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felassan · 9 months

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remember that wild Dragon Age theme park ride (Dragon Age: Flight of the Wardens), originally located in Dubai until it randomly turned up years later (now also oddly-rebranded as "[Not Dragon Age We Swears It]: The Guardian") in, of all places, Skegness England? well, I had to satisfy my curiosity and obsession with obscure pieces of Dragon Age media & archival thereof. and so - actually quite some time ago now - I finally got around to going on a pilgrimage there (which was this whole, like.. heinous harrowing in and of itself, that I will not go into), and I rode it

and to my surprise the original Dragon Age in-ride movie is still part of the ride experience! - complete with references to darkspawn, a Pride demon, dragons, green "rifts", Discount Anders (a Grey Warden[?] mage called 'Eldron'), Discount Yavanna (a Witch of the Wilds called 'Alexia') and Dragon Age: Inquisition soundtrack music. there is also now a new pre-ride movie which replaces the old Dragon Age pre-ride movie as part of the ride's rebranding, and i simply ?¿?

there are also still quite a lot of identifiable Dragon Age props in the fantasy-themed queue-area of the ride (so these must have been part of the whole purchase between parks), including multiple iconic Inquisitor helmets, Grey Warden shields, a Dragon Age dragon (now with DA-dragon identifiable horns.. sawn off??), and several Dragon Age banners, including the Inquisition hairy eyeball, the templar symbol and the Circle symbol. here's some pictures.

[^this image is taken from the video linked below]

I also captured the new pre-ride movie, and you can see it along with the Dragon Age in-ride movie here ⬇️. and so now, with this epilogue to the.. most odyssey of all time, more than two years after the first message about the ride was ever sent to Ghil Dirthalen, this adventure in obscurity and the strange fever-dream meta story of the Dragon Age: Flight of the Wardens era in Dragon Age history is finally complete.

youtube

Ghil Dirthalen: The Guardian??? {Overview. - Spoilers All}

[video source & link: Ghil Dirthalen, posted here w/ permission]

some further notes, thoughts and commentary under the cut -

there's a few seconds missing from this capture of the in-ride movie. for the sake of the curious and completion: in them, you're still in the fort and you see lots of 'Wardens' walking and milling around.

a camera in the ride takes two photos of the riders during the ride, which are displayed on a screen on the way out. you can choose to buy these from the Fantasy Island merchandise store. you know those photos of people on log flume rides? it's like those, only of the four riders in a row in the seats. the photos have Fantasy Island branding on them and fire along the bottom, then in two corners there's a bit of a dragon's head and that's about it. the ride photo is the only Guardian-specific merch available at the park.

some of the queue area props appear to be from random other places. like there was a barrel which had something like "1850 distillery" written on it, which is obviously temporally/thematically and universe-ly out of place (not that that's at all unreasonable given the rest of the rideworld lore, there's totally a way it could have gotten there easily hh, see below), and I guess it's a spare or leftover prop from a Western-themed ride or something? others were generic sword'n'sorcery fantasy props (some of these are from the ride's previous life in Dubai though). there are also some pretty random props, like a dead stuffed roe deer's head on the wall and a.. comically large spoon.

there's music playing in the queue area, but it's not DA music, it's generic ye olde fantasy world music.

some folks there mistakenly thought that the long themed lead-up (it was pretty darn long) queue area with the props was the entrance to or start of something completely different, like a haunted house or maze type thing, or was the ride 'experience' in and of itself.

the ride attendant gives you the option of watching the new pre-ride movie or not. I guess they get sick of putting it on and listening to it 9000 times a day (valid), and also cutting it out reduces queue times as it's about five minutes long. it's screened in a little enclosed room at the end of the queue area. you go in and sit down, they show it to you, then you go through another door to the chair machine.

the in-ride movie is blurry and poor quality. I heard someone else who rode it say that it was so blurry that they had no idea what was going on hhh

Now about the new pre-ride movie. in the linked video, the start of the new pre-ride movie isn't included in full at normal speed as it seemed to be a compilation of whatever random fantasy-themed stock footage the video creator could find, stitched together. but again for the curious and the sake of completion: it starts out panning randomly around SPACE, like at the solar system and of planets and at the Milky Way. for a sec I wondered if it was made up of random old Mass Effect assets. then it shows dragons (FROM SPACE) invading an Earth-like planet where I suppose the Ferelden-y kindgom (formerly called "Noathen", now called "Elvia" or something) setting in the rideworld is now supposed to be set. these invading dragons invade either from space or.. another dimension?? or maybe from the future or both?? [see below], entering through a big green rift. (and they still have the green coloring for the rifts and call it/them "rifts" like in DA, which was honestly so funny to me for some reason). the whole panning in from space start to the movie reminded me a lot of the Easter eggs in the DA and ME games that, while they're just Easter eggs for fun and I don't subscribe to this theory myself (as DA is its own great, self-contained thing), could light-heartedly imply that the planet with Thedas on it is a planet in the MEverse (like the krogan head in the Winter Palace in DAI or the ogre in that ME dlc).

in the pre-ride movie, the kingdom of "Elvia" might have actually been called "Albion", which is the earliest-known name for the island of Britain. (it was hard to make out exactly what the king was saying there) the new pre-ride movie seems like it was made in England and ofc thats a common fantasy setting, so I could see it, especially since the king character's name was something like Aethylswyth, which sounded very "Old English". for me personally, if it was "Albion", it adds fuel to the fire of Caitie's cracktheory/"trying to make this fit"-headcanon for the ride story/lore (see Caitie's original video on the ride's previous life for this), that it's set somewhere obscure and backwatery in Ferelden, which is kinda England- or Britain-inspired. (dont take these thoughts or other thoughts in this post about the lore/canon etc too srsly pls hh, it's just crack for fun and I know tis just an off-brand themepark ride)

on the whole the new pre-ride movie is pretty random. there's a giant in it, but it doesn't look like a DAI giant. (is it his big spoon??) it shows a fortress in part of it which looks a bit like Skyhold if you squint, with the long bridge approaching it as the entrance. at one point one of the dragons that pops up is a dragon designed more in the style of a dragon as they are sometimes depicted in, for example, Chinese mythology and folklore. the "communication device" the king described had me rolling, it's exactly like a Dragon Age Skype Crystal or a working set of eluvians from Thedas.. I wondered if the video creator was inspired some by DAI promo images and took cues from the Inquisitor's green hand/the Anchor, since the king has a green glowing thing on (or in?) his chest. and when the king started listing the elements humans are made of, I was reminded of Fullmetal Alchemist.

also, "through a time rift".. I mean technically Dorian's involvement in DAI DOES show green space-time magic right? Where is this other dimension? ofc I know it's not literally Dragon Age, but it's funny to think about and to try and make it "fit" skhskdhfjhe. is it the Fade? the Void? from somewhere in-between like Tevinter Nights implies exists? or is it the dimension which has Thedas's mundane world itself in it - like maybe the dragons are invading this poor guy's kingdom dimension from Thedas? if so what tf is going on in Thedas?? did Solas' explosion at the Conclave ripple through spacetime and rip holes in the fabrics of other worlds as well - like is Solas out here accidentally causing interdimensional Space Dragon invasions? like, theoretically.. the new pre-ride move does reference the in-ride movie, and in turn the in-ride movie is still Dragon Age (!), so technically the new pre-ride movie IS.. kind of.. weirdly.. canon.

((the pre-ride movie references an "outerworld", implying that even in THAT dimension there's an outer world and an inner world, definitely more than one at least. and back on the dimensions thing, I'm not clear - are the dragons coming from Thedas dimension? or are they coming to Thedas dimension? "they came through the rift, human in form but with powers, the ability to fly [that's Eldron] and the ability to transform into dragon-like creatures [that's Alexia]" implies that the dimension on the other side of the rift - if the helpers came through the same rift as the invading dragons - is Thedas, because that's Eldron and Alexia from the Dragon Age in-ride movie being referred to, and Noathen where they're from is in Thedas somewhere. so some Thedosians have travelled to another world to save it?? Dragons are escaping out of Thedas? but.. from space? but also - the narration is telling us that Eldron and Alexia and the other Guardians brought with them from where they came from, as a gift, incredible advanced technology that the people of Elvia have never seen before. he then gives the example of "this communication device" which could be read meta-ly as meaning the television screen, and of plans to build a machine made of metal and advanced technology (meaning the ride machine you go sit on, which is a themepark machine irl obviously and in the 'world' of the ride, some kind of flying machine). so like.. are Eldron and Alexia from Future Thedas (think Avatar Aang/Korra, when by Korra's time there's like lots more machinery and a more modern feel), a Thedas which has advanced complex machines like idk, AEROPLANES? is that what they mean by "time-rift"? because they specifically did say "time". is that to try and explain the modern machinery? does that mean the invading dragons also came from the future, not just from space or another dimension? the other option: Eldron and Alexia came from alternate universe Thedas, which has more modern technology in it. but Thedosians Time-Travelling From The Future And Also Space And Another Dimension is so funny to me so lets go with that. my headcanon is that on the way to Elvia they also timetravelled through a Westernthemed time period and thats why theres a recent-modern period whisky barrel)).

in the ride's previous life, the explanatory hook was that Eldron made you a special harness or saddle thing with which to ride a dragon, which was what the ride machine was simulating. however now, the hook to explain the machine is that it's a gift of advanced technology powered by carbon, hydrogen, organic matter (Big Oil lmao?) etc. (I enjoyed that this explanatory hook got wackier between eras of the ride's life, much like the whole meta story of this piece of media itself. it was already weird because riding dragons isn't really part of DA. though I don't understand meta-ly speaking this convoluted explanation for the machine. dragon-riding isn't an identifiable or key part of the Dragon Age franchise, so they could have kept the idea that you're sitting on a dragon's back and flying around on that in instead of having this wacky explanation about a flying machine gifted from magical strangers from Back To The Future and it would have been fine. I love it though bc its so absurd)

And Tiny Dragon Alexia from the original ride experience is kinda referenced (unintentionally?) when the king introduces the dragon "Guardian" "Mia", as when she comes on-screen her size or scaling looks small/kinda off, so maybe Tiny Dragon lives on. so now we have Tiny Dragon Alexia, Tiny Dragon Mia, and Tiny Dragon queue prop. it's a Tiny Dragon Conference.

and like I just have so many questions. in her original video on the ride, Ghil Dirthalen wondered at length where in Ferelden/Thedas Noathen could be. where is Elvia? why does the pov of the pre-ride movie proceed downstairs into the room where the king is - like why does the king have his throne in a basement? is he in an underground bunker for safety because of the Space Dragon invasion? why does he say we "climbed" up when we have just gone down into his dungeon? why is the tiny dragon introduced as "Mia" when the tiny dragon witch lady in the in-ride movie is called "Alexia"? does the king's green glowing chest thing work like the Anchor - does he have a chest Anchor.. a Chanchor? where did they get Discount Gandalf from the queue area and why is he exactly like the Ghil Dirthalen Stock Theatre Wizards in her original video? why did they change the kingdom's name from "Noathen" to "Elvia" in the pre-ride movie when "Noathen" was already non-existent in Dragon Age lore? why did they scrub Dragon Age from or avoid Dragon Age in the pre-ride movie but leave the whole Dragon Age in-ride movie intact? are the "Guardians" Discount Grey Wardens? is the king's whole schpeel secretly an evil plot so he that can use our bodies for like necromancy-alchemy? why does the ride run on your flesh and are we about to be sacrificed in a blood magic ritual? do we end up like the husks in Mass Effect after our organic forms are broken down into compounds to fuel the King of Elvia's flying anti-dragon defense tank? is the actor of the king a park staffer who is into larping, or someone's fun nerd uncle who likes DnD? does Caitie not in fact agree that I am very handsome and smart, indeed the World's Most Interesting Guy? 😤 why go to the trouble of sawing off the dragon's DA-dragon horns when the in-ride movie is still Dragon Age?? why are the dragons invading from space anyway like what do they want??? how can I obtain the king actor guy's autograph? where are EA's lawyers? and why is there a giant spoon?

#dragon age #Not Dragon Age We Swears It #bioware #solas #video games #lul #long post #longpost #gpoy #mj and the world #saveserault #mass effect #(shoutout to the DA Archivists)#thanku to ghil for her vids and for permission to post this video here #this whole episode in my life and in the DA fandom feels like a strange shared fever dream. was that real? am i? is Skegness? is DA4? r WE?#lmaoo #skegness the swampy ass crack of england #Fantasy Island - where dreams go to die (but fever dreams live on)#(cant believe one of the pretend Wardens from Ghil Dirthalen's Eldron's fake Warden cult was literally there irl at Fantasy Island. im ded)#and if u are reading this thinking wat the heck fel r u ok its just a rebranded themepark ride like calm down its not That Deep #i grasp ur collar and raise you that #in the time between dai and DA:D i have fully lost my mind #what dragon age does to a guy #while we wait for dragon age 4 this is the plot of dragon age 4 #on my knees constructing elaborate headcanons about and trying to make sense of a Not dragon age theme park ride #surrealism.txt

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dingbatnix · 5 months

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Deity (part 1)

So I got to thinking one day, about how everything would have effected Goggs, Sapnap, Karl and Dream after the events of Deity. I mostly wanted to focus on George, cause honestly? He's more fun to write when he's freaking out, and I wanted to mess with the dynamic that is 'Dream is XD,' i.e., Dream is a god and doesn't know how humans work, but he's trying.

Also, I might have gone too heavily into the, 'George is freaking out o gosh,' but idk. The fic grew its own legs.

It's not g/t or anything btw.

Anyway, I think that's enough rambling. Onto the fic!

Word Count: 5,513

Warnings: Fear, Flashbacks, Panick Attacks, I think low-level PTSD/trauma, descriptions of gore, injuries, ectcetera ectcetera.

There had to be at least twelve zombies stumbling after him. Now, normally, they wouldn’t have been a problem for George to handle, (he was an excellent swordsman, and an even better bowman) but as of right now, he was running on about three and a half hours of sleep. The last time he’d rested in any sort of meaningful manner was well over a week ago, and that was only because he had knocked back a weakness potion strong enough to lay a ravager out flat.

Sure, his friends were worried about the possibility of him overdosing on potions (he’d be fine, he only ever drank them on the really bad nights!) And sure, maybe it was an unhealthy way for him to combat the near-constant night terrors, but what else was he going to do!? Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Sapnap’s fear-stricken face disappearing behind a jagged black maw, all he could hear were his own screams of terror mixing with his friend’s, all he could feel was the slick, oily flesh closing around him as he plummeted down, down, down to where he could hear Sapnap’s shuddering cries of despair far below him. It had been months, and he still couldn’t get away from the vivid, mind-crushing images of his death. Not-death. Whatever.

George ducked beneath the rotting hand of a zombie as it swung clumsily at his shoulder, stumbling over his own feet and barely managing to dodge the swipe of another undead hand. He raised his sword and brought the blade down through a pair of brittle knees, sending one of the zombies crashing to the ground.

While he still felt sluggish, he hadn't lost too much of his motor control, and he was still able to defend himself. Unfortunately, he was quickly losing steam in this seemingly endless fight.

George had been exploring the land around the edges of his, Sapnap’s, and their other friend Bad’s house in a desperate attempt to evade the cold, grasping claws of sleep when he had been ambushed by an enormous congregation of mobs. He had some armor on, thank the Go…thankfully, an iron chestplate and a helmet that he had snatched up out of a random chest before he left the house, but it wasn’t enough to really defend against the amount of gnashing jaws and greedy fingers chasing after his flesh.

He had taken out a lot of them, but their numbers would have overwhelmed even Dr—Sapnap, and while George was normally up to par with his arsonistic friend, the sleep deprivation was getting to him, grasping at his limbs with clinging, sticky tendrils and tripping up his every step.

A sudden, heavy snap jarred his entire left arm and shoulder, and he stared in dismay at the jagged, broken line splitting his sword in half clear down to the crossguard. He continued to wield it anyway, unwilling to drop his only weapon, and it lasted through several heavy hits until the bisected blade shattered in a spray of shrapnel. George dodged the shower of sharp metal with a fervent cry, scrunching his eyes shut and scrambling backwards.

In the back of his mind, he heard a horribly familiar, horribly fond voice telling him that it was terribly dangerous to go exploring at night without backup, and that George should let him know if he ever planned to do so. George shivered, pushing the overbearing, seemingly sticky presence away from his mind and tried to focus on the fight.

Rotting fingers snagged on the rim of his chestplate, and he felt more than heard the snap of leather as one of the straps keeping the iron together broke under the sudden pressure of the zombie pulling at it.

Above him, he heard the shriek of a phantom, and then, horribly, the answering call of another. George blinked back the exhaustion stinging at his eyes and shoved at the rotted bodies crowding in and snatching at his limbs. Putrid flesh split under his fingers as he stumbled away, leaving a gross, oily residue on his hands that didn’t quite come off when he swiped his hands against his trousers.

Greedy claws scratched at the back of his neck as he scrambled to run, and he felt his helmet being ripped off by what could only be one of the phantoms following after him from above.

George found himself driven to the top of a cliff. It was relatively small, maybe only about thirty feet high, but there were many, many trees scattered at the base. Some of the branches reached up near to the cliff’s edge, and George warily considered jumping as an escape option. He’d probably break a couple of bones, and at the very worst, be impaled by a stray tree branch, but it'd at least get him away from the slow, shambling force of zombies dogging after him.

His gaze flashed back to the monsters trundling steadfastly behind him, a small line of tension loosening in his shoulders when he saw how far they were. It wouldn’t take them long to catch up, but he had at least a moment of breathing room.

He twisted back around, grateful for the lull in mobs, and stared down at the intimidating drop to the distant ground. If he aimed for that small patch of bushes, maybe, or tried to grab onto that thick branch just a little further to his right—!

Something slammed into his back, screeching against his armor and sending him plummeting face-first off the edge of the cliff. George screamed, flailing as he crashed into the rough upper branches of the trees. Sharp leaves and sticks scratched and tore at his face and clothes, and he had to bring his arms up to shield his face, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to protect them from the painful debris.

A branch caught on his chestplate, slowing him for barely a moment before his weight and momentum had the remaining leather straps holding it together snapping with an awfully final sound. He shrieked, pawing uselessly at the armor that was already high out of his reach as the impact spun him around midair, sending his mind whirling with nausea.

George hit the ground shoulder-first with a harsh whoomph and a gradual puff of dust that drifted away from his body. He cried out, curling inwards as his new injuries rapidly made themselves known. Scratches along his sides and arms and even his neck stung, and various bruises littered all across his body were throbbing in unison. His entire right side was on fire, and he couldn’t tell if any particular part of his side was hurt worse than anything else.

He forced himself to flop onto his back with a choked, muffled scream, the singular movement causing agonized waves to radiate down through his side. He forced down the unwanted tears burning behind his eyes and attempted to suck air into his lungs, mentally counting through the numbers Bad had recently coached him through.

Nothing felt broken, at least, but George was sure that some of his ribs had popped out of place. Every time he tried to breathe in, starbursts of light would fill his fuzzing vision, and a horrendous pain stabbed through the side of his torso, where his ribs were.

He could not move his right arm. The sudden realization froze George in his tracks, and his breath hitched up. The accompanying spikes of pain made it stutter back into a shaky, weak rhythm, but that did little to console his mind.

Either his arm or shoulder was severely dislocated or…severely broken. Either option was very unpleasant for George’s near future. George swallowed, nerves and sudden apprehension drying his throat. If he healed it, it would hurt, but if he left it as it was, it would get worse.

With the trembling fingers of his left hand, he pulled his last, already mostly used-up regeneration potion from his pocket, thankful that it hadn't shattered when he landed, and downed the last few sips remaining in the bottle. He felt something in his right arm crunch back together immediately after, the sudden flash of agony whiting out his vision, but then he could move the limb again, albeit carefully. It didn’t do much for the rest of his wounds, for there was far too little of the potion and he had far too many injuries, but it took enough of the pain’s edge off that he could sit up.

The motion had him gasping in great lungfuls of air, sweat beading along his temples as he pushed through each flare of pain rolling from his ribs. He curled forward and tried to force air into his lungs, wishing he had Bad with him. The demon always knew how to help, be it with panic, or with awful, debilitating injuries.

George bit his lip, trying to distract himself from the throbbing ache pulsing throughout his body. He had to get up, had to get moving. He needed a shelter of some sort, so he could collapse, nurse his wounds, and wait for dawn. Then, he could start making his way back home.

Holding in a whine, he worked himself up to his feet and braced against a tree. The effort it took to stand alone nearly made him black out, and if it weren’t for the support of the tree, he would have fallen back to the ground. George swayed in place, vision spinning in a sickening dance of motion as he breathed deep and slow.

Out of nowhere, he heard the worst sound in the world. The slow, shambling steps of multiple zombies, and even the telltale hiss of a creeper flooded his ears, sending panic and no small amount of despair crashing through his system. Why couldn’t the universe cut him a break? Why did he have to suffer?

Frustrated tears stung at the edges of his vision, and he swung his gaze up to glare at the newest obstacle in his road to survive. Four zombies straggled towards him barely two meters away, and beyond them, the mottled yellow of a creeper slunk, lagging several meters behind.

His fingers curled around the only weapon he could find, a loose piece of bark sticking slightly out from the trunk of the tree he was using for support. He tore it free, managing to break off a piece as long as his forearm and about as wide as his hand, and brandished it at the approaching mobs. If nothing else, he could go out fighting. There was no way he’d survive against four zombies and a creeper in his current state.

Unless…but he shook that thought off. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Just the mere thought paralyzed his throat and made his heart stutter.

As the zombies converged on him, George managed to gut one with the sliver of bark, necrotic flesh tearing open easily under the jagged wood. Intestines spilled out, and then George was being slammed back against the tree trunk, putrid jaws snapping at his limbs and rotten hands scratching at his face. George cried out when teeth fastened themselves into his left elbow, making him lose his grip on his piece of weaponized tree bark. He tried to pull free, horribly aware of the hissing creeper that was steadfastly approaching, but cold, almost completely bone fingers tore at his right bicep, pulling him off balance and nearly sending him to the ground. He yelped, the sudden movement jarring his injuries and making them flare with pain.

Desperation filled his chest, and he realized he only had one, awful option. One awful option that he dreaded, one awful option that might just save his life. He didn’t want his help, though, not at all. He didn’t want to call for him.

…He had to. It was…it was that, or die, and he wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready to face the void, wasn’t ready to do that to his friends. He wanted to live, even if it meant calling for his worst nightmare. Would it be better than dying to mobs? He didn’t know. He didn’t have time to debate what might happen next, not while he was seconds away from his gruesome end. Sucking in a breath, George did the only thing he could. He called for Dream.

“Dream!” He screamed, viciously fighting and shoving away the decayed fingers that were chasing after his arms and throat. “Dream, please, I need help!” He felt ridiculous, screaming for someone who probably wouldn't even hear him, for someone who might not even care about him, truly care. George didn’t know if Dream was capable of such a thing. How could he? He wasn’t mortal. He was a God. What God would truly, truly care for something so…so insignificant, when compared to what the heavens had to offer?

George tried to push those thoughts away and attempted to focus on breathing past his burgeoning panic. Dream wouldn’t…wouldn’t do that to him, right? Wouldn’t he…?

Suddenly, there was a crack of booming light, and then a dry, staticy wave of heat that had George and his assailants tumbling backwards. He hit the ground with a choked wheeze, skidding several feet over the mossy, leaf-coated ground. Dizziness swirled through his head, and his elbow and ribs and shoulder screamed in agony. Despite the pain, George propped himself up on his side, panting heavily as he tried to process.

The quick, whistling sound of an iron blade dancing through the air reached his ears, and he managed to glance up to see a blur of yellow plowing through the converging mobs. Not even a minute later, the entire group of monsters was disintegrating in the slight breeze that had kicked up, and the golden blur had solidified into a broad, tall shape that was approaching him.

"What are you doing out here? Alone! At night!?" Large hands closed around his bruised biceps, pulling him to his feet, and George suddenly found himself face-to-face with a gleaming white smiley mask. "You know the mobs are more dangerous in the dark! Prime knows how many times I've warned you!"

He had never been more aware of how tall Dream was until this exact moment, when the man–god–was standing a full head-and-a-half over his own skull, towering over him. The grip on his arms was gentle, but firm, and half of George’s focus was on how strong the hands were, on how fast they might turn to bruising and restraining.

He saw the flash of Dream's teeth as the ma–god–spoke but he didn’t hear the words. All he could think of was what might have happened if the gaping black maw he'd been tossed into had had those sharp incisors. An image of his and Sapnap's mangled, crushed bodies, guts and bones and gore spilling from their split skin flashed through his mind, and his breath hitched.

For a moment, George swore he could feel the thick, oily texture of saliva coating his skin.

George shoved out of Dream’s grip, hands burning where they pressed against the blond's chest, and stumbled backwards, nearly falling as his heel caught on a mossy ridge on the ground. His back hit the trunk of a tree, hard, and he found his fingers digging into the ridged bark to ground himself, both against the waves of pain that jarred his body from the impact, and from the realization that Dream was here, physically present, right in front of him.

"Don't–don't touch me," he managed to gasp out, eyes watering as his breath hitched faster and faster. George tore his hands away from the tree bark, clutching at the collar of his shirt and scratching at his throat as he panted. He couldn’t–wasn’t—he couldn’t breathe!

His knees failed him, and he slid down to the ground, rough bark scraping through his shirt and shredding his skin, but he didn’t notice, couldn’t notice, not when his throat felt like it was closing up, not when it looked like the night sky was bleeding down to rip away his vision.

He was aware that Dream was still in front of him, still looming above his head, but the fact was a distant, dull idea that he couldn’t quite grasp, not when it felt like teeth were closing down around his chest, not when he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe—

George could swear he heard Sapnap screaming below him.

“I wouldn’t—I would never hurt you, George. I won't. Ever.” The form in front of him shifted, and then all he could see through the fuzzing cloud of darkness was a wash of bright, nearly fluorescent amber blocking the night air.

Two hands, larger than George's own, reached forward and, so incredibly gently, grasped his trembling fingers between wide palms and pulled them away from his raw, seemingly swollen throat.

“George, hey, hey, can you breathe with me? I think you’re having an attack, c’mon, try to breathe–” The voice was muffled, and George barely noticed it. All he could focus on was the warm, nearly hot hold that entrapped both of his hands. His fingers twitched as the buzzing in his ears increased, burying nearly every other sound present. George couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat. Why couldn't he hear his heartbeat?!

“Hhnnnnnn–” George wheezed, desperately trying to jerk his hands free from the impossibly firm grip. The long fingers curled more securely around the backs of his hands, around his wrists, and two thumbs moved to press against George’s palms.

More words were being said, but he couldn't hear them. It felt like his entire head had been forced down underneath the waters of a violent river, and he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't breathe—no matter how hard George struggled, he just could not shake off the invisible hands forcing his head under the rapids.

His hands were suddenly pressed against something soft, something warm, rising up and down in a gentle swell, and he could feel a steady bup-bump, bup-bump, bup-bump pounding beneath his palms. He latched onto the constant pulse, breath hitching up again in concordance with the sudden, unwavering rhythm.

His fingers curled against the warm fabric, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to focus on the phantom touch of muscles crushing around his body. He forced himself to breathe, shuddery as it was, in tandem with the beat of the heart against his palms.

Bup-bump. Bup-bump. Bup-bump. His chest stuttered, but he pushed on. Four, five, six, seven. Breathe out. He wasn’t in a prison of fleshy death. There was bark pressing into his spine, digging stinging pin-pricks into his skin, leaves and grass crinkling under his legs as they quivered. Two, three, four. Breathe in, ignore the hitched sniffle, and breathe out. There were sounds all around him, the noises of the night crickets and the frogs, the hollow, lonely hoot of an owl, the hushed, hesitant murmur of reassurances and instructions from the presence in front of him, of the body his hands were resting against.

George breathed, and slowly, oh so slowly, gained back control of himself. He kept his eyes closed, unready to face the source of his panic.

He’d had episodes like this, many, many times after the incident. Sapnap had them as well, but not nearly as often, nor as intensely as the brunette did. Bad had coached them both through ways to cope, of ways to bring themselves back to reality after their minds plunged them down into the horrible depths of wet–dark–NO—

It was so, so difficult to do on his own, especially when the cause of his spiral was right in front of him, but he had to get himself under control. He forced his head above the violent waves despite the sheer, paralyzing dread, despite the disquiet that filled him down to his very bones, and gasped for air.

He had to face his problem, had to overcome it, Bad had said. If George let it fester in his mind, it would cripple him, it would eventually kill him, the demon had warned. He’d given George a lot of advice. It was probably time George started taking it. He didn’t want to be like this anymore. He just wanted everything to go back to normal.

He pried open his raw, puffy eyes, cheeks glistening with the wet of his own tears, and grasped at his blurry vision, forcing his gaze to focus. His fingers tightened, then relaxed, then clenched again as he worked up the will to look. He inhaled, too fast, and coughed, throat sore and body shaking. It’s like ripping off a plaster. He had to do it quick, or else he’d never manage such a daunting feat.

George breathed, and forced his eyes to actually see.

The offensively bright yellow of Dream’s cropped hoodie crossed into focus, blocking most of George’s view, his own trembling hands clutched against the center of the deity’s chest. Large hands clasped his, the thumb of each running soothing circles into the backs of his hands. The god had sunk down to the ground along with George, knees pressed into the mulchy floor of the forest, grass and twigs squashed up against the dark fabric of his trousers.

George risked a glance up at Dream’s face, terrified of what he would see. Would it be the face of his long-time best friend, or…or would it be the face of the deity who had eaten him?

He was afraid, but he forced himself to look anyway. He had to.

The god’s mask was pushed aside, and Dream’s wide, sparkling hazel eyes sought his own. George flinched, immediately avoiding his gaze and instead focusing on the mossy grass crawling along the roots around his knees.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. All he could see was the face of the creature that had nearly not-killed him.

A hand detached itself from the cradle around his own and appeared just under George's chin, one long finger resting under his mandible and tilting his head up. “Hey,” Dream breathed, voice soft, gentle, even. “It’s alright, George. You’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

George’s back stiffened when his gaze was pulled upwards, and his breath hitched when he finally met Dream’s eyes.

Warm hazel shone, a faint, glittering blue light swirling from behind the amber-tinted irises. They seemed to draw George in, and unconsciously, the tense line along his back released, and his shoulders slumped.

His body felt oddly numb, like he had dosed himself with an intense painkiller. He couldn’t really feel the pain that should have been there from his previously accrued wounds, and a distant, vague part of him was…shrieking in alarm. Why did he feel so calm all of the sudden? He recoiled suddenly, yanking his chin out of Dream’s grasp and tearing his eyes away from the god with a gasp. What the hell was that?

“George, are you…okay?” Dream sounded so concerned. George’s gut clenched, mind reeling, and he chewed at the inside of his lip. No. No, he was not, but the crux of his issues was the god sitting right in front of him. George wasn’t about to tell Dream that he was the reason he was freaking out so badly. What if he got mad? What if he decided to actually…

George cut himself off and decided to ask a question of his own in lieu of answering. He…he was not ready to deal with that particular issue. Whatever spark of courage to confront his problems that had struck him earlier had withered and died, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. So, he deflected.

"Why'd you come?" He croaked, words catching in his raw-feeling throat. He coughed, trying to clear the roughness of his voice. “Why…why are you here, Dr-Dream?”

The god paused at his question, thumb faltering in its rotation on the back of George’s hand as the rest of his fingers tightened slightly in their grip. "You…you called for me? You needed help, George. You were gonna…the mobs would have killed you!”

George’s chest stuttered at the reminder, and he flinched when he bit down too hard on the inside of his cheek. The taste of coppery blood flooded his mouth, and he had to swallow it down with a disgusted grimace so that he could speak.

"I didn't think you'd actually…I didn't think you’d actually come, Dream. Why? Why? I’m just…I’m just. Me.” He swallowed again, sucking in a deep breath of the cool night air through his nose. “And you. You’re a. A God. What—why the hell would you come for me? Why do you care?”

He was crying again, hot rivulets of saltine tears streaming down his face to drip down his jawline. His lips twisted into a wobbly frown, and he wiped a damp cheek off on his shoulder. Dream still had a hold on both of his hands. He didn’t know if he wanted the deity to let go.

Dream’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His face morphed into one of sad surprise, and his shoulders slumped. His fingers jittered across the backs of George’s hands as he worked his jaw, brow furrowed and eyes perturbed. Finally, words escaped his throat, a tone George couldn’t quite identify coloring them.

“I…I'll always, always come when you call, George.” The blond breathed, reaching towards George again with his free hand. He paused and drew his hand back when George flinched, but his fingers still twitched as if they wanted to grasp onto something. “I couldn't live in a world without you." He confessed, voice low and just slightly wavery.

A quiet, muddled “Oh,” was all George could muster in response. He felt…it was like a yawning hole had opened up beneath him, and he didn’t know what to do. What did he say to that? That Dream would always want to be there for him, he could…attempt to understand, but. How did he explain to Dream that the m—god’s mere presence nearly shut down George’s ability to function?

He blinked heavily, trying to clear the misted haze that seemed to settle behind his eyes. He was so tired…

Dream’s face softened, and he slowly reached up to brush a thumb over George's cheekbone, right underneath one of the deep, dark bruises hanging below the brunette's eyes. "When was the last time you slept?"

“I…four…four days ago…” George trailed off, his throat closing up as the most recent nightmare leeched back up. He’d been endlessly falling, dropped by the hands of huge, indecipherable shadows. He hadn’t been able to see, and the only thing he could hear had been the laughter. He’d woken up after his body had smashed and split open onto a giant, gold gilt dinner plate.

He jerked his head sharply, breaking away from both the memory and from the gentle brush of touch on his face. He didn’t want to think about it, he didn’t want to remember any of it, but it kept coming back. He just wanted everything to be normal again. Was that too much for him to ask?

He finally turned to meet Dream’s gaze, staring the god in the face unflinchingly for the first time since he appeared. His eyes seemed a touch blue-er than they were since George last looked, but that may have been an effect of the sleep deprivation George was suffering from.

The blonde looked worried, and something about his expression pulled oddly at something inside of George’s brain.

What’s wrong, it seemed to say, prodding gently at the back of his mind. Tell me what’s bothering you, and then I can help. It was a vague murmur, a dizzying buzz that clouded his thoughts, and he found himself answering without a single opposing thought.

The words poured out of his mouth, a terrible confession that seemed to rise from his lungs. "I keep reliving—but it's worse, so much worse, because you–you don’t—you—” crush us, you chew us, you kill us–, “and I can't—" It was all too much. He couldn’t—He couldn’t—

George threw himself forward, shoving his forehead against Dream's chest and tangling his fingers deeper into the fabric of the god's hoodie. A long, keening whimper escaped his lips, and a hot stinging intensified behind his eyes.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He’d never had these thoughts about the Dream before. He’d have trusted him implicitly, but now…every time he thought about him, mind-numbing terror would rocket through his bones, and he'd want to vomit. Or cry, and cry, and cry until he felt nothing at all.

Dream's hands met his shoulders, a heavy, warm presence running down along his back, then up again. George couldn’t help the shiver of fear that thrilled through his gut at the contact. If Dream decided that he didn’t want to let go…

“Oh, oh, George,” arms encircled his shoulders, and fingers ran through his hair as George’s breathing stuttered again, warm tears trickling down to soak into the god's hoodie. His hands would be trembling if they weren’t so tightly clenched.

Dream shifted, slow and easy, as he moved to lean his back against the tree trunk George had been pressed against. His arms stayed around the brunette as he adjusted his position, pulling George against his side, instead of sprawled halfway over his chest. George flinched, then forced himself to relax, attempting to loosen the grip he had on Dream’s hoodie. He wasn’t very…successful.

“I’m so sorry, George. I…I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just…I wanted to keep you safe.” Dream confessed, posture slumping against the rough bark of the tree. He sighed, pulling one hand from George’s back to rub at his temples. His face twisted into a grimace, and he glanced up at the night sky through the leaves and branches above them.

"There’s not…I can’t undo what happened. I can’t even stop you from being afraid of me. You…You’re completely justified in that, and I don’t blame you.” Dream’s jaw tensed, the only part of the god’s face that George could see. He tried not to imagine the expression that was decorating the blonde’s face.

Dream continued, seemingly oblivious to George’s strange internal conflicts. “What I can do, though, is help you sleep, if you'll let me."

George startled, at that, and a part of him almost tried to beg at the offer. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, to rest, but he couldn’t. Not when his dreams were so horribly inundated with night terrors and flashbacks.

"You're not going to–to eat me again, are you…?" His voice was hesitant, and it nearly hurt to get the words out. He had to know, though. If that was Dream’s way to help him sleep, then George would bolt, injuries and exhaustion be damned.

The god looked back at him abruptly, eyes wide and brow furrowed, and shook his head viciously. “No, never again, George. I’m not gonna—I won’t do that to you again.” He breathed out a slow huff of air and gently moved a hand over the brunette’s shoulders.

“O–okay, then. Fine.” George mumbled, dropping his gaze from Dream’s. He caught the bright edge of the god’s pleased expression in his peripherals, and tried not to think too hard about what that meant.

"Just lay down, alright? I'll help you sleep. I’ll keep all of the nightmares away."

Dream guided George's head down to rest against his legs, disentangling the brunette’s fingers from his sweater and helping him sprawl on his back over the mossy grass. George had a perfect view of the god's face, framed by the shadowed silhouettes of the leaves above, and, sprinkling through the gaps, the glittering stars of the night sky.

The distant shriek of a phantom sounded high above them, far beyond the trees, and George shrank back against the ground, alarm buzzing through his veins. He pulled his hands up to his chest, fingers tangling together as his nerves jarred though his system. "What…what about the mobs?"

"They won't bother us. I'll keep them away." One of Dream's hands reached down to rest over George's fidgeting digits, while the other rose up to brush the hair away from his eyes.

"Just sleep, George. I'll keep you safe, alright?” The god’s voice washed over him, drawing him deeper into the darkness of the night, and he couldn’t help the overwhelming wave of drowsiness that poured through his body. George’s eyes slipped closed, the afterimage of Dream’s luminescent blue irises fading behind his own eyelids.

His muscles untensed, and he felt…calm. His jittering, pounding heart eased to a slightly-rapid stutter, and the anxious, gut twisting rush that had plagued him for the last several hours drained away. A warmth spread over his entire body, and he couldn’t feel the pain of his wounds anymore.

It didn't feel…natural, but George was too far gone to really care. He was so tired…

So, so tired.

Taglist!!

@brick-a-doodle-do @i-am-beckyu @da3dm @kayla-crazy-stuffs @local-squishmallow @skullsnbruises @munchkin1156 @gt-daboss

#mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #d'yall mind if i tag this as that?#cause i meant technically ots part of it #if not just lemme know and ill take the tags off #writing #seriously how the heck fo i tag notmal stuff?#mcyt vore #referenced vore #giant!dream #tiny!george #referenced #hmmm #tags suck this time #and yes #dream did use magic to try and calm george down : D #bat's writing #deity

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