#with input from green on the drowneds

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter Eight

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with an enigmatic dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material, Misogyny.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~4.3k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

As you step into the upscale restaurant, your date confidently leads the way to a secluded table. He pulls out your chair with a flourish and waits for you to sit before he takes his own seat. You thank him with a polite smile, already feeling a twinge of discomfort at his overbearing behavior.

He quickly waves over a waiter and without asking for your input, begins to order for the both of you. His words tumble out in a rush, his tone confident and authoritative as he lists out dish after dish. He barely glances at you as he speaks, his attention focused solely on the waiter. You are pretty sure he ordered you a salad. Red flag right there, a big enough one for you to bail… if you aren't so damn polite.

He prattles on, each word more tedious than the last. His voice bounces off the glass of wine before him, swishing around in its crimson depths as he regales you with tales of his business conquests, his latest gym routine, his luxurious car. It's a monologue that runs like a stream, unbroken and relentless. Painfully boring.

He never asks about you. Not once. It's as if he can't see past the edge of his own self-importance to notice you're more than a prop in his one-man show.

Your salad arrives, a sparse array of leafy greens and thinly sliced cucumber, and you poke at it with a disinterested fork. Over priced and underwhelming. His steak, cooked rare, oozes blood onto the white porcelain plate.

"I hope you like your salad," he says without meeting your eyes. He's too busy cutting into his steak, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "I know all you ladies like to watch your weight." Your eye twitches.

His words continue to spill forth, an unending waterfall of self-praise and grandiose tales. He laughs at his own jokes, the sound grating on your ears. The restaurant buzzes around you, but his voice dominates, drowns out the rest.

"Did I mention my promotion?" he asks, though it's clear he doesn't expect a response. He barrels on, "Huge raise. I'm thinking about getting a second house."

Your fork pauses mid-air. A sigh slips from your lips, your patience wearing thin. Where is your dream man to rescue you?

He doesn't notice.

You take a sip of your water, the cool liquid a brief respite from his monotonous voice. He's onto his gym routine now, boasting about his deadlift record and the size of his biceps. You don’t care about the size of his biceps.

A dull headache starts to form at the base of your skull.

His phone buzzes on the table and he grabs it without hesitation, his eyes flicking away from you for the first time all night. His fingers fly over the screen as he texts someone back.

Your irritation spikes.

"I'm so sorry," he says with a quick smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Work stuff."

The apology rings hollow in your ears.

You lean back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest. Your gaze drifts away from him, takes in the romantic setting wasted on this disastrous date, the soft lighting casting a warm glow around the room, couples sharing intimate moments around you.

He's back to talking about himself again, but this time you tune him out completely. You catch snippets, something about a luxury yacht and a vacation in Europe.

"Are you listening?" he finally asks when you don't respond to something he said.

You snap back to attention and plaster on a smile that feels as fake as it probably looks. "Of course," you lie smoothly. "Please continue."

And like clockwork, he does. His narcissism is astounding, and you can't help but wonder how you ended up here, stuck on a date with a man who clearly doesn't see past his own reflection.

But you stay. You nod and smile at all the right moments, even though every word out of his mouth grates on your nerves. You endure his self-absorbed monologue, all the while plotting your escape.

Because one thing's for sure: there won't be a second date.

After a long night of pretending to be interested in a man more in love with himself than anything else, you stumble into your apartment. Kicking off your heels at the door, you make a beeline for the couch.

Your dress, tight and constricting, follows the path of your discarded shoes. In your bra and panties, you sprawl out on the couch, letting out a sigh of relief. Your body sinks into the plush cushions, relishing in the freedom from the uncomfortable formal wear.

The silence of your apartment is an ice bath to your frazzled nerves. No self-important chatter, no empty boasts, just blessed quiet.

A bottle of wine beckons from the kitchen counter. Without a second thought, you grab it and flop back onto the couch. Why bother with a glass when you needed the bottle? The cool glass feels good in your hand as you twist off the cap and take a long gulp.

The wine is sweet and tart on your tongue. It burns going down, but it's a good kind of burn. One that washes away the remnants of an atrocious date and leaves you feeling lighter. You let your head fall back against the armrest, staring up at the ceiling as you continue to drink straight from the bottle. The room spins slightly, but you welcome it. It's a pleasant change from the steady, relentless stream of narcissism you've endured tonight.

Then your eyelids grow heavy as the wine works its magic. The tension seeps out of your body, replaced by a pleasant buzz that wraps around you like a warm blanket. You're almost asleep when a soft noise startles you awake. A glance at your phone reveals several missed calls and texts from your date.

Ignoring them, you turn off your phone and toss it onto the coffee table. The last thing you need is his voice intruding on your peace. With a final swig from the bottle, you set it down on the floor and let your eyes drift shut. The room spins gently, a comforting sensation that lulls you into a peaceful slumber.

Your eyelids flutter open to reveal a sight that is both unfamiliar and mesmerizing. You are in a grand bedroom, the likes of which you've never seen in the waking world. Tall, arched windows draped with silken curtains let in moonlight that bathes the room in an ethereal glow. An opulent canopy bed with velvet sheets dominates the space, while a grand fireplace flickers with a warm, inviting light.

Glancing down, you notice your attire, a negligee that shimmers as if dusted with stars. The material is soft against your skin, light and airy, making you feel as if you're clothed in a piece of the night sky itself. You probably are.

The room whispers of old world charm and elegance. The walls are adorned with beautiful tapestries depicting scenes from fairy tales and legends. A majestic chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, its crystals casting dancing shadows around the room.

Stepping towards the window, you gaze out at the view. A sprawling castle unfolds before your eyes, surrounded by an endless sea of stars twinkling brightly against the black canvas of the night sky. It's breathtakingly beautiful, a sight straight out of your wildest dreams.

A cool breeze brushes past you, making you shiver slightly as it teases your skin through the thin fabric of your negligee. You wrap your arms around yourself for warmth, but it's not unpleasant, just another sensory reminder that this isn't your ordinary world.

You walk over to the grand mirror standing against one wall and take in your reflection. The star-dusted negligee makes you look ethereal, like a celestial being who has descended from the heavens. You reach out to touch your reflection, half expecting your hand to pass through.

But it doesn't.

The cool surface of the mirror meets your fingertips, solid and real. And though this place feels like a dream, there's an undeniable reality to it that you can't ignore. Turning away from the mirror, you make your way to the center of the room and stand numbly. You are too wrapped up in your dreams that the real world now seems so dull and unenviable. Eyes burning, your first tears almost begin to fall when your sight is taken from you with a single blink.

A sudden darkness engulfs you as strong arms wrap around your body, pulling you into a hard chest. Your breath hitches in surprise, your senses heightening as you're plunged into an abyss of sensory deprivation.

His voice is a low growl against your ear, a blend of confusion and accusation. "You sought love from another!?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the rhythm matching the deep timbre of his voice. His hold tightens, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your negligee.

"No," you respond, the word barely a whisper as it escapes your lips. "You told me I don't belong here," you say, recalling his words from earlier. Your voice wavers slightly as you continue, "So I looked elsewhere, that's what I did."

His silence is deafening in the quiet room. You can feel his chest rise and fall against your back with each breath he takes. Does he actually need to breathe?

His hold on you softens as he digests your words. "I never intended for you to seek affection elsewhere, Kora," he murmurs into your hair. His voice carries a hint of regret, a rarity from him. "I merely meant that you should not let opportunities in the waking world pass you by because of me."

His words hang in the air between you two, his confession pulling at your heartstrings. You reach up to cover one of his hands with your own, holding it against your chest. "But it's you I want," you whisper back, your voice firm despite the uncertainty swirling within you.

There's a pause, then he moves his hand from under yours to tilt your chin up, forcing you to face him despite your lack of sight. His breath is warm against your skin as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

"You have me," he assures you softly, his words echoing in the silence of the room. "And I have you."

Your breath hitches when he begins to peel away the star-dusted negligee. It's a slow process, his fingers gliding over your skin with a gentle touch that makes your shiver. The material pools at your feet, leaving you standing bare before him. His hands return to your body, tracing paths of fire on your skin as he explores every inch of you. The cool air of the room contrasts with the warmth of his touch, making you tremble under his hands.

He pulls you closer, pressing your naked body against his. You can feel the hard planes of his chest against your soft curves, his heat seeping into you and chasing away the chill. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him as if he's afraid you'll slip away.

Then he's kissing you, a fierce and passionate kiss that steals your breath away. His lips move against yours with a hunger that mirrors your own, his tongue exploring your mouth with an intimacy that makes your heart race and a soft moan emerge. He devours it.

You can taste him on your tongue, a flavor that's uniquely him, intoxicating and addictive. Almost like stars. His hands roam over your body, each touch igniting a spark within you. He cradles you close, his hold firm yet gentle. Your hands grip his shoulders for support as he deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a sensual rhythm. He tastes like everything you've ever wanted, a mix of desire and passion that leaves you craving more.

His hands wander lower, cupping your bare buttocks as he pulls you flush against him. The feel of him, hard and wanting against your belly sends a jolt of arousal coursing through your veins. You break the kiss to gasp for air, pressing your forehead against his as you try to steady your racing heart. He kisses the corner of your mouth before moving lower to nuzzle at your neck.

"You are mine," he murmurs against your skin, the words vibrating through you. His voice is low and husky, filled with a possessiveness that makes your knees weak.

"And you're mine," you whisper back, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. His body is a wall of heat against yours, keeping you tethered to this dreamlike world. The reality of the situation settles in then, you're here with him, bare and exposed in every sense of the word. And he's still wearing clothes!

"You are overdressed," You softly state, your hands running along the soft material of his coat. It feels rather soft, perhaps one day you might get to wear it. "Please fix that, I am very hungry right now and desire your cock."

He chuckles softly and the fabric disappears beneath your fingers, dissolving away as if they never existed. When you feel the warmth of his body pressing against yours, you cling to him.

"Is this better?" he asks playfully, his breath tickling your ear.

"Much," you reply, pressing your body closer to his. You can feel the hard planes of his chest against your breasts, and his cock, now freed from its confines, nudges against your belly. It's hot and hard, throbbing with desire, and you can't help but let out a low moan in anticipation.

His hands slide down your back to cup your bottom once more, tilting your pelvis up to meet his. The feel of his erection against you sends shivers of need through your body. He presses closer, grinding his hips against yours until you whimper.

Your hands wander over his chest, exploring the contours of his body with an eager curiosity. You trace the lines of the muscles you can feel, once again marveling at the feel of him beneath your fingertips. He will never cease to amaze you. His skin is smooth and warm, and you can't help but run your hands down his stomach, feeling the taut muscles there.

"You're so beautiful," you breathe, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

"You can't see me," he points out.

"No, but I can feel you," You purr, your fingers trailing down his stomach in search of your prize. You find it, fingers deftly caressed his erect cock while a smile slowly spreads upon your face.

As you sink to your knees, the only thing you can focus on is the hardness of his cock in your hand. You lean in closer, your breath creating a warm, almost electric sensation on his skin. He lets out a low groan, and it's music to your ears. With a smile, you guide his cock towards your waiting lips.

Your mouth is hungry, eager for the taste of him. You glide your tongue along the length of his shaft, savoring the salty taste of his skin. He's thick and hard in your hand, and you can't help but marvel at the feel of him. Oh he is throbbing for your touch.

You encircle the head of his cock with your lips, sucking gently at first. He lets out a deep moan, and it spurs you on. You take more of him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his shaft as you bob your head up and down.

His hands find their way into your hair, gently guiding your movements. You pick up the pace, your lips sliding along his length with increasing urgency. The feel of him in your mouth is intoxicating, and you can't help but moan around his cock. As you continue to suck and lick, his breathing becomes ragged, and his grip on your hair tightens. You know he's close, and it only serves to excite you more. You redouble your efforts, your mouth and hand working in tandem to bring him to the edge.

With a final groan, he comes undone, his hot seed filling your mouth. You swallow greedily, savoring the taste of stars as he trembles above you. As he catches his breath, you gently release his cock from your mouth. A contented smile spreads across your face, and you lean back on your heels, your hand admiring your handiwork for your eyes. He's still hard within your grasp, a factor you expect. His stamina and no refractory period made it near impossible to truly drain the pleasure from his being.

"Come," his demand comes out feather soft, and you feel his hands gather your body from where you are kneeling in front of him. Cradled in his arms, you wait for his next move as you press your face into his shoulder. The warmth of his skin is calming against your own. He carries you somewhere in the room, the large bed most likely, and lays you down on the soft sheets.

When you feel the mattress dip next you, you are surprised that he chooses to settle next to you rather than on top of you. His reasoning is soon explained when lithe fingers spiral across your stomach and caress your chin. He turns your chin and his lips find yours. He kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring the recesses of your mouth with a passion that leaves you breathless.

His other hand roams over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and the swell of your breasts. They trickle everywhere. You arch your back, rotate yourself closer to him, desperate for the feel of his touch. Reaching out, your fingers find his hair and your stroke them through the silky strands.

As his kisses trail down your neck, you can feel your heart race faster and faster. His lips find your breast, his tongue circling your nipple before taking it between his teeth. You let out a low moan, your body arching towards his as the pleasure courses through you.

His hand slips between your legs, his fingers seeking out the warmth of your cunt. You're already wet for him, your body eager for his touch. He teases you, his fingers dancing around your clit before finally slipping inside of you.

You let out a gasp as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, his thumb rubbing your clit in slow, sensuous circles. The feel of him inside you is intoxicating, and you grind your hips against his hand, needing more.

With each stroke, you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and your body trembles with anticipation. Lips find yours again, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he thrusts his fingers deeper inside of you until you are falling apart.

Your body convulses with pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. You whimper, your voice muffled by his lips as he kisses you through your release and clenching thighs. When your tremors subside, he pulls his fingers from your body, leaving you aching for more. You moan out your displeasure and he takes your chin in hand, turning your head until you presume he is gazing into your eyes from where he lays next to you, body pressed against yours.

He traces the curves of your body with his fingers, his eyes still locked with your unseeing ones, he whispers in your ear, "You're hungry tonight, beloved."

"Ravenous," you breathe, your words soon muffled by his lush kisses. You can feel the depth of your own hunger, a longing that goes beyond the physical. His arm slips beneath your neck and he takes great delight in scraping his teeth against your neck and sucking against the spots that make you squirm.

Your fingers trickle from his hair to the nape of his neck, bunching the strands you can feel there when his tongue ticks at a place his teeth have marked and burst of pleasure erupts. Then a knee slides under your right thigh and your leg finds itself resting against his hip, his erect cock teasing your needy cunt.

"Please," You whisper in need, bucking your hips off the bed to grind your throbbing cunt against his cock. You left hand reaches for the arm supporting your neck and you cling to his wrist.

Your pleas hang heavy in the room, thick with anticipation and need. He doesn't answer verbally, instead, his hand slides down your body, fingertips tracing a path that leaves your skin tingling in its wake. When he reaches the juncture of your thighs, his fingers lightly brush against your sensitive flesh, drawing a gasp from your lips.

He positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock teasing your entrance. You feel him there, hot and hard against you, ready to plunge into the warmth of your body. But he waits, letting the anticipation build until you can't stand it any longer.

"Please," you beg again, your voice a desperate whisper. You arch your hips towards him, seeking the pleasure that only he can give. At last, he obliges. With a slow push, he enters you. The sensation is overwhelming, the feel of him stretching you wide as he sinks deeper and deeper inside of you. He fills you completely, his cock throbbing with need.

His thrusts are slow at first, a torturous pace that has you squirming beneath him. You grip his wrist tighter as he moves within you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. As his pace quickens, so does your breathing. Then his addicting lips cover yours and his tongue competes with his cock for your attention.

His tongue is a sweet torment, dancing with yours in a rhythm that mirrors the movement of his hips. His hand on your thigh is a firm anchor, holding you steady as he rocks into you. You can feel him all around you, within you,  his scent, his taste, his touch. Everything is him and it's intoxicating.

His hand leaves your thigh, gliding up the expanse of your body until it finds your breast. His touch is electric, his fingers gently kneading the soft flesh as his thumb brushes over your sensitive nipple. A soft moan slips past your lips, swallowed by his own.

He continues to move within you, his thrusts becoming more insistent. His fingers continue their gentle assault on your breast, his touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. Each stroke of his thumb over your nipple sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, heightening the sensation of him moving inside you.

Your mind is consumed by him, the feel of his body against yours, the taste of his mouth on yours, the scent of him filling your senses. You need more, more of him, more of this intoxicating pleasure that he's giving you.

His pace quickens, his movements becoming more erratic as he chases his own release. His fingers pinch your nipple, drawing a gasp from you as a wave of pleasure washes over you. He grinds against you, hitting that sweet spot inside you that has you seeing stars behind your blind eyes.

The tension within you builds, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust until it's unbearable. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his nape as the pleasure threatens to consume you.

And then it hits, a surge of ecstasy that crashes over you in a blinding rush. You cry out, your voice muffled by his mouth as your body convulses beneath him yet again. Your walls tighten around his cock as waves of pleasure rip through you, washing away everything else.

The waves slowly recede, leaving you breathless and sated in their wake… but still he continues to move within you. A moan slips from your lips and you twitch against his side. His thrusts slow down until they're nothing more than gentle rocks. His hand leaves your breast, coming up to cradle your face as he pulls away from your lips.

His touch is tender, soothing the heated skin where his fingers had danced. He cradles your face in his hands, fingers brushing away the stray strands of hair that stick to your sweaty forehead.

His voice, low and husky from exertion, fills the quiet room. "Are you alright?" he asks, his tone filled with concern.

You let out another soft moan, finding your voice. "I'm more than alright," you assure him. Your hand finds his where it rests against your cheek. You turn your head to press a kiss to his palm, the taste of him lingering on your lips.

He pulls out of you slowly, his absence immediately noticeable. You can't help but whimper at the loss of his cock, but he's quick to pull you into his arms. His chest is warm and solid against your back, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace.

You feel safe in his arms, cherished and loved. It's a feeling you've come to associate with him, this dream lover of yours who has captured your heart in ways you never thought possible. As he presses soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, you let out a content sigh.

You nestle closer to him, your body sated and relaxed. His fingers trace idle patterns on your chest, a simple touch that somehow feels intimate and meaningful. The steady hum of his being against your back is a soothing lullaby, lulling you towards sleep.

He murmurs something in your ear, his voice low and enchanting. You don't understand the words, but the tone of his voice, soft and affectionate, is enough to make you smile.

Date Published: 10/11/24

Last Edit: 10/11/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[nortyourself]

Dissonance

~~

or: if Erik won't give us a fucked up monster Blake BA, I'll do it myself

cw for extremely dubious consent, unsafe sex, and unhealthy dynamics

If that makes you uncomfortable, this fic is not for you.

This was written as part of the Oops! All Yanderes collab with Skyside! Everyone involved is so crazy talented - please go show their pieces some love ^^

Read the full fic on Ao3

THIS FIC IS 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

--

Upon first waking, the thing that used to be Blake didn’t remember much. Cold, dark water. Distant drums. Something small drowned in overwhelming power; a geyser poured into an ill-fitting shell. Its core was bloated - magic swelling and arcing across its threads like a circuit overloaded, threatening to snap under its current.

 Its thoughts - toomanytooloud toocrowdedtoomuch - raced like a swarm, too fast to be pinned in any one direction. Something within it knew where it was, absently, and that it had been here before, but the details were fuzzy. Impossible to grasp. The noise in its head had the world blurring out of focus as it reeled. Everything was buzzing; buzzing thoughts, buzzing lights overhead, a buzzing within its body.

Buzzing … 

Something was buzzing. 

Hands controlled by too many inputs found their way to a pocket; pulled a strange object from within it which buzzed in tandem with its vibration as light illuminated one side. Letters on the… screen , it recalled, a red and green circle beneath them. 

Something small within the former Seer - buried deep within its mind - ignited with recognition. It clawed for purchase; dragged itself forward by sheer will alone, and the hive within its body - still disoriented, parted in its wake - if only for now. 

The buzzing in its hand stopped. The thing that used to be Blake stared at the missed call — 5 of them, it realized. It stared at the name as images and memories and sensations found their way to the surface of its mind - Thoughts of laughter, of fond touches lingering just too long, of hot, shuddering breaths and skin against skin skimmed across the surface. The horde of ravenous minds drank the memories down - stored them away, shredded them to pieces, gorged themselves on the emotions; the first new sensation they’d had in millennia. It felt like being drained dry and filled to bursting all at once, yet the root of the thoughts remained. Longing.

Hunger.

The thing in Blake’s body began to walk. It knew where to go.

Continued on Ao3

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

Stars and Seas: A Drowned Tale

Years ago, I made a short story titled "The Drowned", which featured Matthew and Lyrus, a Human and a Merfolk variant called "Drowned", who fell for one another and became eternal lovers.

I'm happy to say that, years later, I have a continuation of this story just as well! Stars and Seas: A Drowned Tale features the former side character Ilias, and a new character, Thompson.

Story below the cut.

Words: 4468

Days off for Thompson were extremely rare. Hospice required constant attention from the nurse, but ever since Matthew was discharged, the man found himself with more free time than usual. Matthew was the main resident to whom Thompson was assigned, and without any new residents since, the nurse had little to do.

With a full free weekend, Thompson decided to visit the boardwalk on the edge of town. It was the location’s prime attraction, with a small amusement park and multiple boardwalk games. Pizza, chicken, fries, burgers, you name it and the stalls sold it.

Alone, Thompson wandered across the wooden planks, looking at various carnies who called to families with their children, friends with their friends, and couples with their lovers.

Yet there he was.

Alone.

The man’s heart grew heavy, but no less he walked toward one stall, and pulled out the wallet in his pocket.

“What can I get you, sir?” the lady asked.

Thompson looked up, and pointed to a bag of green cotton candy. “I’d like that bag please,” he said. “Is debit ok?”

The woman nodded, reaching to pull the bag off its hook from the overhang. “That’ll be five dollars,” she said. “Anything else you need?”

“Actually yes. May I please have a bottle of water?”

“Sure thing!” The woman set the cotton candy down, then turned around to a small fridge, and opened it, pulling out one bottle of water. “Alright, that’s another four dollars, so your total comes to nine!” She scanned the two items.

Thompson pulled out his card, and placed it against the machine. Once it beeped, he returned it to his wallet, and input the pin. The machine rang a gentle tone, and he nodded, then grabbed his food and drink. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a great day.” He forced a smile to her briefly.

The woman nodded. “You, too.”

Turning away, Thompson located a table in the distance, just outside the amusement park. With even steps, he made way toward this.

Two young men stood outside the park entrance, fumbling for cash to pay the fee.

“Damn. Guess we spent more at the diner this morning than I thought,” the smaller man said, chuckling.

The other smiled, and kissed the first. “Worry not, my dear. I’ve got this covered.”

Thompson’s heart sank even deeper hearing this conversation. Two men. In love. Yet here he was still alone. He glanced toward the lovers briefly, then stumbled.

“Lyrus, I told you to stop covering me!”

“Well really it’s my father covering us both.”

Turning toward the two young men, Thompson quickly approached. “...Matthew?” he asked.

The smaller man turned around, his mouth immediately falling agape upon seeing Thompson. “I–you… Thompson?!”

“Yes!! It’s me!!” Thompson cried, a smile coming to his face. He reached for Matthew, wrapping his arms around him gently. “Oh my god!! Look at you!! You’re–you’re completely healthy now!!”

Smiling warmly, Matthew returned the hug to his old nurse, nodding. “I am!! I feel great!!”

Thompson separated from him, and looked upon the young man who now stood. He stood. Matthew’s legs were riddled with cancer before, and left him confined to a wheelchair for the most part, save for good pain days. But Thompson looked at Matthew’s wrist.

Upon it was tied a single small bracelet of seashells, the rope made of dried seaweed.

And Lyrus’s wrist held one just the same.

Thompson nodded, smile never waning. “Healing is a magic in and of itself, isn’t it?” he asked.

There, Matthew stumbled slightly. “Wh–what do you mean?”

“Getting better in any way. It seems to bring people together, doesn’t it? You two have each other now, and that’s incredible. It’s perfect. The magic between you both seems to have done more than modern medicine ever could.”

Matthew fell silent, his blood running cold.

But Lyrus stepped up, smiling. “You know, Thompson, sir. Matthew has told me much about you in the time we’ve been together. I was hoping to meet you someday.”

Thompson smiled gently. “I’m honored to meet you all the same, sir. And I truly wish both of you a great eternity together. Even though… I’ll likely never see Matthew again.”

“Perhaps there will be more meetings,” said Lyrus. “You never know what the future holds, after all. Things change. People change. That is the magic of life.”

Nodding, Thompson’s smile now waned slightly. “Well… I hope you both have a great day. And a safe return home. May the tides pull you to safety.”

Lyrus bowed to him. “And may they never tempt you into the depths all the same.” He pulled Matthew into himself. “Come on, hon. Let’s keep our little date going.” Together, he and Matthew handed the cash to the person at the front gate, and entered inside.

Thompson sighed, and walked to the table. Situating himself, he opened the bag of cotton candy, and began eating it silently. Pondering. His heavy heart beat slowly and painfully against his chest, and he turned to look at the beach, its gentle waves lapping away at the sand as children played about, and people of all ages spoke and smiled. 

But Thompson himself frowned, for he was alone as always.

Forever alone…

====================

That evening, Matthew and Lyrus returned to the castle of Limrias. As both sat together at the table alongside Ilias, they ate their dinners as a family.

But Matthew seemed oddly quiet. His gaze was distant, almost as though the man focused on something beyond the present.

“Are you alright, hon?” Lyrus asked.

“...No.”

“Talk to me.” Lyrus put one webbed hand on Matthew’s shoulder, and reached the other to brush his hair behind a finned ear. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s… it’s Thompson. From before,” Matthew said, sighing. “He looked… I don’t know. Sad? I could feel it. All his sorrows flowed into me like they were my own. I know Drowned can feel connections to one another through the bonds we have. But can a Drowned do the same with a Human?”

“It’s possible,” Ilias said. “You and Thompson had a great deal of investment in one another before you became Drowned. Those feelings of love still remain, and through your love for him, it’s very likely you could feel a bond between yourself and him as you would any other Drowned.”

Matthew nodded. “Thank you. I just… I wish I could help him. He always seemed so happy when he was around me, but I know he’s been through a lot. He never told me what he experienced, though.”

Ilias cut into a filet, and stabbed it with his fork. “Is he still nearby? Still at the boardwalk?” He placed the filet piece into his mouth, and began to chew it.

“Maybe. I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d like to meet him, and thank him for having cared for you all these years,” Ilias replied. “He seems as though he could use such thanks, and he should know you’re in good hands now.”

“Dad, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lyrus asked. “He knows Matthew and I are Drowned, but that’s dangerous enough in and of itself! Do you really want to risk revealing yourself, our king, to him?”

Shrugging, Ilias stabbed the last piece of his filet. “If he already knows about us, then what’s the harm in showing him myself?” He bit into the piece, and swallowed it, setting his fork and knife down. “You two go enjoy yourselves for the night. I’ll be back by morning. Promise.” The king smiled at his two boys, and swam from his chair, then pushed it in. Without another word, he exited the room.

====================

Upon the beach, Thompson sat solitarily, knees to his chest as the waves crashed in the distance, their extended falls reaching the man’s feet. The water kissed him softly. Thompson reveled in what little peace this brought him.

Looking up into the horizon, boats and ships sailed across the night, far out into the dark, every star above illuminating their shapes.

How he longed to leave this land and see the world as those people did… Maybe things could be better elsewhere…

Thompson sighed, burying his head in his knees, shoulders dropping.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

The man jumped, and looked up. There, his eyes fell upon a tall, broad man, roughly his own age, whose hair and beard appeared black and salt-worn, hints of gray running through their lengths. He smiled kindly to Thompson.

“Mind if I take a seat?” the man asked.

Thompson scooted to his right, shaking his head. “No, please. Go ahead.”

Bending down, the stranger sat carefully, placing his hands against the sand to steady himself as he lowered into a sitting position. Upon both his wrist lay two gorgeous bracers of seashells, tied in place with colorful seaweed.

Thompson’s eyes widened at their sight. However, he remained silent.

The stranger gazed up at the stars meeting the sea afar. “Matthew’s told me lots about what you’ve done for him. I’m grateful. For you. For all your care and help given to him over the years.”

“You’ve done more for him than any medicine could have,” Thompson said .

“I don’t mean just medically, but emotionally as well.” There, Ilias smiled kindly, and turned toward the Human. “He’s struggled a lot. Learning to be part of a family when he’s never had one is certainly a difficult thing. But he tells me he learned what he could from his love for you. Matthew always tells me you’re the father he never had.”

“Well I’m not much to go by. I don’t have a family, either…”

Ilias raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“No. It’s a long story. You wouldn’t care for it, I promise.” Thompson sighed heavily, his demeanor lowering into sorrow.

Pausing a moment, Ilias readjusted himself. “I’ve got time. And Matthew is worried. He tells me you’re sad. I see it in you that you are. Maybe talking would help ease the burden?”

Thompson shook his head. “I can’t. It’s no use. I’ve spoken to therapists for decades now, and it doesn’t do anything to make this better… Not what with I’ve been through…”

“Well… what about talking to a friend?”

Pausing a moment, Thompson glanced toward Ilias, eyes wide. He saw, there, the king’s kindly smile, and welcoming self, so genuine and gentle. How could he say no to this man? Regardless, Thompson looked away, shaking his head again. “It’d be wrong to burden another with my troubles. Especially a king…”

Ilias chuckled a little. “Friends exist to carry the burdens of one another in part. Nobody can make it through life alone. And if you do not tell me now, I will continue to visit each night you’re here until I gain your trust enough that you speak. It wouldn’t be right in my heart or mind to let such a great and kindly man as yourself suffer alone.”

“Why do you think so highly of me?” Thompson asked.

“Because you kept Matthew safe. And Matthew has opened my heart to trusting once more.” The king took a deep breath. “I spent more than a millennia distrusting Humans. They’ve proven to be enemies of my people for ages now, polluting our home and using it for selfish gains. But Matthew and Lyrus fell for one another more than a year ago now. And I’ve seen since then what good Humans are, and what good they bring. Lyrus, my son, was so lonely and broken until he met Matthew. Those two healed each other’s hearts and lives, and their love has, in turned, healed me.”

Thompson’s eyes nearly welled with tears now. He gulped the sadness back. “Love is… it’s something I’ve not had in a very long time…” His tears began to fall.

Ilias lifted a finger, and the teardrops shifted from Thompson’s face, floating away toward the sea.

Eyes wide, the Human watched his sorrows move from himself and join with the water beyond. He shook his head. “I’m… a lot like Matthew in a sense… I, too, love men. I’m how he realized his own sexuality. But my parents–my entire family both immediate and extended–they shunned me for what I am. They called me a disgusting whore, and threw me into the streets. I tried to go back! I tried so many times!! But eventually they moved, and I never knew where to! I had nobody and nothing!!

“My boyfriend at the time, he proposed to me, and we were planning our wedding. We found out he was pregnant, and both of us felt ecstatic! The future was bright, and we’d just gotten an apartment together here in the city. But… this hardly lasted…” Now Thompson’s tears fell in a large stream, and the man sobbed violently, clutching his knees to his face as he pressed his forehead into both harshly. “Kevin, he–he miscarried. Just a few weeks into the second trimester. We were devastated, and the doctors found out why this happened.

“Kevin had late-stage ovarian cancer. He was dying. And no amount of medicine would ever help save him…”

Ilias’s face dropped, his heart sinking into an abyss of sorrow. He reached for Thompson, but retracted his hand before it could touch him.

Thompson tensed, biting his lower lip harshly. “I was alone. I had nobody. No family. No partner. No love. And I tried. I tried to find someone else! But I’ve been broken!! My sorrows are too great, and my pain is immense! Nothing makes it better! Nothing!!” He rammed a fist into the sand, trembling. “I’m lonely… I’m broken… And I see no reason to keep going. Ever since Matthew left, there’s been little hospice work to do. It’s like I’m not needed anymore. Nobody needs me, and I am needed nowhere. I can’t keep going like this…”

Shifting toward the Human, Ilias sat on his knees and wrapped himself around the balled-up Thompson, hugging him softly. “You’re needed. Always. That I promise.”

Thompson sobbed, his heart weighing itself down into the depths below. "If I fell into the ocean to my death, far away from any land, would the world even notice? Would I be forgotten?"

"The ocean would remember," Ilias replied. "The waves would carry your soul forever with their every rise and fall. The very creatures which live within it would see your descent, knowing another joins them but not in life. They would mourn. The sea is seemingly paired with death, but we can only take so much tragedy before it becomes too much. Perhaps this is why the Drowned were created. To prevent such sorrow from ever taking over."

"But I am not worthy of mourning. I'm nobody. And I am worth nothing. Not even life." Thompson shook rapidly, tightening his fists.

"Has the world truly taken so much from you that you've forgotten how to receive all the same?"

The Human shook his head. "I'm not sure. I don't think I've ever been given anything in my life before..."

Ilias grasped one of the Human's hands, and stood up. "Then come with me a moment. I wish to give you something."

Thompson shook his head. “Please. Don’t–”

“You need to see this. Please. Just come along.”

With a scoff, Thompson pushed himself upright, shaking his head, standing to meet the king. Gently, he was pulled toward Ilias. Into him.

Ilias held Thompson close and walked toward the water, then into it. Once deep enough inside, the long mer tail formed, and fins extended from his wrists and ears. His green eyes glowed bright against the darkness, clearly made to peer through the depths of the seas. Here, he clutched Thompson softly, and carefully began to swim out. Away from the shore.

Thompson watched as the sand grew further and further away until it no longer remained visible. He spoke not a word, just letting his sorrows run rampant through himself.

After several minutes, Ilias stopped, and shifted Thompson in front of himself. Here, the king smiled warmly, and pointed upward toward the vast, starry sky.

Tears streaking his face still, the Human looked up where the king pointed.

"Centuries ago, sailors used the stars to navigate the oceans, and cross them safely. All the same, those stars told stories and gifted them to children who looked at them in hope,” Ilias said. “No matter where you are in the world, the stars are always there. No matter where you are in the world, the water is always there. Nature is inherent. It's eternal. Hope and safety are always here. Waiting for you to find them. You only need let the world guide you."

Thompson gulped his sadness down again. "Then why? Why has my life led me away from the world? Why am I so blind to the future that I can't even see it?"

"When you spend forever in the dark, it hurts to look at the light. But it's there no less.” Ilias looked Thompson in the eyes. “I am here."

The Human’s mouth fell agape. He shook his head. “N–no.”

“Why not?” Ilias asked. “Why not accept love for a change?”

"I... I can't. How can I ever love again when I will lose you, or you will lose me? I couldn't bear to be with a man who has two sons, knowing you’ll all live forever and I won't–that you'll all be of the sea, but myself of the land. I am nothing compared to you! I am... nothing… Even as a person, I am nothing..."

"You are a great man with a great heart as vast as the seas," Ilias said, holding Thompson tighter now. "I never thought I would feel this way for a Human, but all the same, every Drowned was once Human. We aren't so different."

Thompson hiccupped, shaking. His aching heart seemingly sank into the ocean itself as he remained within it, held by the king.

"When a Drowned Embraces a Human, their love is gifted all the same. A bond is forged between the Drowned who makes another. These bonds create families. Parents, children, lovers, siblings. They are eternal and endless. There is no breaking the bond of two Drowned who’ve joined together. And they feel everything between one another. Joy and pain. Love and fear. Any and all emotion is shared.

“But I feel it all, even without such a bond between yourself and I. Your sorrow is great, and your pain greater. You fear and you grieve, but I am here. And I love. I love you, Thompson. Sweet Baris. I wish for nothing more than to see you happy–to see your smile and know your joy not as my own, but for you to feel yourself. You deserve happiness. I can bind us together in eternity beneath the very waters in which we tread, and I will hold you as my own. You will never be alone again. I promise."

The torrential tears dripping from Thompson’s eyes began to fall into the ocean. "I’m not worth it… I never will be…What have I done that's worthy of this?" he asked. "To gift me not just any Embrace, but yours? Why?"

Ilias smiled gently, pressing into the Human, holding him closer. "Because you are you. And all are worthy of love for the mere fact that they live. And I love you. The world takes so much that we often forget we can give all the same.

“Just as well, none must be worthy of the water's gift to receive it. One must simply embrace its love as their own. And I know you long for love. But look no further. We are here. Together. Between the stars that guided us to my kingdom, and the seas in which it resides. Please. Come home with me, Baris."

Thompson sobbed into the king now, harsh and ugly. "But... Matthew. He doesn't need me anymore. He has you. All the Drowned."

"That doesn't mean he can't use more love. You need it all the same. And if he does not welcome you then know that I do. I will be the one who brings you home and gifts you the Embrace." Ilias leaned in, and kissed Thompson on the cheek. "I will bind us together in eternity, and hold you as my own. You'll have a family–two sons, Matthew and Lyrus–and of course, me. Loneliness will never reach you again. Of that I swear."

Thompson trembled, trying to breathe but he couldn’t. He shook his head, sobbing harshly. “Does it hurt? Letting the magic take you?"

"No. It's peaceful. Your very soul is engulfed in serenity, and you know, in that moment, you're forever saved from all death and sorrow."

With a harsh cry, Thompson clutched the king dearly, clenching his eyes shut. "Please... Please just help me!!" he begged. "Make this stop! Take my pain away! Please..."

"I can give you what you need to make it leave in time. It will not fade immediately. But I will be there every moment you need someone. I will always love you, Baris. That will never change." Ilias smiled warmly. “You will learn to live in peace, not rest in sorrow. Let your mortal pains wash away into the sea. It’s time to come home.” The king lifted his hand to Thompson's heart, pressing it against him. The palm began to glow, and he shifted his face to see Thompson's, meeting the man's lips with his own which he kissed gently while pushing him backward, leading them both below the water.

The glow began to overtake Thompson, who kissed Ilias back, a warmth spreading from his heart through his entire body. The very tears upon his face washed away into the sea which now held him completely. And the man welcomed it.

As the glow intensified, both lovers remained connected for a long moment before Ilias backed away, shifting his hand off Thompson.

Slowly, the bright illumination faded from the man entirely as he lay within the king's loving embrace. And there he rested, a long, finned tail now in place of legs, and matching fins upon his wrists and ears. Gills opened from his sides, and he breathed through them, taking the water into his very being, merging himself with it at long last.

Ilias smiled. "Welcome home, my king."

Thompson–Baris–opened his eyes and looked at himself. Now Drowned, he gazed upon his new form in silent awe, examining the long tail and strange fins, the webbing between his fingers. And there, a feeling of serenity filled himself, overtaking his entire being. Baris sat upright, and threw himself into Ilias, clutching the king tighter, a wholeness and unity of sorts driving him toward the man.

A unity with his lover, Baris realized. A unity with his future–with the very seas in which he now lived and breathed.

Both parting slightly, Ilias’s smile only grew. "You are the greatest man I have ever met, and I will never be far from you. Even if I am, our eternal bond will hold us together. I feel your elation. The relief in your heart. And I am happy all the same. You’ve needed this for ages now, and it is yours to keep. I’ll make certain you never lose it."

There, a smile formed upon Baris’s face. He kissed Ilias passionately, deeply, holding the king against himself as he wrapped the long tail around his lover, pressing into him. “Thank you. Thank you, my love. My king. I… I love you. So much.”

“Please. Call me Ilias.” The king smiled, joining his tail with Baris’s, and both held one another for a long moment in silence.

Minutes passed, and finally Baris unlatched from his lover, shifting backwards. He looked at himself entirely now, and chuckled a little, smiling.

Ilias looked puzzled at his lover. “What’s funny?” he asked.

“I… I just realized a slight problem."

"Oh?"

"I can't swim."

Ilias suddenly burst into laughter. "Oh, gods! That is quite a problem, now isn’t it?” He grinned, and pat Baris’s shoulder gently. “Well there's no time like the present to learn. It's not that hard. I'll show you."

Baris grasped the king’s hand, who led him down into the depths, flicking his tail gently while keeping his and Baris’s arms parallel to themselves.

After many minutes, Ilias let go, and motioned for Baris to follow him.

And without missing a beat, Baris continued. Swimming close by. Swimming.

He was free.

The Drowned cut through the water with ease, as though the very universe parted to let him and Ilias pass, and both made their way toward a glistening, large kingdom with ornate bridges and city buildings spanning across the entire ocean floor.

This was the beauty of Limrias.

====================

Within the castle, Matthew and Lyrus lay within one another’s arms in their bed together, cuddled up smiling and content. Both looked outward from the window to the kingdom far below, then to each other, their minds at ease and their hearts entwined in love.

However, a knock came to their door. “Lyrus? Matthew? Are you awake?”

Ilias, they realized.

“We are! We’re coming!” Lyrus called. He helped Matthew up, and both held hands as they swam to the door. But Lyrus grasped the handle, and pulled it open.

There in the doorway, both smiling, hands together, Ilias and Baris tread as one. As Drowned.

Matthew’s eyes welled with tears. He charged Baris, and threw his arms around the man, squeezing him tight and pressing into him. “You–you’re–”

“I’m home,” Baris said, leaning into Matthew gently. “I’m grateful. For all of you. I owe you everything.”

“You owe nothing but to love your life,” Matthew said. He looked up at Baris. “Please. I know you’ve been hurting. I know you’ve been sad. But give this a chance. It’s going to get better now. We’ll all make sure of it.”

Baris nodded, smiling even more. “I know. I will. I promise. I will live, with you, and we will always be together. My heart is open to love, and I have that of Ilias. And I couldn’t ask for anything greater.”

Lyrus swam toward Baris and Matthew, putting one hand on each. “You have my love all the same. Gods know my dad needs it more, though.”

Everyone laughed, and leaned in, hugging one another.

And there, Baris felt it. The bonds between all of them. Each person of this family loved him, and all the same he loved them. Their feelings flowed through one another as though part of each other despite each belonging to different people. They were united. And nothing would ever tear them apart, for, nature’s love in the stars and seas had brought them together at long last.

[sweetie-peaches]

Qsmp/purgatory summer camp au

• no one know why they were forced to go to this hellish camp, but they were.

• the first day they’re all forced into the cafeteria, to watch a video put together by the ‘big eye’ the video starts, the big eye calls them sinners and vermin. This sets the entire mood for the rest of the camp

• they split into three teams,..green, red, and blue. Etolies, phil, and tubbo being made their captains respectively

• the mistake of letting them choose their own team names happens

• soulfires cabin is constantly freezing and all around horrible to be in, bolas cabin is run down, stains everywhere that look suspiciously like blood, green gay ninjas cabin is overgrown to hell and back and constantly humid

• it doesn’t take long before bolas to loose it, after the first day of activities where they are stomped by green and blue. the others are forced to listen to their shouts and screaming. Comtemplating murder

• somehow the shouts and screaming pack bond them actually, and they often sneak out to have a fun little bonfire and definitely not participate in cult activities

• Mariana and slime have sex in the communal bathrooms, three times. The bathrooms are monitored at all times now.

• at some point Tubbo sneaks into the counselors cabin. Steals some alcohol, gets drunk. Cue blue team scrambling desperately to hide him from the counselors who are on the hunt for who broke into their cabin

• during a capture the flag game that everyone is concerningly competitive about, blue teams cabin gets damaged to the point they can’t stay in there. Forcing them to temporarily move in with bolas. Chaos ensues

• the mess hall food always veers slightly on “this might kill me if I eat it”

• arts and crafts is turned into a deadly competition. Etolies nearly stabs someone’s eye out with a knitting needle on purpose

• tubbos crush/boyfriend/whatever they are, Fred couldn’t go to the camp. This is a common teasing point when he inputs his opinion on couples

• none of the teams are allowed to go on the lake unsupervised due to the fact any chance they get they try to drown each other

• the eye creatures are the consolers and big eyes children/cousins, they seem to enjoy following Tubbo around and giving him random scavenger hunts to do

[siribear]

her party is still just as chatty on the way back to base camp from the shrine of dumat. varric, dorian, and bull keep themselves entertained well enough without her input.

which works just fine for her - she's sore down to her bones. it wasn't enough that she was singled out and carried deeper into the red templar encampment via a charging templar brute. no - she absent-mindedly rubs at her neck - carol smited her and would have drowned her if not for her mark.

she could have saved herself with blood magic. but it's already the reason why she's lost the trust of most of her companions. the ones with her are all she has left of those who trust her.

even cullen, paces ahead of her, has barely spoken to her even while going after samson. but she deserves it. she lied to him.

annwn.

a chill runs down her spine.

'did you need something?' she asks, turning in her saddle to face varric.

he looks away from laughing at a joke. 'didn't say anything, cousin.' and neither did the others. she doubts cullen said anything. he doesn't address her as anything less than inquisitor, now.

just the wind, then? or she's hallucinating. but she could have sworn -

help me.

this time, a child's voice, low and scared.

again, it seems no one noticed.

the same shiver washes over her as they pass by a large, empty mansion. the first time they came through it gave her an uneasy feeling, but she wasn't hearing voices then.

without a word, she directs her horse toward the mansion. the air beyond the gates hold a chill despite the bright sun shining overhead. the yard is lush and green - but overgrown.

her horse whickers and throws its head up when she tries to urge it closer.

'another home no doubt abandoned during the civil war,' dorian says, pulling up beside her. 'someone ought to tell them they can come back. this place looks awful.'

near the rim of a distant fountain, a skeleton lays collapsed in the overgrown grass.

'i don't think it was the war that emptied this place, dorian.'

'what are you doing?' he asks as she dismounts. 'shouldn't we get that rune back to skyhold?'

'well, yes, but - ' she chews her bottom lip. 'there's something here. and it's the inquisition's job to bring stability to the area, right? so - '

'alright, alright. let me get the others, though.'

she hadn't even noticed she was already halfway through the front door.

and when it shuts on the five of them, it's with an echoing finality before all the light goes out.

-

'boss, i think the door just locked.'

from the shadows, cullen appears with a torch, and she only jumps slightly (she swears) when he asks for her to light it.

the iron bull tugs at the door. pushes. rams his shoulder into it. but the solid wood doesn't give. through the glow of cullen's torch light (what she can see now is just a borrowed sconce), they can see that all the curtains were drawn the moment they entered.

'why did we come here again?' the sound of varric drawing bianca echoes through the main hall.

all eyes turn to her. 'i thought i heard - i don't know. someone calling out for help?' and her name. very clearly her name.

a door creaks open at the end of the hall. light spills through the doorway, only partially illuminating their path.

'that's not creepy at all,' bull grouses. dorian murmurs a soft, 'i'll watch out for you.'

amell leads the way. inside the chateau is worse than outside. they step across broken glass and toppled furniture. scattered parchment whispers at their ankles. amell doesn't hear any more voices besides her companions.

'at the risk of sounding like solas,' dorian begins, 'the veil here is incredibly thin.'

he isn't wrong. it's gossamer thin, like walking through endless cobwebs. somehow it makes walking through a lit hallway unnerving in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that they watched each sconce flare to life just before they reached it.

as they step through the door at the other end of the hall, the next room looks nothing like the rest of the mansion. it's warm and lit, but small, and doesn't match what they saw outside. to their left, a hearth is blazing. the shadow of the stairs beyond it angles upward to the loft, so dark they can't see past. when amell turns to look behind her, the door is gone.

'hey, wait a minute. this place looks familiar,' varric says. 'it looks like - '

'annwn, what is the meaning of this?'

a woman, dressed in noble finery of a make she doesn't recognize and her blonde hair done up in a tight bun, points sharply at the burning hearth.

'mamae?' she whispers to herself, and then the woman stomps her way.

the sting of the slap makes her eyes water. amell touches her fingers to her cheek, and when she looks back to the woman, she's at least two feet taller.

'do not call me that word. i am your mother. now tell me why the fireplace is lit.'

'i-i was cold!' she stutters, her voice high and childlike. 'i was cold. we - ' there is an elven man standing in the shadows, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but there. the one who referred to lady amell as her mamae. ' - we couldn't find your matches. so - look!' little amell holds a mote of conjured flame suspended between her hands, then claps it away. 'i can do it myself!'

her mother grabs her by the wrist and squeezes hard. she feels the bones start to give. 'come with me. now, annwn.'

tears pour freely and her mother glares, unmoving. 'i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i won't do it again. please, mother - '

'come. you're going with the templars. bad enough that my sister ran away with one, but now my only child...'

she digs her heels into the carpet and tries her best to pull back. 'no, no, please, mother. i'm sorry! i don't want to go, please, please, i'll be good, please - '

something - someone - pulls her back before she can be dragged through the door. into inky blackness and a cluster of glowing eyes that wait. varric slams the door shut.

'inquisitor.' cullen holds her by her shoulders. 'you aren't going anywhere. was that...?'

the tears carried over from the illusion of the memory, and fresh ones join the tracks already there. 'the moment i was sent off to the circle. i was eight.'

-

she composes herself away from the others. what's going on? why would the fade show her that memory, out of all of them? later, after she rejoins her party, no longer visibly shaken, she learns.

as they're lead through the mansion, papers fly up to greet them, caught on sourceless gusts of wind. a note from a father, who locked up his child who began to show an affinity for magic. more worried about his family name than his daughter's well being. a note from the girl, so lonely and all she wanted to do was leave her room and make friends. and then one found her.

scraps from foolish books: ways to ensure your child isn't born a mage. amell briefly wonders if her mother had tried any of them.

led up to the final room upstairs, past a large, hanging sculpture of a dragon that bull moons over, amell hesitates at the door. she knows - they all know - what they'll find on the other side. a demon possessed child. connor all over again.

she pushes through.

in the middle of the large room, surrounded by a ring of toys, sits a little girl, perhaps a few years older than amell was when she was taken, in a floral day dress and wild brown hair. she sits up when she sees them and drops her dolls to the floor. 'hello! are you new friends?'

amell shares a look with the others before stepping forward. 'actually, we're looking for a way out. can you help us? what's your name?'

the - girl? - frowns. 'my name is nanette. my other friend told me you were here to be friends with me, though. there's no one else here to play with.'

amell kneels before the girl, who blinks up at her innocently. 'nanette, do you know what's happening? do you know... what your friend is?'

nanette hangs her head. 'i think everyone's gone. but i still have my friend.'

'how long have you known your friend?'

'um. a few months?' the girl tilts her head to the side and nods as if listening to someone whispering in her ear. 'yes, a few months.'

behind her, bull grumbles. 'okay. i'm going to talk to my companions here for a moment.' when she makes to stand, nanette reaches out to grab her hand.

'you can't leave me though. i've been so lonely.' the girl yawns. 'no one else has been... here... '

amell cuts off the spell and catches the girl before she can collapse to the ground. the air is silent.

'is she okay?' asks cullen, of the possessed child.

'sleeping. but with the demon so close, i'm not sure how long it'll hold.'

dorian strokes his chin. 'months like this? i'd be surprised if it wasn't just the demon toying with us. there's no girl there at all.'

'so, what, we just make the demon come out and kill it? then we can go home?' varric hopes aloud.

'doesn't feel right.' bull sniffs. 'killing a kid.'

'i agree,' says, surprisingly, cullen.

'what do you think, boss?'

she led them here. it's her decision to make. kill a child - if it is one - to free them. or - 'arl eamon's kid was possessed in redcliffe during the blight. some time between... between when i left for ostagar and when we arrived after the battle. less than a month, but... connor was still in there.'

she looks to nanette, slumbering softly, little hands opening and closing like a kitten kneading the air. 'there's a... very small chance she could be, as well.'

it would make killing her harder, though necessary.

'what do we need to do then?' cullen steps forward. 'how did you save connor?'

she blinks, drops her hand away from the dagger at her belt. 'more mages than we have here. no offense, dorian.' he shrugs. 'if you remember, we took a handful from the tower when we left.'

'so, what, we - we murder nanette to free ourselves?'

'i - ' i kill her, amell thinks. i brought us here. it's my fault. she exhales heavily. 'there is one other option.'

jowan taught me how to perform the ritual. i can do it without - without the mages or the extra lyrium. but it would require me to use blood magic.'

and a sacrifice, but she could probably make do without...

'i would need everyone's help, though.'

'our blood, you mean.'

she looks cullen straight in the eye when she says, 'it's that or i sacrifice myself so dorian can exorcise the demon in the fade.'

'could you not... open a rift? draw the demon out that way and slay it?'

amell shakes her head. 'not without killing nanette. or risking more demons pouring through in the interim.'

varric steps forward, one hand tugging up his sleeve. 'what's a little blood between friends, right? come on, let's save this kid.'

-

'i'm sorry,' amell whispers. blood beads and spills from the shallow cut on cullen's arm. he holds out his arm like the rest of them and lets the blood drip to the floor.

amell stands between cullen and varric, completing the circle, and slices deep into her palm. cullen shouts in alarm, but she raises her bloody hand to silence him. her blood spills and travels through the grooves in the wooden floor to meet the others. when it all connects, power erupts beneath her.

last time she did this, she was the one being sent into the fade. to be the caster and the one to go under - it's taking more out of her already than she imagined.

the girl stirs in the center of the spell, but when she rises its with jerky and inhuman movements. her eyes glow the sickly green of the fade.

'come on,' she taunts. 'it isn't the girl you need anymore. that's why you called out to me, isn't it? why you showed me that memory?'

'what are you doing?' cullen hisses.

'drawing it out,' she explains through gritted teeth. 'it has to let her go before i can - '

a dark chuckle. sweat beads on her temple. she feels the first tremor in her arm.

'she isn't strong enough, and you know it! you want more power.' there's an echo she can hear to her own voice. more demons than the one she wants closing in. she's drawn too much attention to herself. the mark flares, and the voices subside. 'nanette can't do that, now can she?'

nanette's body falls to the ground hard, but the glowing eyes stay in the center of the circle. if she squints, she can see the outline of the demon beginning to take shape.

it's enough.

amell closes her fist, and at the last drop of blood to hit the floor, the world goes white.

-

amell once again finds nanette playing with her dolls, though the room is only half formed in the fade.

'oh! my friend said he wanted to see you. come on, this way.'

she follows behind as broken rocks and landscape coalesce into the halls of chateau d'onterre. a roar rumbles in the distance.

when nanette finally sees the true form of her friend - a tall, spindly limbed terror demon - she shouts and makes to hide.

amell turns quickly and takes the girl by the shoulders. 'nanette, you have to wake up. wake up from this. my friends will be there to help you, okay? but you have to go now.'

thankfully, the girl nods and leaves, running back from where they came until she quite literally disappears. awake. amell sighs with relief.

'we all know who you are, now, mage,' says the demon with no mouth. 'we've seen you.'

'good for you.' her staff appears in her hand. 'i'm not here to listen to you, though.'

impossibly black eyes narrow. 'you offered yourself. you and your terror. you fear all of your friends will leave you. that you'll die alone.'

'you don't know me at all.'

with barely a thought, her staff is wreathed in lightning, and, at another, arcing across the distance between them. the demon might have held onto nanette for as long as it did, but with the girl's abilities barely honed the demon's powers have stagnated, and it shows.

in what feels like only a moment, amell has the demon trapped in a cage of lightning. it shrieks every time it throws itself against the walls, but they hold steadfast. she brings her hands together. the demon's flesh sizzles and pops as the lightning closes in. it ends with a crack of thunder that echoes across the limitless fade, and then the demon is nothing but ash.

amell allows herself a weary sigh. she's more exhausted than she thought she'd be. when she turns to follow nanette back across the veil, she stumbles.

in front of her is that avatar of fear, hundreds of eyes trained on her. it opens its maw, lined with an infinite number of teeth.

i know your fear.

amell screams.

-

she comes to, with that scream tearing out of her throat and something holding her, stopping her from retreating. she beats her fists against it and tries to push away.

'it's me. it's me!' says cullen, and then she realizes it's his arms around her. her back propped up against his knee, she's laid across his lap. she lowers her fists. her right, with the deep gash still bleeding, stings when she opens her hand. 'it's safe. the demon is gone.'

'nanette?'

'safe. the others brought her to a different room... just in case.'

she closes her eyes and sighs. 'good idea.' she opens them again, and cullen is looking down at her, worried. 'is everyone else okay? are you?'

'yes.' he tries to help her to her feet, but her limbs feel leaden. he lowers her to sit next to him. 'your hand...'

'right.' she raises the other over it, but before she can cast the spell to heal it, cullen pulls it over to him. he rests it on his knee as he twists to dig something out of his pack. 'what are you doing?'

he turns back with bandages, a poultice, and his canteen in hand. 'you're drained. and while the demon is gone, i don't think it safe to prod at the veil still.'

she watches him curiously as he gently splays her fingers. he wets the end of the bandage with his canteen and sets to cleaning her palm. she winces when he brushes too close to the wound.

'i'm sorry,' he murmurs, and the next brush is so soft she barely feels it.

when her hand is clean, he applies the poultice with that same gentleness. her fingers twitch every time he runs his own across her palm. next, he wraps the bandage around her hand, one thumb holding it in place at her wrist. when he's done tying off the excess bandage, the tingling in her hand has nothing to do with the numbing properties of the poultice.

she doesn't know when she rested her head on his shoulder, but even when he's finished he doesn't push her away.

'thank you.' she doesn't know where they are now - if she should call him cullen or commander, so she leaves it off.

'were you serious about sacrificing yourself?'

she lifts her head and looks at him then. 'i - ' her gaze drops to her hand, the one with the anchor embedded in her palm. a contrast to her self-inflicted wound on the other. 'mostly.' after witnessing the future in redcliffe, she knows she's more useful alive if only for the anchor. 'the other option was to sacrifice someone else, and i wouldn't do that.'

cullen hums in thought. 'can you stand?'

'yes, i think so.' she stands without his help, only to end up reaching out for him to steady herself. 'i'm fine, i'm fine. just - sitting for too long.'

before they can reach the door, varric opens it and waltzes through. 'ah, good to see you're okay, cousin. when dorian said you were taking too long we were starting to get worried.'

'it took a little bit longer to recover than i anticipated.' out of the corner of her eye, she sees cullen shift and duck his head. she can almost feel him blushing. 'is everyone - ?'

'ready to get the hell out of this creepy mansion? yes. i can't believe i'm actually excited to get back out into the humidity of the emerald graves.' he groans.

varric takes over in helping her across the balcony of the second floor and down the stairs. by the time they reach the main entrance she can walk by herself, at least.

with nanette on his shoulders, iron bull opens the door with ease and leads them back out into the light.

as she stands in the sunlight and promises herself she isn't seeing eyes in the eaves of sundappled trees, cullen brings her her horse. though they still aren't talking, he rides next to her. occasionally she catches him checking on her.

which is fine. because if she closes her eyes for a second too long, the avatar of fear stares back.

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 15: Intervention

General POV

Calico makes a quick exit before the two women can question her feelings any further. One might think they would let it be and turn to another discussion topic. That would be downright wrong.

“We're not gonna let this slide, are we?” Harley asks the redhead botanist.

“No. I’m going to make a phone call.”

Ivy walks to the payphone and dials. The receiver picks up after a few rings. “It’s me. Shut it, Nigma. This isn’t another environmental ‘scheme.’ It’s about Callie. And Crane.”

Harley leans in to hear more but the bar’s noisy chatter drowns out Ivy’s phone conversation.

“20 minutes. Make sure he’s here.” Ivy hangs up and points to the clown girl. “You play nice, okay?”

She gives a mock salute. “Right!”

Both women are thinking the same thing: Callie’s not one of them. Sure, a little unhinged and strange at times, but in Gotham who isn’t? The point of the matter is to settle this entire Crane dispute once and for all. No more playing, no more using her.

20 minutes later the bar is almost empty, partially on account of Harley’s intense persuasion of brandishing a pop gun at the patrons’ heads. As per usual Edward Nigma is punctual. A single knock on the door signals the clown girl to peer through the peephole.

“What’s the password?” she mocks.

“Open this door or there won’t be one.”

Harley grins. “Close enough!” 

She opens the door and in walks the Riddler, cane and all. He looks around trying to get a feel of the dreary establishment before snapping his fingers at the thugs waiting outside. They obey his order and push in Ivy’s request: Dr. Crane, with a sack over his head.

The green woman gives an annoyed sigh and pinches her temples. “Nigma, when I said bring him here I meant so that he can cooperate! Why must you boys always tie each other up?”

The man rolls his eyes. “Says the lady who ties policemen up in vines. He’s here, I’m here, let’s get to the point. Crane, listen up!”

Nigma shoves the grunting doctor into a chair and rips the sack off. The professor of fear’s rageful eyes scan the room, the rope bonds burning his fists as he clenches the wooden table.

“You’re asking for Hell, Ivy,” he growls. “What is this?”

“An intervention,” she replies cooly and the rest of the group sits down. “Stay away from Callie.”

Callie. The name alone prickles Crane’s memory. He can’t help it. How could you stop thinking about someone who’s saved your skin more than once? Sure, he was a little rough when he politely kicked her out of his lab. But he’s just setting boundaries.

“Whoa, whoa!” Harley waves her hands. “Too much.”

Nigma nods in agreement. “Turn it down a notch, Pam. Crane, you can be charmingly tolerable when you want to be. Just don’t break her heart.” He leans in and pokes the doctor’s nose. “Or I break you.”

Break her heart? How can he do that? She’s the one that keeps inconveniencing his experiments. Although she is quite a catch. Witty, one might say exceptionally attractive- But Dr. Crane banishes those thoughts and stubbornly huffs at Nigma’s threat.

“Bold of you to assume I’ve taken a liking to Dr. Prentiss.”

Ivy sighs. “Cut the act, Crane. Any lunatic can see you’re soft on her.”

The unfamiliar clown girl nods repeatedly between the two. “You two are like peanut butter and jelly!”

Who is this newcomer? But Crane ignores basic introductions and stays silent. They’re far from accurate. He harbors no feelings for anyone, especially for Dr. Calico Prentiss. She can do whatever she pleases as long as it does not involve him… Or another man, but he will never say that. In fact Crane isn’t even sure why he dislikes the concept of Dr. Prentiss seeking romance. 

Ivy has had enough. She can practically see the amorous desires brewing in his eyes. “You don’t own her, Crane.”

“If you want her to be only yours then take her on a date instead of quietly stewing on your jealousy,” Nigma inputs.

Crane scoffs. “But-”

“If you say you don’t love her one more time I will personally bash you on the head!” Harley threatens and holds up a giant mallet.

“She was the bait for my trap,” Nigma reminds him. “You obviously cared enough to save her.”

Obviously denial is not working here. No matter. Crane’s managed his way out of worse pickles. An ‘intervention’ involving false claims of attraction to Cal- Dr. Prentiss seems on the small scale of things.

“What do I have to do to leave with a pulse?” the doctor asks his captors.

The three villains exchange looks and Ivy is the one to speak. “Play nice.”

“Got that, Johnny boy?” The clown girl raises an eyebrow.

Very well. He can play this game. “Agreed.”

Ivy pulls out a knife made of thorns and cuts the ropes from Crane’s wrists, allowing him an exit. He doesn’t think twice. He swiftly strides out of the dark pub and into the misty streets before they can second-guess themselves.

What a fun game. Who’s to say what is nice? This is Gotham, after all. What sounds nice to him is finding someone to test his newest fear toxin on.

And that someone is Dr. Calico Prentiss.

Calico’s POV

Forget alcohol, forget narcotics. The best form of bliss is a hot shower. After all that’s happened this past week it feels like stepping into a new skin. First I’m kidnapped, then I have my first girls’ night. It went… okay? How does one judge character in a place like Gotham? But I’ve given up caring. Today was a prosperous day. A tad gory but not every kill will be perfect. Lord save my corrupted soul.

I turn the water off and wrap myself in a cozy towel, stepping out to smear the condensation off the mirror-

“Hello again.”

Crane. Dr. Jonathan Crane. Sitting on my bathroom chair.

“Jesus!” I screech and reach for my hand mirror, perhaps attempting to threaten him with- His reflection? Damn him and his piercing good looks! “How did you get in?”

He merely hums and nods to the door. “I picked the lock. You look… good.” There’s no hiding his crystal eyes scanning my hastily-covered figure. 

I grit my teeth. “You have some nerve coming in here, Crane!”

“Steady, Dr. Prentiss. I didn’t see anything.”

“If you didn’t want to see me shower, why did you break into my apartment?”

The last time he was here he left a note saying he wanted nothing to do with me. Now he’s here uninvited and watching me wearing nothing but a towel.

“Is it a crime to want a friendly chat now and then?” he asks innocently.

My eyes don’t soften. “There is hardly anything friendly when it concerns you. If it’s chatter you want then go somewhere else. I have had more than my fill of talking this week.”

I storm out and slam the door behind me. Gotta be quick! I rush to my dresser and snatch the first nightwear I find, hurriedly throwing it on and dashing for the living room. Grab the knife-!

“Cherries? Where did they come from?” I notice a bowl of red fruit on the coffee table.

Crane’s caught up and sees where I’m looking. “The fridge,” he states obviously.

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Where did they come from prior to the fridge? I didn’t buy them.”

“I did. Is it a crime to bring fruit to someone else’s apartment?”

“Again, nothing is friendly when it concerns you. What’s in them?” I grip my knife tighter.

But instead of answering Crane saunders over to the couch and eases into it as if this is his home.

“You’re much more wound up than earlier. Rumor is you nearly killed someone last tonight. I thought you’d be proud of that. Why so hysterical?”

“You are not the one questioning their entire life’s choices!” I hiss. “I’m trying to have the guts to kill people! You don’t have to worry about it, you’re already insane. I’m not quite at that point yet. But I’m getting there!”

The doctor huffs. “This is Gotham, dear. How bad could you have possibly begun to drop?”

My pulse spikes. He’s asking for it. “Do you really want to see? Here.” I storm over to the counter and point to my fresh victim. “This is my latest.”

He slowly gets up and walks over to get a closer look. A look at the fresh evening newspaper with the headline claiming Cynthia Bawler: Lost and Horrifically Found. She wasn’t as easy as Thompson. She put up more of a fight. Thus resulting in the bloody knife sitting in the sink. Attempted has escalated to accomplished.

“You’ve been busy,” Crane regards with a nod. Is he disturbed? Impressed? Bored?

My eyes latch themselves to the scarlet droplets glittering in the moonlight. “Just watch it drip…”

“You admire blood.”

“While water is seen as liquid life, blood can be seen as liquid death.” How far have I dropped in these past few days?

The doctor chuckles. “Psychopath.”

“Takes one to know one,” I smirk. “Besides, I consider myself a somewhat-sane functional sociopath.” I pivot and start back to my bedroom, still holding the knife. 

“Are you retiring for the night?” The doctor asks.

“Yes. You know the rules. Stick to the couch, hands to yourself-”

Suddenly I feel someone behind me and the knife is torn from my grasp. “Good, you’re not occupied. You’ll do perfectly.”

Crane yanks me around to face him and plows me into the counter, locking me in. Through the darkness I see a gleaming needle inching over my skin.

My eyes widen in shock. “What the Hell?! Wait what are you-? Ow!” The familiar jab of the needle pieces my arm and my senses begin to cloud. “W-Wha…?”

Lights out.

“Wake up, Dr. Prentiss.”

“Ah!”

A hiss escapes me when a blinding light startles me awake. Wait- I was asleep? When did- Dr. Crane. He did this. And now… I’m bound to my couch, facing up as if strapped to a makeshift examination chair. The sleeping drug is almost out of my system, sending my pulse jumping and my eyes frantically looking for a way out.

“This is an intervention. I must apologize for the lack of professional equipment,” the doctor explains softly, as if this is normal. “I for one did not feel like carrying your unconscious body back to my lab so I will make do with this.” In the corner of my eye I see him lean in closer, his wide eyes searching me for any sign of fear. “How does it feel? To wake up strapped down again?”

I take a breath, never taking my gaze away. “Familiar.”

The doctor senses it too. I’m surprised, but not afraid. “You aren’t scared?”

“I’m already broken, Dr. Crane. My damage is beyond repair.”

I’ve begun a killing pattern against those who commit wrong in society. However one might take it, it’s still murder. It’s still a sin. There’s no turning back now. But my easy acceptance doesn’t seem to fit well with Crane’s intended plan. Instead of celebrating my easy defeat he just seems more stern.

“I am administering my newest fear toxin,” he explains and gestures to the IV placed in my brachial vein, a black vial.

I don’t flinch. “Why?”

“To prove you are still a worthy lab rat.”

Something about the way he says that somehow comes off as if he’s saying ‘prove I don’t care.’ Did he get a dose of Harley’s teasing too?

I just sigh and lay my head back down to stare at the ceiling. “Prick.”

“As usual please inform me of any effects immediately.”

Ah, yes. What wonders will this toxin bring? Any thought of my parents leaves me snickering instead of screaming. What could possibly-? Wait. Wait a minute. Is that- It can’t be. No. Not again.

I’m back.

No. No!

But it is. Crane’s back. The other Dr. Crane. The one my twisted mind somehow conjured up before, and this fear toxin has resurrected his devilish figure once again. Those glowing eyes…

Hello, darling. He begins walking closer from his spot in the corner. How is his voice so- so… soft?

My body goes stiff and I try to inch away off the couch. “No- No!”

“What do you see now?” The real Dr. Crane asks from behind.

Meanwhile fake Crane is now standing right next to the couch. He leans down and those glowing eyes are all I can focus on, apart from his hands slowly ghosting up to my fingertips.

Let me kiss you…

“Stay back!” I screech.

Thump! Thump! Thump! How is this making me so scared? It’s not like I’ve never dealt with men, with relationships- But this deep? I mean, I’ve never said I’ve loved anyone before and no one has said so in return. How is a hallucination’s kindness making me this anxious?

“Is it your parents? I thought you’d conquered that.”

I shake my head at Crane’s guess, still staring at the demonic copy of him. “‘S… ���S not my parents…”

Fake Crane gives me an unsettlingly soft smile, lifting his hand to smooth his thumb across my cheek.

I love you.

“No you don’t!” I hiss. “Stop lying. You aren’t real!”

I’m as real as you make me, sweetheart.

Thump! Thump! Thump! I’m backed against the couch and my heart’s about to break through my sternum. Jesus, Prentiss. Get a grip! You literally just murdered someone in cold blood just hours ago. Now you’re scared of some loving affection?

“Oh my, your heart rate is getting dangerously high.”

Who said that? Was it the real Dr. Crane, or the imaginary creep with his head nestled against my thigh? 

“My my, you are upset.” It’s the real one. “What do you see, Dr. Prentiss?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “If this is you trying to mock me then enough is enough! What do you want from me?! Ow!”

Another prick. God, what did he put in me now?

“Here’s the antidote. Your symptoms should subside within a few minutes.”

It must be the hallucinogen. Does Crane actually sound… guilty? But he’s right. Fake Crane has disappeared.

“Here, drink some water.” The doctor holds a glass up to my lips and pours some into my dry mouth. “I- I didn’t know it would be this strong. How do you feel?”

I try to answer but my vision is starting to blur. So tired… That drained so much from me. God I hope I don’t dream of him…

“Hello?”

Huh? My eyes snap open, still facing the ceiling. Still tied up.

“Callie? Ya home, hon?”

“H-Harley? Ivy?” I croak in a weak voice. Please let it be them!

“She’s on the couch, Red!” the familiar blonde pokes her head over the top and peers down at me. “Hiya! Whaddya doin' all tied up?”

“What?” Ivy panics and joins her. “Callie? Callie! What happened?”

She quickly cuts away my bonds and I slowly try to lift myself up, scanning my apartment. Everything looks normal. He didn’t steal anything- Oh. 

With a shaking finger I point to a new accessory added to my death ofrenda. A black vial with the Scarecrow symbol etched into it.

Harley picks it up for a closer look. “Crane?” 

The name sends another set of chills through me and my breath hitches. The blonde sling sher arm around me and helps me stand. “Alright, calm down. Let’s get you to bed.”

Ivy looks at the vial herself. “Crane did this? I’ll kill him.” She holds up a small cup. “Drink this. It’s my tonic, for the nerves.” 

I’m led into my bedroom and I make myself lay down before my legs give out. Still so tired…

“What did you see?” Harley asks softly.

Him. Wanting to love me. It’s not fair to be toyed with like this. To have these feelings and have no control. And I blame him. The real Dr. Crane. I don’t care if it made him feel guilty. He still drugged me! 

With what little strength I have left I lift my gaze to the two women. “Love is going to kill me…”

[nerosdayinanime]

One in a million

"TANJIRO!" screamed at the top of his lungs, the dark haired boy whipped around to look at him.

"YOU HAVE TO!-" cut off against his will as he watched the world fly sideways- Tanjiro's horrified eyes meeting his through the spray of blood. The indescribable feeling of the top half of his head hitting the dirt and rubble below- broken registering of his body following suit, collapsing to the ground. The world blurred with red and fading screams, input to cells that don't have the capacity to decipher.

Fade to nothing.

He shot up with a choked gasp, phantom memories of his head sliced in half by that fucking monster- Green. Grass. Dirt, twigs, bugs- sound. The quiet rustle of the leaves- shifting fabric and- something behind him.

"Giyuu?" questioned so softly, with so much reverence. He whipped around- pink hair and wisteria eyes staring into his.

He breathed, "Sabito-" time slowed as he couldn't throw himself into the other's arms fast enough, mutual need to hold eachother tight so the dream wouldn't fade and take him with it. Giyuu breathed, mind reeling from the too-sudden shift of everything-

so, it shut off.

He breathed.

He felt the chest against his rise and fall in tune with the breath puffing against his neck, as they sat, on their knees, holding eachother so tightly it made his arms ache. The phantom tang of blood stuck in his nose, drowned out by the subtle scent of mint and grass, the feel of hair tickling his nose as he breathed.

The world's too-bright colors and too-sharp definition dimmed and faded to something that didn't melt his eyes, he shifted and dropped his head to sabito's shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" rasped quietly into his hair, hands fisted in the back of his haori relaxing to run in soothing circles along his back.

His throat felt raw, "I could ask the same of you."

A short huff, "Well.. it was slow this time. Always the worst."

He hummed in agreement as Sabito continued, "Fought Akaza, at the Mugen Train. I had an idea that didn't work out… Rengoku and the kids were fine but- …not like i can do anything more for them now." He could feel the regret dripping from his words, trailing quieter until he was the only person who could've heard.

He wracked his brain for a quick glimpse at the carnage before he woke- remembering brought dread as he realized what he'd done.

"I doomed them." thought leaving his lips without his permission, "Tanjiro didn't learn from akaza!- I didn't- wasn't thinking!- tried to tell him!" he rushed, stumbling over his own tongue as he shook.

Sabito pulled back, "Hey!- hey, hey." pushing giyuu back to hold his face. "Breathe.. let it slide over. Stop trying to stand. You can rest now." Giyuu stared into his firm gaze, letting Sabito's voice be the loudest thing in his own head. Rough palms cupping his cheeks, the warmth that emanates from them, the thrum of blood where its supposed to be. He stared as the regret and guilt and self-hatred rushed over him like an avalanche, crashing with fury uncontained before it ebbed to aching desolation, surrendered to simply pool around him. Years, and years, and years, and years of it flooding his little clearing, saturating the earth, dirt long turned to mud at the bottom of a lifeless stagnant pond. He floats, among the debris stirred from the latest break of the dam. Flipped from floating face down, breathing the mucky water, drowning in his own failure- instead a tender hold keeping his head above the surface.

He breathes.

Hot tears track down his face, gently wiped away with the pad of a thumb, soothing nothings muttered between their foreheads pressed together. It hurts, so so much, the warmth and wet forming clouds before his very eyes. Hes so relieved, so distraught, so confused. Sabito doesn't let go of him, and he knows he wont until the water's settled again, until he can stand on his own again.

[lost-in-derry]

SelfDecryption.txt

My body is mine but it is not me.

My body is hardware and I am software. I can control some of it's systems. Sometimes it is easy and sometimes it is hard.

My body hurts and I don't know why. The pain is an error message, blocking inputs and slowing outputs. The message is in a language I don't understand, or so distorted it can't be read.

Someone is talking to me. Every syllable is overlayed and interrupted by the ticking of the clock and the squeak of shoes and the music playing over the speaker and the syllables of the every other voice I can hear and the voices I can't hear that are trapped in my brain right alongside me.

The voices in my head must be me too. I spread into the shell around me and I am the only one here. But I can't control what the voices say- sometimes they don't even sound like me. The voices are music, an endless repeating chorus or line. The voices are reminders, things I need to do, things I haven't done, a list of tasks and every step it takes to do them and sometimes I look at the list and see that one of the tasks has been erased and I know I needed to do something but all I see is an empty space.

The voices are cruel. They keep me awake at night and whisper in my ears every way that I am flawed. Those voices always sound like me. They go on and on until I can't tell if it is another voice or mine that tortures me.

There are too many inputs from the body. I lose more and more outputs until I am a prisoner inside a heart that beats too fast and lungs that can't breath. I am drowning in error messages.

I write a story in my mind. In the world I create there is no body, there are no voices, and there is no me. It is finally, blessedly quiet. I cannot stay here forever, in this place where I don't exist. I am trapped in this body that is mine but not me and while it is alive I am beholden to it's needs.

Someone is talking to me. I look through the window of my eyes and put my hands on the controls and try to listen.

I am outside. I am walking and the leaves on a tree I can't name are turning from green to yellow to orange. The evergreens around it are dark and steady and constant. The cold air flips a switch somewhere, triggers a not-memory of a former SelfObject state before there were windows and controls.

I stand in the rain and my body is me.

A creative writing piece by lost-in-derry

[phoenixkaptain]

Wrote this a while ago, to expand on my vision of Bruce being fucking ancient, AKA de-aged Bruce with the Justice League

It was very shocking to all of them when the stick exploded in a blast of green smoke, robots clattering to pieces around them without being touched at the same time. Superman rushed to Batman’s side, concerned, only to find him gone.

Or, rather, replaced.

The boy was drowning in Batman’s costume, the gauntlets and pieces of armour and pants all drooping around him as he stood awkwardly in Batman’s chest piece. He tore off Batman’s cowl, confusion marring his features, revealing a head of ruffled black hair and bright blue eyes. He was incredibly tiny, compared to Batman’s looming figure, and seemed like a stiff breeze might knock him over.

“Oh no,” Superman said, since he was the only one who could see through the green fog.

The fog suddenly cleared, as quickly as it came. The boy looked around curiously, his body stiff and his posture speaking of his discomfort. Even the villain looked a bit concerned, in the face of his obvious distress that he seemed to desperately be trying to hide, and the Justice League Members present all felt a bit worried that this nervous boy had replaced Batman.

“Is this…” the boy murmured. He seemed to gather himself. “Is this a ransom demand?”

“Oh my God,” Flash said. “He’s baby Batman.”

“I’m just gonna-“ the villain said, then popped out of existence as she’d come, leaving the Justice League with their new problem.

It took a few minutes for everyone to calm down. The boy refused to move, resolutely, which made planning the next course of action rather difficult.

“Alfred said to stay where I am if I’m ever lost,” the boy stated resolutely. “He can’t find me if I’m wandering around while he’s looking for me. He was very clear.”

“If you would just tell us who Alfred is-“ Superman said, the tenth time.

“I told you,” the boy huffed. “Alfred is my butler. I’m not leaving without him.”

“Do you have a phone?” Flash suggested hopefully.

“Yes,” the boy responded, tilting his head.

“Is Alfred’s number on it? You could call him,” Flash said.

“On it?” the boy repeated. “Why would his number be on it? How would it be on it? Do you think we cover our phones in paper?”

“Handheld phones weren’t invented when he was a child,” Wonder Woman deduced aloud.

“Do you know Alfred’s number?” Superman suggested wearily.

“I do!” the boy exclaimed, excited. “I memorized it first, before anything else.”

He looked around curiously.

“Is there a payphone?” he asked.

There was a weary sigh from all members present.

It took Superman twenty minutes to get the child to input Alfred’s number on his phone. Mostly because he didn’t seem to understand the screen at all, which was slightly amusing, but he also kept dropping it, unsure how to hold the phone in one hand like Superman. For their benefit (and just in case this was a very poorly planned ransom after all) he asked Superman to put it on speaker (also he wanted to see what “speaker” did to the phone).

“Hello?” a posh voice answered the phone.

The boy flinched when the sound came out, then perked up in recognition.

“Alfred!” he exclaimed, carefully taking the phone from Superman’s palm and cradling it between his hands like it was a fragile bird. “This is Bruce.”

There was a moment of silence. It was nice to know the kid’s name, everyone thought. It would sure be nice if we knew Batman’s name, to know for sure if they’re the same person, everyone thought.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said. “How old are you?”

“I’m twelve, Alfred,” Bruce replied, as though the question was completely normal.

“I see,” Alfred responded immediately. “May I speak to whomever found you?”

“Would you like to speak to Alfred?” Bruce asked Superman, his eyes big and hopeful.

“Sure,” Superman replied. Because he was a sucker.

It took a few minutes for Alfred to convince them that yes, Bruce was Batman, this small child grew up to be Batman, Batman is only human, that’s why he was small at the age of twelve, really, he is being serious, the pouting boy is Batman. He explained that they had a plan for this turn of events, but that it would have to be put off, because Poison Ivy escaped from Arkham and the streets would be too dangerous for a young boy as curious as Bruce. He asked very politely if they would keep him entertained at the Watchtower for a few days.

“I don’t think any of us are really that good with children,” Superman stated, watching as Flash tried to explain to Wonder Woman that she shouldn’t throw the kid in the air, no matter how much he asked, because she threw too hard.

“Master Bruce was always a remarkably easy child for babysitters,” Alfred told him. “If he does wrong, he usually gets too guilty at himself to do much other than apologize.”

“Alfred!” a voice screamed in the background. “Jason stole my cape!”

“You’re being a dick!” another voice exclaimed.

“You can’t keep using that just because my name is Dick!” the other roared.

“I have to go,” Alfred said, though he sounded remarkably calm. “Aside from Poison Ivy, Master Dick is visiting. I do not want him to try and teach his de-aged father anything bad.”

“What?” Superman questioned.

“Alfred!” the first voice whined.

“Alfie, tell ‘em he’s bein’ a jerk!” the second voice grumbled.

“Put Master Bruce on the phone,” Alfred ordered.

Superman gave Bruce the phone. Bruce cradled the device again, staring at it with large eyes.

“I have to go, Master Bruce,” Alfred told him. “Please be good for the Justice League.”

“Of course,” Bruce replied.

“Go to bed on time, even if they try to teach you bad habits,” Alfred ordered.

“I will, Alfred,” Bruce said, determinedly.

“Goodbye, Master Bruce. I’ll call you again at a more appropriate time and we can talk.”

Bruce hummed. There was a long moment of silence. It was a good thing Alfred hung up, because Bruce eventually looked up at Superman and asked, very politely, “How do I know if the call is disconnected?”

[americangeophysicalunion]

Summer Blooms Trouble Great Lakes Estuaries

Dear AGU,

A cocktail of blooms made up of potentially toxin-producing cyanobacteria (Microcystis sp. and Dolichospermum sp.) has now proliferated for over 2 weeks in Muskegon Lake, Michigan – a Great Lakes estuary. Muskegon Lake is one of two dozen drowned river-mouth estuaries in West Michigan that flow into Lake Michigan – a Laurentian Great Lake. Because estuaries occur at the end of their watersheds, they integrate signals of climate change and anthropogenic perturbations from across their water and airsheds.

Water quality in Muskegon Lake has been improving for over a decade (as indicated by a time-series buoy observatory www.gvsu.edu/buoy/), and restoration measures resulting in reduced nutrient inputs from the watershed have been credited for the lake’s recovery. However, recent years (2021, 2022, and now 2024) have witnessed record-breaking blooms due to warmer waters initiating earlier spring onset and later fall overturn compounded by highly variable precipitation/river loading. This summer, there are reports of intense cyanobacterial blooms like those in Muskegon Lake coming from several adjacent coastal estuaries (e.g., Mona Lake in the South, and White Lake in the North) – suggesting this is a region-wide phenomenon and that current restoration efforts are inadequate to address the long-term impacts of ongoing change.

            Around the world, rivers, lakes and estuaries serve as vital water sources for humanity, biodiversity and ecosystem function. A warming climate and anthropogenic nutrient pollution coupled with more extreme hydrological cycles could turn these waters green and toxic – compromising ecosystem health, water quality, and overall quality of life.

— Bopi Biddanda, Connor Gabel, Nicole D’Arienzo, Dee Phillips, Kay Dennis, Anna Maki and Tony Weinke, Annis Water Resources Institute, Grand Valley State University, Muskegon, Mich. (www.gvsu.edu/wri/)

[friendlylocalwhumper]

It looks peaceful. Soft, short hair flowing in the water, pretty green eyes squeezed shut, freckles blended in with tanned skin by the haze of the water… Jaylen would almost look majestic under there, if he wasn’t jerking with the failed attempts to hold his breath.

At the tap on his shoulder, the silent commend, Corbett pulls his boyfriend back up with a worried grimace. Jaylen’s head lolls back as he’s lifted out of the metal tub where his back was bent over it, hair hanging straight back and slicking to his skull as he flops forward.

“Ghh, guh…” The hand cupped at the back of his head is all that keeps Jaylen from slumping against the tub and falling into a heap. He relaxes into the support, even as Corbett has to twist his fingers into that slicked hair to keep him upright.

“Sorry, sorry, Jay,” Mutters the unwilling torturer, sharp teeth gritting with his apology. His pink fluffy hair has gone dull and fine, his bright eyes a pale blue.

“Again.”

The voice above and behind him comes with an impatient shove. Corbett’s expression twists further, his grip tightening on his gasping boyfriend’s hair. “He can’t breathe. He can’t, he can’t-!”

Knees pressing harder into the floor for leverage, Jaylen sprays droplets across the room as he shakes his head. Leans backward with water still dripping from his nose. “C-, Cor. ‘s okay. ‘s okay.” Star-studded bandaids across Jaylen’s cheek and nose flop wetly. He tips his head to smile. It is pained, apologetic. Those breaths sound clogged. His fingers tap an anxious rhythm, where his arms are bound tight around his back.

At least there’s no shortage of sensory input for him right now. In fact, Corbett thinks as he wipes wet hair from Jaylen’s brow, there might be too much. Water is good and neutral for a path, for sensitive magic reading pasts and feelings, but it’s not so nice when it’s forcing itself down and up your nose and throat. A lot of pain, a lot of stress. If Corbett pays close attention, he feels a buzzing, a twitching of muscles where Jaylen needs to bolt.

Corbett took too long, staring forlornly at his soggy boyfriend. A hand shoves at his back, forcing him toward the tub and dropping Jaylen back into it. Skittish hands scramble to scoop Jay back up, but there’s no room to get him into the air again, so they settle for covering Jay’s eyes. There’s no point to it, but for some reason, Cobett doesn’t want him to see. No pretty jade eyes blinking feverishly under the swirling water. No fear that Corbett cannot soothe.

Jaylen’s stomach is bare with how he’s twisted backward, his colorful jacket riding up. The smooth expanse of chilly skin is too much, and Corbett finds himself biting down onto it, jaw locking. Bubbles rise in the water as Jay tries to cry out in surprise, maybe tickled by the bite. Blank, panicked, now-lavender eyes stare out at nothing as Corbett latches on with another bite, seeking comfort, frowning around the mouthful as he tastes blood. Oops, didn’t mean to chomp that hard. Poor Jay.

The drowning one writhes spasmodically until he can angle his legs differently, putting more pressure on the edge of the tub digging into his back, just to press his knees in at Corbett’s side. A makeshift hug, clinging. The biting is painful, but always a comfort. Always. An anchor of pressure, of familiar input. Corbett nuzzles miserably as he continues to hold him down. Until the bubbles slow to a stop, until the legs around his sides relax. Corbett doesn’t get to decide when it ends, that’s the job of the man standing over them. Bruised arms slide around Jaylen’s chest, feeling for any more twitches of failed breaths, ready to pull him up as soon as it is allowed.

[theskyexists]

Watching the Silo and I've read Wool years ago. And... I'm amazed how the screenwriter managed to drop these little details or shift the focus so that the female protagonists just.... lose the bits that I never realised were revolutionary in the book..... We don't really dive INTO the Mayor's pov, like we should. The sheriff's wife gets a whole episode dedicated to her, but despite being a computer scientist - she says 'they alter the screens somehow'. She should know because she recovered the technology for doing so!! That's the whole point of the short story!!!!!! Now they made her 'hysterical' implying it being about a baby to up the stakes and make her choice to take the risk more 'believable'. Juliette also ...they certainly make her less boring /blank slate at the beginning. For sure. But they undercut her too for drama that doesn't even make sense (she should have known how to fix the generator without input from the others - and then they have her almost drown unnecessarily just to foreshadow the water... Again. When hosing down a door like that should have given her burns and then boiled her) . And also...she's so blonde. So incredibly blonde. I realised I always imagined her as not white. Or not so pointy at least. The actress can look very intense but plays her so defensively. The number one character trait I remember from Juliette is that straightforward insanely competent attitude - she was so weirdly NOT defensive. And I don't remember George at all! She's so angsty because of being his girlfriend - and it emphasises her status as his girlfriend more than anything about her...

Still I do really love the costuming and sets and most casting though nobody can speak with an American accent consistently but the Americans - just always imagined the Silo as way more claustrophobic. In fact I remember thinking or even posting here: I'm so so so glad for open blue skies and green trees - while reading Wool. There is so much space between the stairs and the levels.... I do remember mention of a bridge so maybe it was my mistake. But why are the levels open (visuals i know) and why aren't the stairs surrounded by a cage (so people can jump?) and why have so much space between the stairs and the levels? (psychology). Basically I thought there was only a little bit of space between stairs and levels. Maybe just enough to fall over who knows. Also thought they were metal which is way less nice..and the levels were closed.

[5mind]

‘what doesn’t kill you…' !!

Send me    ‘what doesn’t kill you…'     and my muse will talk about a difficult experience in their life that they learned a valuable lesson from.

"I have to admit, I am curious about what it would feel like to drown. You know, in an air-breathing organism way."

"I- one of my units - Green Five had gotten lost in the waves before, somewhere off the west coast of Bayfloat. You know how it is. We get thrown around a lot."

Its memories of that moment had been limited to visual input and the increasing pressure readings as the android sunk.

"Lost connection approximately four hours after submersion....I remember seeing something else through Green Five...."

The footage had been blurry. But with the sunlight beaming down from behind the unit, Fivemind had been able to make out a shape.

"...a hand.. or was it a ribbon? The shape was...inconsistent but it was larger than any of our squadron members..."

"They do say there are beings...intelligent ones not yet known to those of us on land, that dwell in the ocean...maybe it was the Benthic King or something similar."

"All that aside! We did manage to retrieve Green Five two days later. A little crumpled and I am pretty sure something opened him up, but nothing I could not fix."

"What have I learned from this? Well, simply do not get thrown into the ocean."

[alarajrogers]

We discovered when we removed institutional barriers to women and POC learning and making their ideas known to the world that the number of innovators and geniuses in the world producing new ideas greatly increased. We discovered the same thing when we invented the Internet and democratized the production of art. We don't need a trillion humans and right now we can't feed that many anyway; I'm not opposed to a solar system full of a trillion humans all of whom have access to enough food, water, shelter, clothing, and companionship that they don't have to struggle at awful jobs giving away all their time and energy to make someone else wealthy, someday, but we don't have the tech for it yet. What we do have the tech for, and just need the will for, is a world where all 8 billion of us are free of the fear we will be displaced or murdered or the world will become unlivable, and all of us have access to food, water, shelter, clothing, Internet, electrical and traveling energy, computing power, the basic tools needed for creation, and there are no institutional barriers to any of us spending our time coming up with great art and great ideas.

If we empower all 8 billion of us to participate equally in the world marketplace of ideas, what can't we accomplish?

Bezos and Musk are being contrarian for views; they know damn well the world can't support that many humans yet. And will probably never be able to; none of us want to eat Soylent Green. But they're not wrong that a base of more humans could accomplish more great things. It's just... you don't need to increase the human population to get a base of more brilliant humans. You need to empower the ones you've already got.

(Significantly better head meds and treatments for mental illness will also help. Right now there are brilliant people languishing in obscurity because they're crippled by anxiety or they cannot speak or the voices in their head drown out the inputs of the real world, and there are many people who could be brilliant if the medications they had to take to lead reasonable and safe lives didn't make them sleepy and slow. Plus, Alzheimer's. So we can work on that too. But the big win will be giving the entire world freedom from the need to give away most of their lives to survival.)

[brn1029]

On this date in music history…

December 20th

2006 - Procol Harum

Matthew Fisher, a founding member of Procol Harum won a High Court battle over who wrote their song '’A Whiter Shade Of Pale’. Fisher who played organ on the 1967 hit had argued he wrote the distinctive organ melody, but Mr Justice Blackburne ruled he was entitled to just 40% of the copyright, (rather than the 50% he was seeking). The court decided lead singer Gary Brooker's input was more substantial and Fisher's claim for back royalties - of up to £1m - was also rejected. For almost 40 years, the song had been credited to lead singer Gary Brooker and lyricist Keith Reid.

1999 - Hank Snow

Canadian Country singer Hank Snow died. 'The Singing Ranger' released over 100 albums and scored more than seventy singles on the Billboard country charts from 1950 until 1980. A regular at the Grand Ole Opry, in 1954 Snow persuaded the directors to allow a new singer by the name of Elvis Presley to appear at the Grand Ole Opry.

1999 - Jimi Hendrix

Readers of UK Guitar magazine voted Noel Gallagher the most overrated guitarist of the millennium. Jimi Hendrix was voted guitarist of the millennium with Nirvana's 'Nevermind' winning best album.

1980 - John Lennon

Twelve days after John Lennon was shot dead in New York City, '(Just Like) Starting Over', which was taken from his Double Fantasy album gave the former Beatle his first ever UK solo No.1 single.

1974 - Joe Walsh

Former James Gang and Barnstorm guitarist Joe Walsh officially replaced Bernie Leadon in the Eagles after producer Bill Szymczyk had recommended Walsh to The Eagles.

1973 - Bobby Darin

American singer Bobby Darin died aged 37. One of the first teen idols, he had the 1959 No.1 with 'Dream Lover' plus 20 other US Top 40 hits during the 60s including ‘Mack the Knife’, (Grammy Award for Record of the Year in 1960). Darin travelled with Robert Kennedy and worked on the latter's 1968 presidential campaign. He was with Kennedy the day he travelled to Los Angeles on June 4, 1968 for the California Primary. Darin was at the Ambassador Hotel later that night when Kennedy was assassinated.

1969 - Peter Paul and Mary

Peter Paul and Mary went to No.1 on the US singles chart with 'Leavin' On A Jet Plane'. John Denver wrote the song in 1966 with the original title of 'Oh Babe I Hate to Go.'

1969 - Rolf Harris

Rolf Harris was at No.1 on the UK singles chart with 'Two Little Boys', (the song was written in 1902). The Christmas No.1 of 1969 and the last No.1 of the 60s. The song stayed at No.1 for six weeks.

1969 - The Rolling Stones

The Rolling Stones went to No.1 on the UK album chart with their 10th release Let It Bleed featuring 'Midnight Rambler', and 'You Can't Always Get What You Want.' It was the last studio album by the band to feature Brian Jones (who had died on July 3rd of this year after drowning in his swimming pool), as well as the first to feature guitarist Mick Taylor.

1968 - The Beatles

The Beatles sixth Christmas record 'The Beatles' 1968 Christmas Record', was sent to fan club members in the UK and the US. It included the song ‘Nowhere Man’ sung by Tiny Tim.

1967 - Joan Baez

Folk singer Joan Baez was sentenced to 45 days in prison after being arrested during an anti-war demonstration.

1962 - Andy Williams

The Osmonds appeared for the first time on the NBC TV Andy Williams show. The brothers performed 'I'm A Ding Dong Daddy From Dumas'.

1958 - The Quarry Men

John Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison appeared as The Quarry Men at the wedding reception of George's older brother, Harry. The event was held at the Harrison family home at 25 Upton Green, Speke, Liverpool.

December 20th

2006 - Procol Harum

Matthew Fisher, a founding member of Procol Harum won a High Court battle over who wrote their song '’A Whiter Shade Of Pale’. Fisher who played organ on the 1967 hit had argued he wrote the distinctive organ melody, but Mr Justice Blackburne ruled he was entitled to just 40% of the copyright, (rather than the 50% he was seeking). The court decided lead singer Gary Brooker's input was more substantial and Fisher's claim for back royalties - of up to £1m - was also rejected. For almost 40 years, the song had been credited to lead singer Gary Brooker and lyricist Keith Reid.

1999 - Hank Snow

Canadian Country singer Hank Snow died. 'The Singing Ranger' released over 100 albums and scored more than seventy singles on the Billboard country charts from 1950 until 1980. A regular at the Grand Ole Opry, in 1954 Snow persuaded the directors to allow a new singer by the name of Elvis Presley to appear at the Grand Ole Opry.

1999 - Jimi Hendrix

Readers of UK Guitar magazine voted Noel Gallagher the most overrated guitarist of the millennium. Jimi Hendrix was voted guitarist of the millennium with Nirvana's 'Nevermind' winning best album.

1980 - John Lennon

Twelve days after John Lennon was shot dead in New York City, '(Just Like) Starting Over', which was taken from his Double Fantasy album gave the former Beatle his first ever UK solo No.1 single.

in your browser.</div></div>

1974 - Joe Walsh

Former James Gang and Barnstorm guitarist Joe Walsh officially replaced Bernie Leadon in the Eagles after producer Bill Szymczyk had recommended Walsh to The Eagles.

ed in your browser.</div></div>

1973 - Bobby Darin

American singer Bobby Darin died aged 37. One of the first teen idols, he had the 1959 No.1 with 'Dream Lover' plus 20 other US Top 40 hits during the 60s including ‘Mack the Knife’, (Grammy Award for Record of the Year in 1960). Darin travelled with Robert Kennedy and worked on the latter's 1968 presidential campaign. He was with Kennedy the day he travelled to Los Angeles on June 4, 1968 for the California Primary. Darin was at the Ambassador Hotel later that night when Kennedy was assassinated.

1969 - Peter Paul and Mary

Peter Paul and Mary went to No.1 on the US singles chart with 'Leavin' On A Jet Plane'. John Denver wrote the song in 1966 with the original title of 'Oh Babe I Hate to Go.'

1969 - Rolf Harris

Rolf Harris was at No.1 on the UK singles chart with 'Two Little Boys', (the song was written in 1902). The Christmas No.1 of 1969 and the last No.1 of the 60s. The song stayed at No.1 for six weeks.

1969 - The Rolling Stones

The Rolling Stones went to No.1 on the UK album chart with their 10th release Let It Bleed featuring 'Midnight Rambler', and 'You Can't Always Get What You Want.' It was the last studio album by the band to feature Brian Jones (who had died on July 3rd of this year after drowning in his swimming pool), as well as the first to feature guitarist Mick Taylor.

n your browser.</div></div>

1968 - The Beatles

The Beatles sixth Christmas record 'The Beatles' 1968 Christmas Record', was sent to fan club members in the UK and the US. It included the song ‘Nowhere Man’ sung by Tiny Tim.

ur browser.</div></div>

1967 - Joan Baez

Folk singer Joan Baez was sentenced to 45 days in prison after being arrested during an anti-war demonstration.

1962 - Andy Williams

The Osmonds appeared for the first time on the NBC TV Andy Williams show. The brothers performed 'I'm A Ding Dong Daddy From Dumas'.

1958 - The Quarry Men

John Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison appeared as The Quarry Men at the wedding reception of George's older brother, Harry. The event was held at the Harrison family home at 25 Upton Green, Speke, Liverpool.