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michaelmilligan · 2 years

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Midam week day five: INTERSTELLAR

(Aka Adam's birthday aka the Feast of St. Michael aka Cheers I'll drink to all that, bro)

A breeze was rustling through the grass as they landed, long blue stalks swaying under a red and purple sky.

At least Adam thought that it was grass they were standing in. With a little luck, it wouldn't be another sentient colony of strangely formed tentacles.

What is this? Adam asked as his eyes came to rest on an assembly of strangely out of place items a few feet away.

A PLANET NEAR EPSILON ERIDANI, Michael said, which – okay, interesting, but not the point.

I meant this. Adam started walking towards the table set up in the middle of the field, complete with a white tablecloth and four chairs around it. The pale brown of the furniture and bright white of the cloth looked strangely alien in this environment. Is this the fabled restaurant at the end of the universe?

Michael brought out his projection to roll his eyes at him. DON'T BE SILLY.

A smile tugged on Adam's lips, but he didn't let it take over completely. Why not?

With a fond sigh, but no answer, Michael turned his projection towards the table.

WHAT YOU SEE BEFORE YOU IS THE SET-UP FOR A FEAST. He frowned. THE RATHER INCOMPLETE SET-UP, I'M AFRAID. YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO LET ME TAKE OVER THE BODY FOR A BIT LATER SO I CAN SMITE MY BROTHER.

Your brother? What does Gabriel have to do with it?

WELL. I FIGURED THIS YEAR, WE COULD CELEBRATE YOUR BIRTHDAY TRADITIONALLY.

On an alien planet?

Michael huffed and rolled his eyes again, but then suddenly seemed shy.

WITH FAMILY, he said eventually.

“Surprise!” Gabriel took exactly that moment to pop up right before them, startling Adam so bad he would have fallen over if not for Michael's wings stabilizing him.

“Gabriel!” Raphael's voice came from between some bushes, their vessel's face poking out. “We were supposed to wait for the signal!”

“Well, it was getting boring. So. Ta-da! Whadda ya think?” Gabriel gestured towards the table while Raphael sighed and stepped out of the bushes to walk toward them.

“Um. It's nice?” Adam said uncertainly.

Next to him, Michael made his projection visible.

“You were supposed to prepare a feast!” he accused his brother, pointing angrily.

Now it was Gabriel's turn to roll his eyes. “Don't get your wings in a twist. Just 'cause you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there.”

With a snap of his fingers, the table was suddenly laid with silver cutlery, porcelain plates and so much food that Adam had trouble taking it all in. There were bottles on ice, too, and Gabriel pulled one out of a bucket to reveal it was champagne. After popping the cork out with his grace, he poured them each a glass.

“To the Feast of Saints Gabriel, Raphael and Michael!”

“That's not the correct order,” Michael complained, but it was half-hearted. His relationship with Gabriel was still a bit rocky, hundreds of years of bitterness and anger not simply forgotten or forgiven all that quickly. So Michael was, at least, always careful not to start a real fight. Occasional banter and indignation notwithstanding.

The champagne was refreshing and bubbly, and Adam wondered if it had more alcohol than usual or if being in a different atmosphere affected him, because he already felt a little drunk after just one sip.

“Right, I forgot it's not just Michael's day,” he said. In his youth, the pastor had mostly talked about St. Michael on this day. After all, there was a reason it was known as Michaelmas.

“It's not like we've ever celebrated it before,” Raphael said, eyeing the champagne in their glass critically. “Gabriel had to google what the day even means.”

“So?” Gabriel crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Humans come up with weird meanings for days all the time.”

“Well, the most important thing today is Adam's birthday”, Michael said.

Gabriel nodded. “So it's the Feast of Adam, Gabriel and company.”

Michael glared at him.

Instead of even acknowledging that, Gabriel just conjured up a bottle of orange juice and filled up their half-empty champagne glasses.

“To me and some guy from Windom, Minnesota!” he said cheerfully. “And also some other archangels or whatever.”

Michael sighed, but seemed to decide it wasn't worth getting into it, and he just raised his glass to Adam.

NOT JUST SOME GUY, he thought at Adam, keeping it private between them. MY GUY.

Once again, Adam barely tempered down his smile. The Feast of St. Michael's guy from Minnesota.

Michael smiled back at him. THE FEAST OF ST. MICHAEL'S GUY FROM MINNESOTA, AND THAT GUY'S SIBLINGS-IN-LAW.

“Something you guys wanna share with the class?” Gabriel asked sarcastically, looking between them.

Without ever breaking eye contact with Adam, Michael simply said: “No.”

“You don't wanna know, Gabe,” Adam added, also still looking fondly at Michael, his smile only growing bigger as he heard Gabriel pretend to gag.

Adam had never had a brother – not one who counted, anyway – but he thought maybe Gabriel could be that. Plus Raphael, the long-suffering middle child... Yeah. Maybe they were something like a family.

A family of mostly immortal beings having mimosas between the stars.

That might not be the most traditional birthday for a human, but Adam really hoped it could become a tradition for him.

#Adam finally has a family again pass it on #Midam week #Quick writing #Midam #They deserve to drink Mimosas is all I'm saying #In SPACE!

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constantvariations · 2 years

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I would have answered this in the post, but I have serious anxiety about answering things on the internet, so I’m on anon. Sorry.

But to answer your question about worldbuilding in RWBY, I’d firstly look into the Maidens. Why not have each Maiden use different elemental powers instead of whatever mishmash the writers thought were cool? Why not have the Maidens related to the trait the Relics stand for in some way, such as already having whatever trait as a prerequisite for gaining the powers (like being a nerd for Spring/knowledge, being an artsy type for Winter/creation, etc), or gaining the trait later (the real-world equivalent of having higher than average Offense stats for Summer/destruction, or faster reflexes (maybe?) for Fall/Choice)? I had always assumed that the Maidens were Ozma’s daughters and they had inherited his ability to reincarnate in some cruel twist of fate, so finding out they were inadvertently made just to be barrier maidens is a little disappointing to me, but it still would have been interesting if it was explored more. Like, the idea of your life being entirely uprooted because of powers most people don’t even know exist, and being mostly at the mercy of two different forces, well-intentioned or otherwise, could work so well. As it is, they are just Macguffin Carriers who open the relic doors and have about a 50% chance of being murdered by Cinder.

Secondly, the SEWs. Where do they come from, the God of Light or one of Ozma’s reincarnations? Can you be a SEW and a Maiden? Or a SEW and an Oz? Can you be all three? I know there is genocide involved, but are there really no other SEWs besides Ruby, Summer, Maria and Snuffles the Hound? Were they always Salem’s target, or did she take a while to realize that they were a threat to the Grimm? Do the powers always manifest as torches for eyes or can you do other stuff with Silver Eyes? Can the glow in the dark? Can they augment your Semblance? Are there short- and long-term effects of using the Silver Eyes? What is a typical childhood like with these eyes? What is an adulthood with them? Do they camouflage themselves by being a different color until first use? Is there a general distrust with people with these traits, or do people just flat out not know unless they’re in Oz’s or Salem’s circles? There is so little information about the Silver Eyes and it’s confusing.

Lastly, the Faunus (designs, the concept itself is already a whole different kettle of fish). It was already kind of uncomfortable making them stand ins for racial minorities, but why is it such a binary with Faunus traits? Why only make it one trait? Why not go all out with designs? The writers clearly don’t have an answer for how the Faunus came about after Humanity 1.0 was wiped out, so why not just include them in the beginning, drive home the point about how irrational and unrealistic racism is? And the heroic Faunus tend to have “cute” or “non-threatening” traits like tails and ears, but the villainous Faunus tend to have horns and stingers and such, even in the Fables, which is…something I would change. I also want more variety in traits. I want Faunus with rectangular pupils like goats. I want to know if fur/wool counts as a trait, or if it would be classified as hypertrichosis. I want to see hinged fangs, fins, gills, insect legs, hooves, chelicerae, all that neat weird stuff. If you’re going to have a half animal race, you might as well go all out.

No need to apologize, anon! I've been on tumblr for years and it wasn't until I got into rwby that I got over my own posting anxiety lol. And with that one shithead harassing rwdesters on anon rn, I understand completely why you'd want to protect yourself

The maidens absolutely need to be revamped, and I highkey agree abt giving them specific elemental powers that relate to their actual seasons. It's so weird how crwby said all the maidens have the exact same powers but Cinder only uses fire for weapons and flight, Raven only ever used ice for weapons, Fria just used ice, Penny... didn't do anything w the powers iirc, and Amber only got enough time to do some lightning and flight (seemed to be Wind powered tho so she's the most diverse in just 3 minutes lmao)

I've always loved the idea of the relics being linked to the maidens! For a while I legit thought that was the case bc Raven knew things she couldn't possibly have known (Yang being in trouble on the train, all her ominous ramblings abt Ozpin) that I thought passive aquiring of knowledge was a side affect of being the spring maiden. (I am boo boo the fool.) But having to have some specific traits or gaining boosts to already existing stats would be a cool thing to explore!

Ngl I really love the idea of incredible powers getting dropped on some random guy and the Everything that would stem from that, but I don't think it should've been in rwby's lore. If Ozcarnations need to keep track of the maidens bc they're a) very powerful and therefore dangerous, and b) keys to his magic doors (that his cane isn't a skeleton key for wtf Oz), then why the fuck would he gift his magic so that the powers would be passed on in such a messy, chaotic way? It don't add up, bruv

The show heavily implied that SEWs are a God of Light creation, but... how? Did he come back specifically to create them? Were they a throwaway to Oz in an effort to give him allies? Was it a petty project to piss off Salem? We just don't know (and probably never will). There are wayyyyy too many questions surrounding their entire existence, and their current endangered status, and I doubt crwby will answer any of them satisfactorily

I don't think there's anything stating that a person can't be a combination of SEW, maiden, and Ozcarnation. There'd be some problematic aspects regarding the fact that a woman would be forced to lug around an old man's soul in her head, so maybe it's best to leave the men to themselves on that front. Not to mention being all three would be far too much going on for a single character

Yknow, I've never thought abt the eyelights being anything but big beams of deus ex, but considering eyes are the windows to the soul, there should be smth a little... more. In their first appearance they start out looking like angel wings (rad as FUCK), so maybe they could manifest as some Soul Symbolism before going nova on grimm ass

As for consequences, yes. Absolutely. Hands down there needs to be more than a happy thoughts montage to use the damn thing (fucking patronus knock off) and there needs to be a drawback for using such an incredibly OP ability

I saw someone suggest that using the Silver Eyes would slowly deteriorate your vision, which I think would be a way more interesting thing to explore for Maria's character. Maybe she thought exposure to grimm was the real cause behind her onset blindness and wanted some distance. Maybe she knew the truth and felt guilty abt choosing herself over her duty, thus her decision to go MIA. Maybe she lost someone so dear she couldn't feel strongly enough to activate the power. Anything over the "i got scared after losing my eyes so i hid" thing that... doesn't really go anywhere

I'm def a fan of redesigning the faunus. The one animal trait thing came as a fault bc that's all Poser would allow, but good writers could've found a way to explain that while adding more traits in Maya (like Sten's lack of horns in DA:O). It might still have to be limited to a humanoid frame a la Mass Effect, but it could still work. It'd be really cool to see more animal features (fucking YES to animal eyes) and maybe even behaviors from faunus. I mean, the entire concept could basically be the wolfman variant of werewolves but w a variety of animals (or omegaverse traits if you're into that lol)

Crwby may not have an answer for how faunus came around, but I noticed they arrived at the same time as Dust, so in my (maybe someday) rewrite they're linked

#rwde #thanks for asking #sorry for the late response. it was my 36 hour work weekend and i am Suffering #rwby really has so many good ideas but theyre so badly implemented bc absolutely zero thought is put into them #it drives me up the wall #this is like going to a grand buffet and just eating a piece of stale bread you found on the ground #like... all the good shit is RIGHT THERE. JUST TAKE IT #anon hours

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tanushree · 1 year

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5 Monkeys and a Ladder

5 monkeys were placed in a cage as part of an experiment. In the middle of the cage was a ladder with bananas on the top rung. Every time a monkey tried to climb the ladder, the experimenter sprayed all of the monkeys with icy water. Eventually, each time a monkey started to climb the ladder, the other ones pulled him off and beat him up so they could avoid the icy spray. Soon, no monkey dared go up the ladder.

The experimenter then substituted one of the monkeys in the cage with a new monkey. The first thing the new monkey did was try to climb the ladder to reach the bananas. After several beatings, the new monkey learned the social norm. He never knew “why” the other monkeys wouldn’t let him go for the bananas because he had never been sprayed with ice water, but he quickly learned that this behaviour would not be tolerated by the other monkeys.

One by one, each of the monkeys in the cage was substituted for a new monkey until none of the original group remained. Every time a new monkey went up the ladder, the rest of the group pulled him off, even those who had never been sprayed with the icy water.

By the end of the experiment, the 5 monkeys in the cage had learned to follow the rule (don’t go for the bananas), without any of them knowing the reason why (we’ll all get sprayed by icy water). If we could have asked the monkeys for their rationale behind not letting their cage mates climb the ladder, their answer would probably be: “I don’t know, that’s just how its always been done.”

This story, whether real or a fable, captures a pervasive theme in many organizational cultures: We tend to do things the way we’re told they’ve always been done without questioning or revisiting the reason behind it, even long after that reason ceases to exist.

Do you feel like a caged monkey in your current work environment? Here’s some advice as it relates to organizational culture: Next time someone tells you “that’s not how we do things”, ask them why. ...!!!

#Tanu

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ripered · 5 years

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♡

send ❛ ♡ ❜ to suddenly hug my muse / accepting.

it’s unexpected, enveloped in a kind of sincerity that adam was never quite sure how to navigate. he wraps his arms gently around her waist with slight hesitance, blue eyes scanning shyly over the empty bar. it’s a quiet night, the moon hanging low, but the air feels thick with purpose. nights like this made adam feel aloof, lingering on the edge of deep desires and his reluctance to change. his gaze averts downward to a scar that decorates her shoulder, he wonders the reasoning behind it. maybe she had fallen off of her bike as a kid, or had a run in with a bad ex. he’ll never know if he doesn’t ask, but a part of him likes the mystery.

maybe that’s exactly what dani was, a mystery. it’s strange but comforting. they both could have been anyone in these moments, or created some facade of characteristics to further bend the story of who they were. especially when the world was so quiet and their only company was the vague sound of music playing in this empty bar. neither of them can make out the lyrics to the song playing, but they both assume it means something.

they pull away after a few beats, dani going back around the counter and adam sitting back down on the bar stool. a hum sounds in the back of his throat, sounding content and thankful. it’s an easier way to extend a thank you to her. he has a feeling if he speaks it verbally she’d say something like there was nothing to be thankful for, you don’t need to thank me. adam smiles at that thought.

that’s when he bursts into laughter, finding his wistfully dramatic thoughts amusing and endlessly humorous. ❛ i’m not laughing at you, i’m laughing at myself. ❜ adam rests his head in his hands, cheeks turning bright red.

❛ let me help you clean up, then let’s get out of here. this stool makes my ass hurt. ❜

#vicebuilt #is it real or a fable / ic answers.#i said this was gonna be angsty but it ended up being cute...........I CAN'T TRUST MY INSTINCTS

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elegantwoes · 2 years

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Here is the chapter I have such a love-hate relationship with: Bran's third AGOT chapter.

It seemed as though he had been falling for years. Fly, a voice whispered in the darkness, but Bran did not know how to fly, so all he could do was fall.

The chapter starts off with Bran stuck in a dream where he is reliving the trauma he went through in his previous chapter.

“The things I do for love,” it said. Bran screamed. The crow took to the air, cawing. Not that, it shrieked at him. Forget that, you do not need it now, put it aside, put it away. It landed on Bran’s shoulder, and pecked at him, and the shining golden face was gone.

It should be noted that Bran memory of the Lannister twins is erased by Bloodraven so that he can focus on the situation at hand. However, we have to question what will happen if Bran stops the Ice threats and ushers in the beginning of Spring and he remembers it all again? How will Bran react? What will it mean to the story? I swear if Bran doesn't demand justic about what Jaime did to him during the Great Council meeting in ADOS then what is the damn point of it all? The Lannisters better answer for the all the war crimes they have committed in the series.

He saw his brother Robb, taller and stronger than he remembered him, practicing swordplay in the yard with real steel in his hand.

This is no doubt a foreshadowing to Robb waging a war in the upcoming two books.

He looked east, and saw a galley racing across the waters of the Bite. He saw his mother sitting alone in a cabin, looking at a bloodstained knife on a table in front of her, as the rowers pulled at their oars and Ser Rodrik leaned across a rail, shaking and heaving. A storm was gathering ahead of them, a vast dark roaring lashed by lightning, but somehow they could not see it.

Bran sees his mother with Rodrik in a ship on sea and an omnious storm that is gathering ahead of them that they, for some reason, cannot see. A foreshadowing for the chaos agent that Catelyn will meet in her upcoming chapter, Littlefinger? The character most responsible for the war of the five kings.

He looked south, and saw the great blue-green rush of the Trident. He saw his father pleading with the king, his face etched with grief. He saw Sansa crying herself to sleep at night, and he saw Arya watching in silence and holding her secrets hard in her heart. There were shadows all around them. One shadow was dark as ash, with the terrible face of a hound. Another was armored like the sun, golden and beautiful. Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood.

Bran sees the aftermath of the trident incident and three figures around his older sisters. One shadow was dark as ash, with the terrible face of a hound:; this is obviously Cujo come again. Another was armored like the sun, golden and beautiful; this is Jaime. Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood; This one is a bit more trickier, but the giant and the stone alludes it to being about Littlefinger. It should also be noted that both Littlefinger and Jaime are villains. For Cujo come again be associated with them is not a good look for a certain ship. Just saying. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

He lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green Dothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the Jade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise.

Such a beautiful landscapes. Also a foreshadowing to the dragons coming back by the end of this book.

Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him.

A hint to Jon's future assassination and also the aftermath of it. This scene alludes to Jon not completely dying but being the same comatose state like Bran is right now. Interesting. Very interesting.

North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain.

I am sorry but I can't take any mention of the curtain of light serious. Not after you know what. (Sorry I am a petty bitch) \^o^/

He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks. Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live. “Why?” Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling. Because winter is coming.

This quote is easily one of my favorite Bran quotes. It establishes just how important he will be in stopping the Ice threat. My precious boy (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

A pair of yellow eyes looked into his own, shining like the sun. The window was open and it was cold in the room, but the warmth that came off the wolf enfolded him like a hot bath. His pup, Bran realized … or was it? He was so big now. He reached out to pet him, his hand trembling like a leaf. When his brother Robb burst into the room, breathless from his dash up the tower steps, the direwolf was licking Bran’s face. Bran looked up calmly. “His name is Summer,” he said.

Bran has finaly awakened and he appears very regal in his calmness.

The future king of Westeros, everyone! (✿◡‿◡)

#asoiaf reread project #rereading agot #Bran Stark

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blu-eh · 4 years

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after school summons

[AO3]

or: Danny gets summoned. He doesn’t like it.

It starts with a tugging feeling in his very core.

Danny Fenton pauses. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the last year, it is not to ignore random things that are definitely ghostly in origin. He has just enough time to place his pencil on the desk from where he had dutifully been doing his homework—for the first time in two weeks, mind you—before his vision goes white, he hears a snap, and suddenly he’s not in his room anymore.

For a moment he’s weightless, lost in the feeling of falling. Then, his body jerks and he has just enough time to think, oh fuck—before he’s slammed to the ground hard. His knees buckle under the unexpected weight and he goes down, clumsily, and trying not to throw up what little he’d managed to eat between homework packets.

“Ow,” Danny says.

He lies there, just for a moment, taking in the cool concrete underneath him. He tries to steady his breathing just enough so his mind can process what the hell just happened in the last thirty seconds. He’s still blinking stars from his eyes when he hears the hushed whispers echo around him and a heavy pair of footsteps approaching him. All in all, very bad signs when mysterious (and somewhat painful) things happen to you suddenly.

A gruff, questioning voice asks, “A child?”

“Oh, man,” Danny says, because that definitely does not sound good. Then he forces himself to his knees and looks up.

The first and foremost thing Danny notices is that he’s not alone. He’s on some sort of altar or platform, elevated a foot or so above the ground. A couple feet away, a group of no more than a dozen people surround him in a semi-circle, faces all covered by tattered cloaks. Another cloaked figure, dressed in much more formal robes with gold trimming, stands on the platform a mere couple feet from where Danny is. They all seem to be staring at him, waiting.

Danny hastily gets to his feet. He shifts a little into a sloppy fighting stance, just in case things were to get messy.

The dimly-lit warehouse room and the head covers don’t give him much to work with in the facial feature department, but he’s pretty confident that none of them are ghosts. Mostly from the fact that none of them are glowing and/or ranting about how much of a pain in the ass he is, but it still pays to be wary. Especially when Danny’s situations tend to quickly dissolve from bad to oh my god there are ghosts lose in Amity Park and also he maybe-sort of-possibly died in the process.

Which brings him back to his next brilliant deduction; he’s definitely in ghost form. He definitely was not in ghost form before this. His ghost form is rather obvious considering he sticks out like a glow stick in darkness of the warehouse. He doesn’t even feel the need to check his hair color, this time, but that’s more due to the fact that he doesn’t want to take his eyes off the weird people who managed to summon him from his bedroom and forced him to change into his ghost form.

(He desperately hopes that they hadn’t seen him change—weird warehouse people are not people that Danny generally associates with secret keeping.)

“Is this a cult thing?” Danny asks before any of them can speak. He takes in white line that surrounds him, and the red liquid (which he very much hopes is not blood) used to paint runes and symbols that circle him, and their weird cloak-like robes, and says, “This is definitely a cult thing. Oh my god, did you summon me? Seriously—”

Before this, he hadn't even known he could be summoned. It's just the little ghostly things learned via accident, sometimes, that truly take the icing on the cake.

There’s a tiny spark of anxiety in his gut, but honestly there’s a large difference between humans threatening him and ghosts threatening him. On one hand, he’d take weird cultist over Skulker’s lair any day. On the other hand, pure white walls and experimentation tables aren’t super high on his to visit list either. Worst comes to worst—before they sacrifice him to some ancient gods, more likely—he puts on his scary face (and maybe adds a couple of explosions) and slips out before they even notice he’s missing.

“Silence, creature,” the robed man snaps. Danny zeros in on him and immediately deduces him to be leader from vibes alone. Also the gold trimming on his robe, which very much screams leader of weird cult that summons ghost kids.

“I—okay, you know what? That was just rude,” Danny says. He points to the white line that surrounds him, “Is that cocaine?”

Danny has a feeling he doesn’t want to know the answer to the mysterious red liquid and painted symbols, so he doesn’t ask.

“It’s salt,” one of the other cloaked figures answers, like it should be obvious.

(It’s not actually obvious, and actually leaves Danny with more questions than he started with. Mostly in the realm of how did a group of cultists summon him with salt. He knows salt is supposedly an anti-ghost measure, but Danny is pretty convinced it has little to no effect on him considering the amount of Nasty Burger fries he’s consumed haven’t taken him out yet.)

“Salt,” Danny repeats. He pauses, then awkwardly tags on, “That’s good, I guess, because drugs are bad. Uh, don’t do drugs.”

A cultist quietly, and a little slowly, answers back, “We, uh, don’t.”

“Right,” Danny says. His eyes catch another section of weird in this already weird, cultist warehouse. At the base of the platform sits a variety of bones, so fresh that some of the muscle still clings to them. “Are those bones? Oh my god, did you sacrifice someone? That’s not cool! Murder isn’t cool!”

“Those are goat bones,” another follower says.

“Oh,” Danny says. “Well, I mean, that’s still fucked up on a variety of levels, but I guess that’s better than murder. Unless it's considered goat murder? Uh.”

For a second, there’s silence. The nature of the interaction is so awkward and oppressing that he almost goes invisible just to save himself the scrutiny of these random people and get the hell out of dodge. His curiosity is the only thing that holds him back—that, and the fact that he’s not quite sure if any of these people are secretly hiding ecto-weapons.

Danny very much does not want to be shot tonight.

He looks around the room, eyes taking in every inch of the sparsely decorated warehouse. There’s nothing that immediately grabs his attention, nor anything that really screams danger but it pays to be suspicious of his surroundings in his line of work. A few of the cultists notice this, and start shifting awkwardly as Danny looks over them as well.

Then, Danny’s eyes flicks back to the lead cultist and he says, “I’m going to be real honest here and say that I have no idea what the heck is going on.”

The leader makes no inclination that he acknowledges any word that comes from Danny’s mouth. Instead, he brings an old, wrinkled hand up to his face, like he’s thinking about some complex problem. The leader circles Danny once, then again, and Danny feels something inside him defensively coil like a spring.

He tries not to be bothered when people treat him as something lesser—it’s not, exactly, uncommon for him to encounter. He dealt with being shoved into lockers long before he died, anyways. It doesn’t stop his shoulders from tensing just the barest amount.

Instead of showing this, he brings his feet up to his chest and crosses them mid-air, and fakes a yawn for good measure. A few of the other cultists gasp in wonder and fear. The leader simply stops his prowling and turns to face Danny.

“So this is the fabled Ghost King,” the man says, like he expected better.

Danny feels he should almost be offended if it isn’t for the tiny detail that these cultists—who summoned him by using salt and goat bones—assume he is the ghost king. “…Did you seriously confuse me with Pariah Dark?”

The man pauses, and asks, “Pariah Dark?”

“Yes! He’s like fifteen feet tall, has a huge sword, is a pain in the ass, and has, like, an entire ghost army. I have, I dunno, pre-calc homework in my bag. We are not the same.”

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. Danny bares his teeth in their direction, just to see them squirm. A couple take worried steps back and Danny fights off a satisfied grin.

Hey, poke a bull and get the horns. In this case, summon a ghost-teenager and get the ecto-powers.

(He’s slowly becoming more and more aware that these people have no idea what they’re doing.)

“I see,” the leader says. From his tone, he definitely does not see. “It doesn’t matter. Our book summoned the King of Ghosts and that is you, so you will do as we tell you and your pain will be lessened.”

“I am still not the Ghost King,” Danny tells him. “And no thanks. I’ve already used my yearly cult sign up and I can’t say I’m thrilled to join another. If you’re going to hold an initiation ceremony, at least decorate a bit first. Uh, not counting the goat bones and salt, of course.”

“You have no choice,” the leader snaps and steps a bit closer to him. Danny merely raises an eyebrow. “We are the Followers of Infernal. We have summoned you to serve us. You are bound to our will and bound to our grace, as the book foretold. Now bow, demon, for we are your new masters.”

There’s a very large portion of Danny Fenton that is convinced any good karma he held in life did not pass with him during his death a mere year ago. An even larger portion of him is convinced that these guys are no more serious than the GIW is. Danny does not tell the cultists this.

Instead, he squints and says, “Alright. I definitely failed US Government, but I’m pretty sure that’s not legal. Don’t you guys need like, a permit to summon undead beings of mass power?”

“It thinks it’s funny.” The leader’s face is mostly hidden by his robe, but Danny can imagine the sneer there from his tone alone.

“Trust me, I’m not the one who’s a joke right now,” Danny says. He looks back over at the dozen or so followers and grins at them. They don’t seem too keen that he’s not following their master’s orders and bending to their will. He turns back to the leader. “What’s in it for me?”

“What?”

“If I follow you and stuff, what’s in it for me?”

The leader pauses, then says, “You will be spared of punishment.”

“Hmm, that’s not good enough,” Danny says. He angles his body so he's once again looking at the followers and points at one in the middle. “Hey, you! With the cloak. No, not you, the other dude. To the left. Yeah! You. What do you have to offer me?”

The follower looks so startled that he cowers for a second. Then, seeing as he hadn’t been reduced to a pile of ashes from Danny’s gaze alone, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and silver. “Uh, I have a paper clip, your ghostliness.”

“A paper clip,” Danny repeats. “Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever. That sounds neat.”

“You’ll submit to us?” the man sounds so hopeful that Danny almost feels bad for being a jerk. Then, he remembers that they summoned him out of his nice, warm bedroom at ass-o’clock in the night and feels significantly less amounts of pity.

“No, dude, I’m not being your sack of potatoes for a paper clip. Man, you guys are stupid.” Danny rolls his eyes and floats just a bit higher. The other followers shuffle around again, uncomfortable. In front of him, the leader remains impassive as ever. “Where even am I?”

“The lair which you will spend the rest of your afterlife,” the leader says.

“Okay, this is definitely a warehouse, firstly. And secondly, dude, I meant what state.”

“…Wisconsin,” the man allows because of course everything terrible happens in Wisconsin.

“You chose the worst state to have your crappy lair,” Danny tells them. Now he has to fly a couple hundred miles home and hope he gets there by morning, all the while avoiding his creepy, obsessed arch-nemesis. He wonders if Vlad is even aware there’s a ghost-obsessed cult in his home state. Probably not. “Nothing good ever comes from Wisconsin. You can take that as, like, ghostly wisdom or something.”

“Hey,” one of the cultists says, offended. “The Packers are in Wisconsin.”

“Nothing good,” Danny repeats, firmly.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the leader says. “It’s trying to distract you because it fears control. Briar, bring me the orb.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them says.

The followers mutter to themselves and teeter around in their positions. The woman who spoke, on the end, bows and scurries off. Danny watches as she runs through the darkness of the warehouse, footsteps echoing around them, until he can no longer see her among the darkness.

“Hey, if they already listen to you then why do you need me?” Danny asks. The leader doesn’t answer, so Danny floats a bit on his side and puts his arms behind his head. “What kind of orb are we talking about, anyways? Like one of those Spirit Halloween ones? Or is it more like orbeeze? I can’t saw I’m super excited from your ominous it fears control statement, but—"

“Silence, beast,” the leader says.

Danny huffs. “I’m just asking. No need to be so snippy.”

The man ignores him which, rude. Danny’s just about to see how far he can test this guy’s patience when Briar comes back, just as quickly as she had disappeared. She jogs through the warehouse and up the steps of the platform. Danny can’t see her face, but from the way her hood moves to glace at him every so often, he figures that she’s probably nervous. Specifically about him lounging around in a circle full of salt.

“Father Johnathan,” Briar says and bows. In her hands is a glowing, silver orb. It really did look like a generic orb one would find in a Spirit Halloween. “The orb.”

“Your name is Father Johnathan?” Danny asks. He eyes the orb for a second, but doesn’t feel the tingle of ghostly energy from it, so he ignores it. He turns right back to the leader, not able to keep the grin off his face. “Your name is really Father Johnathan?”

Father Johnathan gently takes the orb in his hands as Briar scurries off towards the rest of the followers. Then, he sighs and says, “Yes, creature, my name is Father Johnathan and I shall be your new master.”

“Oh my god,” Danny says, positively gleeful. “I meet real life Papa John and he summons me with salt and threatens me with a Spirit Halloween orb.”

“Laugh all you want,” Papa John says. The nervous air shifts into something a bit more predatory. “You will not be laughing much longer.”

The cultists break into applause and talk amongst themselves loudly. They shift forward, eagerly, as if they want to watch the spectacle up close. They’re only a foot or so away from the platform when Papa John waves at them to halt.

Papa John holds up the orb. It swirls, the silver fog inside consolidating and then dissipating. Something inside it starts to glow the barest amount.

Danny pauses, just for a second, and watches it. There's still no tingle of ghostly energy coming from it. If he hadn’t already thought these guys are a joke, he definitely would’ve been a tad more nervous. As it stands, he thinks nothing of it—no ghostly energy means no control over ghosts.

(Unfortunately, he knows the feeling of ghost-controlling objects quite well. It’s not an experience he’s eager to repeat.)

The orb glows brighter, and brighter, swirling more furiously. The chatter of the cultists picks up to the point where they’re almost shouting, jeering at him. Papa John draws closer and closer, orb outstretched. He holds it through the salt line and touches it to Danny’s chest. The shouting from his followers almost becomes unbearable.

And then….nothing. The orb stops glowing. The fog inside stops swirling. It simply dies in Papa John’s hand.

“Was that supposed to do something?” Danny asks.

Papa John touches him with the orb again, a tad more forceful, so Danny assumes it was supposed to do something. From the panicked whispers around him, it definitely was supposed to do something to him. Danny’s honestly not sure if the outcome is due to him being a halfa or these guys being a joke.

(He’s willing to bet it’s the latter.)

“I think your LED batteries died,” Danny tells him. “Or maybe you mixed up your Spirit Halloween orbs. Better luck next time.”

Papa John stops furiously pressing the orb to his chest and if Danny could see his face, he has no doubts that Papa John’s expression would be livid.

“You will obey us,” Papa John says.

“No,” Danny says. “I won’t.”

“You will—”

Danny swings his feet down so hard that he cracks the very ground he now stands on. Dust kicks up around him as he stands tall, even though Danny’s at least two feet shorter than the leader in front of him. His eyes burn a brilliant green and he crosses his hands over his chest in an effort to look intimidating. The cult thing is interesting and all, but it's late, he still has homework to do, and Jazz has definitely noticed him missing by now so it's probably better to end this before they can get another object from a Spirit Halloween and try that instead.

It works, if the half-step back from Papa John is anything to go by.

“Listen,” Danny says, flatly. “Get a hobby and leave me alone or else you won’t like what I’m going to do.”

He makes his form flicker and the temperature drop in the room, just for dramatic effect.

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. A couple take panicked steps back. More than a few look ready to bolt for the door and leave this cult business behind forever.

Danny takes notice and stares at them, smiling wide enough that they could see his slightly-toothy grin. He makes sure his eyes flare, just a touch, and says loudly, “Boo.”

To say the cultists are startled would be an understatement. More than a few stumble back, a couple falling onto their asses. One trips on their robe and is sent tumbling. Another one yells and cowers. Papa John has no time to reign in the situation before two scatter completely.

“Peace!” Papa John shouts over the chaos of a dozen panicking followers. Those that remain do settle down enough to hear his words. “Stand down, there is nothing to fear. It is only trying to scare you into letting it free. It is trapped whilst it remains in the circle.”

Danny snorts. “I can leave any time I want.”

“You cannot leave here, demon—”

Danny raises one single eyebrow and dutifully steps out of the summoning circle.

The warehouse erupts into chaos.

The cultists are yelling now, but this time there’s only because of fear. They scatter over each other, running and tripping over their obnoxiously long cloaks. A couple trample the goat bones to the point where several loud snaps are heard over the pandemonium. It only adds more fuel to the fire as less than a dozen people scramble to get as far away from the platform—and subsequently the ghost-kid—as possible.

“Do better than a paperclip, next time!” Danny calls out to them. They only seem to run faster at the sound of his voice.

Papa John is the only one who doesn’t run. He had stumbled off the platform and away from Danny the second that Danny made it over the salt line. However, in the disarray, he had been knocked to the ground, his orb lay broken at his feet, and his robe’s hood had been yanked off and left on the ground beside him. He sits, frozen, but Danny doesn’t know if it’s from shock or from fear.

Danny takes a step closer to him.

“How…?” Papa John whispers. He’s not looking at Danny—only his old, wrinkled hands. He’s bald, with brown eyes. He looks like nothing more than any generic old man that Danny would see at a grocery store on Sunday afternoon. “We followed the book. We…we took every precaution the book said. We were supposed to have the perfect slave, bound to our every word. We…”

“That didn’t work out too well for you, huh?” Danny says and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s ‘cause you forgot the dunce cap when you decided to be the class clown.”

“Please,” Papa John says. “Spare me.”

There’s something wrong about this—seeing a human beg for his life at Danny’s feet. Danny doesn’t want to be feared. He never has wanted to be feared.

He presses his lips together and takes a single step back. Some part of him, though, knows that he desperately needs to make his point clear to avoid another situation like this (likely with more weapons, next time).

“I warned you,” Danny says softly. His voice echoes around the warehouse. The man below him shivers in terror. “Do not summon me again, or I won’t be so nice next time.” He pauses, just for a second and can't help but tag on, "Papa John."

He lets his threat linger and hopes the man takes it seriously enough that he won’t get summoned again. Then, the cool strings of invisibility wrap around his body and he disappears from sight. Danny takes one look at the man left on the floor before he shakes his head and shoots up into the Wisconsin night sky. He doesn't hear the shouted response of it's Father Johnathan from several hundred feet below him on the warehouse floor.

Danny waits about all of thirty seconds before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

"Jazz? Hey, yeah, I'm fine. Yes, seriously, I'm fine but you are not going to believe what I just went through—"

#me mentioning my love for spirit halloween no less than five separate occasions #anyways #my fics #danny phantom #i Attempted to mention every single ectober week 2020 in this fic so like. lmao #ectober #ectober 2020 #ectober week #ectober week 2020 #phan phic #phic #tw drug mention #there are no actual drugs but i do reference a drug by name so this warning applies

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ji-yaaan · 4 years

Text

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲...

Yandere!Malleus x Reader Oneshot

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, self harm, toxic relationships.

Note: Yandere time kids! \(óvò)/ time to debut as a yandere writer... Lolololol jk! But seriously, I think I enjoyed writing this too much- hmmmmm I don't know what to say anymore..... Anyways have fun reading ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Rain dripping down the skies. Heavens weeped their sorrows. Raindrops pitter-pattered on the glass windows, loneliness fills the room accompanied by a cold wind that gushed from the open windows. Ice cold raindrops hit your frozen face. How you wished to wail out your misery and despair...

Life is unfair...When was it fair? When you had the 5 seconds in which your escape from this endless nightmare was in the grasp of your hands? Freedom was in arm's reach, yet the so called freedom was a lie painted in sweet colorful rotten words.

"God... Is this a joke? Is this a test? Is this a Nightmare? Why have you forsaken me?" You questioned the heavens pouring down heavily. As if to mock you, a loud boom of thunder echoed up above, lightning lit up the dark grey skies for a brief moment...

Empty eyes filled with sorrows gazed up the heavens, unironically, the abyss stared back at their lifeless soul. You scoffed as the heavens ridicule you, a scornful laughter escaped your lips. Only to be interrupted by a loud creak of the wooden doors that rang across the room. "Hmmmmm? Y/N darling, what are you doing by the windows? See.... Look at you.... You're drenched and you might get sick..." A deep sigh escaped the fae's lips as his eyebrows furrowed from worry. "You really have a knack for getting people worried, my love..."

How disgusting "If you're really worried, you should've let me go by now..."

Is what you'd like to say, but why make it worse for yourself? Instead of a truthful answer, you simply stared at the man you loathed most... Malleus Draconia... The great man of The Valley of thorns... The infamous man who's part of the top 5 greatest mages... The powerful prince, who's heir to the throne... Just why must he stoop this low to abduct someone with the stupid excuse of true love?

A pair of peridot orbs that seemed to glow in the dark sent shivers down your spine. Those very orbs that stared straight down at you suffocating your chest. "I'm sorry..." You have to keep it together... You worked so hard to earn this man's trust and favor, you planned your way out of this mess... The show must go on The fae walked towards your direction, inching closer and closer. The air around you seemed suffocating as it became harder to breathe. The man you despised the most... the man you detested most... held your chin up to face him as he towered over your figure. Malleus brushed away a stray hair in your forehead. His peridot eyes that looked like gems allured you, they shone brightly despite the fact that both of you were surrounded by plain darkness. You felt small in his precence...

The fae held unto both of your cheeks as he placed a small gentle kiss atop your forehead. Almost af if it was done in a loving manner... He rested his forehead in yours, darting his gaze back unto yours. "I love you, my darling..." His eyes pierced your soul as a cold sweat ran through your spine. You were speechless, tongue was tied, no words escaped your lips. Growing paler by second, colors leaving your face. A shiver went down your spine as the dark fae held unto your neck, grasp tightening as moments pass. Your pulse and your heartbeat ringing in your ears, your brain was set in a frenzy as hands tightened around your neck. Caught up in a moment of hysteria, the lack of oxygen caused you to gasp for air, as you stared at the glowing pair of eyes inches above you. Your stomach churns, adrenaline rushed up your body. You forced yourself to say the words that left a disgusting taste in your mouth... "I love you too..." Your lips curved up forming a weak forced smile as a pair of lips devoured yours. A distinct taste of bitter sour berries spreads inside your mouth, like a deadly disease blooming in chaos...

Rays of warm sunlight lit the stagnant bedrooms. Buried in silken sheets and velvet pillows, cold fingers held you tightly in slumber. Like a nightmare that paralyzed your body, the fae embraced you closely, merley inches apart from one another. How you wished to wake up from this nightmare... Staring blankly at the ceiling, thousands of thoughts lingered on your mind. You wanted to disappear from this sick fate that bounded you to where you are. You closed your eyes, wishing when it opens, you're back in the safety and comfort of your real home.

Day after day, you struggled aimlessly under the grasp of the fae. You felt like life was taken away from your grasp, making you an empty shell of your former self. Smiles became meaningless. Laughter became dull. Your vision painted gre, colors began to burn out... The only thing that's bound to keep you breathing is the hatred you bore for the man you loathed. So you made yourself a show to put on. A mere act of rotten love, like a lovesick songbird chirping lies after lies. The fae believed the deceptive love you showed, drunk in his delusions. With each fables that escaped your lips, a nauseating taste lingers on you mouth.

Now you've come this far. You felt broken beyond repair. The once colorful life you've lived feels like a vivid dream you hopelessly graps on. No means of escape under clutch of the sickening man you despised. How ironic life can be.... Hope keeps us breathing, only to kill us at the end. But this time hope is not the only reason for you to be breathing. Seething hatred you bore against Malleus plagued your mind day and night. How you wished your hatred and insanity bore fruit...

Morning dew drops dripped from the lush leaves of the white rose petals. In the garden of the diasomnia halls, there you stood caught in a daze not knowing what to do. You sat down in the lonely table in the middle of the lonesome rose garden. White flowers adorned the scenery as you pick up your cup and took sip of your bitter tea. "How dull..." You flipped the pages of the worn out book in the midst of your fingers. You savor your sweet time indulging in your pseudo freedom while the fae is away.

In between the crumbling book you held, lies a small note stuck in between the pages. The note you've been reading for the past few weeks, contemplating on it's contents. A wicked smile plastered across your face as you peered unto the dagger that sat across the table. But your vision shifted to something far more interesting... The flask that accompanied the lone dagger. The flask with intricate designs and patterns that's bound to intrigue anyone. The very flask you stole from Malleus' study... "It's time..."

You took a last sip of the tea in your cup. The unpleasant taste still lingered in your mouth. You took the silver dagger beside the glass bottle, charmed by the metal adorned with dainty rose carvings. You sighed as you ponder on whether you're doing something right. "The right thing to do? What a joke..." A broken smile plagued your face as you look up the heavy skies threatening to pour at any moment.

The dagger in your hands pierced the smooth skin under your wrists. Scarlet hues dripped down your arms with each slash of the white metal. What a bore... None of this is painful... Has reality really became dull for you to be this numb to not even feel pain? How disappointing for yourself. Are you even human at this point? Oh right... You died once upon a time when you kissed the man you despised.

As the sunset melted in the dark grey skies, raindrops dripped from the heavens yet again. You felt like time was running out pointing the dagger in your chest. Metal prickling your collarbone, blood spilt unto your dress. A stab across the chest as sweet vermilion ichor gushed from your torso, staining your fingers bright scarlet red. The metal dug deeper under your flesh, followed by a wail escaping your lips.

"What are you doing!" An ear piercing scream echoed in between the thunders and rain. Malleus raced towards your direction with raging fury evident in his eyes. burning peridot orbs devoured your vision as the fae loomed over your figure. Crouching unto the muddy ground, Malleus asked again "What do you think you're doing?" Possessive chartreuse eyes piercing you deeper than the metal in your chest. A scoff left your mouth as a loathsome grin surfaced your face, a sneer ridiculing the fae before you. A moment of silence passed, but the fae's fury began to grow more with each passing second. Green flames devoured the rose gardens. The very flames that suffocated you. "You're a monster" you said under your breath as a mocking grin graced your lips.

"Then make me the monster that will forever be your nightmare my love..." The fae pulled the dagger out your chest as more blood gushed and pooled under you. "How foolish humans can be... Didn't I tell you? no matter what you do, you cannot escape from me. Even if you ran away to another world.. I’d find you wherever you’ll go. Now let’s stop this twisted game we’re playing before I change my mind." Green flames engulfed your figure for a brief moment. "ARGHHH!" A weep escaped your lips as you felt the pain from the flames burning the life out of you. The cuts in your wrists and your supposedly wounded chest is nowhere to be seen. Like a vivid dream that never happened.

You looked at your pathetic state sitting down in the muddy grass as malleus hend unto your arms. Pools of red blood stained your white dress. The rain wailing as the thunders roared in the distance. Green flames engulfing the rose bushes despite the raindrops pouring. You stared at the dagger in your lap that stabbed your flesh, yet the supposedly wounded places are smooth and flawless. No sign of scar or wound to be seen. Nothing...

You stared at the man before you. Towering over your figure, Malleus put a hand on your cheeks as he dries off the droplets that hit your face. Peridot eyes stared down at you. The anger and disappointment still present in his eyes as green flames swallowed the gardens. Oddly enough, this moment you felt nothing, just an empty void inside you, no means of escaping this nightmare. Nothing... Absolutely nothing... No fear, No remorse, No hatred, No Love.

"You cannot escape me, my darling. No one in this twisted world will love you as much as I do. I am your one true love and I hope you won’t forget that..." Threats that are masked by sweet sugary words like cheap rotten candies... How disgusting... "Are you sure about that My Love??" Mocking the fae with your words, you inched closer to close the gap that seperated the both of you. Lips mingled with each other, but instead of a sweet reaction from an innocent kiss, The fae violently reacted as he pulled away grabbing unto both your wrists.

"What did you drink?" Burning eyes that gleamed fury and anger... What a sight to see... The taste of bitter tea mixed with rotting flavors still lingered in your mouth. A wicked smile plastered across your face, you replied "I wonder what it was?" Sharp nails dug under your flesh. Scarlet liquids dripped across your arms. Eyes burning with rage stared down at you. Green flames that glowed surrounded the both of you. Booming thunders echoed up the sky. Loud raindrops hitting the grounds grew louder.

You reached for your pocket to hold out the note you were reading for weeks now. "Eternal slumber" 2 words made the great Malleus Draconia insane. 2 words that destroyed the pseudo world the both of you lived in. 2 words that set aflame to both of your twisted worlds.. 2 words that will set you free from this joke you call life.... Freedom tastes sweet.

"You’re not allowed to leave me... what have you done? Don't do this to me... stop joking around... Y/n you love me right" Eyes brewing with insanity darted their gaze unto you. The man drowning in delusion was drunken in madness. Pale hands made their way to your neck, ice cold fingers gripped your skin as black nails dug your flesh. "Even if I have to use every spell, every magic, I'll make sure to make you wake up and punish you. y/n you won’t escape from me." Tears fell from the fae's face as madness devoured both of your souls. Hands that gripped your neck tightly shook. As Malleus let's go of you. The fae embraced you rigidly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. A weep escapes his lips "Y/n dont leave me..." salty tears trickled down your neck. Alas, you cannot savor this victory for long.

A mocking grin graced your face for one last time. The sky seemed to settle down, but the flames burned brighter. Triumph....this was your sweet triumph... It's funny how you won but now you've lost so much. In fact, you've lost everything now, even yourself.....how sad.... Your eyes began to grown heavy, you simply felt tired. "Goodnight." Your eyes closed shut, never to open again. Unless with a kiss of true love, eternal slumber shall devour you.

The End....

HGNNNNN MALLEUS WAS THE EASIEST TO BULLY OK!? I wanted to do vil, but I'm sweating too much, I can't even think of a concept🤦🤦 oh wait I actually have one..... But that's for another day( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Hope y'all enjoyed this low quality yandere time!🥺🥺🥺🥺

Tagging: @ghostiebabey u said tag u if I make yandere content..... Shame on me for this😔✊

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #disney twst #twst fanfic #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twst malleus #twst imagines

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flooffybits · 4 years

Text

Terrible Things

Idol: Kim Yoohyeon (Dreamcatcher)

When everything is not as it seems, you find yourself stuck with having no idea what to do or where to go. Can your soulmate help you believe that she’s meant for you the way you are for her?

Warning: mentions of violence, a car crash, bit of angst

*updated: Not So Bad

☕buy me a coffee☕

When you were younger, you often wondered how you constantly got bruises. At first, you didn't quite mind, considering all the reckless things you've done with friends and being prone to accidents when playing games. But after a while, a new bruise tended to come up without your knowledge, and that was when you had decided to ask your mother about it.

"Mommy, I have a bruise." You had told her, and the woman smiled affectionately as she crouched down to your level just so she could get a good look at your knee where the said bruise had formed. "Did you hit the table again, sweetie?" She asked lightly, moving to grab an ice pack as you climbed up your assigned chair.

You frowned at her teasing tone and furiously shook your head. "No! I didn't even get hit anywhere." You pouted, huffing as you glared at your knee, missing the way your mother had paused before she finally reached you. "I don't even remember touching it, and I was just laying in bed." You explain, confusion clear in your voice as she bent down to press the covered pack to the bruise.

"I'm sure it will go away soon. Maybe you hit it without realizing. We sometimes get hit but don't feel it, so you just probably didn't notice." She assures you and you frown, watching as the mark is covered up by the ice pack.

Oddly enough, your mother doesn't bring it up or is quick to shift your attention elsewhere whenever you would get a bruise or scratches anywhere on your body without your knowledge of how it got there. At some point, she’s even stopped asking how you would get these marks, only calling you clumsy as she tended to them.

You don’t know that these marks aren’t exactly your own, but someone else’s. And while you did get the same marks that they have, it was not a mere one sided thing.

Soulmates.

The concept is foreign to you, nothing but a fable that you would see in movies and books, taking form in various ways like seeing only black and white or having a red string attached to your pinky finger. So, whenever you heard a few people speak about their soulmates, you just brushed it off as their wishful thinking because you knew for a fact that there was no such thing.

But at the curious age of fourteen, you questioned your mother about it due to your friends revealing that they’ve “found” their soulmates.

“Mom, are soulmates real?” You questioned nonchalantly before shoving your spoon into your mouth. When you look up, there’s a slight grimace in her features that makes you slowly drop your spoon back on the plate and wait for her answer.

“Y/n, you know that those are just fictional things, right?” She retorts with a question instead, further sparking your curiosity due to how she’s always avoiding this subject. “Yeah, but my friends are always talking about it and Yerim said that she found her soulmate the other day when she got a scratch on her leg just as Joy unnie fell off her bike and scratched her leg, too.” You tell her while tapping your finger against the side of your plate. “And then Jungeun unnie met this girl in one of her cooking classes that got a cut when she did, too.”

“Y/n.” Your father’s stern voice stopped you from saying anything more. You had to bite your tongue as your head dropped down, quietly apologizing as they both watched you with regretful looks on their faces.

Your mother places a gentle hand against your skin, lifting your head so you could look at her face that was adorned with a small smile. "Y/n, honey, we aren't mad, but please don't talk about that again."

"But why?"

She shakes her head, sighing as a certain emotion flashes in her eyes. But it's gone before you could even notice or understand. "Please?"

After that incident, you've never brought the subject about soulmates ever again. You were terrified with the look in your parents’ eyes when they had addressed it and you knew that the best thing to do was to drop the whole thing instead of getting into a fight with them about it.

“Okay, what is up with you?” Yerim questioned after she noticed you brooding in the corner yet again. “You’re never usually this quiet and I don’t think I’ve seen you crack an actual smile this whole week.” She pointed out while you breathe out before running your fingers through your hair. “It’s nothing.”

But it looked like your answer only further irritated your friend. “Oh, cut with the “it’s nothing” crap. I have never seen you look so miserable for all the years we’ve known each other.” She points out before shifting in her seat to properly stare at you. “Is this about not finding your soulmate yet? Because if it is, you do-”

“There are no soulmates, Yeri.” You cut her off before she could even finish and your best friend looks at you with a dumbfounded expression written across her face. “What are you talking about? Soulmates are real! I have Joy to prove that even though she can be annoying. Even Nayeon found her soulmate, too.” She exclaims and you shake your head, scowling. “Those are just coincidences, Yeri. Just because you happen to get hurt or… whatever, the same way doesn’t mean anything.”

At the age of twenty, you still don’t believe in them. Six years after the confrontation with your parents, you ended up simply believing what they told you and ignored all the things that did happen to you, making up excuses and lying to yourself even though you knew the bruises weren’t your doings.

“Y/n, soulmates are the best thing ever! I mean, it is kinda weird having to experience getting injured just like them, but it’s also just so mind blowing how your soulmate feels exactly what you feel.” She explains and you furrow your brows at her in confusion. “What are you talking about? That’s not a real thing.”

But she shakes her head frantically before she’s suddenly sitting in front of you. “Soulmates are real. Why do you think you get all these random cuts and bruises?” She asks you, but with your mother’s words still in mind, you found it hard to believe her. “Yeri, those are just accidents. You can’t get hurt because of-”

But she cuts you off before you can finish your statement, pinching her hand hard enough to leave crescents on her skin while also turning red. And not a moment later, she’s getting a text from Sooyoung, asking what she did.

Yet you still refuse to believe her, shaking your head as she tries to convince you that soulmates aren’t just a fictional thing told to children. “You have a soulmate out there. I mean your parents are soulmates. That’s how things work.”

Later that night, you’re left on your own to fend against your thoughts. What Yerim told you was stuck in your head and you just couldn’t shake it off.

Your mother told you that there was no such thing and yet your best friend had so much conviction that they were.

You had no idea what to believe.

So in the dead of the night, you go down to the kitchen to grab a drink that could hopefully calm the storm raging inside your head until pain shoots to your head, causing the glass to drop from your hands when you grip your head to soothe it.

“Y/n?” Your mother’s voice calls out and the lights flicker on for her to see you leaning against the kitchen counter, glass shards scattered at your feet. “Honey, what happened?” She asked while hurrying to your side, being mindful not to step on any of the pieces. “Sorry, just got a headache.” You muttered while standing up straight and then looking at the woman when she began to check you for injuries.

Though while she searched you for any marks, you couldn’t help but stare at the marks on her neck that looked awfully like a hand. “Did someone hurt you?” You weren’t stupid to know what that was, and you felt your stomach drop at the thought of who could possibly be the source of the bruise appearing on her neck.

Her hand shoots up to the marks and her eyes widen before shaking her head. “No, honey. It isn’t what it looks like.” She tries to tell you, but you’re already exiting the kitchen and making your way to your parents’ room.

“Y/n!” While your mother does try to stop you, you’re much faster and soon find yourself standing at the entrance of their room and turning the lights on to see no one present. Looking around the room, you see no signs of your father at all.

Turning around, you look at your mother’s distraught face, your hands shaking as you lick your lips. “Where is he?” You ask but she doesn’t respond, enough to further agitate you and you find your voice rising in volume when you speak one more time. “Where is he and what the hell did he do?”

“He’s not home! He went out to… to clear his head.” She says pathetically and you know that there’s more she isn’t telling you. “Does he realize people will know?” You ask again, and this time she grimaces before lowering her head. “They won’t.”

“You have a handprint on your neck! He obviously has one, too!”

“He doesn’t! I told you that this soulmate thing is not real!” She retorts, but it’s clear by the tears in her eyes that she was trying to convince herself rather than you.

“Why can’t you just tell me the truth, mom? Everyone I’ve met keeps saying they’re real… everyone but you and dad.” Your mother withers at the pleading tone and she can see just how much you’re struggling with the situation you’re put in.

She bites her lip, contemplating again and again whether she could finally tell you. “I’m old enough to understand, mom. Please.” And you were right. You were a bright child and she knows that the longer she keeps this secret from you, you were only going to get hurt and possibly hear it from someone else.

“Your father… he’s dead.” She breathes out, letting her tears finally escape after seemingly being held back for how many years. “He died when you were only a year old. He was my soulmate.” She whispers while wiping her tears away. “But he died and I… soulmates who lose their other half basically grow numb.” She informs you while taking a seat on the bed. “When he died, I felt the pain wash over me until it just… stopped.”

Listening to everything your mother said, you felt your heart constrict and you had to grab on to her dresser just to keep yourself up. “Taewo… he was never a believer of soulmates. And when we met, I could never truly love him the same way I did with your father. And he knew that, too, especially when I have you.”

“Then why hide it from me?” You didn’t understand why she had to blind you from the reality of what soulmates were. She was hurting, but that didn’t mean she had to hide the truth from you when you’ve been desperately trying to find answers all this time.

“Because I didn’t want you suffering the same way I did.” You stare at her in disbelief, anger slowly bubbling inside of you. “So instead of letting me believe I could be happy with someone, you decided to keep me in the dark because of something that happened to you?” You scoff and she shoots to her feet to look at you. “I was doing it for your sake!”

“I’m going to experience getting hurt one way or another but you don’t get to decide how my life should go!” You retort. But before you could even think or react, your mother’s hand made contact with your cheek. “I am still your mother! I have a right in your life!” She claimed, but you look back at her with a blank face, stepping away and shaking your head.

“You may be my mother, but you are no god to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. Hitting me? You’re no different from him.” You spat out before quickly exiting the room, refusing to be around your mother much longer than you needed to be.

You ignore her when she calls after you. You ignore her even when the rain hits your skin as you run to your car.

You just needed to be away.

Your mother had good intentions, you understand that, but you just couldn’t shake off the fact that she lied to you for your entire life, pretending that everything was perfectly fine when there was so much you didn’t even know about yourself.

Yerim would probably let you stay with her for the time being, but it was far too late and she’s most likely asleep by now. But you had no actual place to go, forgetting your wallet at home and leaving you with nothing but your phone and the clothes that were now wet from the rain when you left the house.

Being so stuck in your head, you failed to notice the car coming at you until it was too late. You tried to avoid it, causing your own car to jerk to the side. But with the slippery road, you end up going off the road until your car slams right into a tree, your head smacking against the window and making you dizzy.

You sit there for a few minutes, your body aching, before you force yourself to push the door open and exit the car to properly assess the damage, though it was clear that the front of the vehicle was crushed due to the collision.

“Just great.” You mutter before slamming the door shut and then sitting on the side of the road with no energy or even motivation to get up. You just hold your head in your hands while letting the rain further soak your clothes and hair.

Unsure of how long you sat there in the middle of who knows where, you don’t notice the person coming up to you until the rain stops beating down on your miserable figure. It causes you to look up because you’re certain you can still hear the rumbling of thunder and the rain tapping against your ruined car. But as soon as you lift your head, you’re met with a pair of beautiful brown eyes staring right at you with concern written all over her face. But other than that, there’s a cut running along her cheekbone that you can’t help but ask at the same time she speaks.

“Are you okay?”

“You’re hurt.”

Her eyes widen as you stare back at her. She crouches down to see you better and she gets to properly see your face, seeing that there was more than a mere cut on your cheek. She reaches one hand out to gently touch your face, her fingers light as a feather when they brush against your mother’s handprint from when she slapped you.

“What happened to you?” She asks softly and you don’t know what or why but you felt as though you had no problems telling a complete stranger your worries. “I… I had a fight with my mom and she, well… she slapped me and I left.” The girl’s eyes soften, glancing back at your wrecked car before she’s offering her hand to you.

You stare at it oddly but she shows you a smile to tell you that she has no intentions of hurting you. “I just want to help. I promise, I won’t hurt you.” She promises and you pause for a split second before accepting her hand.

Her smile widens at the feeling of your hand in her own and she immediately helps you stand. “Can you walk?” She asks and you move your legs a bit, making sure that you hadn’t gotten hurt too bad, before nodding to her. “Yeah. I think I’m good. But are you sure about helping a stranger out?” You ask her.

You were expecting her to just shrug, say it was some sort of good deed for the day or anything, but her answer surprises you. “Well, considering I stumbled upon someone who could possibly be at the receiving end of my clumsiness when I was younger, I think it’s only right to make it up to you, don’t you think?”

It takes you a minute before her words sink in and you feel your heart jump to your throat. “You’re-”

“My name is Yoohyeon. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

You stare at her side profile for a while, seeing the similar looking handprint on her face when you follow her to her own car, which isn’t too far away from yours. “Y/n. And I wish we met in better circumstances.”

She giggles lightly while opening the door for you. “Well, at least I still found you despite the circumstances.”

#girl group #girl group scenarios #girl group imagines #dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher scenarios #dreamcatcher imagines #dreamcatcher yoohyeon #kim yoohyeon #yoohyeon dreamcatcher #yoohyeon scenarios #yoohyeon imagines #yoohyeon #soulmate au

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thelostguardianau · 4 years

Text

The Lost Guardian- Chapter Eight

“Heed the Silenced”

(Authors note: aha.. yknow I should probably stop making promises for this fic. Months later, w/ a chapter that doesn’t have Thomas in it, three different outlines down and i’m really just at the mercy of this fic at this point xD considering midway through writing this chapter I had to cut and rewrite an entire scene i’d spent a month on bc I’d decided that Dee had a chance at redemtion that added an actual direction and a tangable end goal to this story. So. Yeah. And!! A loud Thank You!! to @bumblebeekitten for helping me bounce ideas back & forth for this au and being my beta for this chapter!!)

Character Info & Art:

Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Pairings: Eventual Polyamsanders (LAMPR/CALMR-a.k.a LAMP/CALM + Remy ‘Sleep’ Sanders)

Warnings: THIS CHAPTER IS KINDA DIALOG HEAVY!(sorry) Currently depicted as morally grey Deceit(subject to change in future chapters), though the side of Deceit from his first appearance doesnt make an appearance in this chapter and it is explained why, mentions of past betrayal and dark descriptions of bodily concepts, curses, limitations, and changes only really explained as possible through the lore of this au. Deceit speaks in riddles because he has to, ominous warnings. Virgil still isn’t okay mentally. Mentions of indifference to death, lack of selfworth or self preservation. (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

[[MORE]]

Brown eyes flutter open at the chilly breeze of a fan, and the ravenette’s mind comes to realize that he’s been moved from resting on his stomach to laying on his back. Groggy from his much too short nap, it takes a few moments to realize there are no warm bodies near him or under him, no breathing or chatter of familiar voices to sooth him.

The room, he realizes, is empty.

The room itself is, in fact, not Remy’s bedroom at all.

Shooting straight up, Virgil’s first clear thought is that he’s back at home. At his apartment, this time in his hoodie yet still roughed up from his latest ‘adventure’. The scene is eerily familiar, and yet he knows this time that work is not where he needs to be. It’s already daylight and his mind now knows this familiar scene, he should feel alone. Yet, this time he can hear the sound of honking cars and people, his loud neighbor from upstairs stomping around.

It doesn’t make sense as he walks to his window and peers out to see vague cars and people, he can’t even seem to make out any individual faces. It’s grey and raining outside, but there is no pattering sound against the foggy window. ‘What’s happening?’ Virgil wonders.

“Life seemed so simple a week ago, even months ago, did it not..?” A familiar voice drifts from behind him. Ice cold fear shoots down the ravenette’s spine as he recognizes the voice.

“I can hardly believe you were able to leave it, your routine. It was your everything, back when you came to terms with what you had left. Am I wrong, Virgil?” Whirling around to face the voice, Virgil finds the terrifying ex-Guardian sitting on his couch looking quite at home, if a little sheepish.

“What do you care?” He spat back, stepping back against his window.

“I am only looking out for you, you know. I have been protecting you all your life. Of all people I think I would know what is best for you, don't you think? We are connected after all, you and I.” The man sighed, making a surrendering motion with his hands.

“Why would I trust you?! You tried to kill me yesterday!” Virgil growled. “Why--h-how are you even here!?”

“False, my dear Virgil. I tried to warn you. Sure,” The guardian rolled his hand as he spoke, “I am forced to have a round-about way of speaking my truths, it is just part of my consequences it seems. But how else was I going to get you to listen to me after the others fed you lies about me? I do sincerely apologize for my other half being rough, though. I cannot quite.. Control.. Him.” The guardian tilted his bowler hat down to guiltily hide his eyes, regret briefly twisting his expression.

Finally the Guardian stood, dusting himself off as if his immaculate attire had acquired dust from just existing in his apartment. “I needed my physical body to reach yours and make our soul connection strong again, so that my soul could reach yours. However.. The pain I caused you was far from my intention. I am deeply regretful that it came down to.. That awful encounter.

“To answer your question though, Virgil, I am here because I created ‘here’. A realm made to form this illusion of being home, sweet home, just on the corner of the little street you had come to live on for the past year. It is all my doing. Where you stand is simply an illusion only you and I can access, a manipulation of your dreams and memories. The only place where the real me can talk to you mostly unhindered.” The guardian gestured to his surroundings.

“It takes only one person to flip your life on it’s head, a matter of hours to make the decision of a lifetime, and a matter of days to have completely changed your life’s direction,” He turned to Virgil, and looked him straight in the eyes, feeling distant and lost.

“And only a matter of years to succumb to the depression of the lonely consequences..”

Virgil blinked at that. The sad, longing tone had him thrown for a loop; it almost felt like the Guardian wasn't even quite talking to Virgil. “I-What..? I.. I don’t understand.”

The Guardian shook his head, snapping out of it and refocusing himself. "Nevermind that. It is time I talked to you for real, if you will have me?" The Guardian held out a hand politely, though there was no real expectation for Virgil to take it.

After a pause, Virgil gave a slight nod, still suspicious of the other's intent. The Guardian returned the nod, and his hand fell to his side.

“I am limited to the time that you rest and for now I will not be able to explain myself thoroughly, so, I ask you to understand that I do not expect you to trust me when I am done. I honestly do not expect you to ever trust me. With the mistakes I have made, I firmly believe I would not deserve it.”

Virgil blinked in surprise, not having expected his captor to admit to his faults straight off the bat.

“Okay.. Well, we’re here, might as well hear your side of the story. So.. Shoot.” Virgil said lightly, distrust and suspicion still evident in his tone and stance.

“I would assume at this point you are well aware of how the story you have been told paints me as the villain, a mastermind seeking power, immortality, and revenge? At least, that is what I am led to believe is still the story, it has been many years since I have heard the tale first hand… And... Well. Would that not be so lovely?” Virgil made a face, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“I am serious. Life would be so much easier if it was all black and white, true or false, good and bad, would it not? If those who meant well knew everything and those malicious few could not corrupt anything?” The Guardian frowned a bit, frustrated with his words that couldn’t seem to cooperate with him.

“Would it not be lovely if I could talk to you without fighting to keep from turning every honest thought into a question or theoretical statement just to let it be said? That my words could hold a meaning not forcibly disguised in the forms of fables and riddles?” The Guardian looked down lamely, his words tapering off in agitation. For a moment, Virgil waited as the Guardian was silent, contemplative. Then, the next moment the Guardian’s face scrunched up in sadness and his words were soft as he placed a hand over his golden wrist markings.

“My story is complicated, and twisted with shades of grey. One could say what I did was an attempt to keep you safe, another could say that what I did was outlandish and impulsive, and stupid. But no one will be able to tell you that what I did went according to the plan I had... at first. No one will tell you that my intention was to save you, to keep your fate safe. No one will tell you that my plan was ruined. Because there is no longer anyone who remembers what happened that night except for me,”

The Guardian’s eyes flicked up to meet the ravenette’s, a hurt look passing over his face as he continued. His steady voice now just barely trembled with uncertainty as he continued.

“No one but me and the soul who wants so desperately for everyone to forget. The soul who ripped my own in two to bury the secret, and ruin you and I both.”

“My final warning is this: Beware of the man who carries the world on his shoulders unflinchingly, he will be watching you closely. You have immunity to his power thanks to our connection, you might use this knowledge well to find the truth that lies in plain sight. However, your fate lies in the decisions you chose to make with this knowledge, I can only warn you of what might come.” The Guardian nodded solemnly, choosing to finish his cryptic warning there.

Virgil stood there, reeling with the information. Sure, he definitely wasn’t completely convinced he could trust this cryptic stranger, Guardian? Foe? Friend? Virgil wasn’t really sure what to call him anymore. But damn, his life was already so fucking crazy, this was all just fucking crazy! He could just be dreaming for all he knew.

But… Deep inside, he was hoping he wasn’t.

This was, well. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear when facing the man whose, er, body? Had originally tried to strangle him? Now he’d heard his sob story and, well, Virgil wasn’t that easy to fool, but he’d also been told that it wasn’t expected that he’d trust the guy even in the end and he didn’t really want to.

He’d been on the path to death for so long, and then just two days ago everything had changed. So much was happening, it was frankly exhausting. What the fuck was he, some book protagonist? Couldn’t he get a little time to think about all this before he went crazy?

Still, something under all his incredulity begged to hear the guardian out. He vaguely wondered how Stockholm Syndrome worked before he gave in a little. What difference did a little more crazy make in his life at this point?

“Fine, I’ll heed your warning, or whatever the fuck. But only if you can tell me what you mean when you said that this guy ripped your, uh, soul? In two.” Virgil huffed, partially relaxing. It was odd how comforting he found it to be, floating in this weird feeling imaginary world, where he could interact with objects that weren’t real. It felt like he was really standing in his home, and yet it was just built from memory.

The guardian’s solemn expression formed into a grim smile, eyes distant once more before nodding. “I will do the best that my words will allow.” Virgil nodded, and waited for the now very familiar stranger to gather his words and take a breath. Then he began, his markings lightly flashing gold.

“You find yourself whole one day, as you have always been. To be whole of body, whole of mind, both human and guardian in nature. To have conscious thought and control over your whole physical being and soul..

“You find that yourself and others of the winged variety are capable of separating your soul from your being, though only the most Elite can do it well. You find out the family you made would soon be in danger. You then find yourself lost and alone when you once had a home to call your own.

“You find yourself knowing a truth, a perilous truth. Your home is in shambles now that you are gone, yet they do not know it. This truth is at fault, but the blame is not fully your own in a world built on lies.

“The source of truth tucks itself into blankets of grey, drawing itself further from discovery with each passing day. Now only you know the truth. The source of the truth finds you, it seeks to hide you too.

“You find yourself split one day, as you have never been before. Forced apart from the body, trapped within the mind. Guardian in nature, to have conscious thought and your dying soul trapped within, a false mind piloting the puppeteered confines of a broken body with a blind goal.”

“You find you cannot control what you used to, you are a prisoner to a body that is no longer your own, mostly unconscious to the world around it. Crazed by the false emotions that fuel it.”

“The you that used to be is no longer, and has not been for over a hundred years. The world that knew you knows not of what you’ve become. Knows not of the shackles that bind you.

“The you that used to be is no longer, and will never be again.” The Guardian finished, hesitant yellow eyes meeting Virgil’s carefully. Phantom goosebumps trail down Virgil's arms as the final sentence strikes a cord in him.

Virgil found he really wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, the rawness in the other’s tone spoke volumes of the sore spot they’d reached.

“Your body rests, but your mind also needs time to process today. I shall see you when you next rest, though only if you wish to seek me. Rest well knowing that you will not be scooped from your safety once more, as I hope I’m never to do so again. And...” The guardian paused, considering their next words very carefully.

“I know it is selfish to ask... but, I hope and wish that Thomas is alright, after all this time... Do take care of him, would you?”

Virgil paused and stared, finding only concern and longing in the guardian’s expression. And, well, fuck. What a way to pull at a guy’s heartstrings.

“Er, yes. Yeah. I’ll try my best.” Virgil gave his signature mock salute, the Guardian tipping his hat in return.

“Trying is all I could ever ask of you, Virgil. Rest well, you will need it.” And with that final sentence, the world around Virgil gently grew dark, and he sunk into the comforting arms of sleep.

Despite it all, Virgil still found his mind vaguely conscious. Sluggish at best, but awake nonetheless.

He figured it was likely some lingering effect from the Guardian’s dream realm, but didn’t dwell on it. His life had way too much else going on to be debating the side effects gained from Guardian powers.

First, he’d been pretty damn convinced two days ago that he was going to be a goner by the end of the month. Completely resigned to die believing that his very existence was scorned by the world he’d been unwillingly born into.

Then Patton had stumbled onto his shitty apartment’s roof, found him in all of his resigned and depressed glory, and changed his life forever.

They’d mostly skipped the whole ‘Human nature is a series of life, death, and rebirth’ spiel that guardians were known to give in these situations because... Well, It wasn’t like they’d really had time to address it before the truth about his soul had come out. That he wasn’t exactly human to begin with.

Virgil didn’t think that Guardians had ever had a situation like his before. There wasn’t a protocol for comforting a kidnapped guardian soul. It’d never been a possibility before!

So it wasn’t surprising then, that Virgil didn’t have any better of a time processing it.

His whole life, all that he’d known to be true, all that he’d believed in? Everything had been uprooted and turned on its head. He’d apparently been living a life that was not supposed to be.

Perhaps for the first time in two days, Virgil realized that the thought of his death at the end of the month had not been consistently worming into his brain. It had once been something he could never seem to stop thinking about.

The death indicated by his soul timer was now perhaps the farthest thing from his mind.

Perhaps the strangest thing so far was that he wasn’t alone anymore. He’d possibly had more physical contact with other people in the short two(three?) days since this adventure started then he’d had in the past 16 years.

And wasn’t it just the cherry on top that he’d also gotten nearly choked out by the very guardian accused of kidnapping his soul in the first place? And now he was considering trusting the damn guy.

Virgil hollowly wondered why he even cared.

Why did he care about staying alive now when he’s spent his whole life believing he never would? Up until two days ago, that belief had still been true. But now? Avoiding death was the goal, Logan had stated as much.

Really, would Virgil lose anything by trusting the banished guardian? Even if the guardian was trying to trick Virgil and got him killed, what difference would it make? That’d always been the goal before. What did he, Virgil, really have to lose?

If it happened that Virgil lived past his twentieth birthday, if he became a guardian like he was supposed to be in the first place. Would he want that? Did he want that?

He wasn’t sure. Didn’t know if he ever had been.

His life had been built on resignation to the inevitable. Nothing seemed to motivate him towards liking or hating that possibility. He was just that.

Indifferent.

And wasn’t that just the greatest revelation of the night? Finding out that you’re indifferent to living or dying.

Once this was all over, if Virgil lived that long, he would make a note to see a therapist. He knew very well that this kind of mindset was unhealthy to keep. It just couldn’t be helped that the nineteen years he’d lived with this particular affliction couldn’t be fixed by a few extra hugs and comforting words.

Even if he didn’t like the fact that death sounded like the more peaceful option.

His thoughts paused, mentally sighing at the downward spiral he’d caught himself in. It was tiring, and going nowhere.

‘For now,’ he decided, ‘I’m just going to see how this plays out. The Guardian said that none of the others remember the truth, or whatever. So, It’s a ‘he said-they said’ situation right now...’

‘I’ll have to keep an eye out for the guy that he warned me about, then. Who knows if he's as dangerous as The Guardian made him out to be. It’s hard to tell with the weird way he has to talk..’

Virgil paused again, a realization striking him. If he could have groaned, he would have. Not once had he been given or even remembered to ask for the name of said Guardian. What was he supposed to call the rogue Guardian now? He couldn’t just keep calling him The Guardian!

Amidst the disbelief of such a slip up, a foreign yet familiar feeling prodded questioningly at his conscious mind. Adding confusion into the mix of emotions, he returned the feeling with a questioning thought of his own.

He briefly heard the Guardian’s whispy voice once more, now acting with permission.

“You may call me Janus”

Then all at once, Virgil woke up.

Chapter Nine

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #lamp/calm #LAMPR/CALMR #LAMP/CALM + remy ‘sleep’ sanders #tw angst #tw long post #long fic #thelostguardianau #morally grey deceit #for the time being #the aim is that he reach sympathetic but trust aint that easy

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dangerousconnoisseurdonut · 3 years

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Gotham Monster!Verse AU’s?

Alright, but now, you all know that I am obsessed with Gotham AU’s but what I haven’t talked about is my LOVE of the Classic Universal Monsters, and I want to get your opinions on some of these crazy ideas of mine!

Dracula/Vampires: I already have two AU’s lined up with vampires, my Underworld AU/re-write and my Master Vampire Jervis idea so, let’s just move on.

Frankenstein: Victor (do I really have to specify at this point? You all know which one I’m obsessed with) and Bridgit are Strange’s modern day Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein creations and he wants them to mate, but the two can’t seem to stand each other so he hopes co-habitation will force them to get along. One day, however, Bruce comes to get answers about his parents death (or he’s an investigative journalist that gets caught, whichever sounds better) and, instead of outright killing him, they throw him to ‘The Ice Freak and Fire Bride’. Everyone expects to see Bruce get ripped to shreds, frozen and smashed, or just burnt to a crisp, but instead, the pair are most curious about him and attack any who try to take him away from them.

The Mummy: This is one I’m not sure on, just because we’ve had numerous interpretations of the Mummy story (yes, the one with Tom Cruise was trash, but the story idea was still unique). So, let’s try this route; villain of your choice (I’m leaning towards Jerome, Jeremiah, or Jonathan myself) is an ancient Egyptian Prince/Princess who tries to invoke Kek, the Egyptian God of Darkness and Chaos, but is caught before the ritual can be completed and mummified alive. Transport to modern day and the Wayne’s are funding an excavation for the fabled Prince/Princess who Courted Chaos. When they find the tomb, Bruce accidentally gets blood on the sarcophagus and awakens the sleeping prince/princess who is very grateful and wants to make Bruce their consort to rule over the chaos Kek will bring when they successfully bring him about this time.

The Invisible Man: Jonathan (or Jerome just because I can see the crazy little shit enjoying this) invents a concoction that turns him invisible for a few hours which he uses to scare the daylights out of people. Then, one night, Bruce comes upon the scene where a young couple are being mugged and saves them, unaware of his invisible audience. Jonathan tails him to try and understand why he wasn’t afraid of getting hurt and why he would put himself in danger for strangers and tries to psyche him out, but Bruce is quick to realize he’s got an unwanted guest. He fights Jonathan, almost getting the upper hand but he forgot about Jonathan’s chemicals and is sadly knocked out. When he comes too, he is strapped to a bed and Jonathan wants to see just how brave Bruce can be in the face of the unknown.

The Wolfman: Poor, weak, little Jonathan is constantly picked on in high school, and often finds himself being protected from the bullies by his crush, Bruce Wayne. Sick of always needing to be rescued, he wants Bruce to see him as someone strong enough to stand beside him, not behind him. While asking his dad for advice, Gerald has to leave suddenly and leaves an untested serum out where it shouldn’t be. It’s meant to make people better by giving them certain attributes of wolves; their speed, strength, sense of smell and hearing, lightness of feet, everything Jonathan needs for Bruce to really see him. After he takes the serum, people are shocked by how different Jonathan becomes, including less fearful and more aggressive. Soon, however, there are news reports of the bullies of the school being attacked by some rabid dogs, alive but almost torn to pieces. Not to mention Jonathan has started asking Bruce on dates and can be a little... aggressive when kissing. After all, all wolves need a mate.

The Phantom of the Opera: Jervis is the Phantom who loves a stagehand, Jonathan Crane, who loves Theodora Galavan's (Galavan as a woman, *shudders*; I think I just gave myself a case of the heebie jeebies) understudy, Bryce Wayne, a beautiful singer and dancer who sadly has not had the chance to shine yet. Jervis strikes a deal with Jonathan; if he helps Bryce become the star, Jonathan will allow Jervis to have sex with him. Jonathan is so in love with Bryce, and more than a little intrigued by what the Phantom has in store to make Theodora (who’s a real bitch to everyone) leave, that he agrees. As Bryce rises, and Jonathan actually does start to fall in love with Jervis, Jervis himself falls for Bryce's charm and beauty too and decides, why not have his cake and eat it too? Jervis proposes the idea to Jonathan who loves it as he too would get the best of both worlds and wouldn’t have to worry about Bryce being chewed up and spat out by a fickle audience. Jonathan gives her a sleeping draft and they manage to transfer her to 'Underland' where Jervis and Jonathan set about convincing the young Opera Star she'll only get hurt up there, so why not stay with them?

Creature from the Black Lagoon: My personal favourite of the Classic Monsters, so who better than my favourite Rogue for this one? Bryce is part of an expedition to find remains of a fossil that could prove some sort of link between marine life and land life in the arctic region. While there, she is spotted by a creature that is half man/half octopus (our own Mr. Freeze), who decides she would make a very pretty mate and kidnaps her, taking her to his underground spot that has a dry spot where she can rest. Unable to hold her breath long enough to escape on her own, and knowing the search parties probably think she drowned, Bryce is very limited in options, particularly when Victor offers her a potion that will let her breathe under water where she won’t feel the cold as strongly. Bryce agrees to take it, hoping to get back to her party, but Victor was ready for any kind of tricks and manages to freeze her arms and legs, where he then proceeds to show her how... talented, his tentacles are.

I also have one or two for nature spirit Ivy and one featuring a plot similar to a movie from the early 2000s called Mermaid Chronicles: She Creature, but this is long enough.

#gotham #classic monsters #prompts #bruce wayne #batman's Rogues

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straymackerel · 4 years

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Hello! Can I request #12 from the event prompt with Akutagawa? Congrats btw! 😊

akutagawa + zhaghzhagh || ژاقژاق (persian, n.) the uncontrollable chattering of teeth, due to rage or cold.

➽─{yayayay more akutagawa! i had an ✨awakening✨ after my last event ask for him teehee}─❥

Upon your assignment to the guerilla attack force, your friends in the Port Mafia gave you their solemn condolences. “Good luck,” they told you, smiles dropping as they heard the news. Their voices danced the line between nervous and sympathetic, too afraid to fully commit to either. Neither cautionary tales nor measures of advice were offered up; each and every one of you were already familiar with many a horror story of Akutagawa’s brutality. And for a mere rookie to join the fray? People ranked as low as yourselves had much to fear about the upper echelons. Your very promotion itself was counterintuitive, alarm-raising.

Naturally, your friends were quick to write you─the only one of the group who dared to rise the ranks─off and out of mind. Rumor has it they placed bets the same day you were put under the direct command of Akutagawa Ryunosuke. Rumor has it they were betting on how long you’d stay alive.

You were skeptical, as anyone who aspired to climb that high should be. You dismissed your colleagues’ concerns with a wave of a hand and a shake of the head, certain your fate was not a gruesome nor sealed one. More harrowing than the rumors of the Silent Rabid Dog were those concerning the very apex of the Mafia, the ringleader himself; surely, a man as merciless as Mori Ogai would never let such fabled recklessness run a command unit.

You were half right... and half wrong.

Akutagawa really was a loose cannon, as you soon found out. Though his fervent goal was to advance the Mafia, he often acted of his own accord, taking drastic measures to achieve his ends. His actions were fueled by both anger and irrational jealousy to boot, a most precarious combination in practice. You often felt as if you walked a tightrope around him, as if one wrong move might send you plummeting to the ground head first.

Akutagawa's homicidal tendencies were apparent as ever as he loomed over the lifeless corpse of a double agent one frosty morning. On the very outskirts of Yokohama, you stood in silence as he kicked the motionless figure, pushing it over with his foot. A frozen face of horror came to face the sky, vacant eyes staring into the gray bleakness of winter. Akutagawa’s disappointment was nearly tangible as the both of you confirmed what you hoped was not the case: this person is not our main target.

Shivering, you turned away from the body as it leaked the crimson essence of life, tainting the brilliant blanket of snow that dusted the ground. The crystals of ice bloomed a deadly hue at your feet, shades of red sweeping the floor. Akutagawa scoffed when his communicator went off, adjusting his cravat as the operator asked for a report.

“The target is heading north. The sole accomplice we stopped has nothing of value on them,” he replied, tone cold and detached. But you knew better than most that the look on his face was one of barely contained rage; you could feel his eyes boring holes into you, even with your back turned to him.

“Yes. No. I see,” he continued. Shifting under your thin jacket, you braced yourself for nearly certain chastisement. You tuned out the conversation, unable to keep listening. Your stance only wavered in its chill-induced tremble.

This job was supposed to be a short one, hence the appointment of only two Mafia members; you planned to be in and out instead of wandering the cold for hours. The enemy turned the tables on you, leading both you and Akutagawa on a wild goose chase, one you were unable to keep up with. You most definitely slowed down your commander like a dead weight chained to his legs, and you were undoubtedly certain he despised you for it. You knotted your fingers, tips icy cold and red. Worse than punishing you immediately, he seethed in undirected annoyance.

“Tch, they put us on standby,” Akutagawa said, shoving the communications device into his pocket. “After all the trouble we went through today.” You stiffened at the prospect of the two of you alone and without witness; if he really wanted to, he could have laid you to waste right then and there. Against your better judgment, not a single word of apology slipped through your lips. The stillness was deafening. It absolutely irked him.

“Hey, did you even hear me?” he asked incredulously, the crunching of snow behind you growing closer and closer. You flinched when he placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, whipping you around. “What’s the matter with you?”

Hands clenched, you withered under Akutagawa’s gaze, squeezing your eyes shut. You may have even prayed for an instant death. Your teeth chattered, clattering against themselves with each gust of wind that flew into you, quaking under pressure and frigidity. Even without your sight you felt the formless shroud of Rashomon surround you, poised to slice through your arms and legs. Its menacing presence grazed your sides as if eager to take a bite.

“I can’t have you blanking out on me first thing in the morning,” he said, voice ragged and husky. “Seriously, what’s your deal?” You felt the monster he called an overcoat rest atop of you, no longer scraping the surface. Only after a beat and a half did you dare to open your eyes a crack, curious of the way in which you might lose your life. When your eyes fluttered open, you went into shock.

Rashomon had itself wrapped around you, tightening around your torso as it was fashioned into the vague suggestion of another coat. You tried to blink it off, wondering if it was just your imagination. But the fabric laid against you like a blanket, and it was softer than you’d ever imagined the beast-like ability. You blinked at Akutagawa’s question, unsure of exactly how to answer.

“I–didn’t I mess everything up?” Your superior sighed at your response, easing back. Swaddling you in warmth, Rashomon finally settled in place on your shaking form.

“You really weren’t paying attention, were you?” he asked, frown deepening. You nodded slowly, tugging at the black fabric. “Jeez, what a piece of work,” he said. “Listen closely this time, okay? The guys over at headquarters ordered us to follow a group of decoys. Our real target was going the opposite way the entire time,” he explained, pausing to suppress a cough. “We were duped. And so was HQ.” The words took a moment to process in your mind. When they did, you nearly keeled over.

“Oh, thank god,” you breathed, having held your breath for much too long. You sighed your relief, your three words holding still in the air. Slackening, your body almost collapsed from how tensely you held yourself.

“Well, don’t sound so relieved about it,” he said, breaking the quietude. “Might I remind you of your performance today?” You clung to Rashomon even tighter, shame returning to mind. Having chosen the wrong time to celebrate, you knocked your feet together, straightening your posture once more.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The two of you listened to the birds awaken from their slumber, chirping away as they celebrated the highly anticipated sunrise. As Akutagawa’s ability returned to you every last bit of heat that you lost, you thought to add one more thing.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Our enemies were well prepared this time,” Akutagawa said, pretending not to hear the last part you threw in. “The information we were fed led to severe understaffing, so even if our fugitive was among that group, nothing that happened was your fault alone.” Akutagawa turned to you, nodding his approval. “But if I see you running out of breath like that again─”

You nodded fervently, embarrassed. For a moment you felt Rashomon flicker, as if it was uncomfortable with being used in this way. Its startle even came close to tickling you. Akutagawa bristled at this realization, restraining himself from returning Rashomon to its proper place. You thought you heard his voice waver as he said:

“Also, do me a favor and wear more next time.”

#akutagawa ryunosuke #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa imagine #akutagawa oneshot #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs fanfic #500 followers event

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watching-pictures-move · 2 years

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Movie Review | Rocky IV: Rocky vs. Drago (Stallone, 2021)

This review contains spoilers.

In The Right Stuff, Tom Wolfe invokes the concept of single combat, a duel between two individual warriors duel representing opposing armies, in depicting the space race. In Rocky IV: Rocky vs. Drago, Carl Weathers' Apollo Creed does so as well when proposing a match between himself and Dolph Lundgren's Soviet super-boxer Ivan Drago. This is a new cut of Sylvester Stallone's oft-beloved and oft-mocked 1985 sequel that's rightfully remembered as the most propagandistic entry in the Rocky series. The original was imbued with a distinctly sparse feeling, its underdog story pitched somewhere between neorealist drama and fable, a quality which had been shed over the subsequent entries. Rocky III saw its hero having grown complacent in light of the excess of the decade, and only by going back to the basics (training under his rival Creed in a black gym, which provides Burt Young's Paulie plenty of opportunities to be racially insensitive, to put it lightly) could he overcome his opponent. Rocky IV felt like a full on embrace of that excess the hero had ostensibly rejected only a moment before. It's not a movie I remembered fondly, having found it montaged away any human interest, and had held off of revisiting it for some time. Yet through some combination of Stallone's different choices this time around (compellingly ruminated in a YouTube documentary released at the same time) and my longing for the familiar, I found myself completely enthralled this time around. This is a great movie.

Stallone wisely places a greater emphasis on characterization this time around, and Creed's self-serving appeal to the idea of single combat helps temper the film's jingoism. It's a concern that also characterizes the Rambo series, which while having a similar reputation for propaganda, is perhaps not given enough credit for the tension between its hero's motives and those of the state. The first has him facing an unwelcome return home, the second has him betrayed by bureaucrats, the third has him drawn into the Soviet-Afghan conflict only after his friend had been captured, and the fourth has him completely disillusioned by his role as a puppet for America's foreign policy aims. Stallone pointedly frames Creed's conflation of his personal motivations (wanting to recapture the thrill of being at the top) with his patriotism (wanting to defend America's honour from Soviet insults), giving a more tragic dimension to his death at Drago's hands. This also ends up humanizing Drago, a man shaped by the full weight of the Soviet state to be a perfect instrument of (recreational) violence yet barely able to emote. (And who's also responsible for some of the most ice cold shit any motherfucker has ever said on screen: "If he dies, he dies.") While Lundgren was not an especially refined actor at this point, there is real dramatic potency to the reactive quality of his performance, like his deadpan expression during the flamboyant pre-game festivities courtesy of James Brown, or when he pauses for a second too soon before answering a question from the press. (Creed II nicely provides the character with a similar poignancy, showing him to have been cast off in shame after his defeat and hollowed out by the experience.) Only after Drago loses the support of the Russian audience in the climax does he feel freed, and finds a mutual respect with Rocky. The movie bears no ill will for the Russian people, just the Soviet leadership, and ends with an impassioned plea to end the Cold War with an appeal to Rocky's own arc, so long as the Soviet's recognize America's superiority, in boxing and elsewhere.

Now, a lot of the changes are small and will likely not stick out unless you watch the accompanying documentary, but the most publicized would be the removal of Paulie's robot. On one hand, that's certainly one of the more memorable scenes from the original version and one which seems to perfectly encapsulate the overall goofiness of the affair. On the other hand, Rocky represents the human spirit while Drago represents technological innovation, so it's perhaps dramatically appropriate to remove a plot point that has Rocky and Paulie embrace the marvels of science. Ideological consistency is important in these things. (Interestingly, Stallone depicts the Soviets in almost futuristic terms, when one might think the natural choice during the materialistic Reagan years would be to opt for joyless greys to evoke their economic inferiority. I suppose you can't have an underdog story where the opponent is broke.) Of course, whatever flamboyance Rocky himself lacks is certainly found in the film's style, which is perhaps a touch more deliberate than I remember the theatrical version being but still is full of glossy, exclamatory visuals assembled with machine gun editing and paired with rousing music to match the kineticism of the images. If Eisenstein had Prokofiev, then Stallone has Vince DiCola and James Brown, whose "Living in America" I once listened to on repeat for most of a workday and whose performance provides both an unapologetic ode to and a sly parody of American iconography. (There's even a electronic update to Bill Conti's famous theme for the original, proving that we've truly arrived in the '80s.) The movie knows it's ridiculous, but doesn't care. Neither should you.

#film #movie review #rocky iv #rocky iv: rocky vs drago #sylvester stallone

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ripered · 5 years

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"Oh, quit that. Blushing is for virgins and Christians." Ahshstsgegsg

deathless sentence meme / accepting.

his brows furrow, a sickly sort of embarrassment oozing through him. heat radiates from adam prominently, and it’s something he could never contain. his mother used to rest a gentle handle on his reddened cheek and spew something french under her breath. adam couldn’t quite remember what it was, something about spoiled tomatoes. but it rang achingly true, maybe that’s what makes him the most embarrassed. the truth behind it all. he stays flushed.

he clears his throat, ❛ you don’t have to be cruel. ❜ his words are quiet, which matches his demeanor. adam’s eyes scan his surroundings for something to distract himself. ❛ your thoughts are like spilled milk. you’re wrong, by the way. blushing is also for the devoured and lonely people. ❜

#is it real or a fable / ic answers.#omg take a shot every time adam says something metaphorical or ominous #illabyed

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luchibelle · 4 years

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Past, Present and Future

The Old Gods and their unique magic have been around us for some time already but we don't know the full extent of their power. There is no doubt that a weirdwood can grant you access to the past and the present, the real question is:

Will Bran Stark be able to see the future?

My initial answer was a rotund no when anyone would ask me about it but rereading and connecting all the elements has made me change my mind about it as I found evidence of it to my dismay. In his very third chapter, Bran Stark was shown the future by the three eyed raven.

Let me walk you through this fragment and its timeline.

Past

He saw Winterfel as the eagles see it, the tall towers looking squat and stubby from above, the castle walls just lines in the dirt. He saw Maester Luwin on his balcony, studying the sky through a polished bronze tube and frowning as he made notes in a book.

There are no references of Maester Luwin's activities so it remains unclear if this is something happenning in the past or the present. My bet is on the past because the events go from the past (starting with the next one) to the present and finally the future.

He saw his brother Robb, taller and stronger than he remembered him, practicing swordplay in the yard with real steel in his hand.

Clearly the past, by the time Bran wakes up Robb has already taken a lot of responsability and after the kid was attacked Catelyn notices he has a sword made of steel.

He saw Hodor, the simple giant from the stables, carrying an anvil to Mikken’s forge, hefting it onto his shoulder as easily as another man might heft a bale of hay.

This could be any time just like Maester Luwin, unfortunately we can't track the secondary characters.

At the heart of the godswood, the great white weirwood brooded over its reflection in the black pool, its leaves rustling in a chill wind. When it felt Bran watching, it lifted its eyes from the still waters and stared back at him knowingly.

The weirdwood senses Bran and the timeline of the visions changes.

Present

He looked east, and saw a galey racing across the waters of the Bite. He saw his mother sitting alone in a cabin, looking at a bloodstained knife on a table in front of her, as the rowers puled at their oars and Ser Rodrik leaned across a rail, shaking and heaving.

Present time, Catelyn and Ser Roger have already left to meet Ned by the time Bran wakes up.

A storm was gathering ahead of them, a vast dark roaring lashed by lightning, but somehow they could not see it.

Still in present time, Bran can predict the future. He can see the bigger picture even if they cannot.

Present time too, Lady is about to be killed and Sansa is sad. Arya has already seen what is left of Micah and it has hurted her deeply.

Future

The change is sudden and it is easy to dismiss it unless you read very carefully.

There were shadows all around them. One shadow was dark as ash, with the terrible face of a hound. Another was armored like the sun, golden and beautiful. Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood.

Bran sees what Ser Gregor Clegane would become in AFFC, three books later. THREE BOOKS LATER. This is his first glimpse to the future.

We have a through Essos. Bran sees dragons waking up, stirring. Asshai by the Shadow might have dragons but the stirring part makes me think of Daenerys Targaryen becoming the Mother of Dragons in the very last chapter of AGOT.

This is a weakest point though, luckily there are more.

Finally he looked north. He saw the Wal shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him.

Bran sees Jon dead after he was killed in ADWD, four books later. FOUR BOOKS LATER.

And he looked past the Wall, past endless forests cloaked in snow, past the frozen shore and the great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains where nothing grew or lived. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks.

Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live.

“Why?” Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling.

Because winter is coming.

- AGOT, Bran III

Winter is coming and with it the Long Night. The weirdwoods and Bloodraven show all this to Bran and more.

The magic of the Old Gods has access to the future in some cappacity so there is proof, to my dismay, that seeing the future is possible.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #bran stark #grrm #agot #luchibelle #a game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #george rr martin #the old gods #bloodraven #the three eyed raven #past present future

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