#because part of the wire has come loose

[ronwestbreeze]

TO YOU , WORLDS AWAY | PART ONE : CHAPTER ONE

pairing: jake sully x human!fem!reader

summary: in which the story starts and finds you in a place of malevolence. a reluctant return to hell's gate leads you to meeting jake sully

warnings: none!

word count: 3.6k

author's note: finally posting this! there's no schedule for how i'm going to release these but i hope to be at least consistent! just no demanding me to post the next chapter or to finish, that doesn't help much with writing. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

italics is speaking in na'vi

AO3 | masterlist | next

Powder covered your hands by the time the radio next to you came to life. Last time that radio came on, Dr. Grace Augustine had, very heatedly, called on you to fix one of the link units. Some genius had thought it was a good idea to kick at it in anger, knocking a few wires loose. Didn’t do any real damage but that guy never slipped into another link unit again. He’d have Grace to thank for that. And his temper.

That had been months ago. You hadn’t been back in Hell’s Gate since then.

Surprisingly enough, it was Trudy. “Hey, Doc. Mind comin’ to look at one of the computers in the lab? I think one of those science geeks broke a monitor or somethin’.”

Without looking up from your work, you reply, “Then buy a new one. My job is to fix shit, not consult about some stupid monitor.”

There were muffled voices further away as the radio cut in and out a few times. Seconds later, Trudy finally spoke again, “Uh, my bad, it’s not a monitor. It’s some….uh…power box, I guess. Glitched out on the geeks, now they don’t have power in a few of the computers.”

It took a moment for you to respond. Both because of the weak radio signal in the middle of the forest and because you had to take a few moments to program your newly robotic arm helper to finish off your new invention, which you had been working on for nearly half a year now. Project Pandora is what you called it.

“Trudy,” you finally say, picking up the radio and pushing the chair away from the desk and toward the small window on the other side of the little space, “why are you, a pilot no less, asking me about computers in a lab?”

There is a hesitant silence on the other end. But after listening closely, you realized there was another muffled conversation going on further away, one that the radio couldn’t really pick up.

Eventually, Trudy’s voice reached the radio again. “I told you she’d see right through it.” It sounded as if she was talking to someone and that someone was muttering something further away from the radio. Trudy sighed before continuing, “Look, Doc. I’m gonna be blunt with you. Parker’s too much of a pussy to do it himself so he got me in here to reach you.”

You clicked your tongue, “Why am I not surprised.”

“He’s scared of you.”

“More than Grace?”

There were louder muffles, almost audible if not for the static from the radio. “Parker wants you back at the gate…and to tell you that he’s not scared of you.”

After a while, the radio finally cut off and you sat there. Outside the little window was the forest of Pandora, your view for the past few months. And really, you would like to keep it that way from now on. Being away from Hell’s Gate has brought you a sense of peace and a sense of forgetting. Although, the forgetting was harder said than done.

No matter what you did, there was nothing that could make you forget what these humans were doing to Pandora, what they planned to do, what they already had done. It was a bunch of bullshit really. The RDA complained that they weren’t making any progress with the Na’vi, the people of  Pandora, while at the same time attacking them and threatening to take over the land by wiping out the indigenous.

You had come here to learn about this species and quite possibly one day live among them, not take over. Which is why you separate yourself from Hell’s Gate after the incident. But it seemed no matter what you did to keep away from them, somehow you were always brought back in.

It had to be him behind it. That man was stubborn enough to keep you in his control just as you were stubborn enough to find any way to stay far away from that place.

“Doc?” Trudy’s voice came in through the radio. With a frown, you looked back at your robotic arm and the invention, deep in thought. “You there?”

With a sigh, you replied, “There’s no other engineers up there? Mechanics?”

“Most of them are workin’ on those AMPs. Parker wants you. The best of the best, you know?”

You frown, “Doesn’t sound as great as it did years ago.”

“Don’t think too much about it. You’ll be in and out. Then you’ll get to go back to your little lab in the woods and stay secluded like the hermit that you are.” Trudy teased in an attempt to lighten your mood. And you did try to smile at the joke, just a little bit, but the thought about going back, about stepping your foot back into that place, somehow he’d win.

“I could say no.” You try, even though you were getting up and sliding your boots on. “Tell him to find some other unfortunate engineer to do his shit.”

“You could.” Trudy agreed. “That would definitely make Parker pop a vein. But if we sent in someone else that isn’t you, it sure as hell wouldn’t get done quickly or right. So there’s that.”

“Hmm, I’d say let them rot.” You grumble as you grab your mask and place it on your face.

Trudy laughed on the other end as you stepped out of the lab. The air was fresh on your skin but poisonous to your lungs. Still, it did feel somewhat nice stepping out of your stuffy lab for once. Being surrounded by beautiful forest. The beauty of Pandora still never failed to amaze you despite your grim attitude as of lately. There was something so special about this planet, something you never felt on your home planet, Earth.

You just wished the circumstances were different.

“You’re a genius, Doc.” Parker praised as you closed the power box.

“Is that all?” You asked dryly, rolling your sleeve back down as you began leaving the dark room.

The administrator followed after you as you sauntered through the halls, ready to go back to the forest and your private lab. “Yeah, well, I believe that should be all. I knew you could do it the best too, my guys are useless when it comes to this stuff.”

“Stop kissing ass, Selfridge.” Both you and Parker turned to find Grace waltzing down the hall toward the two of you. A smirk was on her lips when her eyes landed on you. “Tinkers! Never thought I’d see you come out of your little hole. How long has it been? Three? Four months?”

Despite where you were, you gave a small smile, “Hi Grace.”

Parker excused himself immediately much to your relief, going back to his usual spot, which was overseeing all the link units of the Avatar Program. You raised your brows at how quickly he left but you figured it was mostly because he didn’t want to hear Grace go on and on about the beauties of Pandora. Parker was the type of guy who only cared about what profited him the most. And the last thing he wanted to hear was how innocent everything was. Would make him lose track of the most important goal.

And for that, you despised that man. Parker must’ve sensed your dislike for him and found it intimidating, especially when it came to calling on you for favors such as fixing an electric power box.

Behind her were three other men. One of which you knew by Dr. Patel, the other two you guessed were new.

Grace crossed her arms, not bothering to introduce the two other males behind her as she spoke in a lowered voice, “Coming back this time around?”

You shook your head, “No. Just here for a small fixer upper. I should be heading back soon actually.”

“You sure?” Grace then gestured to the two behind her, giving you an exasperated look, “Could really use someone familiar out there. To the land and the people.” You didn’t respond right away which the scientist noticed. “Forget about Quaritch, you know you want to get back out there. Your avatar’s waiting—”

“Who's the newbies?” You addressed Dr. Patel, earning a glare from Grace at your efforts of quickly changing the conversation. It was something you definitely weren’t going to discuss here and especially in front of the new people who were watching the two of you a little too closely for your liking.

Dr. Patel smiled at you in greeting before gesturing to the two other men. “This is Norm Spellman, our new biologist for the team. Fellas, this is Dr. Y/N L/N, our best engineer at RDA.”

The tall lanky one stepped forward and offered his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor, I’ve actually heard a lot about your work here. Well, your mother’s work, I should say.” Grace rolled her eyes as you tried not to wince at the mention of your mother. But of course, Norm didn’t notice and kept going, “Also, very sorry for your loss. Your mother was a brilliant mind, the best of our kind—”

“Alright, Spellman.” Grace gave him a pointed look before nodding over to the man in the wheelchair, “You remember Tom Sully? Well, this is his worse half, Jake Sully. He’s unfortunately replacing Tom in the program.”

“Thank you for that, Gracie.” Jake retorted just as quickly.

“Fuck off.” Grace glared and nudged your side. “Ignore him, I do.”

Yes, you did hear about this. Tom’s unfortunate death led them to scramble for a quick replacement. You never met Tom yourself so you never had much of an attachment to him. Neither did Grace but you could tell that wasn’t the only thing annoying her. If you had to guess, Jake was probably drastically different from his late brother and Grace didn’t have much patience for that.

Still, you offered him a kind smile. “Ma’am.” He nodded to you, offering his own hand which you shook.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sully.” You glanced from a pensive Grace to Jake. “I imagine you know a lot about the program similar to your brother.”

Jake tilted his head, “I watched a Netflix special once.”

Grace scowled, Dr. Patel coughed to cover a smile, and Norm shifted on his feet awkwardly, watching the two of them.

You found yourself grinning for the first time in a while., “I don’t know, Augustine. I kind of like him. “

Grace rolled her eyes, “Whatever. We’re heading over to the link units. It’s about time the two of you get acquainted with your avatar form.” She then addressed you but in Na’vi surprisingly. “And when will you bring out yours? Don’t try to change the subject this time, Tinkers.”

Feeling Jake’s curious and confused gaze on the two of you, you answer in a quick hiss, “Drop it.” Then you turned to Jake and smiled, “S’ nice to meet you, Mr. Sully—”

“Jake.” He nodded toward you with a little smile of his own. “You can call me Jake.”

Your smile grew, “Alright, Jake. Welcome to Pandora.” She pointed at Grace with her thumb, “Don’t let her ruin the experience, yeah? She can be a little twitchy sometimes.”

“Go back to your hole, Tinkers!” Grace called over her shoulder as she continued down  the hall with Norm and Dr. Patel following after her.

“Right up your ass, Augustine!” You shot back with a smirk before sending Jake a wink.

Jake, despite his previous stoic expression, found himself grinning at you. “Nice to meet you, L/N.”

“Y/N.” You corrected, moving around him to head the opposite direction. “Or Doc, either way, don’t be so formal. Especially with me.”

He nodded, “I’ll make sure to remember that.”

With that, you watched as he rolled away in the direction the others went. Once the company was gone, your shoulders sagged a bit, slightly exhausted from the small interaction and because of the busy environment of Hell’s Gate as you made your way out of it.

Just as you were about to reach outside and grab your mask, one of the soldiers, Wainfleet, blocked your exit while sitting in one of those AMPs.

“Doc! Leaving so soon?” He grinned down at you.

“Move, dipshit.” You say bluntly, gripping the mask in your hands while glaring up at him.

He shrugged, grinning cockily down at her. “Can’t do that, Doc. Colonel heard you crawled out of your little hole you’ve been hiding in the past few months. He wants to see you.”

“Tell him to eat shit, ya know, like in all the messages I replied to.”

When you tried going around him, he stepped in your way, aggravating you more.

“Look, cupcake. We could either do this the easy way or the hard way. Easy way, you go and see Colonel yourself or hard way I drag your tiny ass over there.”

At this point, the more you gripped at the mask, the more it was possible it could break in your grasp. So you hooked your mask back onto your belt, seething eyes never leaving Wainfleet. It was possible to shut down the AMPs in your current height. You’d done it before but it was with someone who lacked experience controlling those things.

Wainfleet on the other hand was often training himself in them, which would lead to a more difficult and quite possible deadly attempt at escape.

Which meant, unfortunately, you didn’t have much of a choice.

With your dignity burying itself into the ground, you followed Wainfleet further into the Armor Bay where multiple more AMPs were lined up along with the ships and planes the pilots controlled.

When you arrived at the small gym room where Quaritch was currently benching, Wainfleet left you alone but you didn’t move to further enter the room. All you did was scowl and stand in the doorway with crossed arms, waiting for him to acknowledge you.

And you knew he knew you were there.

“I was wondering when we’d get the chance to talk again.” Quaritch finally said, putting down the weights as he sat up. He grabbed a towel next to him and began wiping the sweat off his sweat. “Are you finally done with your tantrum?”

He wanted you to snap, rise to the provoking. But you remained silent, your jaw clenching just a bit as your eyes narrowed in on him. Quaritch was watching you closely as well, probably waiting for you to react.

“Ah, the silent treatment. Guess I should’ve expected that too.” He threw the towel to the side before looking up at you with a smirk. “Thought you made a vow never to set foot in here again. Made a whole dramatic scene about it too—”

“What do you want?” You ask simply.

Quaritch now scowled at your indifference or rather rebellion, you couldn’t really tell. “I want you to get your act together. I don’t have time for you throwing fits like a child because you don’t get your way. This is a mission, Doc, and your job is to—”

“My job was to help the people.” You hissed, stepping only a few feet into the room. “To build a connection with them. That was your orders. That’s what you asked me to do. And what does the RDA do? Fuck it all up by shooting a bunch of Na’vi, leaving them for dead!”

Quaritch rolled his eyes, “You’re still on that?”

You seethed, “You don’t even understand what you did! You would think thinking smartly would crossed your thick fucking skull—”

“That’s enough from you!” He barked in his Colonel voice. “Disrespect me like that again and I will boot you right off of this planet as fast as I got you on it, you hear me?”

“Do it then.” You challenged, hands shaking from anger. “You’ve had plenty of times to get rid of me. If you find me so much of a problem, why am I still here?”

You half expected him to keep shouting at you, yell at you into submission like he does his subordinates. But instead, Quaritch chuckled as he stood up. “Moments like this, you remind me of your father. Good man, acted just like you. Which was what made him the best soldier. Which made him a good captain.”

He was changing the conversation, he was trying to have power over you without being forthright about it. He had done this before whenever you tried arguing, it was his way of shutting you down without getting into a fight.

“You’re a smart cookie, Doc. And I know you’re smart enough to realize your value to this team. To the program.” He flashed his white teeth at you. “You and I both know I can’t get rid of you that easily. And I won’t. I made a vow after all.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, wondering just where this conversation was going. Every time he brought up that damned vow it usually was followed by something for her to do. A favor. Something to keep her distracted.

“So let’s put the whole past to rest—”

“I rather not—” Quaritch cut you off just as fast as you did.

“And focus on the current future. Have you met Corporal Sully?”

You frown, suddenly remembering Jake’s charming smile. “What, he’s your new little puppet now?”

Quaritch wasn’t phased by the comment as he sat back down on the bench, “He’s got promise that kid. I tasked him to get to know the Na’vi people and learn their ways, to gain information for me.” You scoffed in disbelief as he continued. “Since you’re so well versed in their culture, I want you to give him some pointers. A tutor if you will.”

“Like hell I will—”

“And yes, you can decline.” Quaritch began lifting the weights again, “And then the RDA can take your little secluded lab away, destroying everything you’ve worked on. I’m sure that would be smart.”

This was where you had to control yourself. Your reaction. Your anger. You remembered a certain project that you were just nearly done with. Something you had been working on dedicatedly ever since the incident. If Quaritch or any of the RDA were to discover it, you were sure you would be exiled back to Earth.

Or quite possibly killed.

“What do you say, kid?” Quaritch noticed your silence.

With a scowl, you gritted out, “Fine.”

From the bench, the Colonel grinned, “Good girl! Now we can really get to work!” He placed the weight back down and stood, “Let’s go tell Sully the good news.”

When arriving in the link room, you lingered behind while Quaritch approached one of the link beds that was just opening. Jake happened to be in that one as he sat up, immediately spotting the Colonel walking toward him.

“Sir.” Jake greeted, briefly glancing your way for a moment longer before turning back to the Colonel.

Quaritch nodded in greeting and gestured to you, “I assume you’ve already met, Dr. L/N, the best of the best in the Avatar Program.”

“What do you want, Quaritch?” Grace cut in as she pushed open her own link bed. She noticed the angered look on your face and raised her brows, silently questioning you.

“She’s going to be showing the ins and outs of the Na’vi, she’ll give you some pointers to better prepare yourself for the program.” Quaritch winked as he clapped his hand on your shoulder. “You do best following her lead, might keep you alive, Corporal.”

Jake nodded, eyes alight, “Will do, sir.”

Quaritch’s grip on your shoulder tightened, “Take care of our boy, will you, Doc.”

Carefully, you reply, “He’s in good hands…sir.”

Grace narrowed her eyes at you while Jake frowned, finally noticing your change in behavior compared to your earlier brighter demeanor.

Satisfied, Quaritch gave you another rough pat on your back before leaving you with Grace, Jake, and as soon as he came out of his link bed, Norm.

“Tinkers.” Grace brought your attention back to her. She gave you a meaningful look before speaking in Na’vi, “What happened?”

Instead of responding to her, you nodded toward the three with an impassive expression, “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

You needed some time away, to calm down, to reevaluate some things. If only you had left as quickly as you had planned to, none of this would have occurred. You wouldn’t be feeling so helpless right now as you stalked through the halls, practically glaring at everything around you. At this rate, you wished that bastard dropped you back on Earth. At least you would be far away from this shit.

“Hey, Doc!”

A part of you wanted to just keep going and ignore Jake Sully when he called for you. But you stopped anyway despite yourself and turned to find him rolling toward you.  He stopped a few feet away from you, frowning at your guarded behavior. “I know I’m not well informed about all of this the way you’d like but I’m sure I can catch on fast—”

“Let’s get one thing very clear, Sully. I know you’re working with Quaritch. I know you’re planning on lying to them, gaining information for him to use or whatever the hell he’s planning. I don’t want any part of it.” You shoved your hands into your pants pockets glaring at the surprised man. “You’ve aligned yourself with a dangerous man, Sully. I hope you understand what you’re doing here.”

Just as you turned to walk away, Jake called out to you again, “So is that your advice then? As my tutor?”

 “No. Not all of it.” You glanced over your shoulder at him and shrugged, “Try not to die, Jake.”

taglist: @luvvfromme @sully-stick-together @dazedshoon

#to you worlds away #avatar jake sully x reader #avatar jake sully #jake sully #avatar jake #jake sully x reader #avatar fanfiction #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #avatar jake x reader #jake x reader

[cryptidghostgirl]

A/N I have some requests in the chain above this one but wanted to post something that was a stand alone and not a part to another fic I wrote earlier because of how long I have been away. I promise the two requests lined up before this (pt 3 of till death do us part and pt 4 to cover up) will be out soon! Also, this request reminds me of Cinder by Marissa Meyer so there is some mild inspo from that in here (and loose quoting. sorry. I got carried away.).

What it Means to be a Person (Alastor x Cyborg!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Description: Y/n gave an arm and a leg to the fight against the exterminators and feels she has lost her humanity by the bionic replacements Lucifer and Charlie gifted her in return. Alastor reminds her that not all is lost, she can still dance, after all.

Warnings: Hurt//comfort. This might've ended up a little more angsty than intended and I kinda ran away with the prompt. Sorry about that.

Word Count: 2,246

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List 

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

“Imagine there was a cure, but it would cost you everything. What would you do?”

Y/n's question hung in the air of the dimly lit kitchen, echoing off the uncertainties late hours like this one always seemed to carry. Alastor froze where he stood by the stove, his hang halfway to the kettle whistling away upon it. He turned to face her where she sat at the far end of the rough hewn kitchen table, her head in her hands and her hair acting as a curtain, as a shield, hiding her face from view.

The meeting had been an accident. Alastor had found himself craving a cup of tea to accompany his late night preparations for tomorrows broadcast and when he had entered the kitchen, he had found her sitting there. Since the day Y/n had shown up at the hotel in all her bright and wild exuberance, Alastor had felt a connection with the girl. She was bubbly, a showman at heart with a soft spot for the macabre, how could he not automatically find a certain level of camaraderie with her? Everything had changed after the battle with Heaven a few weeks before.

Y/n had fought valiantly, using all her brains and brawn to protect the place she had come to call her home and the people she had discovered to be her family. The battle did not take her life, but she did give an arm and a leg to its hungry fervor. With Lucifer's help, Charlie had managed to get her an appointment with a well known doctor in Pentagram City. The man had given Y/n back her ability to stand, to reach for things, but had taken the mangled remains of her human form in the process. She had been brought back to square one, learning how to walk, to hold a pencil. She had been filled to the brim with wires that allowed her to control her new appendages.

The conversation had been an accident as well. Alastor hadn't meant to open the can of worms he was now sifting through. He had just spotted her sitting there, had casually asked how she was doing. Y/n was always so human, so much more human than he was capable of being. It was the only thing that had ever held him back from taking what he wanted, that wild and irrevocable humanity of hers.

"I would take the cure." Alastor replied after a moment, turning back to the stove and at last lifting the kettle, pouring the hot water into his favorite mug, "It would be better than the alternative."

With a decided intent in his step, he made his way over to her. The legs of the chair scraped dangerously across the floor as he pulled it out and took a seat beside her. Y/n looked up.

Alastor was shocked at what he saw. Y/n had been hiding since the battle, claiming that she was recuperating. No one had any reason to doubt her given the injuries she had sustained but now, Alastor was not so sure. Her eyes were sunken, dark circles dulling the pink of her cheeks. She was silver in the moonlight as it streamed through the window but she did not shine as she normally seemed to.

"I'm not human anymore."

Y/n's voice was cracked and raw, it only made him love her more. Out of all the creatures in Hell, she was the only one who would worry about such a thing, he was sure of it. Alastor had to stop himself from laughing, focusing on the heat of the cup held between his hands.

"You never were. You haven't been in a long time." he mused in response and Y/n sighed.

"I don't feel like a person anymore."

Again, another contradiction. Y/n was a demon, through and through. Not quite an overlord but powerful, well on her way to becoming one. There was nothing human about that in Alastor's eyes. The way he saw it, the moment a soul died they stopped being a person, no matter where in the afterlife they ended up. It was clear she would not agree. They had never talked of such matters before, it was an unexpected revelation. Alastor took a deep breath.

"Why?"

Y/n was silent, her eyes returning to the table as she traced the grains of the wood. It was unlike him, the concern, the curiosity for such an emotional matter. Alastor had long since given up on trying to make sense of the things she provoked in him. He tried again.

"How do you define being human? Is it what you look like? What you're made up of? Or is it who you are."

It was a clumsy attempt. There had been no need to provide comfort for a long time, not since Alastor had been alive. He was out of practice but, he supposed, caring for another was rather like riding a bike. Once you learned how it was done, you never really forgot.

"Who you are but..." Y/n's eyes met his once again, the conflict occuring behind them apparent.

She was unsheltered, the facade was gone. Alastor would consider himself close with the demon, closer perhaps than anyone else at the hotel but still, he had never seen her like this. His heart hurt.

"At the same time," she continued solemnly, "there is more to it than that."

"How do you define humanity?"

Y/n thought for a moment.

"Dancing. Spending time with friends, having people who care about you. Making meals together, reading books and poetry. Making art. Feeling one with the world around you, being a part of the earth we all come from."

Alastor held another laugh at bay. It wasn't out of the blue but, at the same time, there was something strange about hearing the words as they left her lips. He took a sip of his drink, the hot liquid worming its way down his throat and into his stomach.

"Doesn't the fact that you now find yourself to be inhuman at all show at least some of those?"

Y/n cocked her head to the side in confusion, her brow furrowing. Alastor sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"What I mean is that the reason you have those bionic limbs of yours at all is because you have people who care about you enough to get them for you and you cared enough about other people to give up what you originally had. If that isn't having people who care about you, spending time with friends, being one with the world around you, I don't know what is."

"But I am not of the earth any longer." Y/n ruefully replied.

"You are."

"How? I am naught but metal now. I traded steel for skin."

In the weakness of the night breeze, she seemed to slip into the skin she once wore. Flowery language, a posh, nearly transatlantic accent, shoulders straight and strong, all reminders of her upper class upbringing from so long ago. He could almost see her now as she must've been. It was a trick of the light.

"You were buried, right?"

Y/n nodded.

"I believe so. Beside my mother."

"Then you are forever of the earth."

"To the earth we must return," Y/n nodded after a moment in solemn agreement, "but I will never dance again."

Alastor had never even known it was something she had enjoyed. The time for questions was later, he got to his feet, his cup left abandoned on the table.

Alastor summoned his staff with a wave of his hand, leaning it against the sideboard as a soft song began playing from its speaker. Turning to Y/n once again, he offered her his hand. Y/n eyed it tentatively before reaching out her own to grab it.

With a shake of Alastor's head, she halted mid movement. He didn't need words to get his point across, Y/n just didn't like it. Lowering her hand, she raised the other. It was heavier, made from something other than flesh. There was an ungainly sense to the way she moved it. It didn't flow graceful through the air, it was too heavy for that. The metal of her fingers was cold and harsh against his palm as he helped her ineptly to her feet.

"Ella Fitzgerald." she mused softly, her eyes on his microphone.

"I didn't know you liked jazz."

Y/n's eyes met his once again and she gave him a half hearted smile.

"Growing up in the 1930s and being someone who held distaste towards jazz would have been an impossibility, wouldn't you agree?"

He had known she was alive sometime around the turn of the century but, that had been it. Alastor grinned from ear to ear at this subtle revelation.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Letting go of her hand, Alastor took a step back. He bowed. Y/n couldn't help it, she laughed a little.

"What on earth are you doing?"

Alastor looked up at her, still bowing as their eyes met. Slowly, he straightened himself up, holding a hand out to her once again.

"Y/n, would you do me the absolute honor of sharing this dance?"

He had hoped his showmanship would make her smile, make her laugh even, the way it normally did. Instead, she withdrew her arms to her chest, taking a halting step backwards as she shook her head. Alastor's gaze softened. He had never seen her afraid before.

"Please."

"I..."

Y/n's eyes flitted wildly around the room, searching for any excuse, any fodder for her escape. At last, she relented, hesitantly placing her hand back into his own.

"Okay."

Her voice was soft, almost breathless. Alastor pulled her into him, snaking an arm around her waist as she placed her other on his shoulder.

"See?" he asked as they began to dance, "All is not lost to you."

There was nothing elegant about her movements. Y/n grimaced.

"But it is not the same either. Once I was something grand."

"Change is inevitable. You are still someone grand."

"Not change like this."

Alastor spun her out, catching Y/n in his arms as she almost tripped over the weight of her foot.

"Why do you hate it so much? Is it vanity?"

“Vanity is a factor," Y/n admitted, "but it is more a question of control. It is easier to trick others into perceiving you as beautiful if you can convince yourself you are beautiful. But mirrors have an uncanny way of telling the truth and I am not made up of the same materials I once was."

"Change is inevitable." Alastor said again and was overjoyed when Y/n rolled her eyes, smiling slightly as his response, "You're still beautiful, almost more so now."

This took her aback. The tingle of a question at the back of her mind was outweighed by shock. She stilled, still pressed close to Alastor as the music filtered softly into their ears.

"What?"

"Before you shined, but just on the inside." Alastor admitted, refusing to look away from her wide eyes even as he felt the heat rush to his cheeks, "Now you do on the outside as well, see?"

He held the hand he clasped tightly in his own up to the light streaming in through the window. The moon glinted off the silver surface of the metal, sending playful patterns scattering across the walls of the kitchen. Y/n's breath caught in her throat.

"And you can still dance. Why don't you help me with dinner tomorrow?"

It was something they had done on occasion before the extermination, cook for the inhabitants of the Hazbin Hotel together.

"Why are you doing this?"

The smile slipped from Alastor's face.

"I don't understand." Y/n shook her head, pushing herself away from Alastor and wrapping her arms around her torso, "Why are you doing all this for me?"

The answer was simple. Sometimes, the truest things in life are.

"Because I love you." he admitted, "And it pains me to see you like this."

"I..."

He had known it was too good to be true. The music stopped, his staff vanishing into thin air as quickly as it had appeared.

"I'll go. Just... make sure you get some sleep tonight, I know you havent been."

He was halfway to the door, mostly past her, when he felt the cool grip of her hand on the exposed skin of his wrist. Alastor stopped, he turned. There was a minute bravery in the act. Not that she had stopped him, that she had grabbed his arm. If anything, that was the most normal thing that had occurred all evening. No, it was the arm she had chosen to use, the one she held such conflict over and saw as something to be embarrassed about, ashamed of.

She stood tense in the moonlight, her free hand raised to her chest.

"I..."

Y/n's mind was spinning, her thoughts firing off at a thousand miles a minute. She wanted to say it, knew it was true, but something stopped her. She wasn't ready.

"Thank you, Alastor."

Alastor smiled softly, almost sadly over at her. Gently, he removed her hand from his wrist, holding it in his own and patting it gently.

"Always."

------

QUOTES REFERENCED (BECAUSE I REFUSE TO STEAL OTHERS WORK EVEN FOR A FANFICTION)

“Imagine there was a cure, but it would cost you everything. What would you do?” -> taken from “Imagine there was a cure, but finding it would cost you everything. It would completely ruin your life. What would you do?” in Cinder by Marissa Meyer

“Vanity is a factor," Y/n admitted, "but it is more a question of control. It is easier to trick others into perceiving you as beautiful if you can convince yourself you are beautiful. But mirrors have an uncanny way of telling the truth and I am not made up of the same materials I once was." -> taken from “Vanity is a factor, but it is more a question of control. It is easier to trick others into perceiving you as beautiful if you can convince yourself you are beautiful. But mirrors have an uncanny way of telling the truth.” in Cinder by Marissa Meyer

TAGS:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170@wendyphan01203-blog @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @luxky-aish @peterpankat @corvid007

#hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #x reader fics #fic writer #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel angst #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #cyborg reader #cyborg #cinder #alastor imagines #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hurt/comfort #the radio demon x reader #radio demon x reader #the radio demon #radio demon #requested #requests open #requests #request #alastor angst

[ghouljams]

Hello ! How are you doing ?

Thank you so much for sharing your work. Reading your writings has been so therapeutic for me, you have no idea how grateful I am about this. I’m going through a really rough part of my life, and I’m surrounded by sources of high stress that prevent me from relaxing even though I’m supposed to be on vacation with my mom. It makes me really sad and my anxiety is being a nightmare ; but it’s been so nice to run away through it all by reading your works. I’ve been binge-reading your blog ever since I discovered you a few days ago, and I’m in love. Thank you again.

Also ! I just got an idea.

What about PriZe, for Price’s demon’s name ? It’s close to his own name, but not the same ? Gathering intel, torturing their targets and easily claiming their « prized » info ? I don’t really know if it makes sense, I’m really bad at explaining things. But the idea just popped in my head while re-reading this and I just… felt the need to share it ? I really hope it’s okay.

What if the demon has the ability to just… literally dig through their victim’s brain to get any information they want, but it’s a very demanding power that requires them to be in full shape for them to use it properly, like after a good meal ? I imagine some targets are tough nuts to crack, even for a demon, so this method is used on them, albeit very sparingly, because our demon is always exhausted after using it. I see them acting like everything’s fine despite their entire body shaking like a leaf stuck in a storm, only allowing themselves to collapse in Price’s arms when the two of them are alone. Maybe Price gets a little soft, seeing how worn down their are, almost limp from the fatigue they’re trying to fight, and pampers them to get them to sleep ?

(I’m a sucker for powerful abilities with extreme drawbacks.)

Lots of love on you, Friend !

I like Prize, but I don't know if it quite fits what they do. At least in my mind. Price's name comes from the literal cost of acquiring information: they can see everything a target has seen for the price of that target's eyes, can hear for their ears, so on and so forth. Price can do just about anything "for a price". Something I think Capt. Price learned has to come from one of them early on.

That said I'm a sucker for the soft, you know me, so let's drain the demon's battery.

It's been a long 72 hours, and you're starving. You're also pinned down. A slab of cement separating you and your captain from the hail of bullets being rained onto you. Price is yelling into his radio for position information, for backup, for anything really. You're busy trying to improvise a decent explosive to try and buy both of you time. You burn a little more of you reserves to find an extra wire in the rubble and arm the device.

Your shadows lash at the enemy soldier that tries to flank, slashing his throat before spearing through him and into the one behind him. "Christ you are a wonder today," Price breathes, watching the men fall as your shadow retracts.

"Doin' my best," You tell him through grit teeth, popping out of cover just long enough to throw your shitty bomb.

"How much more you got in you?" He asks watching you crouch again. You grimace, doing some quick maths on your hunger levels versus your magic.

"Not as much as we want," You shake your head, "What do you need?"

"Got a helo incoming, need to get to the roof." Easier said than done as always. You tap your fingers against the cement, try to think of your best options, the best use of your remaining resources.

"I'll cover you, just try not to get shot." You both nod to each other and take a breath.

Then Price moves and all hell breaks loose. You expend a considerable amount of magic making every gun jam, and lashing away the already flying bullets. More magic slashing and spearing the combatants that charge Price with a knife or improvised weapon. He's just as quick to fire off shots; grabbing a soldier by the neck and shooting him first in the stomach, then between the eyes, before swiping the semi-automatic he'd been toting.

You throw thick shadowy shields up to catch a knife before it can slash your captain. You're getting slower, the radius of your senses creeping smaller and smaller. Price fires over your head as he back tracks up the nearest set of stairs. If you had even a second to eat...

A bullet grazes Price's arm, tears through his shirt with a streak of blood. You steal a few drops for an unlocked door as you both crash through the metal door leading to the roof. It's blissfully uninhabited but it won't be for long. You drop into Price's shadow, too tired to keep physical form while he runs to the edge of the roof and jumps to the next one.

"Awning on the left," You whisper, stretching to feel the best path to point.

"Stay with me sweetheart, can rest in the helo," Price presses his back to a wall and switches mags.

"Who said anything about resting, I'm working overtime," You grumble, watching him fire around the corner. You tweak a few bullets to hit their targets. You just need to get your charge to safety. That's what you keep telling yourself at least.

Price looks overhead, tracking the helicopter as it flies over the war torn city. Only a moment to breath before he's moving again. You direct him towards the humming metal, tossing him spare mags and spearing the unlucky few that aren't granted a bullet riddled death. When you finally spot the helo it's because the bullets are suddenly flying at it not you.

The door slides open and you hear Price laugh a little, watching Gaz shoot the men running after him from the door. He's quick to pick up the pace, grabbing Gaz's outstretched arm as soon as he's able for the assist climbing in.

"Get us out of here!" Gaz yells to the pilot, hauling Price into the helo with a tight grip. The engine whirs and over it you hear Gaz tell your captain, "Thought we'd lost you when we got separated, you're one lucky bastard."

Not luck, but close enough to it. Price hums, presses a steadying hand to the wall of the helicopter. You choose to take that as a dismissal, letting the darkness shelter you as you drift.

"Price." Your name drags you out of your hibernation. You pull yourself from the shadows in Price's tent just enough to stare at him. He's sat on his cot staring down at you. You try not to look as tired as you feel. He pats the space next to him. "Haven't had you pull anything from me in a while," He tells you, watching you extract yourself from the shadows to climb onto his cot.

"Haven't needed to," You stretch out across the standard issue bed, it's about as comfortable as you expected it to be, "you keep me well fed most of the time."

"I know, an' 'm sorry," He shakes his head, "don't like drainin' you like that."

"Not your fault," you sigh, "There wasn't time to eat, I'm just glad we got outta there in one piece."

"You want somethin' to eat now?" Price turns to settle a hand on your stomach. You hum, thinking over the offer. You're both fairly well trained to each other, but you're honestly too tired for sex after your forced shutdown.

"Maybe after a nap." You earn a smile for your honesty, Price's hand leaves your stomach to nudge you towards the edge of the cot. Just enough room for him to lay down. You figure it must be pretty late in the night if the captain is going to bed. You don't waste time trying to guess the hour, rolling to rest on his chest as Price slips an arm around you.

"Good, I'm exhausted," He sighs, and tugs his hat down over his eyes.

You cuddle closer enjoying the way his hand slides across your back, comforting and gentle. You think he must've been worried about you. You can still remember the first time you overstretched yourself. How hard he'd tried to hide his concern, and the mumbled admission that he didn't like how quiet everything was, how light his shoulders were during your sleep.

You rub your hand against his chest, the soft military issue tee catching under your fingers. Yeah, you miss him too when you're out of commission. You both certainly sleep better when you're corporeal if Price's snores are anything to go off of.

#cod x reader #x reader #demon!darlings au #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price x oc #captain price x reader #john price x oc #x oc #oc: Price #they're sweet on each other #but I think they're both pretending not to be #for appearances sake

[cellarspider]

12/?? Things come to a head

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

⛬

We return to that shambling mass of a film, Prometheus.

Content warnings for body horror, contagion-y stuff, something that loosely be described as medical horror, It’s Been 0 Days Since Our Last Incident, and me, going on a ramble about movie gore to distract myself from The Madness.

There's a lady in this scene who's had a number of speaking lines so far–the maybe-chemist. She has a name, but it doesn’t matter.

But I'm going to call her Doctor Frankenstein.

They have just got the helmet off the head, revealing that it’s truly, unmistakably humanoid. They have noted that there are “new cells” on the head. In the business, we call that “decomposition”, but Doctor Frankenstein is not concerned with this. In fact, she immediately proposes a new plan.

Doctor Frankenstein has had the brilliant idea to plug a big cable into the head like it’s a guitar amp, and zap it with electricity to wake it up.

Yes. This is what the movie goes with.

You know, Alien included a similarly shambolic first examination of an alien subject, but it was performed because said alien was attached to a man’s face, and all they had to try and fix that was the contents of a cargo ship’s medbay, with the only qualified personnel being the corporate android who had been ordered to consider the crew expendable. The crew of the Prometheus has no such excuse.

Well, except for David, he has precisely the same excuse, but he’s not trying to poke wires in anybody’s ears.

Doctor Frankenstein calls for enough amperage to run three electric kettles (cite 3), then all the way up to two Titan RTX graphics cards before the head starts to get what appears to be a massive migraine. 

I know this expression well, migraines can feel very much like someone is subjecting me to unnatural horrors.

This is getting a little extreme, though. Yes, when the head starts pulsing, they realize they may have made a mistake. 

I’d say this was inexplicable behavior on their part, unbelievably hasty and foolish–and I will say it, actually, it deserves to be said. But in context, this is the team that did so little prep for entering the alien structure that they didn’t notice the giant fuckoff skull carved into the outside of it.

Knowing how much Shaw and Holloway read into the intentions of the Engineers from the depictions they found on Earth, they probably would’ve interpreted this as a good sign, somehow.

Anyway, they put a sneezeguard down over the head before it explodes.

Good job everyone. This is like what would’ve happened if Napoleon’s savants took one look at the Rosetta Stone and decided “maybe we should try hitting it with hammers. Surely that’ll make the knowledge fall out.”

From a horror perspective, this scene only works in two contexts: First, gross-out. Generally found in schlock, exploitation, and outsider art flicks, the tone of gross-out content can be highly variable, but there are two general trends I'd mention, which are of relevance to this movie.

First, gross-out tends to exist in that weird alternate space where lots of comedy movies do: characters will behave in unreasonable ways for no apparent reason. Within the film, this is treated as the universal norm, besides maybe a straight man character who highlights the absurdity. Gross-out is often like that, but pushes different boundaries of acceptable behavior than a traditional comedy.

This is, bafflingly, what Prometheus increasingly feels like. It feels like it's transitioning into gross-out schlock, and yet it never goes all the way.

Second: the audience for gross-out is largely self-selecting. If you're watching John Waters' Pink Flamingos, you expect things to get messy. You are looking forward to things getting messy. A head exploding is perfectly par for the course in gross-out horror. One might even be disappointed if there wasn't an exploding head.

But again, this movie was not marketed on gross-out. It was marketed as a tense, Alien-esque horror movie. If you followed that premise like I did, you're not in the theater to view a debauched spectacle, you're there for the movie to put a well-paced squeeze on the characters and your nerves, where half the horror comes from having the room to really think about how frightening the core concepts of the series are.

Does Alien involve some shocking gore? Sure does! But in Alien, Kane's fate is not there to make you laugh and exclaim "ewww!" at how far the film's gone, the film tries to make you very aware of how horrifying his demise is.

So, there's an alternate way this scene works, if you're coming in from that perspective. I don't think the movie intended this as much as the gross-out, but it's what I drew from it at the time: the scene works if you decide not to focus your sympathies on the human characters at all, or even David, and think about it from the perspective of the head. 

It’s patently impossible that what they did actually “woke up” the brain inside that skull. But if we sink to the movie’s level and entertain the idea for a moment, what in the hell have they just done to this Engineer? The last thing the head would’ve remembered was running, falling, decapitation, and then this. They just tortured this poor bastard for no adequately explained reason. There’s none! “I think we can trick the nervous system into thinking it's still alive” is the entirety of the explanation. It makes about as much sense and seems as thoughtlessly violent as anything in Mad God (2021, content warning for body horror). 

I already spent all my anger about desecrating bodies in the name of shambolic pseudoscience, I have no more rage to give for now. And similarly in the theater, I hit my limit. I’d already hit a different limit back when they landed the Prometheus on top of some archaeology, but now I’d fully given up on this movie being what I’d hoped it would be. 

The maddening thing that keeps me obsessed with it is that it keeps throwing random scraps of that hypothetical movie into the mix anyway, bouncing me like a yo-yo between scenes. 

But for right now, the yo-yo is still on the descent. Having exploded the first sample of alien biology ever touched by science, they apparently stuck some of it in a generic, science-y DNA machine. What does the DNA machine tell them? 

“DNA match”. 

The movie does not actually explain what this means. It thinks it does, but in a very vague and handwave-y way that ends up being even more hilarious than if they’d just been out-and-out wrong. Because this is what I do for a living, I want to science at this for a bit. 

But I’ve written enough about it for an entire post on its own, so that will wait until next time.

⛬ 

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

⛬ 

Citations for alt-text rambles, as well as some text-text rambles:

1. https://www.behance.net/gallery/78297841/Semiotic-Standard (contains a high-quality download for the symbols, should ye wish them for yourselves)

2. https://www.sculpturedepot.net/clay-wax-tools/product.asp?Steel_Tools 

3. Doctor Frankenstein calls for 30 amps first, then 40, then 50 in the space of several seconds. According to wikipedia, an electric kettle is about 16.6A, and a 288W high-performance graphics card would require 24A. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orders_of_magnitude_(current) That graphics card isn’t mentioned by name, but it matches up with the wattage reported by Tom’s Hardware for a Titan RTX (cite 4). Running with two of these things, you might be able to run 4k Ultra settings on some games without tanking your framerate. They could’ve been playing video games and seen way more exploding heads.

4. https://www.tomshardware.com/features/graphics-card-power-consumption-tested 

5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alien_(film)#Design

6. https://www.reddit.com/r/MovieDetails/comments/f4rf63/for_the_chestburster_scene_in_alien_1979_the/

7. https://i.pinimg.com/736x/8e/2f/9b/8e2f9b0716746aac7ce5b2f369bf4082--aliens--scene.jpg

8. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karyotype#Human_karyogram 

9. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centromere 

10. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centromere#Telocentric 

11. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G_banding 

12. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proteinogenic_amino_acid 

13. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hula_language

#Prometheus 2012 #Prometheus (2012) #This movie is a study in so much tonal dissonance #It was so pretty and yet so broken #insert Benoit Blanc “compels me though” meme here

[try-set-me-on-fire]

“this is a very long hug now sort of hug” for the soft prompts 🤭🩵

The call goes ok, in the end. It was a five alarm, called in late in a shift with nothing to do but build anticipation. And it goes fine, except this is the first five alarm Buck's been on shift for since the night he died, and Eddie knows he's not the only one feeling some kind of way about that. It's in the way Bobby inhales before every order he gives Buck, in the way Chimney's jokes are just a little too loud, in the way Hen does a visual assessment every time Buck is in her line of sight. It's in the way Eddie's own heart stops every time he pulls Buck back from falling debris or loses sight of him in the flames. The only person who seems like they're taking things in stride is Buck himself, tackling each task given to him with his usual cheerful determination.

Except they're back at the station now and everyone crawled from the showers to the bunks and Eddie is seconds from nodding off but Buck hasn't come in yet. Eddie has been lying there staring up at the ceiling waiting for him to wander through the doors, safe and in one piece, but the minutes stretch on and on and still he doesn't appear. Eddie curls his hand into a fist, uncurls it, and stands up.

Buck isn't hard to find. Eddie can hear the soft tread of footsteps in the sleeping station, and follows the sound up the stairs to where Buck is pacing from the couches to the kitchen and back again.

"Hey," Eddie says, word coming out on a sigh of something like relief. He'd made no attempt to quiet his approach so Buck doesn't startle at the sound, but he does half in his path. His body is stretched taut as a piano wire.

"Hey," Buck responds. His hands clench and unclench, a trait so shared between them Eddie isn't sure which of the two of it started with anymore. "You're not tired?"

"Exhausted," Eddie says, scrubbing a hand over his face. "But you didn't come to bed."

"Sorry," Buck says and, gentleman that he is, looks genuinely guilty for it. Eddie shakes his head and comes a few steps closer.

"Just wanted to…" Eddie's not sure how to finish the sentence. Make sure you were ok? See you standing with your eyes open, because when we're apart for too long I feel your dead flesh on my palms? That one doesn't even make sense, Buck, I was wearing gloves, but I keep thinking about how cold you must have been, and how still. "Check in."

Buck spreads his hands in a check away gesture, face unhappy. Eddie is grateful he's not hiding it, at least. "I'm… I can't sleep."

Eddie nods, stepping closer again. He just stands there, arms folded, waiting for Buck to continue and breathing evenly in case he needs a pace to match. Buck watches him, chewing his lip.

“It wasn’t even going up the ladder,” he says finally, “that was the hard part.”

“What was the hard part?”

“I slipped a little,” Buck says, and he lets out a little laugh as he says it, eyes wide and shaking his head. “Stupid. Loose tile. I slipped a little and I didn’t even fall, but it felt like I was going to for a second and I thought I was going to die.” He shrugs, big, lips pressed together. “How stupid is that? I was so scared and like- what even would have happened? Even if I had fallen, it would have been fine. Floor was solid. That room wasn’t even on fire yet. But in the moment I really thought I was going to die and it scared the shit out of me, Eds.”

“It’s not stupid,” Eddie says, moving close enough to reach out and touch but not doing it yet. “And hey, you’re a tall guy, long way to fall. With your luck I bet you could have managed a fatality.”

Buck breathes out sharp through his nose, mouth quirking up in one corner. He looks small, and if Eddie had to explain the thought process behind taking the final step and wrapping his arms around him, the honest and nonsensical answer would be that he's checking to make sure Buck is still two inches taller than him. He is, of course, and 6'0" and 6'2" is not much of a difference but Eddie's always appreciated the way Buck's spine curves down around him when they embrace. All the air in Buck's lungs exhales out over Eddie's left shoulder. He can feel his chest sink in with it.

"I'm always… I'll try to catch you," Eddie says. His hands are flat on Buck's back, and he moves one up his spine to rest on his neck. "If you fall."

Buck nods, their hair scraping together. "I know."

They stand there for a while. Eddie thinks he should probably step back, but Buck is relaxing in his arms, and it's warm, and he's still so tired but this feels sort of like dreaming already. He idly rubs Buck's neck, and Buck's hands tangle gently in the back of Eddie's shirt.

"Thanks," Buck whispers, minutes or hours later when the tension holding him rigid is all bled out around their feet. He presses his face into Eddie's shoulder for a second, and Eddie misses it when it's gone. "I think I can sleep now."

"Alright," Eddie whispers, and since this is half a dream anyway he lets his hand cradle Buck's chin for a moment as they part. Buck smiles at him, easy, the brightest thing in here at 3 AM with the kitchen lights set to dim. "Come on."

They walk to the bunks with their shoulders bumping together, and Buck is out seconds after he's down. Eddie, as always, follows right behind him.

send me soft fic prompts!

#this one got a little angsty oops hopefully it’s still sufficiently soft #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 fox #my writing

[aggressively-crying]

Probably bad transformers animated headcanons

Bumblebee listens to 100 gecs and uses TikTok. Both of which he does with his speakers turned up. In public.

Prowl has considered buying a fur suit but stops himself every time he's about to go through with it.

Optimus purposefully misuses slang and memes to watch the crew members that know what the terms mean die inside. Even pronounces them wrong for extra flavor.

Ratchet watches soap operas. It started out as simply being curious as to what trash the humans consider good stories but then he got legitimately invested.

Sometimes Bulkhead tries eating human food just because it looks really really good, but it always inevitably tastes kinda gross because he wasn't meant to process that kind of material. He wants to find a way to convert it to energon but until that day comes, he's forced to simply stare and long for it.

The repair crew has movie nights once a week with Sari, both to get a better understanding of human culture, and as an excuse to hang out. Every once in awhile they accidentally pick a movie that they don't realize Sari probably should not be watching until it's too late. They do not speak of the Friday the 13th incident. Or the time Sari picked Coraline and Optimus had to leave halfway through.

In that vein, after realizing how jumpy he was about spiders on Halloween, Optimus actually tried giving himself a degree of exposure therapy so no harmless tiny arachnids needlessly die by his axe. Now he at least TRIES to bring them outside with a cup and a piece of paper, but he's not above just asking Bulkhead to do it instead.

Ratchet has taken to finding old junker cars and trying to fix them up in his spare time. Their makeup is painfully simple compared to Cybertronian anatomy, and it's not like he has to worry about what happens if he can't fix one fast enough. He still thinks just selling spare parts on the open market is barbaric, but it's kind of therapeutic for him to just work on something like that without the stress of having someone's life or even just general well-being in his hands. He lets Bulkhead repaint them when he's finished.

Sari does NOT actually know how sex works. At least, like, not accurately. The version of it she told to Optimus was wildly off-base, but still juuuust close enough to freak him out.

Similarly, Prowl has observed nature long enough to get a sort of incomplete idea of how all that goes down, and has come to the conclusion that organics universally lay eggs.

Bumblebee plays horror games with the lights off just to prove hes not chicken, and then has horrible nightmares for a week straight. He also fully believes in every video game creepypasta/myth you tell him, and swears up and down he's seen Herobrine.

Bulkhead is terrified of mice because he doesn't understand how anything can be that teeny tiny and he heard they can chew through metal like some kind of freaky organic scraplet. He gets nightmares about Ratchet opening him up and finding a whole colony of them chewing on his wires.

Sometimes while Megatron was just a head in Sumdac's lab, he'd be bored enough watch whatever was on TV between schemes and naps. The only thing he would ever admit he liked was wrestling because he felt at least a little vindication watching the pathetic organic wretches beat the slag out of each other. That and it reminded him a bit of his gladiator days.

Shockwave is a pretentious energon tea drinker and has whatever the Cybertron equivalent of a loose leaf tea infuser is. He INSISTS it's objectively better and whatever the more normie type of energon is simply cannot compare.

Lugnut has date nights with Strika but they usually start off as sparring matches that get juuuust a little out of hand. He would not have it any other way and loves when his big scary wife throws him across the room and into a wall, then immediately rushes over to check if he still functions. It may be the concussions, but he swears she looks like a holy being towering above him from where he's slumped over on the floor.

Blitzwing is actually pretty functional from day to day. He's had his multiple faces for long enough that he knows how to cope with them and work with them. Sometimes he has poor impulse control, and sometimes he can't stop himself from feeding his anger, but overall he's actually pretty good about keeping himself in check. He just leans into the whole "crazy" schtick because he knows that's how others see him and no matter what he does, he's not gonna change their perception. It's sort of a spite thing when he annoys people with it, but it's also kind of a self deprecating cry for help that he's REALLY hoping someone will eventually pick up on.

Starscream is only a Decepticon because he wanted to pursue acting but nobody would hire a Warframe. He sought out fame and adoring fans in the gladiator arena, and he got what he was after until Megatron kicked his skid plate and Starscream was suddenly no longer the popular seeker heartthrob bad boy, but a laughing stock who fell when someone bigger and stronger clipped his wings. He originally joined Megatron with the intent to climb the ranks and snatch his following out from under him, but then the war broke out and his whole plan was thrown off track.

No Cybertronian is 100% okay with Earth vehicles looking the way they do and not being alive. It's pretty creepy seeing what they think is just some guy carrying an organic around only to remember right, yeah, the organic's controlling him like cordyceps in an ant and he was never alive to begin with.

Blurr has to intentionally talk much slower than he would at his natural speaking pace just because nobody can understand what in Primus's name he's saying.

Between him, Jazz and the Jet Twins, it's actually kind of a meme on Cybertron that the elite guard badge messes with your speech synthesizer because Sentinel is the only member that speaks even slightly normally.

Jazz once attempted to show Sentinel a nature documentary that Prowl recommended. Sentinel proceeded to purge his fuel tank about five minutes in and forbid jazz from watching that filth outside his own quarters.

Both of the jet twins play fortnite whenever they're on earth and come up with the nastiest incomprehensible insults they can to spam into the microphone because they think that's just part of the game that nobody is taking seriously rather than unbelievably toxic people having mental breakdowns at losing.

And finally,

Cybertron has its own cryptids and urban legends: a long, serpentine beast, as long as 60 Warframes that slinks through the oil of Iacon's aqueducts. A jet black cybercat with three tails that will take your spark if you look it in the optics for too long. A shuttle painted in neons, appearing at the station on its own when there is only one transformer at the station, speaking honeyed words in a voice that sounds too familiar, and promising to bring you home safe, but keeps driving and never stops until you're in stasis or offline. A spectral figure that haunts the underground tunnels that few dare traverse, keeping to the shadows and darting out of sight, but you can always hear their engine revving, and always hear their anguished wails. A frame-bare mechanical avian, practically skeletal, that circles over the sea of rust, massive in size and always waiting to swoop down on unsuspecting mechs. They are spoken of in hushed whispers, none know for certain whether they are real or simply fiction. Most think it's silly to believe in such things, but the superstitions around them persist.

#transformers #maccadam #tfa #transformers animated #optimus prime #bumblebee #bulkhead #ratchet #prowl #sari sumdac #megatron #blitzwing #lugnut #shockwave #starscream #strika #blurr #jazz #sentinel prime #jetfire #jetstrorm

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Coming Home (Part 7)

Azriel x Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Warnings: Ye olde angste

⧪

There was a storm atop the House of Wind.

At least – anyone could have been forgiven for thinking so.

Cassian certainly had, upon awakening to the mighty tremble that wracked through the house. Like an earthquake, the tremor was sudden and unforgiving. Followed by what seemed to be the heavy pounding – thumping – of hailstones that had to be the size of boulders. A thunderous boom. 

He sat up in bed, rigid and staring around the dark room. The clock on the wall told him that a mere few hours had passed since he and Nesta had returned home from your homecoming party. His head was fogged and pounding from the effects of alcohol, of little sleep. He frowned as another thud landed above him. 

Had to be something quite substantial, to feel it through the strong, mammoth structure that was the House of Wind. 

Nesta groaned softly beside him, pulling the sheet over her head. “What is that.” 

“Not sure.” Cassian slipped out of bed, slinging a loose pair of trousers on. “Go back to sleep. I’ll check it out.” 

He dragged his feet out of the room, the faelights in the hallway causing him to squint. Azriel’s door was slightly ajar, no noise or light visible from the small crack. 

Another thud. Coming from the training area up on the roof. Cas practically threw himself up the winding stairs, kicking the door open and bracing himself for–

Azriel. 

The Shadowsinger didn’t notice as Cassian stopped in the doorway. Still in his clothes from the party, he continued his…assault on the training ring. Slicing through the air with his swords and testing manoeuvres that were far too sloppy for his usual slick precision. His movements were sluggish, languid, his teeth gritted as sweat soaked his hair and dripped down his face.

Only when he started knocking training dummies to the ground, as if they’d personally affronted him, did Cassian step forward. 

“Az.” He croaked, his voice groggy from sleep. “What the fuck?” 

Spinning on his feet, Az stared back at him, his chest heaving. “What?” 

“Are you trying to bring the Gods-damn house down around us?” The Illyrian general stalked forward, setting a dummy upright as he appraised the Spymaster. “Have you even been to bed?” 

“Still wired from the party.” Azriel shrugged. “Thought I’d work out some of that tension.” 

He sliced his sword through the air again, and Cassian stepped back. He had to be drunk – or something. Although, Cas was sure he’d drunk the least out of anyone. But wired…no, that wasn’t the expression taking over his face. It was…darker than that. Consuming his perfect face with something akin to anger. To pure, unadulterated rage.

Even his shadows seemed to be slinking back. 

“Has something happened?” Cassian asked, watching every single one of Azriel’s steps and twists and turns. He clutched the hilt of his sword so hard, his knuckles were white. 

“No.” 

“Then why are you–” 

Cas’s words were cut off as an almighty growl ripped through Azriel’s throat, and he tossed his sword to the floor, the resounding clatter painfully loud. It was so unlike him…so out of character for him to wear anything besides the cool, stone-faced exterior he’d perfected over centuries. Breathing heavily, he yanked a hand through his sweat-slick hair and turned to Cassian, a question weighing on his tongue.

He’d left your house, after that kiss, in a blind panic. Wished he could blame his lack of restraint on faerie wine, on the nostalgia triggered by your homecoming, but he couldn’t. He fucking knew he couldn’t, because what had driven him lived inside him like a gnawing sickness. All-consuming. 

He’d flown so high into the skies that his head began to hurt, and he screamed his frustration at the top of his lungs, only the clouds and the whipping wind there to listen. Neither the flying – nor the screaming – had done much to help. He’d landed back at the House of Wind and begun his sloppy training in the hopes that it would somehow solve his problem.

This problem that he feared would not go away on its own. 

“How–” He attempted to speak, but his voice didn’t work. Still breathing heavily, he braced his hands on his knees and asked, “How did you know? With Nesta.”

Cassian blinked – hadn’t expected Az to say that, of all things. “What–”

“How did you know? That it was Nesta you wanted. That it wasn’t just…lust.”

His voice was…weathered. Strained. Like talking about such things was painful, an exertion. He straightened himself out and stared at Cassian with a silent plea on his face. One that said something was hammering at his mind, and he didn’t know what to do.

Cassian cleared his throat, perching on a stool. “Is this about Elain?”

“Please don’t ask any questions. Just – how did you know?” 

The Illyrian general released a slow, drawn-out breath, blinking forward. It wasn’t a simple one-answered question that Azriel was asking of him. Wasn’t something he could just sum up in a few words. He brushed his long hair back from his face.

“I guess…” He slowly shook his head. “I guess when I realised I was all-consumed by her, I knew I was fucked – there was no going back.” He let out a soft laugh. “My mind was…frenzied, with thoughts of her. When I slept, I dreamt of her. Even training took far more concentration than it ever had. No word was too vicious…no look too scathing. I knew if any other female had spoken to me the way she had, done the things she did, I wouldn’t have given them the time of day. But I just knew – just knew I wanted to see things through. To help her. To love her. Nobody could love her as fiercely as I knew I did. As fiercely as I do. She’s my mate.” 

Mate. Az almost flinched. There again, that word that carried so much weight, that sparked so many conflicting emotions. Want and need and adoration and anger and lust. So much delicious, unfaltering lust, a constant, smoky taste on his tongue. They all roiled inside of him, battling against each other, forming a very solid conclusion that he…

That he was scared of. Terrified.

When the Shadowsinger said nothing, Cassian leaned forward. “Why do you ask, Az?” 

Azriel met his gaze – a gaze he’d seen so many times over his long life. Strong and noble, honest. Cassian was his brother – and so was Rhys. The bond between the three males was a lifeline for all of them, one they couldn’t live without.

One they couldn’t possibly damage.

Azriel couldn’t hurt them; never would he forgive himself for doing so. He couldn’t possibly put his own selfish desires above the trust and loyalty of his brother, his High Lord. The desires would go away eventually, he was sure – his feelings would eventually change.

But someone would inevitably get hurt in the process. 

It was all too much to bear thinking about – not something he could face today. 

So he shook his head, and felt a twinge of regret for lying as he told Cassian. “No reason. I was just curious.” 

Cas no doubt wanted to push it. Pursing his lips, he watched as Azriel fixed the mess he’d made of the roof, his shoulders tense and his brow pinched. But Azriel would talk if he wanted to.

And he didn’t. 

He merely gathered up his weapons and brushed past Cassian, murmuring, “I’m going to bed. Sorry for waking you. 

⧪

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. 

Somehow, your lips still tingled. You still felt the blazing touch of rough palms that had held you through your nightgown. 

Still felt your heart fracturing as you’d heard the booming flap of wings carrying Azriel away from your house. Away from the kiss you’d shared.

Sleep didn’t help. Busying yourself didn’t help. You needed to see him, to talk to him, to simply ask him what the fuck. You couldn’t possibly live with this churning ache inside of you. 

You’d been to the House of Wind – twice – under the simple ruse of wanting to train with Nesta. It was through overheard conversations that you learned that Azriel was on a mission that would take him away from Velaris for at least three days. Convenient, you thought.

You’d tried writing notes to him, watching the magic snatch the paper in front of your very eyes and send it into the ether. You’d waited and waited, but no parchment appeared in front of you marked with Azriel’s elaborate scrawl. No response.

So you tried to occupy yourself for the three days he was away. Just…did anything that would stop your mind from filling with thoughts of what you’d say to him, what you’d scream at him – of what you’d do if you saw those full lips again. You worked yourself into the ground at the clinic until you were too tired to stay standing, and sleep would drag you under. You dropped in to have tea with your brother and Feyre and tried to act like you couldn’t still feel Azriel’s essence on you.

At the end of the third day, you asked Rhys to fly you to the House of Wind – so you could search for a book in the gargantuan library, you’d told him. He’d taken you without so much as an inquisitive look; had promised to pick you back up when you were finished.

And with Nesta and Cassian sharing a dinner in one of Velaris’s restaurants, and the house being empty, you waited. You didn’t go down to the library. You poured yourself a measure of whiskey and settled down in the sitting room – in the armchair by the fire that you knew Azriel favoured. The one you knew he would seek out once he returned from his mission. 

You must have been waiting for at least an hour when you heard the thudding of boots. They approached the door to the sitting room, and you jerked up in the chair, straightening yourself out and trying to ease your thudding heart. 

Shadows pushed the door open, and then Azriel was there. Still in his leathers. Windswept from his flying and breathing somewhat heavily. Flecks of dirt smattered his face, and for a split second, you gave him a panicked once-over.

Just dirt, you surmised. No blood.

He took the sight of you in, expression unreadable. Until his eyes shuttered, and he swallowed hard. “Y/N.” He murmured. “I’m very tired.” 

You set your jaw firmly, already stung by dismissal. “Then I won’t keep you long.”

“You won’t keep me at all. I’m going to bed.” 

He turned his back to you, as if to leave the room. You were not going to make it that easy for him. Launching yourself from the armchair, you stopped in front of him, pressing your palm to his chest. You could feel the hard sculpt of the muscle through his leathers. 

“We need to talk, Azriel.” You said. 

“No.” He breathed. “We don’t. Move, please.”

How could he be so cruel? Even if he did regret the kiss you’d shared…even if he felt nothing of that nature for you…were you not, first and foremost, his friend? Did your feelings not matter?

“So…what?” You barked a laugh void of all humour. “You’re just going to avoid me now?” 

His weary eyes studied your face. “No. I’m going to carry on as normal.” 

“Oh? Like you didn’t have your tongue down my throat three nights ago, you mean?”

You saw the way his jaw flexed, subtle as the movement was. He gritted his teeth, his gaze darkening. “Drop it, Y/N.” 

No. No chance. You pressed your back against the door, forcing it to shut – blocking him even more. He wasn’t leaving this room until you’d talked. Properly.

“I’m not dropping it.” You hissed. “You kissed me, Azriel. You instigated it. And I may not have been alive for quite as long as you have, but I’ve lived enough to know damn fucking well when a male is turned on.” 

“It shouldn’t have happened.” Az simply shrugged – so casual, so nonchalant. “I’m sorry that it did.” 

Those words – they hit right where you suspected he wanted them to. They sliced at you, the invisible cuts they made as deep as the feelings you felt for him. You didn’t want to show how much they hurt, didn’t want to cry.

But you couldn’t hide the crack in your small, pathetic voice as you replied, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.” Another shrug. “It shouldn’t ever have happened. And I…I think we should keep our distances from each other. From now on.” 

Nothing in his eyes, on his face, said that such a suggestion bothered him in the slightest. That he couldn’t bear the thought of distancing himself from you; like you could bear the thought of distancing yourself from him. You blinked furiously, begging your eyes not to well up in front him. 

“I don’t want–”

But Azriel’s firm hands were gripping your shoulders, moving you aside and out of his path like you weighed nothing. He opened the door, no intention of stretching the subject any further. He’d said all he had to say on the matter.

And he didn’t even care.

“Az.” You called after him. You felt so pathetic, so helpless.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Was his only reply.

He didn’t look back as he wandered down the hall. 

Tags: @safetypinxtales @historygeekqueen @smartiepants217 @mulansaucey @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @issybee0611 @goldentournesol @percyjacksonspeen @high-bi-andreadytocry @esposadomd @positivewitch @bsenpai @cityofidek @shannonsaid @topaz125 @azzydaddy @nobody00sthings @sfhsgrad-blog @elizarikaallen @hanasakr @ruleroftides @mis-lil-red @reiincarnatiion @moonfawnx @new-adventures-every-day @davinaclaire16 @i-am-fascinated @lucyysthings @margssstuff @magneticforceofaswifty @xxoverthinkerxx @marigold-morelli @owllover123 @vera0124 @thewarriormoon @the-book-gnome @favoritecrime1 @pricklepearbloom

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #acotar fanfic #rhysand #mating bond #a court of thorns and roses #cassian #feyre #amren #morrigan #nesta #elain #azriel fluff #acotar fandom #acotar series #shadowsinger #spymaster #fluff #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon #acotar smut #acotar writing #acotar fluff #acotar x reader

[springtrappd]

the fnaf movie cast & crew on matthew lillard's performance:

OFFICIAL CHARACTER DESCRIPTION FOR STEVE RAGLAN:

A smug career counselor charged with helping Mike find a job, Steve Raglan has zero sympathy for the burdens of the unemployed. Played by horror legend Matthew Lillard, star of the original Scream, Steve seems to take a perverse pleasure in forcing a desperate person, like Mike, into a situation that’s less than ideal. It’s Steve who suggests the night guard job at Freddy’s to Mike, and who then bides his time, like a spider, until Mike reluctantly agrees to take it.

TAMMI & SCOTT IN ‘UNIVERSAL PICTURES PUBLICITY: FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY’S PRODUCTION INFORMATION APPROVED’:

“Matthew Lillard was terrific,” game creator and film producer Scott Cawthon says. “There was a long list of people we were looking at for this role. I was leaning toward Lillard early-on because I had great memories of seeing Scream in the theaters like twenty times with my roommates in college, but when a close friend of mine told me what a great guy he was in real life and how he took such good care of his fans at conventions, I knew he was the right person for the job. I told Matthew on the phone during our very first conversation that after the movie comes out, no one will even be able to imagine anyone else for the role, and I stand by that.” Landing the actor was a coup, says director Emma Tammi. “Getting Matthew on board was just incredible,” Tammi says. “He brought so much zaniness and electricity into the mix, and he had such attention to what Five Nights fans would want to see.”

'MATTHEW LILLARD ON "HUMBLING AND EXCITING" FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S' SUCCESS AND CREATING AUTHENTIC EXPERIENCES FOR FANS' (in The Hollywood Reporter):

CULLINS: For people who are not familiar with the game, how would you describe your character? LILLARD: I play a character that is living in plain sight in the world, and he is a horrible monster. Toward the end of the film, when my daughter can’t handle a situation, I have to step in and take over. I do not accomplish that goal and end up meeting my demise. It’s the first step in a journey that has this rich canon that spans multiple video games. I play a monster who, at the end of the day, gets his comeuppance and is thrown into this horror realm that he created. The hard part about playing this part is the pressure I put on myself to honor the fans, to deliver a great performance in an iconic role. There are millions of kids worldwide, and people that started playing as kids and are now adults, that have an expectation that this film will deliver on a really great level. So, being this iconic bad guy, the amount of pressure I put on myself to not suck is pretty extraordinary. That’s the hardest part.

TAMMI IN 'FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S FILMMAKER EMMA TAMMI TALKS THE "LOOSE ENDS" TO TACKLE IN A SEQUEL' (for The Hollywood Reporter):

DAVIDS: Before and after the reveal, I did catch some Stu Macher/Scream vibes from Matthew. I recognized that familiar live wire that he plays so well. Did you encourage that? Or did he just know instinctively that this guy warranted a bit of the same crazed energy that Stu had? TAMMI: Gosh, it feels like catching lightning in a bottle with Matthew because he just brings so much to the set and in the moment. And on that day in particular, we were just trying a bunch of different things for a bunch of different takes, and he was really coming alive in that [Yellow Rabbit] suit for the first time. Of course, we’d done some rehearsals with that suit, but it was a whole other deal once the camera was actually rolling in the properly lit pizzeria. So he was just going for it on every take and doing something different and really exploring in the moment. We just needed to make sure that we were there to capture it all. So, yes, there was definitely a back and forth between the two of us in terms of trying different things and really maximizing his menacing movement in that suit. But at the end of the day, he was just bringing all of his brilliance and improvisation to the table, and we were so lucky to be rolling on it.

LILLARD IN 'FNAF: FROM GAME TO BIG SCREEN' (DVD Bonus Content, via YouTube):

I've been really jonesing, like really coveting an opportunity to get a chance to get back into the horror genre. Getting a chance to work with Emma has been lovely. I literally, when I'm in that costume I'm blind, and so I rely on her like very few performances I've ever had in my life, to help me... sorta craft this character on the fly, physically in how we're telling the story and where we're at in the lore, and how that applies to-- y'know, all of the information that's out there and available, it all comes through her [Emma Tammi] and she fills us with what we need.

BONUS: the official guidelines for Raglan's facial hair, courtesy of Makeup Department Head Ashley Levy (via Instagram); "Also included: proof we take our facial hair design *very* seriously around here."

#speaking! #movieverse #long post #theoryposting #fnaf #YES HE WAS BLIND. #WHILE NONE OF THE SUIT PERFORMERS COULD SEE WELL #HIS WAS THE ONLY PART #WHO HAD TO ACTUALLY /WALK/ #& RUN & INTERACT W/ OBJECTS #INSANELY IMPRESSIVE PERFORMANCE ALREADY #BUT MIND-BOGGLING W/ THAT INFO.

[alexthesillybilly]

What if springtrap x reader but I write it from springtraps POV idk I wanna study him this is rlly similar to another thing I wrote btw if it feels familiar :P idk why but I love writing this exact scene lmao

God, how long has it been? Months? Years? Decades? How was I supposed to know? I haven't spoken to anyone since I was left in here, and I probably never will again. I'm still trying to figure out what to do to pass the time. At first my methods were a little more about escaping, but clawing at the walls and slamming my self against the door was both very painful, and was also not doing anything for me, so I stopped doing those pretty quickly. Then I remembered there were arcade machines in this room! But then I remembered that this is the parts and service room and they were out of order. And very unplayable. But that didn't stop me, I ended up disassembling and putting them back together a few times.

That got boring, too.

Now I'm not really sure what to do. I spend a lot of my time either fidgeting with loose wires or pacing around like some kind of scared animal. After I stopped having the indescribable dread of realizing I was trapped here, it changed to craving something. Anything, really. Whether it was hearing music from outside, seeing a color other than pitch black, feeling anything other than the freezing cold tile floor and my own pain.

I think I mostly craved company, though.

I was never into psychology, but speaking from experience, I'm pretty sure that completely depriving a human of any communication or entertainment for years (decades??) will fuck someone up.

There's some sort of noise around the door. It's happened a few times, usually someone who broke in trying to get into the room before discovering it's boarded up. I don't know who boarded up this room, but I'd like to have a talk with them. Only a little murder included. So I don't get my hopes up too much. They're not going to get in.

So maybe I get a little excited when for the first time, I actually DO hear the door crack open and light pour in.

Holy shit, it's happening.

I can finally get out of here.

I felt nearly manic at the sight. So imagine my thoughts when someone walked in.

I freeze. What do I do?

There is so much I want to say.

Can I even talk?

I don't know anymore.

Who is this?

I try to look at them without moving. Nobody I recognize. That's probably a good thing.

If I move, I might scare them.

On one hand, then I'd be able to leave.

But on the other hand, I need to talk to someone, ANYONE, so bad that I can't let then leave already.

So I stay still while they approach.

They must not be deterred by the sight of me, surprisingly, because they crouch down beside me like I'm not... like this.

"What the hell are you?" They laugh under their breath. Wow, okay. First words spoken to me in this long. I deserve that, though.

I need to talk so bad but how am I supposed to talk to anyone now? I don't even remember how it works, let alone if I physically could. I pray they'll ask a yes-or-no question soon.

They stand back up.

No. No, no, no, not already. They can't leave. I have to risk it.

I try my best to tell them not to go. It comes out as more of a noise you'd make on your deathbed, but it's enough to get them to stop in their tracks.

"No. Nope, I am NOT being your horror movie protagonist who dies first, nope. Not today." They turn to run out the door. This time I'm prepared. Kind of.

"No-" I manage to choke out before realizing how much it hurts to speak, and very pathetically falling against the wall in pain. I have to get the message through, though. "Don't go."

"Hooly shit." The person stares at me in horror. "I have so many questions."

Talking hurts so bad, but nothing hurts worse than my indescribable loneliness, so I'll just have to deal with that later. I have to say something.

"Me too."

#springtrap #fnaf 3 #springtrap x reader #self shipping community #fnaf f/o #fnaf #fnaf x reader #william afton x reader #yooo im writing!! #girl talk

[rassilon-imprimatur]

The "Missing Piece" of the Fire Walk With Me convenience store scene is my favorite "supernatural" sequence in all of Twin Peaks. I adore how it’s spliced and edited in the actual film, it’s so scary (robbed of logic, devoid of sense, spilling into the FBI office and interrupting David Bowie's ramblings, a sensory nightmare of TV static), but the full deleted scene is so rich, a real treasure trove of so much of The Return (specifically Part 8), where so many of those ideas were forming. And just like everything Lynch, it’s always just short of being straightforward or literal, especially compared to the full scripted scene. 

The Black Lodge spirits reflect and discuss, so much as they can with each other, the state of their current existence, transformed from electric currents in the air to "animal life" garmonbozia carnivores.

In the script, it’s apparent they are more blatantly talking about (what would later be specified to be) the Trinity Test. "The light of new discoveries." “Why not be composed of materials and combinations of atoms?” "This was no accident."

(Notice also, the Man from Another Place is credited as Mike. This is before Cooper and Sheriff Truman met Phillip Gerard, before Mike “saw the face of God” and tried to reform his ways and act against BOB, before severing his arm and forming the Arm as we know it. This is Mike as pure evil, Mike is the Man from Another Place). 

(“Mike IS the Man.”)

It’s also more clear in the script (”clear” is a term I use loosely, lmao) what exactly is meant by the Man From Another Place/Mike’s formica table bit, as the filmed version renders the Woodsmen (and their responses) silent. 

The focus on formica is lesser. These creatures, both brand new (”descended” from the Trinity test) and ancient (“Any everything will proceed cyclically.”/“Is it future? Or is it past?”) embrace images of modernity, images of mass production, totems and icons of post-war American industry. But green is the major focus. “Green, the color green. Our world.” 

Just like the later scenes of the convenience store in The Return, the place is merely a perceptual manifestation of the thick, dark, haunted, green forestry of nature. The “dark woods” of Romanticism and sinister folklore, now bordered and interwoven with cities, towns, and endless electrical wires. 

“With chrome. Any everything will proceed cyclically.” What is future. What is past. 

Mrs. Tremond’s line in response to the discussion about the Trinity test in the script being cut from the filmed version is interesting, because if anything her “Actually I Dunno, Maybe We Can Work With This? Being Animal Life” response seems... in tune with what we know about her and her grandson? 

In Fire Walk With Me, the pair appear to be disgusted or distraught by the garmonbozia harvesting of BOB and Mike (and as we know, Mike comes to agree with them, even as he still hungers for it). They help Laura, are benevolent to her, try to give her a way out in the only (uncomfortably scary) ways that they can. And as we know from Twin Peaks itself, by the time of Donna’s encounter, Mrs. Tremond was actively fasting from “creamed corn.” 

Mike once referred to BOB as his “familiar.” This moment, BOB declaring “I DO WHAT I WANT, I HAVE THE POWER!” is a moment of Mike faltering in his own trust in controlling BOB’s evil. 

“Find the middle place.” The waiting room. The Red Room. The momentum roars and begins, in proper, its path to Laura. 

“Fell a victim” in response to BOB’s prideful growl of his power. “He has murdered someone. He will murder again.” 

#Twin Peaks #Fire Walk With Me #Twin Peaks Fire Walk With Me #Twin Peaks The Return #Laura Palmer #The Black Lodge #BOB #BOB the Killer #The Man From Another Place #Mrs. Tremond #Mrs. Chalfont #David Lynch #Robert Engels

[doodle-pops]

Unforgivable

Maglor x reader

Request: Oh oh, can I have some angst with my baby Maglor. I know this troupe is overdone but I love it so, a Maglor x fem! reader where he departs Valinor and leaves his wife behind. Maybe he begs her to come along? I'm excited to see what you'll create, thank you 💕💕 - Anon

A/N: Oh boy did I enjoy writing this! As you said, I wanted to take a different spin on the usual troupe and make it a lot darker. Our magpie is far from sweet and charming here. Turned out his skillful voice has other usage aside from singing.

Warnings: manipulation, Maglor being cunning and deceitful, mentions of blood (lots of times because it's a kinslaying), weakminded reader, heavy angst

Words: 1.1k

Synopsis: Vows were never meant to be broken and Maglor would ensure you fulfilled yours.

“So you’re not following?”

“Why should I? I don’t have a reason for needing to leave my home behind.”

“…So you’re simply going to forget about us then? All the promises we made!”

Falling silent, you knew he was right. You gave him your words, your vow, on your wedding day. It wasn’t the first time he dangled them over your head like some unforgettable prized object. As his spouse, it was your duty to follow him until the end, to stand at his side through all his rights and some wrongs. You were a married couple, and a relationship was hard work in progress— always learning about one another as time flew by. So, this was simply another hurdle in your life you needed to overcome. All he was doing was motivating you and providing the missing support to win. Once again, he was proving to you that you needed him, you couldn’t survive on your own without him. He was your stability.

“Makalaurё, I…I—” you bit your lips as you felt the tears growing the building pressure. His stare, erratic breathing, the crimson coating his silver blade which twinkled under the torches, his sternness, his everything. It all made your heartstrings tug towards guilt. How could you possibly tell him you didn’t need or want to be with him anymore?

We are soulmates Y/N, you can’t be without me. We have to be, so come with me.

Gasping as you heard his voice in your head being whispered like a dainty flower dancing in the spring breeze, you looked up to meet his hopeful eyes glowing in the dark. While they appeared hopeful to you, underneath was a loose and crazed nér. A nér that was ready and capable of dragging you off whether you wanted to come with him or not. He couldn’t be without you, not when you were his entire life and the air that he breathed. You walking away meant death for him and he wasn’t ready for that. There was an oath to fulfil.

“Makalaurё, I don’t know. I don’t have a reason to leave Araman behind,” you begged in accordance to reason with him. Your throat was closing up as though wire was wrapped around it, tightening with every second you doubted.

Shaking his head and stepping forward, his bloodied right hand reached out to touch your clean, unblemished skin and tugged you closer. His grip remained on your upper arm, firm and secure, while his eyes blazed with the eternal flames. But those flames were doused by the coolness of his soothing fëa, brushing against your own. It felt like the cool rain on a spring day Manwë would bless the earth with. But you also saw the passion and his desire to have you with him at all times, and his voice portrayed the rawness, “Yes you do, me! You will never leave me, you are not to ever leave me. You need to be at my side, to keep me going. I will not leave you behind.” The growls and trembles in his tones raised the goosebumps on the back of your neck and down your arms. His words of passion and fire penetrated your heart and fёa unlike the many times before.

The hand that gripped your upper arm, trailed higher until it cupped your cheeks, sweeping a trail of blood across the perfect white you adorned yourself in. Moving in closer, he breathed in your scent of fear and stored it in the deepest parts of his memory. The sword in his left hand remained locked within his cold fingers as it rose to rest behind your back for a hug. Your face buried into his sturdy cerise armour, now being painted with the blood of the innocently fallen. “You know you need me darling…and you know I need you as well,” he cooed in despondency and hurt, but the tightening of his arms around your shoulders did not.

“Makalaurё…but my family, the people…”

“Shhh, worry not about them. Your family is us— you and I, remember? We’re married, you and I, that’s all that matters.”

You were still smaller than him. Noldor he was and ever so giant their race was, you felt like a child being consoled in his arms.

His melodious and poisonous voice poured into your ears and corrupted the very fibre of your being. Moulding your moralities and standards to match his and become dependent. It was like a spider leading it's prey into a web. . .of lies or the sweet honey bee being drawn in by the perfumed scent of a deadly flower, masked by it's beautiful parade. Standing your ground was never an ability you were capable of portraying, not when your sweet and loving husband was there to speak for you. He would take the lead as he always did, your knight in shining armour. Though, it didn’t matter if it was bathed in blood at the moment.

“…If I go with you, everything would be better and we’d be a family, right? No more killing?” peering up at him with your doe eyes, your tears brimming were your lashes.

Exhaling, he looked down at you and lifted your chin to meet his determined stare, “I promise. This was just an accident, you know we didn’t mean to do this. I told you before, I’m sorry, yes?”

You nodded your head once slowly, then twice before it broke out into multiple rapid nods. Feeling a tear cascading down your cheeks, you reached to wipe it away but he beat you to the action. Smearing more blood across your face, he removed the crystal that stained. “Okay. I just don’t want anything horrendous to happen again. We are leaving Araman for a better life,” you supposed.

Needing to complete your statement with the ultimate act of reassurance, he pulled away from you and dragged his crimson hand down to your wrist, tugging. Granting you the smile that you first fell in love with upon first sight, he tenderly pulled you along the flooded street of lifeless bodies to the docks. It appeared as though a tsunami plumaged the city and all along with it, destroying the stunning iridescent silver and pearls, the blues and green of the ocean and pinks of the sunset. Nevertheless, none of that mattered as Makalaurё led you through the streets with honey in his smile and the future in his eyes. “As long as you come with me, all that you wish for between us, will be. If you just follow me,” he artfully whispered.  

You could have sworn you saw a halo around his head as he fed you hollow promises and guile. And you followed him with an optimistic, mindless beam, swaying along and dancing to the tune of his untruthful song. Like an aimless flower, swaying in whatever direction the wind may blow it, he carried you along. From the depths of the city to the root of the evil, he led you into darkness and misery; footsteps blindly trailing and leaving behind all good things to the greatest mistake you had ever made.

Masterlist

Taglist: @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @starborne0661 @floraroselaughter @singleteapot @asianbutnotjapanese @justellie17 @justjane

#maglor x reader #maglor imagine #maglor angst #maglor #maglor scenario #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion angst #silmariilion fic #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fic #middle earth angst #x reader angst #x reader insert #angst with a sad ending #tw: manipulation #feanorians #sons of feanor #house of feanor #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[tiffyfoundsomething]

Lady Doolli

I’ve mentioned before that I like blind box toys and ball jointed dolls and now I’m in trouble because there are blind box ball jointed dolls out there.

Lady Doolli is blind boxed but is NOT a BJD though she’s in a similar style. I’d seen these on Amazon for a while and was curious but only recently decided to give one a try.

There is 1 skintone, 6 different hair styles/colors, and it looks like maybe 2 eye colors.

There are also 6 possible outfits.

The dolls and clothing are separate, but are each $26 and both are in the same listing here: https://amzn.to/3OrhHsk

The box is small and cute with a lot of pictures and writing on it, especially making a point to let you know there’s no second outfit in here and they must be bought separately.

The outfits are packed in a little paperboard box shaped like a garment bag. It says 2022 Spring, so I wonder if there are many other outfit sets that have been released.

To be honest, I don’t care for any of these outfits, really. Figured I should get one to review, at least.

Both the doll and outfit are packed in these silver foil bags inside the boxes. There’s no plastic shell or anything to hold their position in the packaging. They’re just loose in there.

I got dark, long hair with a side part with blue and purple eyes, and almost missed the tiny little bag of extra hands inside the silver bag. She does come already dressed in the pajamas.

I tried to get a good photo of the face screening but my phone is a potato. There’s a good amount of detail with a simple layout. She has eyeshadow, blush on the cheeks, chin, nose, and brows, a little lip line to separate her lips... It’s a cute face, but I do prefer my dolls to not look sad or startled.

She does have rooted hair which is silky and smooth. It’s a little stiffer than Kiwi nylon (Rainbow High) while still being soft.

She also has a couple paint spots on her face that look to be from the eyebrow paint.

The rooting isn’t super dense in some areas.

Her head is harder than a Barbie’s head but is squishable to a degree so her eyes could be removed and replaced with some heat and her hair could be rerooted if you wanted.

Hair drop on a new doll head is normal. This looks like a plug or two which didn’t get anchored.

I’m impressed with the posing. The joints are stiff enough to hold a pose but easy to move other than her hips which take a little bit more pressure, and have a high range of motion.

The torso joints aren’t as mobile as the arms and legs, though.

Her head can look up and down or tilt left and right depending on how you turn the neck joint which is a simple hinged ball.

The backs of the knees...

All of the jointing reminds me of Figmas.

Honestly I feel like the body alone is worth the $26 price tag, AND you get a rooted head with quality hair and inset eyes, a pair of pajamas, and an extra pair of hands.

-

Neither outfit that I have has any sort of closures or openings so you do need to remove the head and hands to dress her.

Getting the hands on and off is difficult

Turns out there’s a LOT of flash on her wrist pegs. I did go in and clean that off. There was a good sized bit on her neck ball, too.

Heat up the hands, though, and they go on and off pretty easily.

-

As for the outfit.

Silver bag again.

I couldn’t get this headband to stay on her hair because it’s satin and her hair is satiny smooth, but it does have a wire in the “ears” so you can pose it as you wish.

......

LOOK AT THESE TINY LITTLE SHOES!

They have stitches, laces, tongues, glued on rubbery soles with IN SCALE texture on the bottom...

They went on a lot more easily than I expected them to OVER her socks. I did need to get a little stick to pull the back of the heel out and over the doll’s heels. Other than that, easy-easy.

I also didn’t even try to extract and tie the laces. They looked really short and I have poor motor control, so I opted to just shove her feet in there with the laces tucked inside.

The outfit came with shorts, a one-piece sweater and shirt combo, and some long socks. The socks aren’t hemmed but everything else is. Again, no closures, not even an elastic waistband on the shorts. The shorts were a little difficult to put on.

All of the fabrics are soft and despite the sweater having a feelable texture, it’s not rough or scratchy so it’s not kicking off my texture-BAD senses.

Action pose! FWIP!

She can’t quite pull of Sailor Moon’s signature pose.

Here she is next to some other blind box BJD (the others really are BJD). They all could certainly share clothes despite Doolli’s longer, thinner body.

From left to right:

Penny’s Box Antu Natural Wonderland - https://amzn.to/3IqKfOz

SimonToy Teenar Campus Series - https://amzn.to/3IlnGLl

Lady Doolli and outfit pack - https://amzn.to/3MiOflA

Come4Free Bonnie Journey of Streets - https://amzn.to/42QlMKG

-

While I do feel that the quality of Lady Doolli is in line with the price (all together she costs $52), and am impressed with, basically, everything about her, I don’t feel a need to buy another. Out of all of the blind box BJD I’ve tried (not pictured here is the Penny’s Box centaurs), the only one I’ve wanted more than one of was Bonnie. I have three.

#bjd #blind box #blind box bjd #lady doolli #product review #affiliate links

[candidapple]

all beastfolk are hard-wired to have a breeding kink and it just depends on how well they can ignore it. leona fucking hates kids so he's usually pretty good at avoiding his urges. ruggie knows how expensive babies are and that's like a cold shower. jack has a stable and happy family and as a result he's DYING to get married and start making an adorable lil' pack of cubs as soon as he falls for you. man's pullout game is nonexistent when he's in love, good luck reader!

cw knotting, breeding kink. minors dni 🔞

jack howl x afab!reader

my, why big eyes, ears, and teeth he has, right? but those aren't the only parts of him that aren't quite... human. jack's pullout game isn't just nonexistent; once he knots you, he couldn't pull out right away even if he wanted to.

(he really doesn't want to.)

jack's hesitant at first. you're not beastkin, you're human, and your body wasn't built to take a cock like his. not all of it, anyway, and he'd never forgive himself if he hurt you or tore you -- especially during sex, which is supposed to be a way of showing how much you two love each other.

and fuck, does he love you. he loves you so much he could stay like this forever, fucking you slow and steady but just hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs with each strong forward thrust of his sweat-slick hips. he's careful not to go all the way in, though. sometimes he even wraps a hand around his base to keep from slipping in those few extra inches and accidentally tying you down on his dick.

and at first, you don't really object. jack's already intimidatingly big in every respect, long and thick with a wide spongy head and an even broader base. the first time he fucked you, he ate you out for hours before he let his dick anywhere near you, making damn sure you were wet and loose enough to take him. but after a few instances of getting your brains lovingly fucked out, your curiosity begins to grow until it becomes a sense of hungry longing gnawing at the pit of your stomach. you feel his swollen knot bumping your tender entrance and start to wonder what it'd feel like if he put it inside you. wondering soon becomes a want and want becomes need.

the thing about jack, though, is that he's very bad at saying no to you -- doubly so when it's something he also wants but doesn't think he should have. so it doesn't take much in the way of begging and pleading and soft damp kisses pressed to his panting mouth to convince him to test your body's ability to take him. he growls under his breath, in frustration or surrender, and the next thing you know you're being flipped onto your front, a pillow stuffed under your belly to support your raised hips. and then he's pressing in and in and in, and you can feel it, you can feel his knot swelling inside you, stretching you so wide it feels like it's blocking off your throat so you can hardly breathe.

but you take it, somehow, because you're so good, aren't you? you're always so damn good for him, sweet thing. he mutters gruff praise in your ear and licks the sweat from your shoulder, nipping you with sharp teeth that only ever tickle you without breaking the skin. he's grinding that fat knot inside you as it catches and keeps you locked down on his dick, which is still thrusting shallowly through your tight sleeve of wet muscle, and you've already come two times now but somehow you are seizing up and coming again. you bite a pillow and cry into the cotton, feeling like your guts are being squeezed out to make room for jack's knot.

and when he finally comes, he keeps coming, thick, viscous warmth flooding your insides, more and more of it stuffing you full till it starts to drip back down your thighs to make a mess on jack's bed. he doesn't seem to mind, though, not at all. he just sets his teeth against your shoulder and growls so softly it sounds like a purr, pressing you flat against the mattress and sheltering you with the breadth of his body. yeah, you're so good for him, aren't you? taking his knot so well, letting him fuck you full of cum. he'd keep you like this forever if he could, stuck on his dick and just begging him for more. you shiver and press back against him and resign yourself (yeah, right, resign, like it's such a trial) to being there for a while.

you have to walk through savanaclaw's lounge to get to the mirror the next morning, jack at your side because he never lets you walk home alone. his hand is at the small of your back, ears perked, tail wagging gently. his happiness reflects yours, making you glow with content warmth. leona takes one look at how sickeningly twitterpated the two of you are and announces loudly that you smell like a wet dog in rut. ruggie just sighs and puts back his ears and thanks his lucky stars he's not responsible for washing jack's sheets, at least.

(are they a little bit jealous? probably. but they'll never tell.)

#jack howl x reader #twst x reader #!candid thirsts

[dresshistorynerd]

Sewing Medieval Bathhouse Dress

I'm a big boob person and for me bras have always been very uncomfortable. They never support enough even with the metallic wire support as the elastic strap is not secure enough and that wire curve is also just uncomfortable. My shoulders are also always aching because of the pressure put on shoulders. But no bras is even more uncomfortable especially if I have to do anything else than sitting. Which is why I have been considering testing out historical options ever since I got into historical sewing.

When it comes to historical sewing (and to some extent sewing in general) I'm still a noob and so I have been quite intimidated by stays and corsets and I've figured I'll start with medieval supportive garments, like kirtle, as they are much simpler. Then I saw the video where Morgan Donner made a bathhouse dress and I immediately wanted to test it out too.

Some history

Bathhouse dress is a garment that appears around 14th to 16th century in central Europe, mostly around Bohemia, Austria and German states and their vicinity. Perhaps the most famous finding of this garment is the Lengberg Castle Bra found in Austria.

It's often called medieval bra because it has cups like bra. I think that's somewhat misleading as it was a full dress and this is just fragments of the dress. There's theory that there's only this left because the larger continuous pieces of linen were cut off and used for some other garment. The dress was quite different from shift, the usual loose undergarment that would be used under supportive kirtle around most of Europe at the time. It was sleeveless and tailored with lacing, usually on the side. The reason it's often called bathhouse dress is that there's a lot of depictions of it in bathhouse use, especially in Bohemia, and these depictions are sometimes referred as Bohemian bathhouse babes.

All of these types of garments didn't have cups like this example from 1389 Bohemia, and there were a lot of different designs. There's different shaped bodices, some had waist seem, some didn't. In German the garment with cups was called breastbag at the time. In the literary mentions there was often degrading tone when talking about it, and it seemed that the writers at least thought women who used breastbag were "showing off". When have men not complained about women's fashion in a patriarchal society? Perhaps with the other designs there wasn't similar derision. The writings and some other depictions of the garment suggest that it was used more generally as an undergarment and not just for bathhouse. Which would make sense as it would seen uncharacteristic for Middle Ages to tailor a supporting garment (not cheep) just to use in bathhouses.

Here's a potter wearing similar garment with different design from late 15th century Austria.

Another one from mid 15th century Austria of a woman putting clothes on and obviously wearing the dress as undergarment.

Here's a German example from late 15th century of a woman wearing it as a nightgown, which shift was also used for.

The sewing part

If you want a tutorial, go and watch that Morgan Donner video linked in the beginning, I'm not a good source on sewing, especially historical.

I wanted to make my version of the dress fairly historical, but I wasn't too concerned with making in exactly right as it's purpose is for daily use and not historical costuming. I hand-sewed it with historical techniques though, but the patterning part was quite chaotic and I basically came up with it as I went so there ended up being some weirdness in finishings as I didn't plan far enough.

So here's how it turned out. I very intentionally made it much shorter than it should be. Most depictions have it reach half calf. I was making it for daily use and not historical costuming and I have a lot of knee length skirts, so I wanted it short enough for that. I actually made the bodice and skirt into separate pieces that are just loosely whipstitched together so I can use them both alone too, especially the bodice with trousers.

The shape of the bodice isn't historical. The cleavage goes fairly high and is fairly straight in most of the historical examples (especially with the cups). Even the Lengberg bra originally had crochet covering the chest area. But again that wouldn't have fitted so well with a lot of my modern clothing, and my purpose wasn't historical recreation.

As I was talking about the pretty weird finishings, here you can see them. The result isn't very neat, but it's fine.

I have been wearing this now a couple of months and I'm in love with it. It's much more supportive while being also so much more comfortable. The lacing on the side distributes the force around the waist, so it doesn't put nearly as much pressure on my shoulders. It's made entirely out of linen and is very nice against skin and as it doesn't have any metallic wires it also doesn't press anywhere. It also is just much more flattering than bras at least for me. It doesn't work that well without the skirt, the waist starts wrinkling and moving up, but the skirt keeps it pretty straight. The bodice is also slightly too long and it doesn't sit exactly on my waist, so it adds to the problem. It's not a huge problem though, it's just a bit annoying.

I'm planning to test out a version where I'll reinforce the eyelets with synthetic baleen instead of cord and put baleen in the other side too and maybe in the center front so I could use it as a separate undergarment without the annoying wrinkling. I'm also planning on doing 16th century kirtle bodice or the full kirtle (or both maybe as separate but attachable pieces, like with the bathhouse dress) with either stiff interlining or boning and Regency short stays. I want to test out different types of supportive undergarments in my quest for better bra options. Maybe after I've done them I'm ready to try Victorian corset too.

#historical fashion #historical sewing #sewing #history #fashion history #historical clothing #dress history #bathhouse dress #medieval clothing #medieval fashion #historical undergarments #medieval #am sewing #my creation

[canonicallysoulmates]

J2 JIB13 Panel

As a Måneskin fan I cannot begin to tell y'all the excitment I felt over Zitti E Buoni being their entrance song!

The panel starts with the boys playing around, and noticing the camera has them looking bright red for some reason. Also, they do kissy face at the camera which is adorable and funny.

What was their worst or most uncomfortable tied up situation on set?

For Jared it wasn't when they were actually tied up on set it was when they had to pretend, for many seasons, to be pinned in place like by a demon. He thinks at first they were just trying to act how it would feel to be supernaturally pressed against a wall and invariably you know you film an episode of tv in October and it airs in January, and you film another one in November or December and you're tied up and in January you watch what you did back in October and when the ghost pushed you against the wall, when it airs you look all smushed so you think you gotta change that; but when there were actual ropes around it felt alright, it was easy to get into character, and get into the timing of the scene and sequence.

Jensen adds that those types of scenes, it's also exhausting too cause when you're doing it yourself, you're pressing yourself against the wall and they yell action, you kinda hold your breath and tighten everything and doing that over and over again for like minutes at a time is not fun. You're hyperventilating and you're straining like you're gonna pop a blood vessel, that was not fun. He will say, aside from that which happened quite a few times on SPN, he was kind of tied down and locked down on The Boys a few times that were not fun. The one were the Russians have him in captivity and they have him tied down to a table and are trying to see what can hurt Soldier Boy- on SPN they were friends with the props department so Robin would tie them up very loosely toward they yelled cut they would just get out of their ties like if they had their ankles tied to a chair like demon!Dean they would yell cut and Jensen would just wiggle out but on the Boys he wasn't as friendly with them, they didn't really know each other that well so they really locked him into the table and they were trying different items and one of them was an AK-47 in his mouth, and even though he knew it was a fake gun that didn't feel good. And then to top that there was a skill saw that was running, they had removed the blade but he didn't like it and he couldn't move so he felt pretty vulnurable. But not as vulnerable as coming out of the cage completely naked in front of an entire new crew and new cast. x

When they were younger did they have part time jobs for extra money?

Jensen worked at his uncles small moving company during the summers in High School. He didn’t like it but it payed pretty good and gave him some pocket change, and that was about the only thing he did, he technically wasn’t an employee his uncle just payed him for helping out.

Jared worked as a ranch hand in central Texas between his junior and senior year of High School. He would fix barbed wire fences and cut down cedar forests and in Texas there's these bugs called chiggers they're like small mites and fly around, especially near cedar, and they get into your skin and they itch but if you scratch them that gives them oxygen and keeps them alive so his parents would drop him off on Sunday night, he'd work Monday to Friday, get picked up to go home Friday and he would have to stand in front of his mom in his undwear so she could put nail polish over all the chigger bites because that seals them in so your body gets rid of it. Jensen asked if he got payed extra for all the bites, he did not. He was paid like 5 dollars and 35cents an hour. x

What do they think would happen if blood junkie!Sam and demon!Dean met? Jared says his instinct is they'd go 'we’re both a little off kilter let’s go party.' That he feels like it’d be kind of the same thing as Dean befriending Benny in Purgatory, he feels like they’d get along strangely.

Jensen says they’d probably cause a lot of problems for other hunters. When demon!Dean was was left to his own devices he was causing issues so he thinks if he had a partner in crime like blood junkie!Sam he thinks it would just multiply that. x

What’s something they didn’t expect about getting older? Positive or negative.

When he was in his teens Jensen thought that by the time he reached his current age he’d have it all figured out. As a kid or somebody young he always thought people that age they have it all figure out cause they’re the adults but he still doesn’t feel like an adult. He still feels like that 20yr old is very much alive inside him just wearing an older suit.

Jared said he had a similar conversation with a buddy of his who’s 47 and they landed on life isn't one coming of age story, it’s a series of coming of age stories. When you're a teenager you think you're big but you're not, then you turn 16, in america that means you can drive and you think you can drive, you're independent, you can do your thing then you turn 18, 21 and so on - he feels like life is a series of coming of ages. Jensen says it's a journey, and Jared agrees that it's like Jensen was saying, you meet people who are older like 50 and you think they have it figured out but then you turn 50 and you realize you're still learning and the world is changing around you so you change again, same thing when you get married or have kids you think 'this is life' but it's not you keep on evolving. He says it's funny, he turned 40 last summer and he felt like forgiveness turning 40. That part of him inside always felt older psychologically that he was literally so finally at 40 he felt like it was okay to be a grown-up. He's still very much a kid but he felt like it's okay to slow down and ask for time for himself, when you're in your teens, 20's, or even 30's it's kind of assumed that you're up for anything and you're gonna take that on but when he reached 40 he was like well I'm 40, I'm married with kids I'm gonna slow down so it's been wonderful. He much prefers 40 over 30 or 20 even so he's grateful.

Jensen shares that he sat down the other day to tie his shoes and he looked at his knees and said "I'm so proud of you guys" 😂 He says he's not kidding, that he got a little emotional, that he stared at them and told them how proud of them he was and felt such pride, he told them they've hung in there and are still carrying him, and he doesn't have any knee pain. That he got some x-ray's done a while back cause he had some knee pain when they were training for a marathon so he went to Jared's brother who's an orthopedic surgeon and he told Jensen his knee was in really good shape he just had some inflammation, and his knee hasn't really bothered him since. x

Do they miss the pranks? Jared misses everything, and when the crowd goes awww he says he gets it, there’s certainly a bit of aww but in a funny way he and Jensen had some version of this conversation for years before SPN aired its finale episode. It's one of those you know absence makes the heart grow fonder and to leave something as it stood and you're so proud of and want more of there's a certain romance to it, it's like when you're a kid and you go to camp or something and it's five days but you make new friends and you're gonna be best friends forever and then you go your separate ways but you're so much better for having had it, and the idea that maybe it can happen again. He misses it all but it's not painful for him. In a strange way, because he's very nostalgic he has shit he should have thrown away years ago which Jensen can vouch for, he misses it but in a very wonderful light.

Jensen says he'll never be happy that it ended, that the show came to an end, he'll never feel 'oh, thank god that's over'. But he is very content in how it came to- that they did those 15yrs and then they ended and he's not talking about the story, he's thinking outside of the story. The way they all walked away with their heads held high and there was much love in that set, it's something he'll always be very proud of and something he'll always miss. He misses the pranks, he misses just walking around on set in the morning and saying hi to everybody, he misses getting breakfast at the green machine, and going to the hair and makeup trailer and saying hi to all the ladies, he misses it all; there's a long list of things that he misses doing that he did for many, many years. But it still makes him look back on it and it makes him that much more proud of what they did, and the time that they had together because it will always make him smile. x

Outside of their family and friends who made a big impression on them?

Jared feels like he really enjoys "accidental acquaintances" by which he means like when you come across somebody at the airport and you’re from going from terminal a to terminal c and it's 25mins and you're sitting next to somebody and strike up a conversation. That it's funny, in the world that they live in when a lot of stuff that's going on that's hey go be this guy, or that guy, or that girl or whatever meeting people who live more normal lives then they hear you're an actor- that the previous night G, who is there with him, they sat down at a little restaurant by the hotel and an american couple sat right next to them and the space was really tight so they were really close together and they started hearing them speak and struck up a conversation with them and the couple had no idea who they were and it was cool. He loves that kind of stuff, like happy accidents. So he is consistantly and constantly kind of amazed and grateful for people he meets along the journey.

Jensen says as far as work goes there's a long list like Kim Manners and Bob Singer who they worked with on SPN but before that too he got to work with a lot of great people on Days of Our Lives. That on that show there's a wide variety cast of characters of all ages and he remembers thinking 'okay well I didn't go to school for this and what I know is just instinctual' but what he doesn't know he has 20 people there who might be able to teach him, might be able to fill in those gaps and he was just a sponge for 3yrs on that show watching, seeing what worked, seeing what didn't work because you can be thought a lot by seeing things that other people don't react well to like 'okay don't do that, don't be an asshole'.

So, there's a lot of influence on how that shaped what he ended up being. There's a long list of people and he thinks this is a journey, this life of ours and it's a gift too and he thinks to close yourself off and think that you know all the answers and have it all figured out at any age is wrong, always learn, always continue learning and learn from those around you both positive and negative. And he thinks if you continue to do that, we're all constantly changing and evolving and becoming better because of what we're watching from the world around us. That the fans have thought him, he learns just from sitting there on the stage. x

The next fan is a professional mermaid, and they want to know would the boys ever consider swimming in a mermaid tail?

Jensen actually has! His daughter bought one that they thought was kid size but when they got it home realized it was way too big and was actually an adult size so Jensen put it on and jumped in the pool. God, please, let their be a picture or a video of this!

He said it was interesting, and that he had just read somewhere that there's a whole multi-million dollar industry of live merpeople. The fan said that Netflix did a documentary about it, and Jensen replied that's what the article was about and that he'd be watching the documentary. Does he have a desire to do it again? Not so much, it did feel weird but he did get across the pool really quickly.

He says you don't have to put the glittery, scaly thing on, to which Jared asks if you can just put that on and Jensen says he (Jared) can.

Jared would love to, and he's so curious because he and G took the kids to Mexico and where they stayed had a gift shop and there was a mermaid fin which Odette really wanted so they got it for her but she hasn't used it yet, he starts to say that it induced panic in him cause if you lock her feet in but Jensen starts explaining to him how they work. Jared says he'll give it a try but he feels like he'd scared like he'd feel like he's drowning, and he'll watch the documentary. 🧜‍♀️

J2 JIB13

#j2 #j2 tinhat #noniwtv #mine #their solo panels will be posted throughout the week

[alittlepunkrock]

where you go (i will go) — ii

Summary: Your first encounter with the Dream Lord leaves an impression on both sides.

Pairing: Dream the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.6k+

Notes: Holy smokes, thank you all so much for the kind response to part one! Part two is a long one, but it felt best to release it all at once. Buckle up, brochachos. I hope you all enjoy!

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . . 

“Pleased to meet you, stranger,

Welcome to the ending.”

- Pleased to Meet You, Between You & Me

. . . 

Part ii. 

For a moment, you think you must still be dreaming. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare up at your love, taking in the coldness in his eyes, the hard line of his mouth. You open your mouth to speak, but no breath comes. Your throat spasms, seeking air. You can feel your heartbeat raging in your throat, pounding against his fingers. 

He must feel it, too, because he grips tighter. And the foundation of your world crumbles away as you realize that this is not a dream. 

A wave of adrenaline crashes through you. Your skin is fire, nerve endings prickling like live wires. Your hands fly to his wrists, pulling desperately, clawing at the skin there. He grunts, hastily repositioning his body to sit on your chest, pressing down harder. You feel your head sink into your pillow, feel the unforgiving slab of ground beneath your sleeping pallet press against the back of your scalp. With another forceful push from him, you feel a sickening snap just under your jaw. 

And all hell breaks loose. 

At the bright burst of pain that tears through your throat, your fight or flight response roars. On instinct, your knees coil up to your chest and you kick, hard, with all your might. Your love’s hands are ripped from your throat as he is flung backward, away from the edge of your pallet. Your mouth gapes in eagerness to relieve the crushing ache within your lungs, but no relief comes. Only pain. 

You have the sinking feeling that something irreversible has occurred. Something which you will never come back from. 

A fire crackles in the hearth at your bedside. Turning toward it, you throw one hand outward, pulling yourself toward the flames, grasping for the fire iron there-

. . . 

Tap tap tap. 

You sit upright, stiff as a board. A muddled mix of vertigo and residual pain clouds your brain, and you shake your head gently to dispel it. While gods may not dabble in activities as mortal as sleeping or dreaming, even gods need time to recharge. To retreat into their own selves, sink away from the world, and simply be. You have the distinct feeling that your own rest has been prematurely interrupted. 

Glancing around the room, you find that you’re right. Night drapes your room in shadows. The clock by your bedside reads just past midnight. You only laid down an hour ago. 

Tap tap tap. Your attention turns to your bedroom window. There sits a raven, its profile pressed closely to the glass. It's dark eye blinks owlishly at you. 

With a sigh, you comb your fingers through your hair and prepare to lie back down. It had been five long days since you’d carefully penned your note requesting an audience with the Dream King. Each day that passed since your messenger dove had departed with no response in return left a heavy feeling in your stomach. It only soured with each black thread of selfish desire that you encountered in your Realm. Though you’d doubled down on your efforts to combat Desire’s meddlesome attachments in the last few days, you couldn’t rid yourself of the gnawing feeling that you were running out of time. It was exhausting. You needed rest. 

As you move to lie down, something makes you pause, though. Call it a feeling, an intuition. Your eyes shift back to the raven at your window. It’s dark eyes lock your gaze, hold it. 

“He spends all his time with - well, his librarian. And his raven.”

You approach the window slowly, perching yourself on the sill. With a resolute click, you unlock the window and slide the glass upward. The raven makes no move to flee. No, this is definitely no ordinary bird. 

“Hello,” you greet your guest quietly. You extend your arm in invitation, and the bird accepts, wrapping its talons around your forearm. You notice a cloth pouch tied to his right leg. “I don’t suppose you came here looking for breadcrumbs, did you?” 

At first, there’s silence. The raven peers at you curiously. And then- “No, but really though, do you have any food? ‘Cause I would kill for something to eat right now. Traversing the Waking World is hard wor– uh, I’m sorry. That was embarrassing.” You laugh, pulling your arm and the raven past the windowsill and into your bedroom. Although you’d expected some type of outburst, you can’t help but be slightly taken aback. It’s not every day you see a talking raven, after all. 

“Please, don’t be. To whom do I owe the pleasure of this midnight visit?” you ask kindly. 

The raven pushes his chest out proudly and dips his head with dramatic respect. “My name is Matthew, and I am the messenger raven of Dream of the Endless. I mean, if you really want to know, I’m basically his best friend, but he wasn’t much for making that an official title, so.” You chuckle at him. “And you are Agape, Deity of Love, I hope? Because it would be really unfortunate if I came and blew my cover to the wrong girl. Not that it’d necessarily be the first time that happened. Or the second.”

You smile kindly at Matthew. What a funny little guy. “You can just call me Love. You’ve come to the right place. I assume the Dream King got my message?” 

“He did. Sorry it took a few days for us to get back to you. Dream- Ah, Lord Morpheus just wanted to reach out to his sister and vet what you said. Make sure you really were who you said you were. He’s protective when it comes to the Dreaming.”

Now, that gets your attention. You can’t help but wonder what Death might have told the Dream Lord about you. Wonder what he might have even known in the first place. “That’s understandable. We want to protect the things we love. I’m kind of the deity of that. So, what says your Dream Lord?”

Matthew straightens to his full height and ruffles his feathers, a messenger preparing to deliver his news. “Your audience with Lord Morpheus has been granted, ma’am,” he declares. He dips his beak to the cloth pouch at his ankle and snips the string. You move your hand swiftly, catching the lumpy pouch in your palm. “When you’re ready, all you gotta do is use the sands in that pouch to travel to the Dreaming. Don’t worry - they know where to go.” 

“Thank you, Matthew. I appreciate you and your lordship’s hospitality. Please pass on my sincere gratitude to him. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

“Hey, any pal of Death’s is welcome in Dre- er, Lord Morpheus’ world,” Matthew says, fluttering his wings. You guide him back to the window, passing your arm through for him to hop out on the other side. “Will we be seeing you soon?”

You smile fondly. “I’ll let your Dream Lord do his work tonight. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Matthew caws and nods his head. “We’ll see you soon, Lady Love!” he calls as he takes flight, a speck of black in the twilight.

You gaze out into the soft darkness until he disappears. Your hand closes around the pouch of sand of its own accord. “See you soon.” 

. . . 

“What do you think, Theo? Too much?” You spin away from your mirror to face him. Your soft white peplos swishes around your bare ankles, skimming your brown sandals. A crown of small red rosebuds is woven into your hair. It’s been ages since you’ve doned your official attire. As soft and roomy as the peplos is, you’re starting to think you should wear it more often. 

Theo seems to have a different opinion. Looking at your ancient garb, he cocks his head, ears drooping. You groan. “I know. Too much, isn’t it? I haven’t seen a deity in traditional attire in a century, at least. Not that I see deities much, or that there’s many of us left. It is comfortable, though.” With a wave of your hand, the peplos disappears. Instead, you lace up your canvas sneakers, shimmy into a set of fitted pants and a blouse, and throw on a blazer for formality’s sake. Theo lifts his head in recognition and satisfaction. You ruffle him between the ears. “I’m keeping the crown, though. Got it?”

You turn to your bedside table, eyes settling on the small pouch of sand there. Ever since Matthew left, you’ve been unable to stop thinking about it. You cup the pouch in the palm of your hand, feeling the sands shift and settle through the cloth. Funny how it can weigh so much more in your mind than it does in your hand. 

You turn to Theo, giving him a small, hopeful smile. “Wish me luck, buddy.” Deja vu washes over you. For the second time today, you get the feeling that something is occurring which you can’t turn back from. 

You open the pouch carefully, dipping your fingers into the sands within. They’re surprisingly soft as they brush against your fingertips. Taking a handful, you raise your palm and allow them to sift through your fingers. They spill over your hand, down to the floor, whispering against the floorboards. 

For one concerning second, nothing happens. Then, as if a breeze or a whisper has stirred them, the sands begin to scatter, swirling at your feet. The remaining sand in the pouch leaps out to join in, swirling around your ankles, knees, thighs, rising higher and higher. Small grains whip up to brush your cheeks, gaining speed. You close your eyes, shielding them against the vortex of sand twisting around you. 

You feel the exact moment that the crescendo of the winds seem to change, the moment that something shifts. Your senses alight at a crisp, fresh scent piggybacking along the winds. Salt water. You feel the soles of your shoes sink into something soft. The vortex around you dissipates. The sands return to the earth with a soft sigh. 

Nothing could prepare you for the magnificence lying in wait beyond your closed eyes. A cloud-freckled sky is draped above you, bathing Dream Country in golden sun and baby blue. The swaying sea behind you seems to touch the end of the world, interrupted only by the occasional rock formation peeking out of the waters. Beachrock crumbles into black sand, one of the most extraordinary sights you’ve ever seen. The black beach is rolled out like a tapestry, reaching as far east and west as you can see. And then there’s the sight in front of you - a towering stone wall that must stretch for miles between two mountain ranges. Two massive, ornately carved gates are set within the wall. The gate to your left features tall, curved spires that frame and surround the circular gate. Curved and pale as they are, they almost remind you of ox horns. The gate to your right appears smooth, its ivory surface gleaming in the sunlight. 

You look around, soaking in the view. And the fact that you are completely, utterly alone. 

You weren’t exactly sure what you were expecting upon your arrival in Dream Country, but a polite welcome and some directions probably would have made the list, if you’d had one. As you eye the circular gates before you, you suppose they’re as good a place to start as any. But which gate? you think. Staring at the two options before you, the ivory gate certainly looks less intimidating, what with the lack of colossal horns and all. 

Lost in thought, you almost don’t notice the shift in the air. It’s subtle, so subtle that you can’t pinpoint the moment that it emerges, only the recognition that it is suddenly there. A lingering breeze in your hair, a whisper against your skin, a stirring in your chest. You reach out your hand, feel the sensation against your fingers. Though you can’t see anything, it’s unmistakably there. Follow, it seems to say. 

And you do, feet shifting through the dark sands, trailing after the call that leads you toward the horned gate. As you draw nearer, the intricate carvings become more clear to you: Fantastical creatures, flora and fauna, detailed renditions of people and faces. The largest carvings portray a man with wild hair and a mask with a long nose, not so different from the gas masks you’ve seen on the battlefields of mortals. However, this is decidedly more ancient. You get the distinct feeling that this place has always been here, from the dawn of time. And if it belongs to an Endless, you suppose it has. 

Your hand reaches out on instinct, fingertips pressing softly against the horned gate. At your touch, the mountainous door begins to groan open. 

If you thought the beach was spectacular, you were definitely not prepared for this. Beyond the gate lies mountains and forests, a rolling blanket of green that only ends when it reaches snow-capped mountain ranges in the far distance. Pockets of villages dot the landscape, their clay tile roofs glowing a warm orange under the sun. In the center of the scene is a circular lake reflecting the sky above like a mirror. Glimmering waterfalls feed into it from all sides. At its center stands a towering silver and bronze palace. Its grooved towers shine in the sunlight, its spires reaching for the heavens like the hands of prophets.

The seasalt breeze steals your breath away, carrying it toward the palace like an offering. It’s magnificent, indescribable - truly a place of dreams. 

As you take a hesitant step through the towering gate, you find a dark-skinned woman waiting on the other side. Dressed in a purple suit with long coattails and tennis shoes, she is the pinnacle of regality and functionality. Her bespectacled eyes meet yours, and she smiles. “Welcome, Agape, Deity of Love,” she says kindly. “You’ve reached the Dreaming.” 

. . . 

The walk to the Dream Lord’s palace was long, but Lucienne made for excellent company. While this was your first diplomatic visit to another realm, you thought that there surely couldn’t be another ambassador in any plane of existence who could top Lucienne. Although she insisted she was only a librarian, she took it upon herself to relate to you the history of the Dreaming, including its recent return to glory. She guided your eyes to the location of the House of Secrets, the House of Mystery, and Fiddler’s Green. No citizen of the Dreaming was a stranger to her, and she introduced you politely to all you passed. Her love and loyalty to the Dreaming was unmatched, even palpable. It brought a smile to your face. 

As you finally pass through the palace doors, Lucienne says, “I apologize for our long journey, Agape. I can assure you, should you visit the Dreaming again, you will not have to travel all this way. All who enter the Dreaming must pass through the Gates of Horn and Ivory at least once so that their intentions may be assessed.” 

“There’s no need for an apology. And please, just call me Love,” you say in kind. After a pause, curiosity gets the better of you. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean by assessed?”

Lucienne looks over her shoulder as she guides you up a set of winding staircases, climbing higher and higher. Through the palace windows, you swear you can see all of Dream Country. “Lord Morpheus carved those gates eons ago when the Dreaming was first created. Those who walk through the Gates of Ivory harbor lies and deception, but the Gates of Horn will only allow those with intentions of truth to pass through.” 

“Ah, I see.” You weren’t sure what it was that seemed to draw you toward the Gates of Horn in the first place, but whatever it was, it had been growing stronger the closer you got to the palace. With each passing step, you felt it hum more potently against your skin, the stirring in your chest strengthening into a gentle pull. Calling you somewhere. But where? 

With a gloved hand, Lucienne opens a set of oak doors before you. The enchanting scents of leather and paper flood your senses as you pass through the doorway. You find that she’s led you into some sort of library. The ceiling hovers stories above you; below it are floors and floors of walkways leading to shelves upon shelves of books. On the ground level, tall bookcases line the walls, towering ladders propped up against them to help readers reach the highest of volumes. You can see that there are spaces between some bookcases on either side of the room, giving way to yet more areas with even more books. Several wooden tables are set up down the center of the room, adorned with lamps, ink, quills, magnifying glasses and, yes, even more books. 

“This is absolutely amazing. What is this place?” you say in awe. You spin in a slow circle, trying fruitlessly to soak in the full majesty of the scene around you.

Lucienne smiles proudly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “This would be my library, ma’am,” she explains. She walks to the wall on the right, reaching her fingers out to brush the book spines affectionately. “In this library, I keep a record of every dream that has ever been dreamt. Every book that has ever been imagined, or lost, even if it was never published. I can remember the title, author, and location of each one. I am their keeper.” 

You pause in following her, trailing your fingertips along the leather cover of a book on the table next to you. Every dream ever dreamt. Could that mean that you- 

No, you cut yourself off firmly. Seeking to divert your attention, you turn to Lucienne and smile. “This is absolutely incredible, Lucienne. You know, I’m something of a librarian myself. I have a whole library in the Realm of Attachment with a book detailing the attachments of each mortal spanning past, present, and future. They serve as a record of the work I have done, and the work I have yet to do.” 

Lucienne regards you with interest, brown eyes twinkling behind her vintage eyeglasses. “Well, that is something I should quite like to see,” she says. She waves a hand, beckoning you toward a pair of colossal stained glass doors at the opposite end of the library. “Perhaps that will be an excursion for another time. For now, Lord Morpheus awaits.” 

Eyes settling on the doors that lead to the throne room, panic begins to rise in your chest. You feel as if your heart could crawl right up your throat  and run as far away from here as possible. Finally faced with the situation you’re about to walk into, you feel wholly, entirely unprepared. Perhaps this was a terrible idea. 

No, you tell yourself. You force yourself to trudge forward, taking one step, then another. You can do this. You have to fix this. And being here is your best shot. 

Lucienne seems to sense your apprehension, pausing as she places a gloved hand against one of the throne room doors. She eyes you carefully. “Are you ready, ma’am?” 

You want to spend all day in her library. You want to run away. You want to throw up. But your mouth says, “Yes.” And with a curt nod, Lucienne sweeps open the doors to the throne room. 

While all of the palace rooms have been magnificent, this is the one that steals your breath away. Your footsteps echo on the polished stone floor as you walk into the cathedral-esque room. Tall columns line the room on either side,  featuring the stone busts of characters from history’s most infamous stories. Characters born from dreams, you realize. On the far end of the room are a set of stained glass windows, three short ones, three tall ones. The tall windows are stained blue, red, and green, casting twinkling prisms throughout the room. The cathedral trusses above your head hold up a twilight sky of swirling clouds, constellations, and glimmering stars. 

And there, standing halfway up the winding staircase leading to a simple throne, is a tall, black silhouette. The Dream Lord. Though his back is to you and no introductions have been made, you know it could not be anyone else. Lucienne confirms this when she stops the two of you several feet away from the base of the stairs. “Lord Morpheus,” she calls, dipping her head in respect, “your honored guest has arrived.” 

Though he surely heard you coming, the Dream Lord only turns at Lucienne’s call. As he does, you finally observe the cold-hearted Dream King you’ve heard so many rumors about. He is the darkness of night in human form; long black coat, black shirt, black pants, black boots, dark hair that swoops over his forehead, ruffled like raven’s feathers. Like a run of ink, he bleeds into the scene around him, a stark contrast to the brightness of the throne room. The darkness only makes his other features more striking. His skin is marble, cold and pale, with facial features that could cut. His mouth is small and pink as a rosebud. If the rest of him wasn’t intimidating enough, there’s his eyes - deep as oceans, glimmering like blue crystals. No, like stars. Studying, analyzing. 

And they’re on you. 

Suddenly, you realize that while you’ve been lost in thought, he’s come to the bottom of the staircase. You get the itching feeling that you have been staring for entirely too long. Hastily, you mirror Lucienne’s stance and dip your head in respect. 

The Dream Lord takes the final step off the staircase, standing but a few feet before you. Standing so close to him, you realize that the sensation you’ve felt since you arrived in the Dreaming has been coming from here the whole time. From him. Here in his throne room, you can’t deny it. Your mind mulls over the call that greeted you, the feeling that led you here. You can’t imagine what it would feel like to hold power like that. Don’t discount yourself, you chastise. You have to be confident if this is going to work. 

“Greetings, Agape. Welcome to the land of the Dreaming.” Though he may look young, the voice that passes over the Dream Lord’s lips is decidedly ancient. It’s the crashing of a wave against a shore, a rumble of thunder in the night, the etching of a story into stone. It reverberates through the entire throne room, each word slow and deliberate. Some distant part of you recognizes it, and you suppose you should. 

Lucienne takes a few polite steps back, giving the two of you space to talk. Up above, you hear the flutter of feathers. Inclining your head, you find a very familiar raven perched on one of the stone busts above. Matthew. Vaguely comforted by a somewhat familiar presence, you turn your eyes back to the Dream King. Will yourself to hold his gaze. Be confident. 

“Greetings, Dream of the Endless. I have been known by many names - Ishtar, Inanna, Freya, Aphrodite, Venus, Parvati, Agape. You can simply call me Love. It is much simpler that way.” Feeling your nerves settle slightly with introductions out of the way, you give him a small smile. “Thank you for your hospitality and for granting me an audience on such short notice.” 

The Dream Lord dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. His eyes don’t stray from your face; they remain affixed there, studying thoughtfully. “Of course. A companion of my sister’s is welcome here in the Dreaming. Admittedly, I did not know whether to believe you when you stated as such in your letter. However, a visit with my sister remedied that quite effectively.”

There it is again, that gnawing curiosity as to what Death told him about you. It pokes and prods incessantly at the back of your mind. This time, you can’t resist it, saying, “If you don’t mind me asking, what did your sister share about me, Dream Lord?” 

Dream of the Endless inclines his chin, eyeing you with interest. Though his face is impassive, his eyes seem to challenge you. “Inquiring about the affairs of Endless when we’ve only just met? It is bold of you to assume I might share the details of intimate conversations with my sister with a stranger.”

Oh, now that response gets your attention. While intimidation is something you tend to shrink away from, a challenge is something you are more than happy to work with. “On the contrary, Dream Lord, I think I should be privy to information that involves my character,” you challenge, diplomacy slipping a bit. As you step out of your ambassador facade and more into your true self, your confidence grows. “Or does Dream of the Endless keep his gossip to himself?” You quirk an eyebrow at him. 

The Dream Lord pauses, watching you for a long moment. Perhaps to see if you’ll squirm. Just when you think you might’ve made a terrible mistake, he blinks, responding, “She refrained from sharing all the details of your history and circumstance. I should like to learn of those directly from you.” With a long glance, he turns toward the stained glass windows, clasping his hands behind his back. “What she did share is that you were once a mortal whom my brother, Destiny, deemed worthy of becoming a goddess. And that now my sibling, Desire, threatens the stability of your realm and your conditional divinity with their meddling. Which has brought you here, to me.” 

And there it was - your secret, laid bare in the light of the throne room. Above your head, Matthew ruffles his wings, clearly intrigued by this turn of events. You don’t turn to gauge Lucienne’s reaction. If there is anyone other than the Dream Lord who knows the truth, you figure it would be her. You inhale deeply, calming your unsettled nerves. You’d come this far; it wasn’t time to back down now. 

“You are correct, Dream Lord. I was once a mortal, until your brother and sister made me what I am today,” you say quietly. Building courage, your voice grows louder, “While I may not be Endless, my love and loyalty to my Realm knows no bounds. I will do whatever I have to in order to maintain balance between selfish desire and selfless love, for the good of my people. Your sibling, Desire, and I have been at odds for a long time. As they grow bolder, I’m afraid it’s becoming harder to outrun them.” You lick your lips, pondering your next choice of words. With a deep breath, you continue carefully, “I know that they have meddled in your affairs, too, as of late. As long as their ambition for mischief continues to grow, both of our Realms are at stake. That is why I am here, asking for your help.” You swallow thickly. “I have a proposition for you.” 

For a long moment, the Dream Lord says nothing. No one in the throne room dares to breathe. Though he does not turn around, Dream of the Endless does incline his head toward you slightly. “Go on,” he murmurs. 

You take a few bold steps forward, seeking his face. Seeking to convey just how much this means to you. “I propose that we form a partnership. Your sibling is taking a particular interest in interfering with my eros and philia attachments - romantic and soul ties. I believe that we could work together to combat this. If you supply the dreamscape, I can supply the subject matter. If we place their romantic partners and soul ties in their dreams, perhaps when mortals encounter them in the Waking World, they will be more likely to resist Desire’s temptations and fulfill the attachment.”

No response registers on the Dream Lord’s face. His eyes remain affixed on the stained glass windows above you. They cast his alabaster skin in shades of crimson, crystal, and emerald. After several quiet minutes, his eyes meet yours. “And what do I stand to gain from this proposition of yours?”

“A little work taken off your own plate. With me worrying about the subject matter, you will have fewer dreams to conjure up. And with their dreams seemingly coming true in the Waking World, mortals will be all the more eager to see what happens next in their dreams. The Dreaming will grow in power.” 

Another pause. “And if I decline your proposition?”

Your breath hitches. Your mouth tightens into a hard line. You have no response for that one. 

Dream of the Endless nods, your lack of response seemingly all the answer he needs. Slowly, he stalks toward the staircase leading to his throne, sitting down on one of the lower steps. His long coat spills around him like a shadow. His crystalline eyes fix on yours, holding your gaze. After several still moments, he finally replies, “While your proposition is intriguing, Agape,” you flinch slightly at the continued use of your formal title, “I am afraid I will have to decline. While Desire has been a thorn in my side as of late, I do not wish to sour the blood between myself and my siblings. In addition, my attention to the Dreaming has been divided for too long. Now that I’ve returned, my own Realm requires my full attention.” 

A tingling sensation passes through you as you try to process this news, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers. Numbness is left in its wake. Your stomach shifts, suddenly nauseous. The throne room and your company within it feel incredibly far away.  This can’t be happening. In the distance, you think you hear the Dream Lord ask Lucienne to escort you away. This can’t be happening.

A gentle hand touches your shoulder, and you recoil instinctively. When you turn, you find it’s just Lucienne, eyeing you solemnly. Up above, you hear Matthew let out a startled caw, swooping down to land on the staircase beside the Dream Lord. “Hey, boss, don’t you think-” 

“Come, ma’am,” Lucienne says quietly, her kind eyes conveying a silent apology. “Allow me to escort you out of the Dreaming.” 

Your hands fist at your sides. No. 

All eyes in the throne room turn to you. You blink, startled. You hadn’t realized that you’d said it aloud. But now that you had, there was no turning back. Dream of the Endless rises slowly, methodically. Shadows sweep down from his feet, crawling toward you. “No?” he says, the indignance in his voice thinly veiled. You can feel him in the air, his powerful presence angry and oppressive, pushing in toward you. His bright eyes darken to lone stars within two pools of space. “You presume to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own-” 

“No, Lord Morpheus,” you say hastily, lifting your hands in apology. At your change of title and tone, the shadows halt their approach. “I would never. You have been so gracious to welcome me here for an audience. I want to offer you an invitation in return.” You pause, licking your lips. While his shadows have ceased, the fire in his eyes has not snuffed out. You know you must choose your words carefully. “Please, visit me in my Realm. The Realm of Attachment. I can show you my function, what I do, how I do it. I can show you what I have to offer mortals, what I have to offer you. Please. And then decide whether you want to decline my proposition.” 

You’re unsure of exactly how much time passes. It could be merely a second, it could be hours. You hold careful eye contact with Lord Morpheus as he absorbs, processes, ponders. You don’t dare breathe as he studies you. 

And finally, he nods. The shadows retreat back into his coat. The darkness dissipates from his eyes. The air around you lightens. “Very well, Love. You have intrigued me.” Your heart is hammering so loudly in your ears that you barely notice his change of your title. “I shall accompany you to your Realm of Attachment, after which time I will pass judgment on your proposal.” 

You breathe in deeply, relief washing through you. You turn to Lucienne, whose brown eyes regard you with surprise. Too elated to read into her expression, you turn back to the Dream Lord. “Thank you, Lord Morpheus. I cannot begin to tell you how much this means to me.” You grin brilliantly at him. “When should I expect you?” 

At that, the Dream Lord gives no response. Instead, he reaches into the pocket of his long coat, revealing a palmful of sand. Though his expression remains stoic, you swear there is a tiny twinkle in his eye as he brings the sand to his lips and blows. Like a tidal wave, the sands sweep over you. You shield your eyes behind the sleeve of your blazer. 

When you open them, you are no longer in the throne room. Instead, you’re back in the Waking World, standing in your bedroom with sand in your hair. Theo’s head perks up from his spot on your bed, his dark eyes looking at you expectantly. 

You pause, processing what just happened to you. One beat. Two. You groan. “Son of a-” 

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