the first place you learn to run from?

You catch Percy at the doorstep of cabin 3 before he leaves and your dad is yelling at all the campers.

“Okay! For those of you who are not staying for the full term… get out! You get out. Pack your bags. You’re going home!” Mr. D screams with a twinkle in his eye as he winks at you, patting you on the head before walking away to drive kids out.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” Percy mumbles, adjusting his backpack over his shoulder. You’d been locked up in your room since the interrogation with almost no signs of life. He was worried about you—all of them were. They just didn’t know how to say it, after everything.

You stood in front of him in sweatpants and a shirt he’s sure he’s seen Luke wear to sleep before, exhaustion prominent on your face; usually you’re better at hiding it, but there’s no need for false pretenses anymore.

“Last day of camp. Had to end it on a good note,” you say softly, biting your lip, “I heard about what you did, Perce. You didn’t have to. I was going to quit anyway.”

Sometime in the past few days, Chiron came to your cabin to tell you they didn’t vote at all, which was a surprise to you. Percy convinced them not to, reminding them of your efforts as head counselor, and as a friend—the decision was settled quickly after that.

“I knew you didn’t betray us. I was just scared.”

You watch him shift his weight, not losing eye contact as he produces a half-smile. He seems older now after his quest, as many demigods do–though it’s only been a few weeks, he looks like he’s grown more sure of himself.

“That’s okay. I was too.” 

The silence between you is comfortable as both of you listen to the birds in the trees, the distant voices of chattering children, and your heart hurts at the idea of leaving this, even temporarily. As your eyes flicker back to Percy’s, you realize he feels the same way. 

“I hope your mom’s okay, especially after all of this. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

His sandy eyebrows furrow and it’s funny how Percy always looks a little confused.

“You’re leaving camp? I thought…”

“Well I’m not joining Kronos, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you laugh dryly, “It’s getting boring here. Gonna have to change it up soon, I think. See you.” you nod, waving a hand as you turn to walk away.

“Wait!” 

Percy calls your name, skipping down the steps of his cabin and meeting you halfway down the forest path. He’s digging through his jacket pocket, and pulls out two black clay beads with blue tridents etched on the surface as your body grows cold.

“I don’t know what to do with—” “We…the other counselors, this is what we ended up voting on. And I thought you should get an extra, just in case,” Percy mumbles, his voice edged with hope and your face contorts into something like regret. You can’t cry again, even if you wanted to. 

“I wouldn’t pray for something like that,” you whisper shakily.

“I thought you didn’t really pray at all.” 

The kid smiles at you and it makes you wonder what souls like him and Luke must’ve done in their previous lives to deserve fates like this—to fight wars that aren’t their own. To be doomed by the narrative is a treacherous thing, and it is so utterly unfair. 

“Yeah. That was more his style,” you sniff, taking the beads out of his hand, “but I still find myself with a lot of hope.” 

Hope, in a sense, is prayer too. Wishing that things will be better, manifesting and believing that it doesn’t have to end this way. You don’t think Luke will ever come home to you, not really, not all of him, but it’s nice to have something to hang onto. At his core, he was raised to be a soldier, and soldiers don’t always come home.

You decide to drive Percy down the opposite shore to Montauk. It’s a short ride, and he spends the time looking out the window to the sea, thinking of his father— when the car pulls up to the driveway of the beach house, you step out and give him a hug. Soon, he’ll be taller than you.

“Take care of yourself, okay? Need anything and I’m a call away,” you smile, but he sees that it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Thank you. For being a real friend, even if it hurts you.”

You grab his shoulder to make him look at you, and the distant sound of crashing waves dampens the thoughts running through your head.

“Listen to me. None of this is your fault. I couldn’t save him. Luke’s my biggest failure.”

Your voice wavers and you swallow hard, pushing the tears back down your throat.

“You know, I knew you didn’t know anything about his betrayal because when we were in the forest, I’d never seen you like that before. I couldn’t figure out the feeling, and–”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that, Perce. I couldn’t hold it in anymore,” you interrupt, but he shakes his head and continues.

“I thought you were sad. It felt like sadness at first, but then I realized it was hatred. And I knew even then that I could never hate you. So I realized that’s how you felt about yourself. I hope someday you don’t feel that way anymore.”

If a few tears slip down your cheeks, Percy doesn’t pay it any mind. He waves at you when he gets to the door.

DEPRESSION - healing takes thick skin

i knew to love would be to lose my mind

After the summer term ended, you spent most of it in bed, hiding away from the world. You wished to be more spontaneous, to up and leave the safe boundaries of the camp you call home, but you’re not quite there yet.

The one good thing about this is your father. Dionysus was at your bedside every morning and night between the work him and Chiron had to do to keep camp running in your absence. His powerful fingers made themselves comfortable stroking your hair as you always find yourself staring at nothing. Your father cured you of what he thought was madness over your life being turned upside down by someone you love, but after the fog cleared, you were left feeling nothing. Numb to the touch, hardened by your hurt like a growing callous.

Impenetrable.

He thinks it’s bittersweet, getting to know you better as you chat late into the night when you can’t sleep, but it breaks his own heart to have the power of Olympus on his side and still not be able to fix you. He knows now what you must have been feeling these past few months, to some extent.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m dead already,” you mutter as your eyes stare blankly at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. Your dad is sitting at your desk as he signs paperwork, and his eyes flicker to a pinned photo on you wall of you kissing Luke’s cheek in a photobooth. One of the pins is missing a memory, torn and stolen away. 

“Unfortunately, you’re not that lucky. I carried you out of that forest, I’d know,” he mutters, sipping on his Diet Coke. 

“Will it always hurt like this? Losing someone you…” Love.

You can barely even bring yourself to say it, so he sighs and nudges you to move over on the bed, his Hawaiian shirt an eyesore against your bedspread. It makes your lips quirk up to see the god try to fit himself into a full-size as he adjusts to get comfortable.

“Yes. Because if it hurts, it means that it mattered. There is no such thing as love lost if you gave it willingly. You know, your mother and I were never together, but I loved her too.” 

He tucks the duvet under your chin like he’s worried you’ll catch a chill. Your form is still unmoving under the covers as he continues.

“Love is a powerful catalyst. The actions humans do after are a product of that; it brings out the best or the worst in people, especially if you think it’s the only way. You love because you want more time with them. You love someone to life, not to death.”

“Silena said something at the Big House. She said that everyone knew I would do anything for him. Where does that leave me? What do I do now?”

Your eyes shut as you feel your dad grab your hand and he chuckles lowly. He knows a thing or two of doing anything for love. He’s gone to the underworld and back—twice, for his mother Semele and his true love, Ariadne. And he’d do it again for you, if he ever had to. “You’re not broken, kid. You’re in love. It’s the purest emotion the gods have bestowed onto humans, and it is a gift, even if it doesn’t work out. Love is insanity.  I think you and I know it best.”

“I guess I’m a lot more like you than I like to admit,” you scoff, leaning against his arm. 

“Don’t sound so excited, daughter of mine,” he says playfully, and he seems so human now as he laughs. The two of you have a gift of fixing people, but perhaps you were both blind to who needed it the most until this very moment. Sitting there in the quiet a little longer, it doesn’t feel so bad to be the favorite daughter of Dionysus. Maybe when you’re ready to get out of these walls, you’ll be able to say it with pride.

ACCEPTANCE - to be soft again takes strength

in another life, we would’ve mattered more than choosing sides

“He always hated it when you smoked, you know.”

You cough through a puff, boots slightly slipping in the sleet of the gravel driveway as you turn to face Annabeth. Besides the fact that her father’s house is grander than anything you could ever imagine yourself living in, there’s a large distance between the two of you as she stands on the steps, the box you left on the doorstep slowly being dotted with falling snow. You left the car running, thinking she wouldn’t want to see you after everything that’s happened.

“Well he probably hates a lot of things about me now,” you say grimly. 

It’s been a growing habit to want to feel something, the rush of nicotine through your bloodstream—even if it’s bound to rip years off your life. It doesn’t really matter as much anymore.

I hate a lot of things about me too, you think, remembering a white house on a hill even if it was a distant dream— these thoughts all go up in smoke as you watch her sit down on the stoop waiting for you to come sit down with her.

Your hands fidget as you find a place next to her, putting out the cigarette on the red brick as the ash falls onto your chipped nail polish. It burns, but Annabeth watches you, the both of you stone-faced.

“What made you drive all the way out here?”

She opens the box and tries to hide a shaky breath at it’s contents but the vapor in the air betrays her. You can still tell a thing or two about people acting, but you’re never too sure anymore.

“I got a few days off from class. Dad Iris messaged me, told me there were new kids in 11 who needed bunks, so… he thought it was time. It was sitting in my room when I got there.” She notices you call Mr. D your dad now, but doesn’t say much of it. She’s also getting used to calling her father that after all these years.

You pull out the quilt you gave Luke the night before you got claimed, a faded pink and purple pattern worn from the years of use and wrap it around her shoulders. It still smells like him, citrus and musk and something darker that hangs over your heads and she sniffles.

“So you’re a college girl now, huh? Never thought you’d do it,” Annabeth mumbles, still not looking at you as her eyes scan through what was hidden underneath the fabric. Luke never had much he held close to his heart, and it’s funny to think his two prized possessions were staring down into a box trying to find the meaning of it all.

“Yeah, me neither,” you sigh. It should’ve been an insult, but you know what she means.

Not without him. 

There’s a lot that you promised each other, but you find yourself doing it all alone–because you have to. The world does not wait for for anyone, even if you beg for it to.

“It’s not a big deal, I’m still on the Island, just…not at home. Just trying to keep myself busy.”

Her hand picks up a polaroid of the two of them—he’s smiling as she peers over his shoulder.

“I think it’s great. You’re too hard on yourself sometimes.”

Other memories are scattered in the box including a leather bracelet, a compass, unsent letters to his mom, and photos of happier days back when all of your hearts were softer. There’s not much to split between the two of you.

A black clay bead rolls to the inner corner, indicative of this year’s events and painted with turquoise like the eyes of a certain son of Poseidon that now crosses the both of your minds.

“Percy gave it to me before he left for the city, for him. In case.”

You swallow loudly, and you watch her braid it onto the leather cord and tie it around your wrist. Her fingertips are cold as she nods, “In case.”

“You’ve been looking for him, haven’t you?” The movement your head makes is almost imperceptible—not a nod nor a shake, but the daughter of Athena knows you too well by now. She knows you because Luke did too, once upon a time.

“Think I’m trying to find myself now. If he’s still a part of that I don’t know what that says about me.”

The two of you sit there on the stoop of the Chase mansion catching up on the past 7 months even if the both of you can still feel the wall of his memory between you. She doesn’t invite you in to meet her family despite the weather—hesitant to let her mother’s side of life bleed into the new normal she’s created for herself, and you can’t blame her one bit. The both of you have been at war with each other and with yourselves since the end of the summer, when in reality you both know what it’s like to protect the little you have to hang onto and what it feels like to be left behind. Survival mode, until the end.

“Why do you think he did it? I mean, I know why, but…”

Why weren’t we enough?

Annabeth’s mind has always been so brilliant, but sitting in the dim porchlight, you understand now that she’s growing up so quickly. Gone are her baby-soft cheeks, with her cheekbones more prominent as they frame her wise eyes. She’s a teenager now. But Annabeth looks at you like she did long ago, the only person besides Luke who would patiently answer all of her questions. Even if the answers weren’t always what she wanted, you had a way of telling her what she needed to hear.

“I think I’ll be asking the gods why for the rest of my life. And even if they ignore me like they did him, or give me an answer that’s worth the balance of the world, I’ll still never be able to understand it.”

The snow is falling harder now, but neither of you seem to notice. It’s stuck in your hair, dusting your eyelashes as you sit and stare out at the front lawn. She tells you about school, her family, Percy and Grover, and the things you’ve missed about her so deeply—and for a moment you feel like you can be her older sister again, someone who can keep her secrets. Partially, you left home because everyone either doubted you or thought you as fragile. Annabeth always tells you what she’s truly thinking— it’s a breathe of fresh air to let yourself just be.

“I’ve never not had the last word when it comes to him, y’know? I guess I have nothing more to say though.”

You both huddle together for warmth under the quilt, sharing secrets and memories of him, things others wouldn’t understand.

“You know that’s not true,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes, and her smile is as bright as the snowflakes in her ebony tresses.

“What I do know is that you know too damn much,” and you both start giggling softly, teary eyed and feeling what you’ve been keeping in for months now, from each other and the rest of the world.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters suddenly, and your name falling from Annabeth’s mouth sounds almost as unfamiliar as her apologizing. It shouldn’t have to have been like this. You’re not going to lose the only person who remembers him like you do, who hurts like you. 

“Me too.”

She leans her head on your shoulder like how she would when you used to sing her to sleep, and deep down Annabeth knows that she won’t let the only good part of her brother go either. What tore the two of you apart brings you back together, because if you don’t have him you still have each other.

The door to the estate opens up slowly, it’s well-oiled hinges silent like the two sad girls’ whispers. Dr. Chase steps out to see you two illuminated by the light of his home, hand in hand over a box of memories and wrapped in a pink and purple quilt that Annabeth will hold close to her like she does her mother’s hat. 

“You two ladies causing trouble?” he smiles, his eyes wild with a thirst to know more and it’s a look you’ve seen his daughter give you one too many times.

You can’t help but chuckle at the irony and though he means well, the all-consuming feeling that comes with the name, Luke’s name for you– ignites in your heart once more. No one will ever call you trouble again, not in the way he did. It burns like alcohol running through your veins almost unendurable and you want to will it away, but Annie’s patting your arm as she tries to stifle the flames with her cold fingers.

“Her?” she says knocking her shoulder against yours, “ Always.” 

Annabeth laughs, and that too, reminds you of him but it doesn’t hurt as much anymore, your body still warm in the winter Virginia air. You feel your chest shake and suddenly you’re laughing and it’s crazy and loud and maniacal and so you that you can barely see Annabeth through the tears rolling down your cheeks. It cuts around the dead skin that’s encapsulated your being these past few months, revealing something brand new—much softer, even if it’s still tender to the touch.

It’s still you, still hurting, but choosing to live despite it.

Because you have to.

—

“Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. Being loved by you is the hardest.“

- Ari B. Cofer

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

[thefanficmonster]

Do you do NSFW? If so, may I request a Markiplier NSFW alphabet?

Hi dear! Usually I struggle greatly when writing anything NSFW for RPF but I shall do my best. Baby steps lol Hope you enjoy <3

Pairing: Markiplier x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: !!NSFW content below the cut!!

A= Aftercare (What they're like after the act)

Mark is the absolute sweetest and most attentive lover before, during and after the act.

After he's made sure you're alright, he'd go grab you a bottle of water, a snack and a towel to clean you up. You can bet on a long cuddle sesh after the act, filled with intimacy and romance, periodically interrupted by jokes he'd crack to make you laugh.

B= Body Part (Favorite body part of their own or on their lover)

He's pretty damn proud of his hands. Years of gaming have made them particularly skillful in many ways and he knows how to utilize them just right *wink* *wink*

Oh, and also his back. He's been influenced to love it by you more so than on his own accord but still.

On you, he loves your legs and thighs. Count on him constantly having his hands all over them in both innocent and explicit instances. And when you wrap your legs around his waist....consider him a goner.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Inside, no questions asked.

Before you got to the point of being comfortable enough for that, however, he found just as much pleasure in painting either your chest, thighs or face.

D= Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory)

Nothing helps him excel at a game quite like under-the-desk head while recording. Bonus points if it's a live stream.

E= Experience (do they know what they're doing)

Mark has had decent amount of experience, enough to be versed into how things work textbook-wise. Every skill he exhibits, however, is something he improvised at some point. But don't take that the wrong way - this man knows exactly what he's doing

F= Favorite Position

Mark is simple man and his favorite position reflects that - Doggy style (closely followed by cowgirl)

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Oh this man is a majore league goof in general and during sex. That's not to say he can't get into character and dawn a serious and attractively intimidating front when the atmosphere of the night calls for it.

He's a perfect balance between goofy and serious, occasionally leaning far left or far right depending on the moment.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He takes care of his hygiene rather meticulously. He keeps everything neat, trimmed and clean.

I= Intimacy (how are they in the moment)

There's never a shortage of intimacy between you and Mark during the act. Regardless of if the night calls for making love or having rough sex, there's never a lack of intimacy and closeness between you two.

That being said, I'd again say it's perfectly balanced. Whatever the night calls for is how Mark responds - be it slow, romantic lovemaking or rough and dirty sex.

J= Jerk-off (do they masturbate and how often)

He used to do it a lot more frequently before you started dating. Now, nothing can compare to the real thing. He can't find much satisfaction in masturbating but he still turns to it as a resort of release when either of you is away on a trip

K= Kink (kinks they might have)

Dear God, please forgive me for this...

Choking, spanking, hair-pulling, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, light bondage, praising/degrading (depending on what the situation calls for). Feel free to share your thoughts on this topic in the comments

L= Location (where they're down to get it on)

Every single surface in the house is game in Mark's eyes. Especially the kitchen counter and the nicely spacious shower

M= Motivation (what gets them going)

You, in any context you can think of. You don't even need to be dressed provocatively in any way shape or form. This man is just so head over heels for you, he can't help it.

Apart from that, a good ol' rage game will raise his blood pressure just right and he'll proceed to blow off some steam with you. The same works the other way around - when he's high on the success of completing a game and he celebrates with you

N= No (what they're strictly against and wouldn't try)

Anything with violent and hostile connotations that could bring you harm in any way, be it physical or emotional. He loves you more than words can describe and just the thought of hurting you fills him with dread. You both like dabbling into the occasional impact play but nothing more than that, and never without a safe word.

O= Oral (are they more of a giver or receiver)

Mark is a big fan of receiving but he enjoys giving so much more. He does it for his own pleasure just as much as he does it to bring you satisfaction. He loves every aspect of it - your taste, the tangling of your hands in his hair, the sounds you make, the bucking of your hips. It's his own personal high. He could do it for hours if you'd let him.

P= Pace (what's their pace during the act)

Again, the speed setting Mark operates on depends on the atmosphere of the night. On the regular, he likes to take it slow, prolong the experience and uphold this bubble of intimacy around the two of you for as long as he can.

Q= Quickie (are they a fan of quickies)

Nope.

The Devil is into details and so is Mark. And it's difficult to appreciate the details when working with a small time frame. He likes to take his time, worshipping you the way you deserve in the most meticulous and intimate manner.

R= Risk (how risky are they/do they like trying new things)

Oh he loves a good unconventional and borderline public location where there's a chance at getting caught. Although he prefers the comfort of your shared house it doesn't cancel out his love for the thrill of some public fun.

As for trying new things, he's down to try everything at least once - unless it falls in the No criteria I mentioned earlier. All you have to do is bring it up and you can automatically consider him signed up and strapped in, ready to try it.

S= Stamina (how long they last in bed)

The speed may or may not directly relate to how long he lasts. He can get at least two rounds - a solid hour/hour and a half - under his belt before breaking a sweat.

T= Toys (do they own and and are they down to experiment with them)

I have a feeling there is a box, hidden in a dark corner of a closer or under his bed, containing a small collection of sex toys. If you're game to use him, he'd love nothing more than take them out to play.

U= Unfair (are they a tease)

To an infuriating degree. He'd even mock you when you whine, beg or get frustrated with his teasing.

It's music to his ears.

V= Volume (how loud are they during sex)

Mark is vocal but not loud.

He exhibits his satisfaction and pleasure with mainly sighs and groans, all at a pretty low volume. But he's also very expressive during sex - praising/degrading you accordingly or dirty talking you over the edge. All in a whispered or hushed tone that makes it all the hotter.

W= Wild Card

Remember how I said he's not a big fan of masterbating? Well, when he has to resort to it he has a certain way of making it much more pleasurable...

Photos and videos you two have taken during the act or right afterwards in your disheveled states.

It's his personal collection, safely tucked away in a dark hidden corner of his computer memory.

X= X-Ray (what are they packing)

I'm sorry, I can't. I just can't. I've sinned enough tonight LMAOO

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

Name: Mark

Status: Permanently horny

Z= Zzzz (*yawn*)

I already mentioned a cuddle sesh earlier and I will now add onto it to say that, although he tries his best not to, he does fall asleep rather quickly and deeply. How could he not when he feels so much comfort with his arms wrapped around you. When he falls asleep to the sound of your breathing and heartbeat, it's the most peaceful slumber he's ever had.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 8)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

GIF: Originally posted by @darklinsblog

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nightmares. Violence. Dub/non con. Kissing. Nudity. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex. Plot related cigarette use. Language.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Hello there! I wasn't intending on posting this chapter until I had the others finished but I guess Tumblr took that decision away from me and published instead of saving! Oh well, guess I'll roll with it. As always, I hope you enjoy and would be very happy to hear your thoughts. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

The combination of the darkened clouds and the even more desaturated décor is making the room despairingly claustrophobic.

Sporadic breaths rattle up and down your trachea; a remnant of the fear that had been created by the tail end of that conversation. You are struggling to make sense of the direction it had taken; the barrelling downward spiral whereby you discovered your newfound status.

No longer do you hold the lone title of soulmate. You are a captive.

At least that's what Morpheus made it sound like. The word is shudder inducing and a fresh trickle of bile spills into your mouth.

The door he left through, the one blocking your freedom, you are standing close enough to it that you can see every grain and groove of the ebony wood - and the curious absence of a handle or lock. With a flattened hand you gingerly press against the varnished surface, upping the pressure when you don't appear to have tripped any alarms. There's no movement no matter how hard you push, not that you really anticipated any. Morpheus said locked in for a reason. Regardless, you feel that you needed to try just in case he had changed his mind. Again, an eventuality that you do not expect.

You get the sense that Morpheus' grasp of stubbornness would rival that belonging to a group of at least 100,000 people; he is a ruler, and a centuries-old one at that. Accustomed to being in control, well versed in the art of exerting it.

He's chilling too. That nightmare quality really won out just now. You have seen darkness in his eyes before, (brought on by intense moments including sexual desire) and the effects he can have on the environments surrounding him, but this was a whole new breed.

The deflection. The disdain. The remorselessness. How the shadows had danced around him like crude oil twisting in water, a cloak of obscurity and energy to drive you away and leave you isolated.

And your relentlessness was the catalyst for it being unleashed. You're unsure as to why you brought up the theoretical consequences of refusing to be his soulmate. It had just slipped out. There were numerous other ways in which you could have handled the situation yet that was the conversational path you took.

You shudder again, wrapping your arms around your middle in an attempt to self-soothe. It provides a measure of relief but also draws attention to the fact that he should be doing this. Morpheus should be holding you. Talking this through with you.

Instead he left you standing on the marble floor, the intrinsically endothermic nature of the material causing iciness to seep up your legs via your bare feet.

Seeking warmth, you move back to the bed and dejectedly lie down.

The usual covered plate of food has appeared on the bedside table; your expression is so obviously rattled that you can see every detail despite the metal's distortion. You roll over, not wanting to contemplate eating for even a second.

Your entire body is tense, with epicentres in your tight chest and thought-clogged brain, the latter of which is showing signs of inducing a migraine. You breathe with steady intent, a review of the encounter relentlessly replaying.

One question keeps rising to the surface, getting louder and more insistent with each iteration:

Why was he doing this?

He had said it was to protect you. That it was dangerous outside. Was the dream world suddenly that different now that you had free will? Surely he would have led with that if it were true. Found a way to make it safe...

He's been unfalteringly devoted to you in every other way thus far. The aftercare looked to be proof enough of his character. The reassurance, and explanations during the soul-tying. Holding you. Staying beside you while you slept, even though he did not require the rest himself.

But then there is the distinct lack of sharing, both of his internal and external worlds, and of course the 'it is not your place to do so' comment.

That one really stings. You had been convinced that you were his equal. Yet the way the words fell so easily from his mouth, without hesitation nor any sign of an underpinning emotion - it sounded like a response that was not uttered in the heat of the moment.

How were you to know though?

You've not known him for that long and it's not like you can tell from the bond between you, even now after days of longing to and trying to pick up on something, anything that would inform you of his heart. The one thing you can attempt to read into is the state of the ceiling sky; you are getting a sense that it is linked directly to his moods. Its sudden deterioration the moment you had voiced your concerns couldn't have been a coincidence, could it?

The more you grapple for meaning, the harder you are finding it to reconcile the evidence before you, so conflicted on your opinion of him, of the situation. Yet no amount of speculation and reframing could take away from the few facts you have:

The Fates had told you of an unfathomably long imprisonment that Morpheus had endured and suffered in.

So why was he putting you in a parallel of that?

How can someone who is supposed to be your soulmate be so unreadable to you, and so inexplicably cruel?

You curl into a ball, groaning out loud in frustration.

You ponder if there is something defective within you, if he can see something that you are too human to perceive. Maybe you deserve this on some level because you are not quite enough for him.

"No," you say out loud, firmly casting that contemptuous thought out of your mind.

You will not go in for self-loathing or self-pity. You are strong and capable and compassionate. Morpheus is still your soulmate. You can fix this. Once he's back, you will talk about this.

The resolution seems to lessen the lingering despair enough that you unwittingly fall asleep.

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

There's an anticipatory undercurrent to the chatter being passed back and forth across the circular tables spaced evenly across the function room.

You're sat at one such table, the hands folded in your lap occasionally brushing against the heavy dark blue velvet draped over the wood, the feel of the material's sumptuous pile triggering pleasant goosebumps.

Ice laden water jugs and bowls of savoury snacks occupy the middle of the table, and each seat is designated by a placeholder. Your name is displayed in a bold font across the folded piece of stiff card in front of you and the names of all your colleagues have been typed out on matching markers.

The lighting could be described as ambient, moody even - a strange choice for such a celebratory event. The strongest source of light is directed towards a projection screen, where the order of events are being presented.

You thumb the lock screen button on the right hand side of your phone to check the time. 20:28. The scheduled break is due to end soon. You take a sip of water from the tumbler stamped with your lipstick and wait.

The microphone on the podium clicks and crackles as it is brought back to life and all heads turn in unison towards the man standing there. A spotlight provided by the professional lighting rig suspended above is ignited, the light from it so bright that it obscures every feature on his face.

His tone is light as he reels off a few formalities, making a joke about the speed of which some individuals had headed to the bar come the start of the interval, eliciting a sequence of throaty laughs from the crowd. He then jumps back into the award giving.

"This person, I know for a fact has really been putting in the effort with developing the traits required to truly embody this accolade and everything it stands for. Taking gullible to the next level, allowing themself to be debased and shutting down all logical reasoning. A veritable inspiration of inconsequentiality; therefore, it comes as no surprise that the award for most worthless human goes to -"

He pauses for effect, and the entire room watches on with baited breath.

Condensation beads slip down the outside of the jug closest to you, mirroring a perspiration bead that has begun to slide from your nape. You look away from the stage, feeling an impending sense of doom slink into your stomach with the nausea that suddenly washes over you. Your intuition is well-founded.

The microphone wheezes as the man inhales the breath needed to deliver the announcement.

He says your name.

The applause that follows is rapturous; a chorus of hollers and whistles punctuating the clapping. It's like you're at a rock concert.

None of it aligns with the damning description of the award name. Under no circumstance do you want to go and accept it; doing so would show that you agree with the committee.

You sneak a glance over your shoulder, wincing at the harsh fluorescents spilling in from the foyer through the set of double doors - that is where you quietly need to get to.

You're pushing your chair back slowly and carefully, about to attempt this surreptitious exit when a spotlight hits you. The hand going for your bag freezes mid-reach.

It's as if a tractor beam has been activated. You cannot stop yourself from standing, cannot stop yourself from walking on the scuffed wooden floor, made that way from years of dancing.

The journey to the stage on your shaky legs is long, given your distance from it, intensified even further by the stares of your peers. You go up the steps at the side of the stage, jelly legs adding risk with the slight elevation. You grip the handrail in a white-knuckled fist.

The award waits on the podium: an oversized key on a black plinth, the golden colour of the metal glints temptingly. With your gaze turned downwards, the man shakes your hand with the pressure of a constrictor, praising you with words that you can't hear above the continued applause.

You force your mouth into a smile and ready yourself to take the award, telling yourself that being gracious is the best approach you can take.

Unfortunately, in your moment of acceptance, someone decides to take advantage.

There's a blow to the back of your knee caps.

You cry out from shock and pain; the sound doesn't last long for as soon as your knees make impact with the boards, a gag is forced into your mouth.

The situation and the gag make it hard to breathe in any way other than frantically, pulse just as agitated in your tight-feeling chest.

The crowd's clapping doesn't stop even as intricate restraints are added at your wrists, even as burning tears and sticky snot stream down your face.

The agony intensifies when you are hauled up by your hair and then herded by several pairs of hands towards the wings of the stage. Your eyes fall on the opaque box that stands just out of view of the crowd.

Its purpose is clear. It is to be your cage.

You're now screaming despite the gag, thrashing as you're dragged towards your doom. Not even allowing yourself to be a dead weight can save you; the cloying fingers are too numerous, too zealous.

The door to the cage opens and the presence of the oppressive void within ekes out towards you like a disturbing fog. Whatever is in there, you can sense it will smother you. Obliterate you slowly. And the people in this room seem to believe you are worthy of such a fate.

The hands anchored on your body begin their last pushes. You whip your head around, making a last attempt to search for an escape when you see a figure out the corner of your eye.

There's no questioning who it is; the person who has been on the periphery of so many dreams these past weeks, you would know him anywhere.

You see a glimpse of movement. Perhaps the raising of a hand. A ripple of power courses through the scene - you feel it vibrate in your chest. Everything freezes, and in that sudden silence you hear Morpheus' solemn and decisive words:

"This dream is over."

You startle, a shriek echoing about the sunless space as you are ripped from the dream. The sheets have you wrapped up like a python; you try with desperation to get free, half-convinced that those relentless hands are still trying to ferry you into that cage.

Floundering, you work and work against the fabric, crying out again when your progress is minimal.

"Soulmate."

Morpheus' deep voice sounds, speaking your name next in such an intimate and gentle way that you instantly halt in your struggle.

He is beside you.

All the attributes of concern are in his facial expression and body language, eyes glistening with an emotion you can't quite place.

"It is over now," he confirms, dissolving the sheet into nothing.

He comes closer, stroking your face with one hand, the other atop your chest with the palm centred on your soul. It's a welcome feeling, his attentions and being free from the tangle of sheets, but you are too far gone for it to stop the fear that the nightmare has set in motion.

"When you said that it was not my place to accompany you, is it because you think I'm less than you?" You ask in a cracking, pitiful voice.

Morpheus stills for a heartbeat, before bending his head to look you straight in the eyes. "No," he breathes. "My soulmate, I could never think that."

He kisses you softly.

It's not what you expected but nevertheless your hands cling to him on instinct, kissing him back and then he's suddenly straddling you. Covering your body with his own to give you a feeling of safety and it's exactly what you require.

You're on the verge of tears from it all, touching the back of his neck, gripping his shoulders to keep him close.

"Morpheus," you call.

"I am here. I am not going anywhere."

He kisses you deeper this time as if to corroborate his statement. It incrementally lessens your doubts and anxieties but there's a call for communication too.

"We need to talk about what happened," you say with quiet assertion.

For a moment, you wonder if he has even heard you for he claims your mouth again.

"I do not wish to talk," he eventually replies, immediately diving back in for yet another kiss. "I wish to take away your anguish."

"But -"

He hushes you, a soothing shut down that would be infuriating if not for the lingering unease of the nightmare clogging your emotions. "Let us forget what was said. Let us instead indulge in the pleasure of each other's bodies."

You blink, slowly processing his explicit inference, taken aback by the very obvious physical reactions they inspire. You force yourself to adopt a professional expression as your arousal begins to leak onto your gown.

"I want to talk to you."

He's smiling smugly as he tilts his head to the side. "Your emotions betray you dearest, as does your body. I know exactly what you want and it is not conversation."

Shame rises but is quickly blotted out by Morpheus' next action.

You feel bare skin against yours; he's used his power to disrobe you as well as him. A protest forms - he stifles it with his mouth. Your eyes are wide as you take it, as he shifts his weight ever so slightly to align your hips.

His own eyes stare you down after he pulls back, unblinking like an apex predator who has caught sight of its favourite prey.

Easy prey.

That's what you are.

He arranges you as such too; grasping your legs and moving your knees to your chest to bend you in half. Pinning you underneath him.

Neither of you last long with the tightness of the angle once you allow him to enter you.

To say you are dazed afterwards would be an understatement. The events of the past few hours have been persistently erratic. If Morpheus feels the same then it isn't apparent. The colour of his eyes are as clear and stable as the weather above, hand warming his favoured spot on your chest.

Your own hands wander up and down his body, running smoothly over his enticing skin.

"You have not touched your food," he comments quietly.

One of your palms moves absentmindedly to trail lazily across your abdomen. "If I'm being honest, I've been struggling to eat since I got here. For some reason I have no appetite or thirst."

"That would be a result of the immortality."

Your hands freeze up, brain doing the opposite as it spins out in a hundred directions.

"W-what did you say?" You stammer, praying you have misheard him.

"The immortality," he clarifies. "My power is within you and with it, comes certain endurances."

You sit up and put some space between you both. This was a serious matter. Despite your empty stomach you feel like you are going to vomit.

"How long have you known that?"

"It does not matter."

Red rag to a bull doesn't come close to covering what his dismissive reply makes you feel. The set of your jaw is so tight that a section on the left side begins to feather. You talk through gritted teeth, levelling a furious glare at him - making it transparent that you are not going to tolerate his evasiveness any longer:

"Tell me how long."

He makes the smart decision to pause to select his reply, though you decipher from the suddenly overcast sky that it is not going to be one that you will like.

"Since our souls joined."

Your hand flies to your chest, to your soul as tears start to brew.

"That was days ago!"

Morpheus simply looks at you.

"Did you not think that I had a right to know about something as life changing as that?"

He opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can issue a syllable.

"Please can you give me some time alone?"

Morpheus' intense stare - the one that had gone from intimidating to exhilarating - has now become distressing and you need to get out from under it.

To his credit, he does what you asked and the moment the door is closed, the tears you have been holding back start to flow freely. The ceiling sky is so crowded with dark clouds that you are convinced that it's going to do the same as your eyes.

You feel like you've been tricked. You didn't ask for this, nor were you consulted.

The gilding has fully tarnished now, revealing that things were too good to be true. And had been from the very beginning. You had been swept up in the haze of sexual satisfaction, too blinded by the soul bond to see clearly. The nightmare had spelled it out flawlessly: gullible, debased and without logical reasoning.

The previous success in derailing your self-loathing falls short now. You are bolting down the path of internal admonishment.

How could you have been so naïve?

The answer is your hubris. It had felt good to be finally wanted, chosen to be a part of something bigger than yourself by making a difference to the Dreaming. Unless you had misunderstood.

No, the Fates had told you it in no uncertain terms. What they hadn't done however was provide a time frame. You had stupidly assumed it would be effective immediately. Instead you could be looking at decades, centuries even with this newfound information.

Even with the promise of eventual fulfilment, there was little chance that you would last for years in this room with your sanity intact.

You need distraction from the demoralising thought so you bluster through your bathroom routine like a whirlwind, slamming containers down where possible and huffing out exasperated sounds.

While the gown has re-materialised on the hook by the shower, you are dead set against putting it back on. You go to the bedside table and dive into the drawers to find your clothes from the night of the award ceremony, uncovering the cigarettes and lighter you forgot had been hidden there.

You don't even think before lighting one up, hoping that the nicotine will take the edge off your despair. You are quick to finish it and the clarity it brings encourages you to have a second. And then a third.

From the combination of your reclined position on the sheets and the dainty way you hold each cigarette, you can't help but feel like a 1940s starlet. It injects a bit of delirious humour, and also gumption into the mix.

"You are not at fault here," you whisper out loud. "He is the one who has an understanding of how soulmates work. He withheld that. You are allowed to be pissed off with him and you should let him see it."

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

By the time Morpheus returns, you are in full possession of your wits and sit perched at the foot of the bed. You regard each other; he appears a touch drawn out, eyes subdued and a small line marking the space between his eyebrows.

"You have been smoking," he states flatly.

Buoyed by the confidence gifted to you by said activity, you inhale the scent of the lingering bluish fog, flashing a sardonic smile as you audibly breathe out, labouring the point with the pleasurable sigh.

"What else was I supposed to do while I waited for you to come back?" You cross your legs and smooth out a non-existent wrinkle in the bedclothes you meticulously rearranged.

The effects of your sarcasm are immediate; the air is becoming ominously dense, threatening to unleash a storm of epic proportions. Morpheus' fists clench and the pressure is dampened a fraction.

"Give them to me," he asks in a monotone.

"No."

Your connection is so devoid of dissonance at this point. Morpheus is stone carved. The kind of impenetrable that would shred and destroy finger nails; there is no point in trying to claw your way to the being beneath. The apathy sends your anger to new heights, compelling that shamefully vindictive part of you into lashing out. You want to hurt him just as he has hurt you.

"They're the only thing I have left from my real life."

A lethal quality seeps into his reply, "That life ended the moment you stepped out onto that street."

"Well then I should have run from you that night," you provoke further, tone biting as glacial ice on exposed skin.

The same shadows from before are crowding about his person, settling in his eyes - a tell that you have unleashed the nightmare form. You have to actively remind yourself to breathe at an even pace. All things you had queued up to say to him are long gone as you gaze upon his dark majesty.

"Even if you had been able to evade me, hide your physical body, I would have found you the moment you fell asleep."

The tether on his control slips as a single bolt of lightning turns the room to a white-out. The thunder never comes, instead the rumble of his voice.

"Do not think that I had not anticipated a refusal. I was more than prepared to use force to get what I wanted. What I was promised. I will not share you with anyone. You are mine. My soulmate. You -"

He stops unexpectedly and head snapping to look at the door.

You roll your eyes. "Let me guess, something requires your attention."

He takes in a deep breath. "I will return shortly."

You watch sullenly as he leaves you behind yet again, about to resume smoking when you feel an urge to re-examine the door. It is as pointless as before; no handle nor locks. Your fists hit the mahogany once, then twice before your composure fully deteriorates and you begin to hammer on it. Not because you are hoping to snag someone's awareness, for you heard it from Morpheus that no one could find this place. Sadly, you do it because you are losing hope.

Dejection momentarily quelled, you resort to staring at the door with such concentration that you fear it may trigger another headache.

"How the fuck do you work?" You ask it.

If there is no tangible way of holding it then that left the metaphysical as its locking mechanism. Metaphysical power that came from him - that now resided in you.

Maybe you could use it to break out...

You huff out a laugh at your optimism. There is no harm in trying.

Decision made, you make a quick trip to the bathroom to get the ruby ring you put by the sink. There's no chance you're escaping and leaving a beloved family heirloom behind.

You walk confidently to the door and plant yourself a forearm's length from it. The gold of the ring glimmers on your right hand as your press your palm to the glossy wood.

You do not want to be the person you were in the nightmare; forced into a box-encased void and cut off from the universe. You want to learn, to experience, to love. You want to have dreams and you're willing to make them with or without their master.

You are going to get out of here.

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

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"I'm walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind. On the borderline of the edge, and where I walk alone."

[chosetherose]

The Albatross tells us that Karlie has sacrificed for Taylor during their complicated love story. Now, it’s Taylor’s turn.

I’ve spent weeks working on analysis of this beautifully complex song, slowly sifting through its layers. Part of what is so intriguing to me is that if you listen at the surface level, you might think Taylor is talking about the same “wise men” and “albatross” characters throughout. But I believe she switches around who she is talking about.

In summary, I believe The Albatross begins with pressure on Taylor to continue closeting in order to preserve her career. As the pressure intensifies, Karlie agrees to sacrifice her reputation because for whatever reason this seems like the only way forward. Ultimately, Taylor decides it’s her turn to rescue Karlie, she will swoop in to restore Karlie’s reputation so the devil that you know looks now more like an *angel*.

Here is an overview of what I’ll be exploring in my post.

[Verse 1]

Wise men once said

"Wild winds are death to the candle"

A rose by any other name is a scandal

Cautions issued, he stood

Shooting the messengers

They tried to warn him about her

I picture the “wise men” in this verse as voices that have told her being open about her sexuality would create a media storm that her career could not survive; it would extinguish the fragile flame of her celebrity. More specifically, this could be referencing that the “wise men” felt glass closeting with Karlie was getting too loud since their chemistry is too strong to hide. 

Notably, I think in this verse the “he” Taylor is referring to is herself. So, “cautions issued” acknowledges that Taylor heard the message. But she stood there shooting the messengers because what a bullshit world we live in if being truthful about who you love means taking a hit to your career. 

The last line sums up the verse; the “wise men” tried to warn Taylor about getting too loud with Karlie. But they pissed off Taylor, who let her anger be known. Ultimately, these men failed to put a stop to this relationship that was stirring up attention. 

[I didn’t touch the rose line in this version because @bettyshoweduptotheparty did it so beautifully here.]

[Chorus 1]

Cross your thoughtless heart

Only liquor anoints you

She's the albatross

She is here to destroy you

This first chorus has the least information to go off. I loosely picture this as Taylor sharing with Karlie, perhaps over cheap ass screw top rose, that her team or others in the industry issued cautions about how their relationship could hurt Taylor’s career. This spurred Karlie into protection mode because no one will tear them apart. 

Something to think about is the religious imagery here. Crossing your heart is a religious reference. Anointment is a religious term. Taylor has continuously weaved religious references into her work. That doesn’t make total sense for a heterosexual person but tracks for a gay woman who spent a portion of her adolescence in the Bible Belt around the turn of the century. I also think there could be some PR strategy here too: if she decides to come out one day people will listen back and pick up on the religious references as relating to how Taylor feels about her sexuality. It’s lower hanging fruit compared to some of the layers she’s created but it’s easier to digest.

[Verse 2]

Wise men once said

"One bad seed kills the garden"

"One less temptress, one less dagger to sharpen"

Locked me up in towers

But I'd visit in your dreams

And they tried to warn you about me

This verse reads to me that since issuing cautions didn’t work, the “wise men” moved on to more forceful tactics. 

But first let’s discuss how the garden imagery in this verse (which I love) is an additional metaphor for fame. Think about how much work it takes to cultivate a garden that produces beautiful, showy flowers. It starts with seeds and requires intensive intervention to grow and thrive: soil must be fertilized, growth must be pruned, weeds must be plucked, etc. The reward of all this hard work is gorgeous blooms admired by all. It’s similar to fame. Taylor planted seeds when she was a young musician singing about teardrops on her guitar. Over time she has cultivated a lavish garden. Her team helps her prune it (PR, merch, touring, etc.) and we all cherish the beauty produced. 

The “wise men” are saying one bad seed, like a dandelion that flies into your yard, can spread and choke out the flowers you’ve so carefully grown. It only takes one event to ruin everything. [Don’t forget if these “wise men” are on her team they have financial interest in keeping the garden flourishing.] Because of this, the “wise men” want Taylor’s female love interest out of the picture. If she’s out of the picture, they won’t have to (metaphorically) kill her.

After trying to justify their actions, the “wise men” locked Taylor in towers. They made it feel impossible for Taylor to be with Karlie. This was difficult for Taylor, who feels locked up, and also for Karlie who dreams about being with Taylor.

The last line “and they tried to warn you about me” fits with the ending of the first verse in the theme of - this love cannot be stopped. And affirms my thought that the “wise men” tried to keep Taylor and Karlie apart. First, they tried to issue cautions to Taylor. When that didn’t work, they approached the lover, “It only takes one instance of being too loud to ruin Taylor’s career, why don’t you see yourself out so we can put away these daggers we have at your throats.” But love prevailed and Taylor and Karlie remained together.

[Chorus 2]

Cross your thoughtless heart

Only liquor anoints you

She's the albatross

She is here to destroy you

Devils that you know

Raise worse hell than a stranger

She's the death you chose

You're in terrible danger

I think the Albatross here is Taylor, who ultimately agreed to publicly distance herself from Karlie due to the pressures of the “wise men”. This wasn’t necessarily a decision either Taylor or Karlie were happy about, but it was agreed to.

The albatross (Taylor) is here to destroy you (Karlie’s reputation). The devils that you know raises worse hell than a stranger because even those Taylor’s fans will be sending hate Karlie’s way, that hurt is nothing compared to the pain of knowing that Taylor handed them their pitchforks. 

She (Taylor) is the death you (Karlie) chose. Karlie agreed to stay with Taylor, who consistently paints herself as someone who is dangerous to love. Now the inevitable is coming true and Karlie’s public image will be marred. 

[Bridge]

And when that sky rains fire on you

And you're persona non grata

I'll tell you how I've been there too

And that none of it matters

Taylor and Karlie know their plans require Karlie’s reputation to be destroyed. Taylor feels she can’t stop it from happening and it’s hurting her. All she can do is think about what she will say to comfort Karlie when that day comes. Taylor will say she’s been through this before (think KimYe saga) and knows the public heat doesn’t matter at the end of the day. Taylor and Karlie have each other and that’s what’s important.

Note: the saying “to rain fire and brimstone” is biblically rooted and means “to inflict great suffering or destruction on someone or something.” 

[Verse 3]

Wise men once read fake news

And they believed it

Jackals raised their hackles

You couldn't conceive it

You were sleeping soundly

When they dragged you from your bed

And I tried to warn you about them

This whole third verse, in my opinion, is how Trump winning the 2016 election totally snuck up on Karlie. She didn’t expect it would happen but it did and it made a complicated situation even messier. This happened despite Taylor’s warnings about Karlie’s bearding connection to the Kushner family.

Breaking it down, here we meet a new group of “wise men.” We know “fake news” is synonymous with Trump so let’s explore that angle for this verse. Taylor is saying the Americans who voted Trump into office were fed lies and didn’t question them. They were too blind to see what a poor choice it was for our country and for democracy. Democrats felt like a Trump presidency would never happen; the country would surely vote blue to save the day. (I too felt like like this and was in total shock on election night, wore black on inauguration day, etc. but I digress). 

The line “jackals raised their hackles” switches focus from the electorate to the political wolves coming for power. I’m excluding the definitions of these words to save space but I take it as: jackals are wolf like canines, hackles are hairs on a mammal’s back that can raise when trying to show dominance over subordinate animals. This line is about the political bad guys picking on the American people; especially vulnerable populations such as women, minorities, and the LGTBQIA+ community.

Karlie couldn’t believe these jackals, who she was publicly connected to, could win the election. She was sleeping soundly when she was dragged into it because ignorance is bliss --she thought it would never happen. 

[Chorus 3]

So I crossed my thoughtless heart

Spread my wings like a parachute

I'm the albatross

I swept in at the rescue

The devil that you know

Looks now more like an angel

I'm the life you chose

And all this terrible danger

Now Taylor felt the love of her life needed rescuing from this completely tangled wild public mess. So without a thought, she spread her wings like a parachute to rescue Karlie. I want to emphasize that the meaning of the “thoughtless heart” line here is different than previous mentions. Now, the thoughtlessness comes from not caring about the repercussions of your actions. You care so much about the endgame - rescuing your love - that you don’t give a damn about the scars you’ll pick up on the way.

So Taylor “swept in at the rescue” and the next lines detail what that rescue looks like. She sings “the devil that you know looks now more like an angel”. I can’t scream this loud enough she’s saying Karlie’s reputation will be restored. I’d guess by design, many of Taylor’s fans despise Karlie. We established that was the plan earlier in the song. But after Taylor swoops in at the rescue, in the next stage of Kaylor’s PR plan, everything changes. These fans that despise Karlie will soften to her yet again. The devil looks more like an angel. Specifically, a Victoria’s Secret angel -- that wording is not accidental.

“I’m the life you chose” sounds like talk to a spouse. Karlie knew signing up for a lifetime with Taylor would mean danger. Taylor’s repeated that topic throughout her discography - who could ever jump in the fishbowl with me, who would sign up for this life? Karlie did. Now Taylor is getting her chance to save her love.

[Outro]

So cross your thoughtless heart

She's the albatross

She is here to destroy you

I think this outro could be directed at the fans Taylor would lose if she ever comes out one day. Here, Taylor uses the type of “thoughtless” that means “lacking concern for others”. The fans who would abandon her have cold inconsiderate hearts. So they better watch out because Taylor is the albatross here and she is going to destroy those fans’ attachment to her by living her truth - or some version of it. 

***

I feel like I do a relatively good job at keeping my clowning to a minimum but give me this one. Taylor, if you enjoy reading our lyric analyses around here can you please play The Albatross again sometime before the end of the tour? Bonus points if you wear the pink dress.

[ask-codeearasure]

Time to ramble I suppose

Y'know I'm pretty well versed in the canon stories of the major players of the fandom (Ink, dream/NM, Error, Core frisk, etc) and I've been stuck thinking about something I had thought of when thinking about dreamtales canon. Specifically the 3 (technically 4) endings.

The one I wanted to talk about was the bad ending, in which corrupted nightmare kills dream and the entire multiverse is plunged into eternal negative damnation because without the golden apple (that became dreams soul) no positive emotions can exist.

The real question is, what happens afterward? Does corrupted Nightmare just pull an error and try to off itself because its No.1 job has been completed? (It wouldn't btw as it basks in negativity, and even if it wanted to it couldn't because only positivity (from dream) can kill it. ) Joku’s only touched the surface level of this ending and it could be so fascinating to explore 

Now I ask you, what happens to the others? Like for Ink… all the scripts are ruined. I understand that in some respective canons all Au’s that are meddled with wind up creating an alternate that's never been affected, but since error’s existence is canon in dreamtale and that’s where that rule comes from wouldn’t that mean that the whole negativity thing wouldn’t happen? 

*INSERT LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER NOISE* 

WRONG! Because dream and nightmare aren’t even made up of coding, so their magic doesn’t follow those rules (Check underneath the line to hear my tangent on that), and even if it did, the apples control the ENTIRE MULTIVERSE’S EMOTIONS, so now matter how many times an au splits itself in an attempt to try and stay the same, the fact that all positive emotions are gone means that every person in the entire multiverse can no longer feel positivity.They no longer can love, or love each other. They will never feel joy again because the last golden apple is the last one, and its gone forever. 

And Ink and Core Frisk seem to be the only ones who can.The sole reasons being inks vials are his emotions and frisk’s body and just everything about them doesn’t work like a normal person would. What are they going to do now? 

This is where it turns into a horror story for the both of them, because everyone else will either kill others or uh, kill themselves in this multiverse. Ink now has no purpose because all the scripts are permanently ruined, there's no way to fix them, nor would creators stick around in a multiverse filled with only negativity. There would be no development for their character because most tales call for positive emotion to be present in order for that to happen. Without that, the only thing people are going to do is sink deeper into despair with no chance of changing.The only ending for them would be either them killing others and/or eventually themselves. Sure, you could argue the fact that there are a bunch of creators who enjoy dark tales, but even then there's a chance the newer Au’s wouldn’t last more than a few minutes before becoming unstable and collapsing because of the amount of negativity in the multiverse.

I think people forget that Corrupted nightmare, even with Dream still around, has enough negativity to nuke an entire AU to oblivion. A lesser known fact but still jarring to say the least.  Because of that, any place that thing goes means all the Au’s around it would just unravel under the pressure of so much negativity. Wouldn’t put it past the corruption to purposely head to newer/existing Au’s for the sole purpose of watching ink suffer emotionally as his presence annihilates the AU’s. And if the mechanics of the multiverse say that newer Au’s are the weakest, then ink’s going to have to say adios to those Au’s and the creators because no way are they sticking around when there are better multiverses out there. 

Not only that, but Zephrytale would suffer as well. Even though they're out of reach for basically everyone, they still exist within the multiverse and the apple's influence spans beyond protective coding. So ink trying to keep his parents safe from themselves and each other (which works both ways because their alternate versions of themselves- g-get it?) would become the only job he would have.

Core frisk on the other hand would have no choice but to watch their home crumble as the safe haven known as the omega timeline is no longer safe. Their family such as their adopted children, poppy, dusty, and rust aren’t safe either. You could argue that rust is pretty safe due to being a robot, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he could be snatched and harmed just to hurt core frisk emotionally, nor does it mean that rust is immune to dying or losing it watching his home sink into depravity. 

Both Core Frisk and Ink would have no choice but to stay inside a broken multiverse,This is a literal nightmare for the both of them, and they can’t escape it either. Neither have the ability to traverse multiverses, so they're trapped in a decaying, unstable multiverse filled with people who either have given up or thrive on the pain and suffering of others. Sadism isn’t a positive emotion despite having the root feeling being joy because it also has its roots in the harming of others which is negative, so a LOT of people are going to find ecstasy in hurting others because of this since it’s the only joy they CAN feel. 

Frisk wouldn’t have to worry about becoming a target to this per say, as they don’t have a physical body that could be harmed, but like I said beforehand,  it doesn’t change the fact they also have loved ones that could be used to hurt them emotionally just for the sake of it. Ink on the other hand is screwed because if i'm remembering correctly, ink CAN feel pain. Not just a lot. His info doesn’t say he quite literally cannot feel pain, rather it’s worded in a way to imply that he just has high pain tolerance. (you could argue because comyet’s french they may have used a translator so the words might be implying the wrong thing but I don’t think they’ve ever stated having problems with their english so I doubt that's the case)  This means that if ink got captured by someone with that mindset and can’t escape, Their doubly screwed.

And that’s not even mentioning the fact that corrupted nightmare here is all powerful and probably bored.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Bonus, how does dreamtale function? Dreamtale isn't an Au and came from OUTSIDE the barriers of the UTMV media- meaning dreamtale and all related to it aren't made out of code so how are they able to affect, heck, interact with the multiverse made of code??

(it's not like joku’s going to answer anyways, she's too busy in the hazbin fandom )

The most logical answer is that it's like a literal god lowering themself to talk to a mortal but still maintaining their god?-likeness.  Like a small amount of coding is mixed within the entirety of dreamtale which only allows them to interact with the multiverse, but keeps them incapable of dying by things in the multiverse made of code. The twins have this property, and are just gods with latent abilities inside them considering what happens in the true ending of dreamtale (that where dream gets that awful human design but apparently defeats the corruption and becomes a true guardian like his mother unleashing his “true power”)This is supported by the fact that Dream and Nightmares skeleton bodies were mimicked/copied after a swap sans whos world was in early development. So their true forms were made out of magic, but their physical skeletal bodies were made of code which allows them to interact with the multiverse. Maybe some aspect of this stick even after nightmare dies and his body is taken by the corruption. The twins skeletal body can be harmed (blood can be shown on both of the twins bodies in official art) But since the corruption is purely made of apples, on positivity FROM THE APPLES can kill it (originally extreme light could only harm it but i'm not sure if it's been stated to be non-canon now, but it's canon until proven otherwise to me)

But then I came to a realization. Both dream and NM can bypass the spaghetti code of the omega timeline, as their magic is tied to the emotions of a person, not the person's coding, and since the twins true forms are magic and not coding, the magic should be able to be enough to allow them to pass into the OT without the usage of the doors. Hm.

DOES NO ONE UNDERSTAND THE IMPLICATIONS??? THAT CORE FRISK CAN’T SEE INTO DREAMTALE NOR CAN THEY TELEPORT THERE??? Not only that but anyone that comes across dream/nightmare must feel that SOMETHINGS off, and it's not just because of their auras. Ink must’ve spazzed out when he first met dream because he’s never seen anyone like dream!!!

Excuse the late response, buddy, I needed a few hours to complete an exam, recollect my braincells, and put on Sum41 (highly recommend this band for these topics), and boy did I need them for this.

Let me add one more thing to your first infodump, because I very much agree the multiverse will fall into shit the second Nightmare wins, and while this could be a mistranslation, on the first page of Dreamtale, it says that the Tree of Feelings, Tree of Magic, and the Tree of Life are all vital to the livelihoods of multiverses, not just a collection of universes within a singular multiverse. And since Dreamtale didn't initially exist within the bounds of the Undertale Multiverse, this could mean a possibility that just like Fresh, Dream and Nightmare may or may not have the ability to jump multiverses. There is also the implication that Nightmare wants to go after the other guardians too.

If we take this information legitimately as presented, and going with your theory that Nightmare would only continue to exist instead of killing himself off once completing his goal, it's implied that he could travel to other multiverses to ensure the same pattern of destruction and misery.

So say once Nightmare finally succeeds, he eventually jumps to another multiverse and does this process all over again regardless of "fandom" or if there are other guardians/forces of positivity existing there. Hell, maybe he could find a way to jump timelines within the same multiverse so he can kill the Dream existing there again and again and again. Maybe he'd compete with or form alliances with the other Nightmares he might find there too. But I vibe more with the competing option, because what if his hunger for power extends even to these other versions of himself and he absorbs them in a similar process Pride did to Gluttony from Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood?

That would be perfectly gruesome and fitting for this variation of Nightmare, me thinks. He'd become such a force of melancholy and torment for others that he doesn't want to stop, even if that means facing himself as he jumps from one reality to another.

It would be FASCINATING to have a story where a version of Nightmare that succeeded shows up in another multiverse timeline or complete other multiverse to fuck everyone over, because he genuinely enjoys the suffering his presence compounds on everyone around him.

But also imagine how much more powerful he could become not only because he has 1,000 apples in his arsenal now but because there is no competition against him anymore, at least no competition that changes anything anyway.

It's said that Nightmare's presence in a singular universe will influence the whole thing for the worse, but that's while Dream is alive and constantly traveling to fix the damage Nightmare left behind. With Dream gone, Nightmare may grow so powerful that it takes his simple presence in a multiverse to make it keel over under him.

And what about his ability to full on corrupt entire universes like he did to Dreamtale right after the Apple Incident and Haventale in the deleted Cream comic? Say there are universes rebelling against his new "order". He wouldn't need to do anything substantial to shut them up, all he'd have to do is show up and corrupt the entire universe, and that universe will become yet another instance of a negative cesspool full of those lizard-eating zombie things.

His form might change as well, because between you and me, even though Nightmare's design makes narrative sense and he is a shapeshifter, there comes a point where that knowledge just isn't enough for me. I need something more stimulating, I need a true horror to behold. I need a design that would scare me shitless. For a being as powerful and grandiose as Nightmare, I like to imagine he takes more fucked up and complex forms regularly, before and after he finally kills Dream and takes the last apple for himself.

Since Ink and Core!Frisk would be just a handful of people somewhat unaffected by Nightmare's new reign of sorts, they'd quickly find there's not much they can do to change this outcome.

You know more about Core!Frisk than I do, so I'm gonna explore what could be going on in Ink's head for the rest of this post.

Ink might gradually fall into a massive depression in comparison to just about everyone else, whose lives go down the shitter instantaneously. Because Ink has no soul and relies on paints to keep living, Nightmare's aura has no effect on him, nor can Nightmare sense him like he can everyone else.

With this new absence of purpose, Ink wouldn't know what to do with themself, and chances are that even if they stretched themself thin to keep their parents and brothers alive, their efforts would be in vain. Gaster, Aster, the Undertop brothers, and the Zephyrtale brothers would all end up dead, either out of desperation for relief or a loss of hope and drive to live. Perhaps one of those deaths would have been a mercy killing, something that would haunt Ink for their limited time left functional. Ink would end up completely and utterly alone, as he could only do so much, and if he were to find Core!Frisk, he'd depend on them to an insanely unhealthy amount, terrified of being completely alone and forgotten.

But at some point, the isolation and lack of knowledge about Ink from others will weigh down on them, and their mind might start wandering for every worse alternative in the book. Perhaps being forgotten after all of this might be a relief. At this point any outcome would be better than whatever he's experiencing now. There is nothing to do, no one to stick by him, no source of affection and care he needs anymore. The loneliness and boredom would weigh him down and only exaggerate that gaping hole of loss left behind in their family's deaths.

Ink would spiral so far into this hypothetical depression he'd do anything to feel something again, because he still wants to live, but continuing on empty is a feeling they can't stand no matter what way they spin it. He'd resort to self-harm to escape that empty feeling.

Everyone they've ever loved is gone. Every AU is ruined. Too many creators have moved onto other projects to keep waiting for them. There is nothing left for Ink and Core!Frisk's efforts to keep him company aren't enough to quench the need to be needed anymore.

And eventually, once Ink runs out of paints and refills, there's nothing else Core!Frisk can do but watch Ink crumble from a devastated tool to a motionless, lifeless husk on the ground. The best they can provide is not leaving Ink's side as they go through this process.

They can't even give him a proper final resting place before Nightmare shows up and hides the body. Or perhaps he can use the body as a henchman through the use of his corruption as he jumps from reality to reality. Ink is once again a tool, but to someone who if they were still present, would genuinely hate.

Core!Frisk is the last survivor of this multiverse, forever wandering through Nightmare's corruption left behind.

-- Sarco

[horrifichaunts]

Freddy hadn’t planned to rope any of the other animatronics into clean up , he was leader after all and leader meant he might have to spend his night doing things so no one gets yelled at in the day time, but he shouldn’t have been surprised at the sudden emergence of Bonnie. The two tended to spend a lot of nights together so if the rabbit didn’t find the bear then it made sense that he’d come and look for him. 

He was going to explain the chaos that had happened here earlier, but he closes his mouth as he watches Bonnie pick up a plush Freddy. Head tilted a little, a soft wiggle to his ears and tail as his pupils took on a starry shape with a blink. It was a neat little built in feature they put in for when the big bear was relaxed or happy.

“We certainly will fix it, there’s nothing we can’t do when we put our minds together.” A soft laugh in response 

Though the thought of taking up Bonnie’s night with clean up naws at his wires in a different way then the thought of staff getting on to them does. A gentle sigh as he motions over to the power cord still stretched across half the store.

“One of the S.T.A.F.F tripped over it with their wheels, hit a display shelf on the way down and everything went like Faz branded dominoes.”

it was after hours, and bonnie had originally planned to visit freddy in his dressing room, but when it was found empty, he began searching elsewhere. arms lifted and tucked behind his head casually, he hums a random tune to himself, quiet. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ notes only fall flat and come to a stop once he hears freddy's voice, muffled, coming from the gift shop. he, of course, peeks his head in. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ " h, h, heya, superstar! what'cha--oh, dang! what happened in here...? " bonnie says, stepping inside carefully, over an knocked over item or two. a pause, glancing around, before he leans down, picking up another one of the plushies off the floor, one of freddy himself. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ " did ya' do this, plush-freddy? " he's already giggling at his own antics--but, he puts on a deeper voice anyway, similar enough to the other's, 'no, bonbon, i didn't! i didn't!', he puppets with the doll. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ " o, o, okay little guy, i understand. don't worry. we'll fix all'a this together, won't we, actual-freddy? " he nudges the other with his elbow, an amused glint in his eyes. a laugh, as he sets the plushie back in it's rightful place, a nearby shelf. 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ " seriously though, lemme help you out?--this place is'a mess... " 🎸‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

[puppyie-innit]

thinkin bout a ler playin pat-a-cake with their lee >:3

The ler’s grin stretches wide, a mischievous glint flickerin in their eyes as they lean closer, hands poised like a playful predator ready to pounce. Their fingers hover momentarily before tappin rhythmically against the lee’s tummy, starting the familiar and oh-so-devious game of “Pat-a-cake.”

🎶 “Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man,” 🎶

Their singsong voice is light and teasin, the cadence perfectly matchin the gentle taps and pokes delivered to the soft surface beneath their fingers. Each poke elicits a spark of giggles from the lee, whose resolve crumbles almost immediately. They squirm, their shoulders twitchin as they fight the urge to pull away, but the bubblin laughter spillin from their lips betrays their motives.

The ler’s fingers gain momentum, dartin and dancin quicker with every beat. Their grin grows even wider as they watch the lee’s laughter rise, the soft “eek!” slippin out as the lee’s body flinches beneath the relentless tappin.

🎶 “Bake me a cake as fast as you can!” 🎶

The ler’s voice is lilting, full of playful mock-seriousness, while their fingers press just a little harder, teasin the lee’s sensitive sides with pokes and prods and the occasional scribble. The poor lee gasps between giggles, their pleas tumbling out in broken protests. “Nooo-hohohoho! Stahahahap!” they squeal, their squirmin now more desperate, though they can’t seem to wiggle far enough away from the ler’s dexterous fingers.

🎶 “Roooooollll it, paaaat it, and mark it with a B!” 🎶

As they sing the next verse, the ler takes their time, draggin their knuckles in a rolling motion over the lee’s belly, mimickin the kneadin of dough. The sensation draws another round of helpless laughter, the lee’s high-pitched giggles blendin with the ler’s teasin chuckles. With every “pat,” the ler applies a playful pressure, delightin in how the lee’s breath hitches and their laughter rises in pitch. And as they dramatically enunciate the final “B,” their fingers curl slightly, nails scratchin over the lee’s sides, diggin just enough into a sensitive spot that makes the lee shriek with mirth.

“Ohhh, what’s this?” the ler teases, their voice drippin with faux innocence as their fingers trail up to the lee’s ribs, tracin lazy, infuriatin circles. “My little one likes this game, don’t they? Looks like I’m bakin’ up somethin’ extra ticklish here!” Their drawl is as relentless as their touch, makin the lee’s face flush a deep shade of pink as they thrash about.

“THIHIHIS IS SOHOHO STUHUHUPIHIHIHID!” the lee manages to squeal, though their protests are lost amid their uncontrollable laughter.

🎶 “And toss it in the oven for baby and me!”🎶

The ler punctuates the final line by dippin their head down to nuzzle their face right in the center of the lee’s tummy, lingerin for dramatic effect. Then, without warning, they take a deep breath and blow a loud, buzzin raspberry on their belly button. The vibration jolts through the lee’s entire body, sendin them into hysterical, breathless laughter. Their legs kick out wildly, and their hands weakly push at the ler’s head, though it’s clear they’re far too lost in their giggle-fit to mount any real resistance.

The ler sits up, their face alight with playful triumph as they watch the lee’s flushed, crimson red face. “Awww,” they coo, “mockingly” affectionate, “looks you can’t take it. Guess I’ll just have to keep bakin’ until we get this recipe just right!”

With that, they dive back in, their fingers wigglin mercilessly over the lee’s tummy, sides, and ribs, each touch accompanied by laughter that fills the room like a melody.

[blitzyn]

don't worry

gray raven x gn!reader

request: can i request a found family comfort for the grey raven trio where reader/their newly assigned commandant is practically a kid—basically regarded as a 'prodigy' (not really reader was just raised specifically to be a commandant). at first reader seems almost disturbingly professional & rational to a fault, but then one day before a mission they found reader crying because reader was afraid & they were like. "nah man we're giving you a happy childhood" and discovers reader has horrible self-esteem issues. constantly blame themselves for stuff going wrong sometimes even if it clearly wasn't their fault. BASICALLY GREY RAVEN TRIO AS READER'S OLDER SIBLING FIGURES, TAKES CARE OF THEM, HELP THEM THROUGH THEIR ISSUES & TRY TO MAKE HAPPY MEMORIES W THE READER. ty & sorry for the long req oml 😭 — ⚖️

a/n -> YES ABSOLUTELY. Oh my god I’ve been aching and itching and desperate to write something for pgr after hyperreal came out on global I LOVE YOU. Slight spoilers about about the battle in kowloong but my memory of its kinda fuzzy sorry. also this is pre empyrea and hyperreal. NEWAYS darker fics coming up soon dw whoever sees this

wc -> 2.3k

cw -> a bit of self doubt from reader but nothing too heavy

Nearly everyone in Babylonia knew that you were, unarguably, one of the best commandants of their time. You were rational, effective, strong, and intelligent—everything needed in a leader. At a very early age, you could even be considered on par with the Egret commandant, Vanessa.

It was like a breath of fresh air for Lee, Liv, and Lucia, too. Their previous commandant had been one incompetent mess, to put it kindly. They were hardly able to submit their paperwork on time and often made one too many mistakes down on the surface, which inevitably led to their discharge.

You, however, were better in so many ways. You could keep up with the stacks of paper (which, honestly, the three thought was a bit much for a human), maintain a rational mind under pressure, and even utilize the potential they had during battle. Their growth had been evident to them and to many others, which is why when Liv hears you sobbing in your office, she isn’t sure what to do.

She’s well versed in the many different ways to console a crying child given her previous profession as a nurse, but she wasn’t sure how to apply her abilities to you. She readjusts her audio module after having increased it when she heard the faintest sound of a cry, quietly making her way towards the door that led to your office. She stopped in front it, a frown making its way on her face. She wasn’t sure how to handle this, but she knew she had to try.

“Commandant?” She softly knocked on the firm wooden door, listening intently to the sudden gasp that came from your lips and the urgent rustling of paper. “Are you okay?”

There was a pause, likely to recollect yourself and steel your voice. “Yes, Liv.” But she could hear it all—the shakiness, the faint sniffle, your raw voice. Although, there was one that deeply concerned her. She could hear the fear in your tone. Fear of what? She had only ever known you to be strong and brave; though, everyone had their breaking point.

She pursed her lips, tracing mindless patterns on the door before gathering the courage to speak again. “May I come inside? I would appreciate it if… if you could tell me why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” you countered quickly, even when you knew it wasn’t convincing for either of you.

“Please, commandant…” she pleaded, furrowing her eyebrows worriedly. She wasn’t about to leave you here when she knows she can do something about your tears. “I know you may not be comfortable sharing how you feel, but I would like you to trust me when I say that bottling up your emotions will only serve to hurt you. I know this, now. You taught me the importance of trusting one another, so, please, commandant. Can you trust me?”

There was a moment of silence before you shuffled over to open the door. Your eyes were rimmed red and you kept sniffling every so often, but Liv didn’t watch you with pity nor disdain. Her expression was free of judgement, and you seemed to recognize it when you relaxed the slightest bit.

“If you’re comfortable, could you tell me what’s bothering you?” She questioned softly, watching out for any signs of discomfort.

You pursed your lips, absentmindedly tapping a tune on the doorframe. It wasn’t that you wanted to shut your teammates out, you just couldn’t help but believe that you weren’t allowed to talk about your emotions ever since you began training to become a commandant when you were young. That was one of the main things your parents drilled into you: leading an elite squad had no time for how you felt.

So, you could only offer Liv a noncommittal shrug, slightly surprising her. She’s always known you to be decisive and often strayed away from gestures like that.

“It’s… what if… I’m just worried about tomorrow,” you finally admitted, averting your gaze. You fidgeted a little under your construct’s gaze, even if it was comforting. “What if something goes wrong, and I can’t do anything to fix it? Like… like last time, when Lucia had to switch to her Plume frame after Kowloong.”

A look of understanding crossed Liv’s face. You were afraid of not being enough. Of thinking that you could’ve done something better. She knew she was like that, and so was everyone else, most likely.

“I understand,” she said, noticing the way you perked up at her words. “I also have had countless experiences thinking that I could’ve done more, or that I should’ve done something different. But I would like you to acknowledge that what Lucia did in Kowloong was not your fault. She did what she had to as a soldier and our captain.”

You shook your head, looking down at your gloved hand. Underneath the fabric rests a scar that cuts horizontally along your palm. “But you’re a construct, Liv. It’s easy to say that since you’re so much stronger than I am. What if I’m just weak? What if you and the others are just slowing down to match my pace?”

Liv furrowed her brows, opening her mouth to retort when another voice beat her to it.

“We were humans, too, you know,” the voice said, and instantly you recognized it to be Lee’s. The two of you watched as he and Lucia made their way in the lounge.

“Yes, commandant,” Lucia nodded in agreement, quickly finding her place beside Liv.

You cringed a little, suddenly finding all the attention embarrassing. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to figure out what was going on,” Lee replied nonchalantly, but with the way he always bore a flat expression, it was hard to tell if he was secretly scrutinizing you or not. “There’s nothing to worry about tomorrow. It’s just standard procedure.”

You frowned at his words, beginning to wonder if you were just overthinking it all again. Lucia seemed to notice as she watched you closely. Nothing seemed to go past her eyes. “Is there something else that’s bothering you, commandant?”

“I’m just worried, I guess,” you tried to shrug it off, fighting off the growing urge to fidget. There was a beat of silence before Lucia spoke up with an eager smile on her face.

"Then, why don't we go out for a while?" She suggested, taking a peek over your shoulder towards the pile of paperwork still stationed on your desk. "It's been a while since all four of us got to hang out together."

"Yes, that's a great idea," Liv visibly brightened, glancing at her friend before returning her gaze back to you. "What do you say, commandant?"

This was the first time in a while you were unable to produce a decision on the spot. But as your eyes flitted onto the expectant expressions of your companions (minus Lee, of course), you could feel yourself gradually being swayed by Lucia's words.

"Uh... Sure. We can go out for a while," you finally relented, earning bright smiles from the two girls before they led you out of the Gray Raven lounge and through the winding corridors that led outside the building. You noticed a few lingering gazes upon you when you walked past, pursing your lips when you saw theirs move in unintelligible whispers.

"They're jealous of how you're younger than them but capable of achieving more," Lee suddenly said from beside you, not bothering to bat an eye when you looked at him. You opened your mouth to reply when he ultimately beat you to it. "No, I'm not saying it just because."

You nodded slowly, unable to fight the faint smile creeping on your face. It made you feel a foreign yet welcoming warmth knowing that he wasn't normally the type to do such a thing like raise his audio modules just to eavesdrop, and yet he did it anyway. He quickly noticed your smile as a blush colored his pale cheeks pink, so you mercifully looked away before he could start complaining about his heat dispersal system "malfunctioning" again.

You winced when you finally made your way out of the building, the artificial lights mimicking daytime on Earth briefly blinding you. You don't remember the last time you went outside just for a leisurely stroll, honestly. Sure, you've been out to visit the gun range or when you needed to depart for a mission, but never really taken in the sights since you were young.

"Where should we go first?" Liv questioned, humming a gentle tune as she looked around for something to do. Everything in Babylonia was limited due to its launch as an incomplete colony ship during the Golden Age, so there weren't any things like public aquariums or gardens. Many plants were used for study in laboratories and preservation just in case they could be replanted on Earth again.

"Why don't we get ice cream? I remember seeing a stand not too long ago," Lucia suggested, glancing at her teammates for approval. You felt a little strange going to an ice cream stand as a grown person who trained all their life to be a soldier, but you couldn't resist upon seeing the expectant gazes of your fellow comrades.

"Uh, sure. That sounds nice," you agreed, albeit a little awkwardly.

"Oh, but commandant," Liv began worriedly as she quickly looked you up and down. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—you appeared just as put together as always. But now that she knows more of you, she can't help but fuss over your well-being. "I don't remember the last time you ate or what it was. Maybe you should eat something first?"

You gave a nonchalant wave of your hand in dismissal, wordlessly urging her to not worry so much. Not that it'd ever work. "It's okay, Liv. I ate today. There's nothing to be concerned about."

She studied you for a moment longer before letting it go with a defeated sigh. But she wasn't genuinely upset now that she was able to see you in a way that didn't involve violence or dire situations. Continuing on, you could see the stand growing closer, noticing a few other people surrounding it. They were mostly children, with only a few parents watching over them.

Suddenly, one of them seemed to recognize who you were and came running in your direction with a wide grin. She was a little girl who couldn't have been older than ten, with messy, brown hair pulled into two droopy pigtails. "You're that person! The hero!" She cheered, nearly barreling straight into your legs. You steadied her with a firm hand, surprised when she abruptly raised her arm to request an autograph.

"Please?! You're so cool going wham! and bang! against all those bad guys on the surface! I wanna be just like you when I grow up!" She spoke so fast it was nearly impossible to keep up, but you made an effort to nod along with her words. "Super awesome and brave!"

"You haven't even..." You trailed off, wondering what she was told to believe that was solely what you did. Sure, there were a lot of Corrupted lingering around that you and your team disposed of, but there were others who did the exact same thing you did. But seeing this girl's excited grin and awestruck eyes stopped you from finishing your sentence. "Thanks, kid. It means a lot knowing that someone like you looks up to me."

You looked around for something to write with when Liv offered you a pen. You took it with a grateful nod before grabbing a spare paper from your pocket, not wanting to anger her parents by writing on her skin. She squealed and waved the paper around like a flag, staring at it like it was the greatest thing in the world. She repeated several thank you's before running off to her parents, leaving you back to your own devices.

You chuckled lightly, watching her before looking back at Liv. Your eyes widened in surprise when you turned a few times as you realized that Lucia and Lee weren't near you.

"Here, commandant!" Lucia said not a moment later, suddenly appearing behind you. She had an ice cream cone in her hand, holding it out to you. Upon closer inspection, you noticed that it was your favorite flavor. You carefully took it, giving curious glances towards the three.

"Oh, Lee picked out the flavor," Lucia informed, oblivious to the way the man tensed when his name was mentioned. "He noticed you had an interest in flavors similar to it.''

Lee's eyebrows furrowed as his lips dipped downwards into a frown, but there was no mistaking the embarrassed blush coating his cheeks once again. "There's nothing wrong with knowing my commandant's habits for optimal results and future developments."

Liv giggled quietly beneath her hand but decided not to comment on it.

"I hope you like it, commandant," Lucia continued on, eager to know your opinion on the treat.

"He'd be right," you said as you offered her a brief, grateful smile before beginning to eat your ice cream. "And, by the way, you can... you can call me by my name. If you want."

Lucia brightened, walking by your side as you all walked around aimlessly. "[Name]. [Name]! [Name]... [Name]," she repeated in various different tones, trying out how it'd feel to have your name on her tongue.

This time, it was your turn to turn away in embarrassment, futilely trying to hide behind your ice cream. "Don't wear it down all in one day."

"It's a very nice name," Liv laughed lightly at her friend's antics, taking part in teasing you just this once. Although, as she watched you, she couldn’t help but sadden just the slightest bit. Your features hadn’t yet fully matured, resembling that of a teenager just recently entering adulthood. She disliked how someone so young had to be forced into a world such as this, but all she could do was fight and hope that none others would be subject to the same fate in the future.

You just shook your head in exasperation, leisurely strolling forward. Being around your teammates—rather, your friends—like this sent a warmth through your body that only served to rekindle your determination to succeed on days like tomorrow just to have more times like these. It was a comforting feeling. But you could only hope that fate would be kind.

[llondonfog]

⚔ living weapon verse ⚔ | a friend and i have been tossing around an au where silver is a literal "living weapon"— he's been transformed into a sword due to being cursed by maleficent and forced to serve the many fae generals throughout the centuries who wield him. eventually, time finds him in the hands of the most recent general of the right, a certain lilia vanrouge :) there's so much more to this au and i hope that i can express more of it through upcoming drabbles. but in the meantime please enjoy this snippet below! <3

The water in the basin almost instantaneously rusts into an ugly, mottled brown, the kind of stinking, brackish water that Silver has only seen in the most polluted of swamps. It makes sense, he supposes, twitching his fingers idly beneath the surface to watch the resulting eddies with a glazed stare— he is a tool of and for destruction. There is nothing that remains sacred and innocent for something like him, not even the bathwater warm like a hearth against his phantom, aching bones. 

A clawed hand takes his chin and grips it firmly, the pressure a welcome distraction from the encroaching abyss sinking its poisonous tendrils into his mind. He allows it to guide him, unable to resist even if he wished, and it tilts his head up until his dulled gaze meets blazing crimson, the sight stirring a long-dead emotion in his still and silent heart. “Focus,” the general murmurs, and the order is a kindness, a mercy he knows he does not deserve. “Eyes on me.”

These simple, straightforward commands are part of their ritual, and Silver clings to them like the last anchor in a tempest-tossed sea. His handler’s hold on his chin lingers a moment longer, the fae eyeing him impassively to ensure his compliance as if it were possible for Silver to disobey, before removing itself to reach for the damp rag draped along the basin’s side. Silver mourns its loss like a child yearning for a comfort toy, but his features do not betray his thoughts. They do not betray much of anything at all, the need to emote drilled out of him from centuries of cruelty and callous objectification. After all, what does a sword need a smile for, what use is a blade that weeps?

Instead, he centers himself along the pain, one of the only constants he’s come to know as intimately as any true love. His handler is quick, another one of those unnecessary mercies, but thorough— the rag glides along his bruised and blood-stained skin, sweeping away the gory evidence of mere hours ago. Idly, Silver wonders if it would truly be so easy to wipe away the memories. To cleanse what is so ingrained within him: the dying wails of his own kind, the wet heat as he slices through their flesh and beating veins, the fear wide and white in their eyes. 

“Silver.”

His head snaps up, a dull burn of shame creeping beneath his skin as the fear of disappointing the fae, a compelling need sewn viciously into the very nature of his being as part of Maleficent's curse, floods his mind.

The general has paused in his ministrations, for how long Silver does not know, and instead is crouched by the basin’s side with an inscrutable expression on those delicate features. Without a word, he reaches out, and Silver’s eyes all but close as a passive tranquility spreads like treacle through his trembling limbs at the touch of those warm fingertips against the curse mark branded along the back of his neck. His handler need not look to find the recent addition of the bat flitting above the floral-wreathed sword emblazoned on Silver’s skin, and he feels the tips of those claws press lightly against it— he’s never heard of a curse mark changing over time, and he cannot forget the strange flash of possessiveness that flickered through the general’s eyes at the sight before being smoothly buried under his usual narrowed gaze. 

He cannot forget the odd churning of his heart when he first caught sight of it in the broken mirror hanging in the general’s tent. 

“Silver,” the general repeats, and Silver flushes at having drifted off once again. But instead, the fae brushes his thumb over the length of the curse mark, from the nape of his neck to the top of his spine, and stares at him like he’s something deserving of tenderness. 

“You did well today, boy. Rest now,” his handler’s hand shifts forward to cover his eyes, the darkness beneath his palm warm and inviting and nothing like the cold and miserable nothingness that Silver returns to when he’s outperformed his usefulness. Another kindness, for swords do not sleep, or eat, or drink— his body, what little humanity it has retained, no longer is tethered to such mortal requirements. But his general has given him an order, and a good weapon obeys the will of its handler. 

Silver sleeps— swords do not dream, but what else could it be, when he feels the ghost of lips brushing against his forehead?