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megalony · 9 months

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Hypnotic

This is another Dalton Lambert imagine that I hope you will all like. Any requests for him would be great.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@butlegendsneverdie@langdonzvoid@jennyggggrrr@rogmeddows@radiob-l-a-hblah@rogertaylorsbitontheside@chlobo6@rogertaylors-lipgloss@sj-thefan@omgitsearly@luckytrashgooprebel@scarsout@deaky-with-a-c@killer-queen-ofrhye@bluutac@vousmemanqueez-blog@jonesyaddiction@milanosaurus@httpfandxms@saint-hardy@7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls@mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread

Masterlist

Summary: Dalton and (Y/n)'s friendship merges into something more and he finds that she can astral project as well, making their art class a bit tricky.

Enjoy.

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Tiredness burned in the corners of Dalton's eyes and swam around in his mind like a thick fog he couldn't lift. It made his head feel heavy and every now and then, his chin would drop forward when he wasn't concentrating enough. His body was desperate for sleep, crying out for him to relax and lay down even just for an hour.

But his mind was too terrified to succumb to fatigue.

He didn't know what time it was, some time past midnight, he was fairly certain of that because he knew when midnight struck, (Y/n) had started to waver. She didn't want to go to sleep and leave Dalton awake but she looked as tired as he felt and he told her it was okay, he would sleep eventually. And he would; soon.

He had stopped painting his art project a few hours ago, he knew if he pushed himself to continue when he was overly tired, his work would be poor. So Dalton switched the canvas for a sketch pad and started to doodle from memory.

As a headache began to form behind his eyes, Dalton set the sketchbook down next to him on the bed and leaned back against the wall. Sat at this angle with his legs hanging over the side of the bed and his head tipped back into the art wall, he had a perfect view of (Y/n). His temporary roommate for tonight.

She wasn't strictly supposed to be here, this wasn't her room. Her room was in fact up on the next floor, but no one needed to know that tonight.

The pair of them had crashed in Dalton's room to keep each other company while they added to their coursework. They shared the same art class and she was the one person in class that Dalton had become close to. And while Dalton had the room to himself, he said (Y/n) could stay whenever she wanted which so happened to be tonight.

Dalton liked how calm and still (Y/n) was right now, even if she was laid at an odd angle. The few times he had shared a room with his brother Foster, he noticed his brother fidgeted a lot in his sleep and their mother was the same. Dalton on the other hand seemed to switch between tossing and turning and then going deathly still, mostly when he started to wander and project during the night.

Right now, (Y/n) was laid on her front with one leg hanging off the edge of the bed, the other leg slightly elevated up against the wall and her arms tucked under her pillow. He knew it hadn't taken her too long to fall asleep, she fidgeted for about twenty minutes then all of a sudden, she became motionless and he knew she was out for the count.

If Dalton had any energy or fire inside of him, he would have started a new sketch, totally focused on (Y/n)'s soft, relaxed features. The slight curve of her nose, her long lashes, her plump lips, there were so many features he would love to draw over and over again until he got them just right. Soon, maybe he would but tonight he didn't have the energy.

Watching her like this made him wonder what exactly they were to one another.

Were they together? Were they just close friends who seemed to share an invisible bond? Did (Y/n) think of him like he thought of her? Did her body go haywire with adrenaline whenever he was around?

Dalton had never really been close to anyone before. The coma had changed him, it scattered his mind and dislocated him from the rest of the world, even from his family. Connections were never made with other people and he only felt like himself, the purest form of himself, when he was engrossed in art.

(Y/n) made him feel different.

When she talked to him, she made the world vanish and nothing else was important except the words falling from her lips. When her arm brushed against his, Dalton felt electricity like never before. And more recently, (Y/n) had started to hold his hand. It seemed innocent enough, but to Dalton it was different. She would grab his hand seemingly out of nowhere and that was it, he was lost completely, his legs turned to mush, his stomach did summersaults and his brain malfunctioned. When she held his hand, they connected into one.

She had even started leaning into him, a lot. When they stood in the dining hall and queued with Chris for lunch, (Y/n) would tilt backwards until she was leaning up on Dalton and he could feel each breath she took vibrating through into his chest. When they walked from class to the campus dorms, (Y/n) would scuttle under his arm and tuck into his side and if Dalton wrapped his arm around her waist, she always smiled up at him.

Surely what they had was something more than friendship, this connection wasn't like anything he'd ever had with anyone before and (Y/n) only did these things with him. If that wasn't proof he didn't know what was.

Dalton didn't know how long he had lost himself in his tired, overworked thoughts. The room was illuminated with a pastel green light that always made him think of The Great Gatsby but it was still dark enough for Dalton to stare at (Y/n) and find his mind thinking and wandering off into fantasies and imagination.

Just when he thought he might be able to settle into a slumber, his attention got caught on (Y/n) again.

She moved.

Dalton wasn't exactly sure which part of (Y/n) moved, maybe it was her head, perhaps it was just a twitch in her shoulder. The movement was so subtle that he didn't really see it, he just knew it.

Something about that little twitch made his eyes narrow and he found himself moving from the bed to cross the small distance over to (Y/n)'s bed.

He didn't reach the bed before she moved again, and this time, he saw it. Her whole body jolted down into the mattress like she had been falling and crash landed back down on the bed. Her face smothered into the pillow before snapping back up, gasping for air and he was sure one arm hit into the wall as her leg that was hanging off the bed bashed down into the floor.

With a startled cry, (Y/n) pushed up onto her knees and knelt up on the bed as quick as a bullet. Her hair was a little askew but the way her lips parted and her chest heaved made Dalton falter.

Surely not? No, (Y/n) couldn't have been wandering in The Further; could she?

Dalton had never met anyone else, other than his dad, who astral project like him. But he recognised that feeling of falling, of jumping back into your own body right at the last second and coming back to a world of colour and life, away from the grasp and stench of death. Maybe their connection was deeper than he originally thought.

"Bad dream?"

Dalton gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands outstretched in front of him but he didn't dare reach out for her. He didn't know if she wanted his touch. If (Y/n) had been projecting in her sleep, Dalton didn't know what she had seen and if it would make her too shocked or uncomfortable for human touch.

His worries seemed to be for nothing when (Y/n)'s hands latched around his bicep and she pressed her cheek into his shoulder.

"Yeah, something like that," (Y/n) tried to control the shaking in her body but it came out in her voice instead.

Her nose brushed against Dalton's thin grey shirt and she inhaled his scent, hoping it would do some good in calming her down but her heart catapulted into her ribs when she felt a kiss being pressed into the top of her head. The small touch sent her heart reeling and (Y/n) couldn't help but burrow further into Dalton's side.

Something about him just felt like home. It felt safe to be next to him and when she wrapped herself around him, everything else faded away.

The world changed at night and (Y/n) didn't like it. She didn't like the way it turned from colour to grey or the creatures that came out of the shadows or the sounds they made when they realised a living soul was in their world of death. (Y/n) couldn't help when or where she wandered, she didn't want to leave her body behind and drift into the unknown but it was happening more and more and it was frightening.

Dalton made her feel safe. Sometimes when (Y/n) was in her room in the early hours of the morning and she was afraid she would wander, she thought of Dalton. His image in her mind grounded her and stopped her from going where she dreaded to be.

"You should try and sleep, we have class in the morning." He didn't want to ask. Asking something personal like this meant that if he was wrong, he would open up a can of torment that he didn't want to burden (Y/n) with. Dalton would have to keep an eye on her and try and assess whether she was astral projecting or not.

"You need to sleep too." (Y/n) could last with a few more sleepless hours but she knew from one look that Dalton was draining his last reserves. He needed sleep more than she did. A selfish part of (Y/n) thought that if she stayed in his room tonight, he might sleep better knowing she was there with him. She would protect him from the nightmares if he grounded her from her wandering.

She felt Dalton kissing her head again and it made a fuzzy warmth spread right down to her toes. But when he was about to stand up, (Y/n) tightened her hands on his arms.

Her big doe eyes stared up at him and just one look made Dalton quiver and stay seated next to her.

"Can… can you stay, here, with me?" Her eyes went wide and round and looked between Dalton and the bed to show she meant for him to stay in her bed. "I don't want to w- dream, not tonight."

Embarrassment flushed her cheeks and made her break eye contact until she felt his fingers spreading across her thigh and giving her a gentle squeeze.

"Sure," His voice was soft and understanding and sent (Y/n) into another fuzzy frenzy that tingled throughout her blood.

(Y/n) unravelled her hands from Dalton's arm long enough for him to shed his shirt like a second skin and she looked down at her hands while he stood and shimmied from his jeans. Leaving him clad in his boxers.

Shuffling back, (Y/n) laid on her side and scooted her back up against the wall to make enough room for Dalton to lay next to her on the small, single bed.

They had never laid this close before.

He laid down on his side so their chests were touching and (Y/n) was sure her heartbeat was pounding through his skin from the closeness. She had never laid this close to anyone significant before, it was unnerving, thrilling and bewildering all at once.

Closing her eyes as tightly as she could, (Y/n) held her breath deep in her lungs to try and steady her heartbeat when she shuffled closer until there was no gap between them. Her head nuzzled into the small curve between his neck and shoulder and when Dalton didn't object, (Y/n) looped her arm over his waist to glue herself to him.

When he felt her leg trying to press between his, Dalton curved his arm beneath (Y/n)'s side so his hand was splayed out on her back and he slowly rolled over onto his back. It seemed a perfect fit because (Y/n) curled up on top of his chest like a baby bird burrowing down into its nest.

He was sure he could feel her kissing his neck, it was so slow that she could have been breathing steadily into his skin, but it felt more like a sensual, peppered kiss. He hoped it was a kiss.

"Goodnight," If she did go wandering in the night, Dalton would follow. He would keep her safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I wish we didn't have such an early class," Even as she spoke, (Y/n) could feel her eyelids drooping and the urgent, desperate desire to go back to bed was clawing at the back of her mind and overtaking her body.

She had slept better last night than she had in weeks, probably since she first came here if she was being honest.

Waking up wrapped around Dalton was a tiny bit embarrassing and would have felt a lot worse if he hadn't of been asleep too when his alarm went off. (Y/n) would hate to have woken up with him wide awake beneath her, feeling like he couldn't move because all night she had pinned him down to the bed and slept practically on top of him.

Last night had definitely changed things.

(Y/n) had never felt so safe and calm both when she was sleeping and when she woke up, and that was all down to Dalton. She felt so elated when she woke that she kissed him before she could control herself or think better of it. She had been yearning to kiss him from the first time he spoke to her after class and this morning gave her the best opportunity to do so.

Now, as they approached their class, Dalton's arm was glued around her hips, his fingers hovering just beneath the waistband of her jeans and her arm was around his back, her hand beneath his shirt.

It felt right, it felt natural.

"At least we both only have two classes today," Dalton tipped his head down and pressed his lips to the back of (Y/n)'s head, breathing in her signature shampoo before he slowly unravelled his arm from her waist.

Their easels in class were close, there was one person stood between them so Dalton was close enough to be able to keep an eye on (Y/n).

All he had to do was look to the left and he could make sure she was alright because he was certain she had astral projected last night.

He could see the similarities between them now. He could picture the tiredness hiding on her face and the unease pooling in her eyes. He could see her concentration wavering and the way she searched for things she thought she saw out the corner of her eye.

They parted and sat at their respective easels, watching Ms Armagan begin the class.

Dalton felt relieved to start a new project today, as much as he liked going back to the same picture to add more detail and perfect his work, it felt good to begin something new. Start from scratch and see what he could conjure up this time.

Something within him was already imagining a design with colours when his usual work was black and white with the occasional spludge of red. He wanted blue today. Blue and a very light shade of lilac, maybe he even wanted to work with some pastels and blend the colours together until it looked like a petal in a puddle.

Darkness wasn't clawing at the back of his mind today and he didn't want to express his work in the shadows.

He almost smiled when Ms Armagan fluttered her hands at them, shooing them off to go and retrieve whatever supplies they wanted. Dalton headed straight for the second drawer and got out some chalk of varying colours and a small razor, he could blend some shavings with water for added detail later.

He also noticed (Y/n) going for oil paint which wasn't her preferred method, she had a thing for watercolour.

About three quarters of the way through class, most of Armagan's words went in one ear and out the other for Dalton. He heard a few words, creativity, signature style and whatnot but he was too immersed in circles overlapping and blending together.

His attention did falter for a moment though, when she set up a metronome on a setting of two seconds between beats. It was slow today, recently it had been fast to get their adrenaline going and fuel them to spurr on.

Dalton didn't like slow ticking, it was a recipe for projecting and he couldn't slip in class, not again.

Shaking her head, (Y/n) tried to fight the headache away that was coming from lack of sleep, it was the kind of headache she was used to recently. Her concentration had to be on her work, this project Ms Armagan wanted them to complete today and they didn't have long left before class finished.

It had taken (Y/n) a while to realise what she was painting was in fact, an iris. A more close up, detailed image of the eye and the paint was adding a lot of layers and flakes and signature lines.

But the ticking in the background was becoming hypnotic to the point all (Y/n) could think about was going to sleep.

Why did she and Dalton agree to get up this morning? Why weren't they still in bed like half the other students in the dorms? What if she went to sleep right now-

Blood was all (Y/n) could see. It was dripping from her fingers in time with the ticking metronome. It was slathered up her arms and smearing beneath her eyes. Her canvas was nothing but a square sheet of blood, bubbling and spluttering like an open wound in front of her.

Then the hand reached out; long, slender and quite possibly broken fingers curled and stretched out towards her. Trying to scratch her, hurt her, pull her into the redness. The arm that stretched out from the canvas was long, but it wasn't covered in blood, it was a mix between grey and black just like the world around her. Everything had been stripped of every shade of colour, except for crimson.

It grabbed her wrist, she could feel the broken, splintered nails digging into her wrist and cutting through her previously untainted skin.

She didn't want to go disappear. (Y/n) didn't want to be dragged wherever it was trying to take her. She didn't want to be here, she wanted to be back in class. With Dalton.

Dalton heard the shriek; even in his trance-like state, that familiar voice cut through his mental barrier and brought him back into reality. His hand hovered shaking over his canvas and his eyes did a frantic scan around the room before they landed on the source of the scream; (Y/n).

Her whole body was shaking but she had one arm stretched out towards the canvas. If she hadn't of screamed, Dalton would have thought she was simply pondering on where to add a splash of paint to her creation.

Something changed, he didn't know what it was but he could feel the tension from where he was and the atmosphere shifted around him. A cold breeze rattled through his bones before a wave of warmth hit him like he had just come back from the Further, back to reality. He wasn't sure what (Y/n) did, whether she let go of her paintbrush, threw it or tried to hit her canvas.

Whatever she did, she knocked the canvas from the easel and lost her footing at the same time.

Her body crashed into the wooden easel and they both fell to the floor with a loud bang that echoed throughout the room. Dalton watched her head collide into the wood, rebound off and then flop down on the floor.

In a split second, Dalton dropped everything in his hands and stumbled around his easel into the middle of the circle formed by their work stations.

He went down on his knees along with Ms Armagan and shuffled closer to (Y/n). As gently and carefully as he could, Dalton slipped his hands beneath (Y/n)'s chest the other around her back and inched her closer to him so she wasn't laying on the easel anymore. Relief shot through him when she whimpered, it showed she was awake at least.

"It's me, it's only me. You're alright."

When Dalton's voice registered in (Y/n)'s ears she could have cried and a frail noise murmured past her lips. Her hands trembled when she patted them against the floor until she finally felt Dalton's knees next to her and dug her nails into his jeans to ground herself. Using his knees as leverage, (Y/n) pulled herself closer until she could curl her knees up to her stomach beneath her and bury her head in Dalton's legs.

Immediately, (Y/n) felt Dalton curve around her like a protective blanket shielding her from all angles so no prying eyes could catch a glimpse of her. His arms enveloped around her sides and he leaned over her and kissed the base of her head.

He could feel her panting into his jeans, her hot breath was sinking through to his skin, not that he minded at all.

After a minute of complete silence from everyone, including the metronome that had been stopped, Dalton felt (Y/n) slowly start to breathe properly and calm down beneath him. He leaned up straight but kept his hands firmly on (Y/n)'s hips, helping her straighten up.

Paint was smeared onto her hands and up her arms and there was a splotch on her cheek near the corner of her lips. He could see a bump forming on her forehead which would leave a nasty mark for a few days and would surely cause a headache soon.

(Y/n) gripped Dalton's shoulders before she dropped her head down onto his chest.

"Dalton, why don't you help (Y/n) get cleaned up and checked over? You can stop by for your things later." Ms Armagan patted his shoulder, her eyes doing a once-over of (Y/n) to clarify that she was truly okay and mostly unscathed before she got to her feet and faced the rest of the students. "Alright, class dismissed." There was only ten minutes or so of class left, they may as well pack up and get a head start on their next class now.

"Ready, up we go."

(Y/n) kept her eyes closed but let Dalton take her weight when he stood up and carefully pulled her up with him. She could feel her legs shaking beneath her and her temple was throbbing like she had been hit with a baseball bat, but she was okay.

Her fingers dug so far into Dalton's shirt that she was sure she had started a small hole in the fabric but she didn't care. She buried her nose in his shirt, breathing in his cologne and aftershave while he curved his arms around her waist and guided her out of the room.

She wasn't sure where he was taking her until, after a moment, he opened the door to the disabled bathroom and guided her inside.

He needed to make sure she was okay and get rid of the paint before it stained her skin and stayed there for a week. He couldn't take (Y/n) into the boys bathroom and he wasn't walking into the girls bathroom either when people might see him or overhear their conversation. This room was spacious, private and empty.

"Let me look at you,"

(Y/n) could have melted when he took her face in his hands and smoothed his thumbs over her cheek. The concentration was clear on his face and his tongue poked out against his bottom lip before a gentle smile formed on his face.

"Are you alright?"

"Hmm, I think so," She wasn't truly sure. The shaking in her system was slowly subsiding but the adrenaline was amplifying thousands when Dalton cupped her thighs and effortlessly lifted her up to sit on the sink.

"Want to tell me what happened?" Something about his voice made (Y/n) think he already knew. He looked the perfect mix between calm and colossal as he stood between her spread legs with a damp paper towel in his hand. He slowly started to wipe the oil from her cheek, taking his time to brush the corner of her lips as he did so.

"The metronome… the rhythm made me tired, must have drifted for a minute or so. Scared myself back to reality I guess."

Reaching up, (Y/n) gently cupped Dalton's wrist, not stopping his movements but holding on as he continued them. He cleaned the paint from her face and took the time to kiss her bruised temple before he held her hand and started to clean the blue and black stripes of paint from her arms.

"So you didn't, I don't know, project into the Further?" He was taking a leap of faith.

This conversation could go a whole different way and set Dalton up for a failure, but he had to know. He had to know if (Y/n) was experiencing what he had gone through only a few weeks ago. He couldn't help her or keep her safe if he didn't know what was happening and Dalton wouldn't stand for anything happening to (Y/n). He couldn't have anything happen to her.

Her blown pupils and parted lips told Dalton the answer.

"You've been there too?"

"I never mean to, it's why I don't sleep, and why I have the nightlight."

Dalton dropped the paper towel into the sink when (Y/n) leaned onto the edge of the sink and wrapped herself around him. She tucked her face into his neck but her arms deadlocked around his chest like she was afraid he was some kind of mirage, about to disappear before her.

She knew there was a reason she felt so connected to him.

"Come on, we're going back to the dorm." He helped (Y/n) slide down to her feet and his hands cupped her hips, giving a gentle squeeze when she smiled up at him curiously.

"But we have another class?"

What was he talking about? They both had a different class coming up, then lunch, then they usually met Chris afterwards and spent their free afternoon with her. They couldn't just swan back to the dorms now, the day wasn't over, it was only just beginning.

Dalton could see the questions rolling around in (Y/n)'s head but he silenced them with a kiss. One with more passion and more confidence than this morning. A kiss that has his teeth nipping on her bottom lip and his tongue swiping into her mouth, taking control of every one of her senses.

"You need sleep, and I need to look after you."

#dalton lambert imagine #dalton lambert x reader #dalton x reader #dalton lambert #imagine #insidious #insidious the red door

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visceravalentines · 2 years

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My first attempt at a House of Wax fic! Writing so many characters in one scene was tricky so I hope I did alright.

I Only Have Eyes for You (And You, and You)

Following the events of the movie (except for the ending obviously), the Sinclairs could use some love. Maybe a little music. Maybe some dancing. Poly!Sinclairs x GN!Reader.

Rating: Teen/SFW

Length: 1.1k

CW: reference to previous murder and waxification

Reader POV

It has been a long week in Ambrose.

Lester rounded up a whole slew of college kids, and they had given you all a run for your money. They managed to fuck up the routine through and through, injuring Bo, even drawing Vincent out of the workshop to help wrangle them.

For the first time, you actively participated in the killing, taking down one of the final survivors with two decent shots just before they crushed Bo’s skull with a baseball bat. The pride in the eldest Sinclair’s eyes was just enough to counterbalance the roiling emotions you felt at taking your first human life.

They wreaked enough havoc to create weeks’ worth of necessary repairs to the town and its residents. You helped haul the broken figures carefully from their resting places in the theatre and museum to the warmth of Vincent’s workshop. You stood next to Bo as he assessed the structural damage to a few of the storefronts and muttered curses under his breath. You helped Lester retrieve the kids’ vehicles and camping gear and accounted for every last one of their cell phones.

It was exhausting work. Not only was Ambrose in shambles, but your boys were devastated by the level of destruction to their home. You knew Bo went to the church every morning to whisper apologies over his mama. You caught Lester sniffling quietly to himself as he swept up broken glass in the street. And Vincent – more than once, you came into the workshop and found him staring at a damaged canvas, his tools limp in his hands, and you had known enough artists in your life to recognize the helplessness he felt at facing a project he did not feel confident enough to complete. Even Jonesy was out of sorts, barking at nothing, wandering restless.

So Friday night finds you all in the house, deep in your respective thoughts. Bo sprawls on the couch, Vincent slumped forward beside him. Lester and Jonesy are upstairs. And you stand in the kitchen, overwhelmed by their collective needs, feeling inadequate in your capacity to pull them out of what you feared might become a lengthy depression.

Sighing, you lean against the counter, looking around for something to clean, something to fix, something small that required no energy because you had so little left. And your eyes fall on the cassette player in the corner. It is dusted with toast crumbs but you know that it works, and there is a drawer of tapes underneath it.

You pull it open and skim the titles for something you know. Most of the artists are unfamiliar to you, but one catches your eye. You fiddle with the machine for a minute, slide the tape in, press play. Frank Sinatra’s “I Only Have Eyes for You” fuzzes to life. You adjust the volume and catch the eye of the twins through the interior window. Vincent has lifted his face out of his hands and Bo cocks one skeptical eyebrow.

My love must be a kind of blind love, I can’t see anyone but you….

With a tired smile, you walk to them slowly, extend both hands, one for each of them. “Come here,” you say. Vincent lets himself be pulled up immediately. Bo takes your hand but does not move.

“That’s my bad arm, darlin’,” he says.

“Well then give me your other one.”

He lets out a single chuckle and allows you and Vinny to help him to his feet. You lead them both to the kitchen, shouting up the stairs on the way, “Les! Get down here!”

Bo separates himself from you and leans against the fridge, wincing as he flexes his injured arm. You place Vincent’s hands on your hips and slide your hands beneath his hair, clasping your fingers behind his neck. You can see in his eye he is bewildered as you sway gently to the music.

“Come on, Vinny. Dance with me.”

He looks down at his feet, shuffles them uncertainly. You know he has a grace belied by his many layers of clothing and the way he always seems to hunch over, you’ve just got to bring it out of him. You beam up at him, exaggerate your movements, coax him into motion. The way he gazes at you, it’s like he’s never seen anything quite like you before, like if he looks away you may just disappear forever.

Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright, ‘cause I only have eyes for you, dear….

“What in the hell is goin’ on in here?” Lester says as he leans through the doorway. “Frank Sinatra?”

“You bet your ass it’s Frank Sinatra,” you say. You dance on your tiptoes, reach up and brush a kiss against Vinny’s waxen cheek before letting him go. “C’mere Les, you’re next.”

You take his hands, tug him into the kitchen, pull his arms back and forth. The weariness gives way to a hesitant smile and then a toothy grin. He is shy, but he has the same dexterity as his brothers, and he falls into rhythm with you quickly. You spin him under your arm and his resulting laugh is throaty and genuine. He spins you in turn, you spin him again, then you grab Vincent’s hand and give him a whirl, barely able to reach over his head.

I don’t know if we’re in a garden, or on a crowded avenue….

Your gaze settles on Bo and you catch the whisper of a smile on his lips. The worry lines in his brow are permanent fixtures. He does not know how to be unguarded. He meets your eyes, doesn’t move, waits to be invited.

You send Lester off with one last twirl and square up in front of the oldest Sinclair. “C’mon Bo. I know you know how to dance.”

He shrugs. “’Fraid this wall might come down if I’m not here to hold it up.”

Shaking your head, you move closer, loop your fingers through his beltloops. “Guess you’ll have to build it back up then.”

This earns you the flash of a grin. “Alright, darlin’, if you insist.”

He gingerly places his left hand on your waist and you cup your hand under his elbow for extra support. Your other hand is almost lost in his, rough and warm. You let him take the lead, as if he would give you a choice, and you are unsurprised that he is a wonderful dancer.

Maybe millions of people go by, but they all disappear from view….

You feel Bo press his lips to your hairline. So quietly you almost miss it, you hear him murmur the last few words of the verse:

And I only have eyes for you.

The kitchen is a warm and safe place that night.

#please let me know what you think!#i have sinclair brain rot but writing for them pushes me out of my comfort zone in a lotta ways so feedback is appreciated #my writing #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #house of wax fanfic #slasher fanfiction #sinclairs x reader

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deadlittledogs · 4 months

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how do you have motivation to produce so much art? ive been having the worst art block ever, thinking about drawing makes me roll my eyes now…

ive always admired your passion for drawing so im curious as to what keeps you going

I MEAN…. I get art block constantly but I actually found some ways to mitigate it!! (*^◯^*)

(Read More becuz it’s long)

1.) Draw cringe. Just the most self indulgent things possible with no expectation to share it with anyone. Think of it as like, ‘this is only for me, so it can be as messy and weird as I want and I don’t have to feel bad for not making a solid, aesthetically pleasing product’. This is what I did when I wasn’t very active online, I like to call it my ‘goon’ year because all I drew was buttsex and boys kissing and really offensive crap lol. But not having the pressure of getting likes or engagements on social media can be a big relief until you feel comfortable again. It’s always good to draw consistently.

2.) HAVE ARTIST FRIENDS TO PUMP YOU UP!!!! Following my bestie breakup I was really depressed and had no energy to draw, especially because I had just separated from someone who was so impactful in my creative process. Not having someone to workshop and get excited about ideas with was really hard, because now I didn’t have someone who could help fine tune my vision and provide input on the stuff I was working on. It’s still not the same without her, but I found that engaging with people who are very optimistic about centering their lives around art creates a certain atmosphere that will leave you feeling energized!!! Having artist friends show you their own process, their own projects, and being able to bond over your shared passion is something really amazing and fun. It made me realize how important art was to me and how I wanted to take the encouragements my friends gave me and make them really proud one day!!!

3.) DRAW AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE….. this is the one that works but hurts the most….. I find that during art blocks I draw really shitty and it lowers my morale lol. I get even a whiff of inspiration but the minute I draw one wobbly line I’m instantly bored over the fact that I haven’t spontaneously created the Mona Lisa.

You just have to push through it (T . T) ITS SO HARD but if you make it a habit to at least be THINKING about the sort of thing you’d like to draw every day, eventually you’ll feel more enthused when it’s time to pick up that pen or pencil.

4.) This one is less size-fits-all but honestly, I recommend not looking at other peoples work too much. This one is a tricky one because getting reference and wanting to feel inspired by others are important elements in creating art too, but sometimes it can be a bit de-valuing if you do it too much. It’s easy to think, “Well, I just want to get the ball rolling and maybe change up my style a bit, what are other people doing?” Just to spiral down a rabbit hole of “Omg, all these other artist are better than me. How come I’m not as talented? This person is much younger than me- how is that even fair?! What’s the point of drawing if I’m always going to be so far behind?!”

DON’T COMPARE YOURSELF TO OTHERS AND JUST GO AT YOUR OWN PACE!!!!!!

ヽ(￣д￣;)ノ=3=3=3

Yes, there are a billion other people who are way more talented than you’ll ever be. Who cares? Draw the things that make you happy, and people who appreciate it will come along. It’s not a competition, it’s an expression of the spirit!! 🤓☝🏼

5.) SOMETIMES YA JUST NEED A BREAK MAN…… I recommended not getting too greedy with it and becoming lazy (something I have a problem with lol) but art block can sometimes signify a burn out, plain and simple. Take some time to reconnect with yourself, don’t worry about making art and worry more about doing some self care. Go look at the mountains, spend some time with friends, engage in other hobbies like sticking metal rods in your penis or knitting. A lot of times going to new places and trying new things can help inspiration strike! :3

but yeah…. there’s some advice!

I hope this list helps you, nonnie!! ∩^ω^∩

Good Luck!!!!!!!!!!!!🍀🍰🌈🤍🦅

#watch me say all this and then get art block lolololol #I was in art block for like almost a year straight so now I’m TERRIFIED of it happening again #idk how many times I just felt too tired to draw and would instantly start having a panic attack like ‘NO… MY SPARKLE…. ITS GONE AGAIN!!!’#but thankfully I’m watchful enough to spot the tricks that help me come out of it…. SO PERHAPS NEXT TIME I WILL BE PREPARED!

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mukkuruingly · 8 months

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Hikari's sword techniques & more JP reading

[Contains spoilers for the entirety of Hikari's Path]

I've been wondering to myself what Hikari's sword techniques translate to in English from Japanese, so I took it upon myself to just open up the dictionary and see what I can learn.

(disclaimer: I'm still studying the language but you can look these kanji up for yourself on jisho.org or any similar Japanese dictionaries as reference. I'm open to any corrections!)

Tenretsuzan - Ten (天) is [heaven], retsu (裂) also read as saku (裂く) can be read as [to cut] or [to rend], and zan (斬) is [beheading, murder, kill] according to the dictionary. The best way to interpret this is just calling it Heavenly Slash or perhaps Heaven Rending Slash.

Hienka - Hien (飛燕) means [a swallow in flight] (as 飛 is to fly and 燕 is the kanji for the swallow bird), while ka (華) has a number of meanings: [flashiness, showiness, brilliance, splendor, bloom, flowers]. This one is a bit tricky since this has a more flowery flair to it, so it can be Flying Swallow Splendor or something similar.

Sougetsusen - Sou (双) also read as futatsu is [the counter for pairs or doubles]. Getsu (月) means [moon], and can also be read as tsuki. Finally sen (閃) means [flash] or [brandish]. The closest you can read this as a whole is Twin Moon Flash.

Shinjumonjigiri - Shin (真) means [true], jyuu (十) is the kanji for the [number 10], monji (文字) or moji means [character, letter], and then there's zan (斬) again but it's read as kiri (斬り) this time. This one seems pretty straightforward, especially after you see how Hikari executes this move in-game. So you can simply just call it a True Cross-Slash, since the number 10 is written as a cross. Alternatively you can go with True Tenfold Slash too, I think.

Now for a bonus!

Hikari's Latent Powers are known as Shadow's Hold, and later changed to Light's Radiance after Chapter 5. In the original Japanese text, it's read as 陰の力 and 陽の力 respectively.

This kanji (陰) can be read as either kage or in, either way they both mean [shadow] but can also be read as [negativity] or [yin].

Meanwhile (陽) can be read as either hi or you, and have the following meanings: [sun, sunshine, sunlight], [positivity] or [yang].

The kanji for [power] is (力).

Overall they can be read as Power of the Shadow and Power of the Sunlight, or you can just say Hikari has been harboring negative energy most of the story until chapter 5 where he's able to draw out his positive energy. They technically hold the same meaning in the localized text anyway.

In addition, the description in Japanese on the first row says "Draw out the power of the shadow within." for Shadow's Hold, while with Light's Radiance it says "Draw out the power of light that conquered the shadow within."

I think that's about the findings I have for now. I'd say they aren't exactly big changes between the original Japanese text and the localized English text, but it does give you some extra context if you look into the source a bit.

It's been a learning experience, and what I got is... translating is really hard and can be a very thankless job for the translators working on these-

#octopath traveler #octopath traveler ii #hikari ku #yet again im doing this for knowledge #it's just fun to learn about the context via its source #mukkuru rambles

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peppermint-moss · 11 months

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Hey Moss I'm a really big fan of yours and I had a question! How do you keep yourself motivated to finish PMVs/AMVs/MAP parts/ etc.? I try to go through with an idea but I seem to get bored of it and stop within the first few scenes and I forget about it. Which is odd because I've been practicing on drawing pictures and I can go on for 7 hours straight doing it! But for animations it's like it drains me out. Also since it's summer I really want to get some projects through before school starts again because I'm not going to have the time or energy with the classes I've been assigned next year (Junior year is sooo great :D /s). But anyways I was just wondering how to have and keep motivation for animations. Thanks Moss!!!

agh im afraid im dont have v helpful advice for this cause i'm just the kind of person that likes to. Do things to completion? I prefer for things to be finished rather than perfect ^^ which is a tricky thing to train yourself to do if you're a perfectionist (and im just lucky that i'm don't feel too bothered when my projects don't turn out exactly how i imagined! and that i do feel a lil bothered if my projects aren't completed lol and thats an opposite thing im tryin to learn to be okay with)

With animation specifically for me I find actually watching through what I got can motivate me to keep working on it ! Whether its cause it looks rlly good and i get excited to see it all done, Or if its because I noticed something I need to fix and it annoys me into wanting to work on it to fix it asap lol

Sometimes it also helps me to just push through it and putting on a fun podcast/video in the background helps the time go faster..

It rlly depends on your own needs n what are your own bad vs good habits that you want to practice breaking or maintaining, so whether that means encouraging yourself to go a lil longer or taking more breaks, just try to be kind to yourself if you don't meet your goals. You can always circle back to work on smth you left behind later, or call it finished as is even if its just some sketches, or follow that sudden inspiration for a new idea while the motivation and idea is still fresh etc!

#unfortunately i dont got much tips n tricks for this sort of thing cause im lucky enough to not have too much trouble #getting things completed orz and i kind of have the opposite problem so i have like. Opposite Tips lmao #hopefully u still found smth in here that helps ^^; maybe try askin someone who has more experience with smth like this !#spookyvulture #ask #ppmpost

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themarginalthinker · 9 months

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Flight Feathers

(Another drabble from a little au with @berd-alert - what if Alan Frog became an abandoned vampire fledgling in Santa Carla a few years post-canon?)

Santa Carla had changed.

In the three years since leaving it for redder pastures so to speak, the town and the infamous Boardwalk had changed. Not to any human eyes, granted. Yes, there were even more businesses popping up in the margins - holes in the walls rented out for cash-only enterprises that came, stayed a week, and then were gone - and there were the people as well. The coastline remained a destination for all sorts, either for a couple days, or for a whole summer, whiling away the sweltering, humid daytime hours into the cool, windy nights of bonfires and tired limbs.

All this was nothing different than it always had been. A new decade, 1990. The century beginning to close her eyes in her last years, soon to welcome whatever insanity would come to pass in her progeny, always new, but never unknown.

No, what had changed Santa Carla was not something that could be seen from anywhere but her underbelly.

Marko looked out over the buildings of the town in the further distance from the relative calm the wharf. He'd needed a moment away from the crowds. In just three short years, being out with the pack in the wide open planes and dense forests of Montana, Colorado, Wyoming - David's heart's home, where he'd taken the pack after Max's swansong - Marko had gotten much less accustomed to being around so many people. Even the short two-week jaunt was enough to make him crave the quiet again. How he'd managed as a new fledgling living here night after night, he had no clue.

A presence pushing up against him, in his mind. His bond. He blinks, looking away from the lights of the games and food vendors further down, and leans into Paul as his mate sidles into him. Slipping from the shadows and faint mist over the water to nuzzle close to Marko in the dark space where no human eyes were watching.

"Find anything promising?" Marko asks.

Paul sighs, nose under Marko's jaw, and he can feel the hard lines of fangs already extended under his closed lips. Hm.

"Nothing that wouldn't be really tricky," Paul said. "And…I think they were spoken for anyway."

Mmhm. Marko sighs with him, letting Paul press teeth to his throat. Some frustration behind both the gesture and in the bond, pushing, wanting something else, but working it out like gnawing a dry bone. They wanted a feed, but hunting took time, took patience. Carefully expended energy for, hopefully, a bigger net return.

But, what was that statistic? Nine out of ten hunts for predators are unsuccessful?

There were other packs in the area now. Bigger ones than just their measly two. And they were playing longer games than either Marko or Paul cared about getting involved with. Marko himself had seen them, when moseying around familiar sights, like the carousel, some odds-and-ends shops the pack had made punkish terrors of themselves in. They had locked onto Paul and Marko pretty quickly - supernatural things did, like to like, same to same.

And it wasn't just vampires in Santa Carla these days, no.

Marko couldn't quite confirm it yet, wanting to poke around a bit more, but he's pretty sure some lycan-ish folks were taking an interest in the wildlife areas outside of town, a couple of the bars were offering more than booze in the basement levels, for beings who looked human enough, but left a taste like ozone and wildflowers in the back of Marko's throat, and the 'new age' shops (whose selection of joint fillings made Paul just laugh) were doing a bit more magic than what could be found at the bottom of a stick of incense.

In any case, a pack of two like them wanted very little to do with any of the drama that came from interrupting the drawing of new lines in the sand of the beaches. Paul and Marko weren't even here to stay. Just visit.

Marko's parents weren't…old. Only in their mid-fifties.

But they'd lost their son. Disappeared into the night, without even a body to bury.

The pack was probably right. Marko was prolonging things for himself, for no real reason, but, they let him have this. Not that David or any of them would deny him, of course.

As long as he was safe, unseen, and unknown, Marko would visit his parents in the township outside of Santa Carla proper. To appease his own mind.

"Well, no use sitting around here, then," Marko says eventually, pushing Paul off him to gather up his coat and start heading for the bikes. "Maybe we can look around town. I don't think the tail-waggers at this one place would notice too much if someone didn't quite make it home."

Paul hums, following after. "The gin-joint with the weird…whatsit above the door?"

"Hex sign - dude," Marko turns, giving Paul a look and a nudge, "You're from New England, near one of the biggest populations of Amish people and witches in the world, and you don't know what a fuckin' hex sign is?"

Paul snorts, looking comicly indignant. "Different times, Marko. Way different times."

"Alright, nega-Nancy Drew."

"You know, I think that's the only reason you know what a hex sign is - which is surprising as well, because I didn't think you knew how to read."

"Fuck off!"

The banter passes like blood itself between them. In their minds, their hearts, the bond grows lighter. Joy in each others' presence. The nights might be long, but time always seemed shorter when passing it with a friend.

At one point, they may have stuck around the Boardwalk, even if it was lean season, just to make a nuisance of themselves, just to find interesting nooks and crannies to satiate their equally ravenous curiosity.

But on the way to their bikes, Marko notes the stares. Not from humans, no. From others of their kind. Lurking in little bunches on a street corner, hanging around burnfires in cans, pinning he and Paul down from a perch on a cabana rooftop that Marko himself once used to claim as his throne. They all looked human enough. But a vampire knows a vampire.

Paul and Marko walked with their heads high, however. Not engaging, not looking anyone in the eye, but not setting themselves up for anything.

This wasn't their territory anymore.

The stares stayed on them as they pulled their bikes out, launching onto the road away from the beachfront.

The throngs of beach-goers and partiers on the nighttime surf was easy pickings. Only the more experienced strayed into town.

The place Marko had mentioned was something that found itself right in the middle of a dive bar and a fish-fry. Marko noted the crucifix on the far back wall, right above the pinball machine that someone was tapping furiously away at to the onlooking audience, enthusiastically egging them on. Along the walls were road signs from past eras. To the immediate left of the door, the long bar, behind which on mounted TVs, played sports and the news. It smelled of fried food, alcohol…and woozy, distracted humans.

Paul cut the way through the place, to a little table. His warrior-blue eyes relaxed, but darting. Here, there. This man drinking deeply from a pint? Maybe. That girl laughing drunkenly almost to the point of wheezing over there? Perhaps. Paul pushed the images, the feeling of it into Marko's mind, for his thoughts.

Marko takes it in. Examines. Maybe. The man was slumped, tired, but tall and built and glaring with hard knuckles. The girl was nearly three sheets to the wind, but with someone who was laughing along, if not nearly as gone. Witness to her.

Paul sighs again, and just leads Marko back to a table.

"What's the poison?" He asks, letting Marko sit, perched on the chair.

"Mm. Screwdriver?"

Paul makes a face. "Lightweight."

Marko presses into the bond. Just them. David, Dwayne, Thorn and Mike were whole states away, and would be unable to do more than mourn if something happened.

Marko doesn't look back, but he can feel the eyes of one of the barkeeps on them.

Paul relents. "Fine. I'll keep it under twenty percent…"

"Thank you," Marko chirps.

Paul slips away to the bar to collect their vice for the evening. Marko lets his eyes roam.

There's a decent amount of people here besides the ones Paul immediately zeroed in on. A group of women, clearly celebrating something. Marko discards them. Too many, and he didn't feel up for playing pretend enough to fool girls like them tonight. A couple of people hanging around the bar, near the door, so clearly not old enough to be drinking anything fermented, let alone the stuff they were looking to try and ply the bartender for. Maybe. Hm. He gave the notion to Paul, to let him mull it over.

Then, in the far corner, a darker space in the already 'mood-lit' main room of the bar, a small gang of people. Three, to be exact. Their clothing was familiar - Marko and the pack knew the style intimately. Grungy jean jackets covered in patches over shirts just a size too big or too small, with faded logos, their shoes taped and repaired and dirty.

Punks, and as Marko lets his senses drift, eyes sharpen and nose take in the air, they were warm. Breathing. Smelling of sweat and a few days unwash, and skin.

He smiles, really pushing this to Paul. He gets a zing of excitement and relief back.

Paul slides back to the table, depositing their order - screwdriver for Marko, a rum and coke for himself.

"Finally, dude," Paul says, "Something decent to drink."

Under those hooded, lazy eyes, pupils dilate as they land on the table of waywards.

Marko can't help but smile just a little too sharply into his glass. "Well, it's been a week. Hunger is the best seasoning."

The night draws on. Marko and Paul sip their drinks, chatting a bit, and then letting their minds wander and twist idly around each other. The doors to the place are marked. Front, a side door to an outside patio space, but it was locked tonight. A backdoor, with a loading bay for product trucks.

The people in the bar diminishes as the hours do the same.

Marko keeps note of the people behind the counter. As humans filtered out, the faint...fur smell could become more apparent. The prickling under Marko's nails and in his gums was getting sharper.

The peace kept with only the acknowledgement that nothing was to happen within these walls.

And it wouldn't. The little group was getting up, finally, likely having seen the time and attuned to the impatient glances being thrown their way with every second that ticked past midnight.

Marko and Paul didn't move with them. Not at first. The three filed up to the front of the bar, paying with a collection of crumpled bills and scattered piles of quarters, and then began shuffling out.

Marko waited a minute. Two. Then he raised his arms and stretched. In their bond, Paul vibrated like a cut powerline. Easy...

They get up. They pay. The bartenders watch them go with eyes that gleam yellow-green under the dim lights above. Lips twitching just enough, just enough to show the hint of teeth too long for human canines.

Marko and Paul are gone before anything can come of it. The gang has emptied onto the street, beginning to walk away to some destination unknown, and unfortunately for them, never reached. There is an industrial park down the way. No streetlights, basically no traffic. Lots of holes to dump a body-

Marko blinks.

Something catches his nose. A scent like…blood.

Animal blood.

Paul is caught up as well, when Marko’s mental focus shifts so dramatically, so quickly. The gang moves further down the road - and more, and the pair risks losing them. But Marko is still rooted to the spot. Maybe it’s the hunger, a week of nothing and finally being tempted by fresh blood so close, and it is close, Marko knows it. He turns away, and moves back towards the bar, to the alleyway beside it, leading to the back lot.

The gang of punks is gone. Passed out of sight around the corner of the road.

Paul clicks, a sound inhuman in the back of his throat, confusion and more than a bit of frustration at this point with Marko. But he follows, pure curiosity over what on Earth could have pulled Marko, Marko of all people, from a hunt.

Marko himself is walking steadily down the alley. He passes masses of empty milkcrates, bottles, and trash. It smelled like tepid water from recent rains, mixing with dirty concrete, old garbage rotting away in the warm air…and that scent of blood.

At the end of the alley, around a corner of a little outbuilding, is a couple dumpsters. And among those dumpsters, in the deepest shadows behind them, obscuring it, something moves. Paul is at his shoulder, gripping it, watching what he is.

At first, Marko thinks it might be a raccoon, maybe even a dog…but it doesn’t smell like one. Then, without warning, the thing makes a quick move. Thrashing, flailing, hitting the dumpster’s broad side and shoving it with the force of the slam. From among the detritus, a couple rats scamper, squeaking as they go.

Pale arms wheel out of the darkness, and make a luck shot. One of the rats, hooked by the fingers. They’re already speckled with blood. It’s pulled back, and the person belonging to the arms, is revealed as they stumble into the minimal light of the alley.

Marko freezes. Paul’s hands go hard on his shoulders, and his presence in their bond like utter ice.

A boy, no older than them, crouches on the ground. He’s medium height, his hair dark with a bit of wave, just past his ears. Longer than either of the vampires remember from. The last time.

Alan Frog hadn’t changed much in three years. Or. Maybe he had.

The rat in Alan’s hands screams as it’s cut into by the knife the boy produces from a pocket. He tosses the knife away almost as soon as he can to not waste a drop of what comes from the animal, mouth latching on through grimy, coarse fur, and taking anything, anything it can give him. Desperate.

Everything seems to happen so fast.

Marko feels the weight of Paul’s hands leave his shoulders as he rushes forward. In their bond, Paul’s shock has turned into something else.

It’s frigid, it’s razor sharp, and it’s aimed with unmitigated, utter fury, right at Alan.

Vampiric body shifts in less than a blink of an eye. Limbs lengthening, claws flicking out, teeth, all of the killing ones, elongate and expose themselves in a snarl that splits the night like a crack of lightning. The boy before him doesn’t even know what’s happening, one minute sucking a fucking rat, the next, his neck is grabbed up. Crushed in the grip of a very angry, very hungry, and very, very capable vampire.

Paul hauls the boy up like he’s a rat himself. The playacting at the Emerson’s house - that was nothing. He’d been angry, but he’d also needed to live for Marko’s sake. To pretend to die so he could come back and the pack could escape. He wasn’t playing now.

The boy squeals under his grasp, wasting his last few breaths on this Earth. Hand scrabbling at Paul’s arms, legs kicking in the air. His mouth opens, still wet with the blood of the animal he’d caught, lips pulling back to reveal his own teeth, but they’re only a fraction sharper than a human’s. Babyteeth - hah. A cute nickname for the pack’s own fledgeling Michael, who hadn’t accepted his own fangs yet, but here, an insult. Paul shows off every single one of his, long, white, real fangs for tearing past muscle and ligament, hard arterial walls.

Poor fucker. Just poetic fucking justice. Not so tough without your idiotic brother and your stupid fucking toys.

Paul leans in, ready, so ready to feel Alan Frog die for what he did, to them all-

“Dont!”

Paul stumbles as hands with their own long claws grab him, his shoulders and hair, wrenching him off the kill. The kid slides from his grasp, falling to the ground and hacking for air.

Paul whirls around, shoving himself against Marko’s mind - who shoves right back. Like a slap in the face, cold water over the head. Marko stands, also transformed, but wide-eyed, in shock himself.

“Marko?” Paul says.

Hurt. Confused.

Marko looks down at Alan. Alone. Pressed against the wall. There is a look in his eyes, a look Marko knows well, and knows the feeling behind. It’s why he was here, drinking rats. It’s why he’s not going toe-to-toe with Paul.

“He’s new,” Marko says softly. Watching the cringing fledgeling, barely fighting back instincts to fly into the street and maim the first person he sees.

“He almost killed you,” Paul growls, anxious and angry and burning bright. “Marko, they almost-!”

He cuts himself off, unable to finish the sentence.

Marko knows. He was there. He felt the pain - both his own, and Paul’s when there was that hideous moment, where the world went black and cold and silent, when he was sure he’d died for the final time.

Marko stares down at Alan. Slowly, releasing his grasp of Paul’s arm, he moves forward. Paul watches him, and then watches Alan. Every move, every twitch the kid makes. Even slower, Marko crouches onto the concrete, his fangs good and out to show the kid that no, he’s not playing around.

He stretches a hand towards him.

But doesn’t withdraw. He lets Marko’s fingers light upon his forehead, trailing down his cheek to his jaw, his neck. Where the pinpricks of Paul’s arrested bite are left.

Alan whimpers. Ever so slightly leaning into the touch of another being, cold, and familiar.

More than hungry.

“...You’re alone, aren’t you?” Marko asks.

“...Yes,” Alan croaks.

Alan Frog. An abandoned fledgeling in Santa Carla, found by the two people who have ever reason to kill him here and now, and not even drain him for it.

Marko’s fingers shift, encircling Alan’s throat.

“Well ain’t that a bitch, little bird” he says.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #marko tlb #paul tlb #alan frog #vampires #writing

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brokenpaladin · 9 months

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10, 20, and 38! (I rolled a dice so I have no idea which ones these are 👀)

And A for the creator ask!

Oh boy, a fun selection!! This'll be long, hopefully I can put a read more here via mobile. Also, I'm gonna answer the creator one first,

A) Why are you excited about this character?

*drags over a chair* WELL I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED. Though I guess an easier question would be what am I not excited about over Talis. I love him!! He's my boy!! He'll second-guess himself into the ground over something as simple as small talk, and he'll commit physical violence to protect a frightened stranger. He's convinced he's a terrible, foreboding presence and he gives off the biggest kicked puppy energy ever

He's seven feet tall and tries to stand as small as he can. He knits and mends to calm himself. If he stares at the sky too long he'll cry. He'll swear on his life to help someone get somewhere safely and he fully means it. He can't spend more than a few weeks traveling with someone before he's convinced he needs to leave for their own safety.

He once became a crux-point person in the change of power in an entire city, was nearly executed in another's place, and I'm not sure he realizes it. He befriended an injured owlbear. He's functionally homeless. He's absurdly powerful for a random forest stray living outside a town in the middle of nowhere, and he still will hire himself out as a day laborer in exchange for a meal

More seriously, he's become a very near and dear representation of an archetype I've always felt drawn to but never really sat down to extrapolate or write with abandon-- the self-sacrificing hero. The one who will put himself in danger to protect others. And specifically, the toll that takes, time and again, throwing yourself between another and cruelty you can't stop. The way it warps your thoughts and your view of yourself

And hopefully also how you learn to redirect that protective instinct into a healthy direction, how to grow and heal and value yourself again >:T But we're working on that bit

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

I mean, tbh, everything haunts him-- he lets nothing go :') But the lie he tells most frequently, and actively, is probably about his own state or well-being. The simple regular ones, "I'm fine" and "it's nothing", the ones you tell to keep going. He doesn't think much of it, actually. He's sturdy and has survived worse, so to fuss over a bout of fear or a single wound feels painfully pointless

20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Oof….. um, that would be a tricky one for our paladin lad. For you see, he's aromantic! He's never really felt a draw towards any particularly romantic relationship? But he's always been an affectionate, friendly lad, even as a kid, so growing up it was a little tricky to navigate-- he and his mom had many a long talk about how it felt weird when people made a big deal about holding hands, or how sometimes the way someone insinuated around him spending time with a friend felt uncomfortable. But she listened to his anxious talking over it, and helped him figure out that while he was fond of folk, he didn't feel drawn to them in a coupling sort of way-- just general affection or physical attraction, though he always got embarrassed to bring that up (I mean he was an absolute goob as a kid)

Now though, you're mostly just going to get a momentarily puzzled look and a shrug. He's not so talkative, these days

38. What memory do they revisit the most often?

Consciously, none. Or, he tries not to think on anything that has been, but he finds his memories of living in Neverwinter intruding most frequently when he's awake. For good or for ill, that was his safest and best home when he returned to the surface. He'll push those memories away as often as he can, because he doesn't think he has any right to miss his home there. He left voluntarily, after all. They would have kept him and looked after him forever, if he let them…

#dnd character #original character #dnd #paladin #dragonborn #ask meme #asked and answered #((hello and welcome to Look At My Disaster Son Hours))#((he's trying his best his best is just very messy and earnest))#paladin talis

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k00297635 · 6 months

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I wanted to have a go making some fun and colourful prints of myself and my housemate and looking into our relationship. After 13 years of friendship we are effectively family and living together in Galway city has always been something we've dreamed of as little girls. Now we are both 23 our lives have been disrupted with decisions, responsibilities and life changes. I wasn't really happy with how the print turned out but I learned a lot from it. After having the pleasure of having time to spend with each other and sharing our morning cup of coffee over the last few years, me attending college has been difficult as I get the train so early in the morning and she is at work by the time I get home. I wanted to create subtle noisy patterns through my highlight colours to display how loud and chaotic our lives are. I kept my defining layer a lot more simple because from the outside we just look like two 23 year years olds with our shit together, living life. I love riso print but by the end of this I hated drawing it as all the tones, lines and patterns gave me a headache.

I designed another print to print on the back of the original print so that I can fold it into reversible zine that disrupts the reader from the illustration and story so that all they see is noise and pattern. I will hopefully print that today. I felt a bit lost and overwhelmed with where I was going but I had a peer review with Dez and he explained the impact simple imagery can have to the viewer.

I decided to go back to the original core of my idea of our milk we keep in the fridge. Every evening when I get home and I open my fridge to get some food, I look at the milk in the fridge to check how expired it is. Sometimes it feels as if through all of the chaos this age brings the only time I can communicate and check on her wellbeing is through these conversations I have with our fridge. I took the idea of the gone off milk and simplified it. I decided to use gouache as it was a medium I had used before and I wanted to simply and anchor my thoughts and direction with this project. I came up with this design and I'm happy with it turned out. I used the idea from my original experimentations with print of layering similar tones to create a whispering wallpapered effect to highlight to message of quietly speaking to her through objects. On the side of the carton is says in small print "use by: yesterday". I really wanted that to speak to my bottom statement where I gently whisper "I hope ur ok".

I decided to do a bottle of oat milk not because its the tastiest milk you could choose but also because if you have ever experienced oat milk when it expires it is no fun. It coagulates in to this almost "could grow legs and be alive" thick consistency and is tricky to get rid of especially if you are mentally exhausted and struggling to find time to even get through the bottle. Do you pour it down the sink? No, its hard to wash away. Do you chance putting it down the drain outside? Its been blocked before and that was no fun. Do you put it straight in to the general waste bin outside? The planet is literally dying and recycling is such a small ask. Sometimes when you have no energy to deal with the fact you're too busy and overwhelmed to get through one (expensive) bottle of milk the easiest thing is just to leave it in the fridge and hope someone asks how you're doing.

#disrupt #relationships

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semi-sketchy · 8 months

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I was the anon who sent the question about asking about your OCs and rest assured! I definitely meant the latter—as a fellow creative, I totally understand lacking the energy to draw out every ask or rping as them lmao. (I would die!)

My question is about Tara who is definitely my favorite of your characters so far. I remember you mentioning that Tara was very upset when she found out when she was pregnant and even was mad with Rocky for a bit. This may be a vague question so my apologies if it's tricky to answer, but can you give us some more insight on Tara's relationship with motherhood? Was there a point in her pregnancy where she accepted that she was going to be a mom and even begin to love her children, or did that come more so after their birth? Did she love them instantly or did it take time?

How did Tara’s experience with her family effect how she saw having children? Will her parents and siblings ever meet her kids? What would her parents think of Rocky and their offspring?

SORRY THIS IS SO MUCH FIEKCJKA. I just love exploring family dynamics and you put so much thought into them.

HO BOY DO I HAVE NOTES SO BUCKLE UP THIS'LL BE A LONG ONE

So Tara has a really bad relationship with her family, some trauma that lingers from their constant belittlement still causes her some problems (I wrote a lot about that in her family's bios which you can read here if you haven't already). She is very prideful and confident in her abilities, but it's her character traits that she suffers insecurities about. She's very closed off and avoids showing vulnerability, even to those she's closest with, which masks as a bad attitude. This makes little moments where she shows compassion towards others (mostly kids she sees parts of her past self in) a little shocking.

(Just a snippet that came to mind, nothing else exists but this here. Context is just Cali went missing while Rita was alone so everyone's helping to find her, except they don't want to bring Rita into possible danger.) Rita: Wait! I wanna come, too. Nami: Sorry, kiddo, this isn't an adventure for you. You'll be better off here where it's safe. Rita: But--! Byte: Nami's right. We don't know what we're going to get into. We can't risk putting you in danger. Tara: Oh, let the kid tag along. Byte: Tara? Tara: Come on, you can ride with me. Rita: Thanks, Miss Tara! *leaves* Byte: Tara....why? Tara: It's not like you two were getting anywhere with her. Besides, she just wants to help. Nami: I didn’t expect from you, Tara. What's gotten into you? Tara: Just get in the car.

Even though Rocky is very kind to her, she knows she's jaded. She fears that she's mistreating him and he'd be better off alone. Being aro/ace plays into this as well because Rocky loves her and while she cares very deeply about him, she physically can't reciprocate those feelings. This is why she was so hesitant to marry him and even pushed him away when he wanted to start a relationship. You can imagine, but being the mother of his children is quite the big step to take when you have these doubts and it happened so early in their marriage.

“Tara, you okay?” Ryder asked. She nodded with a yawn. “Yeah, I’m just tired.” “She’s been complaining about being tired for days,” Skye added. Tara looked over and shot a death glare at Skye. “Really, I’m fine.” “I think you better sit this one out, Tara, you’re not well,” Ryder said. She stood up in protest. “But--” “We can handle it,” Byte interrupted, “you can watch the pups.” She stomped her foot and growled. “I’m a rescue dog, not a babysitter! Look, I just haven’t been sleeping well, that’s no reason to take me out of action!” “Tara, we sometimes handle dangerous situations, we can’t afford not to be at our best during it,” Ryder responded. “Go and rest, we’ll see to you once the mission is over.” Hanging her head, she stalked over to the door, grumbling with each step. “Now pups, we have reports of an underwater volcano becoming active--” Tara quickly walked backwards and sat herself back in her spot. “Ready for deployment.” Ryder sighed, having trouble reasoning with his stubborn dog. “Marshall, see that she gets some rest and a wellness check.” “Yes sir!” Marshall stood up and went over to Tara, nudging her to move it. “H-hey!” she protested. “You’re dealing with a volcano, you need me!” “Don’t worry, I can cover for you,” Nami piped up. “After all, I deal with natural disasters, so I have some knowledge of volcanoes. You take it easy.” Her brows furrowed, she let Marshall lead her outside.

She was upset because she wasn't ready for that step, she wasn't ready to put aside her duties, the one thing she had confidence in, to start a family, which is why she lashed out and blamed Rocky at first. She couldn't cope with the reality and took it out on him.

She already had fears about being a bad partner, but now she also had to deal with the fear of following in her parents footsteps and hurting her children the way she was hurt. She may seem snarky and uncaring most the time, but she also works to try and make sure no one goes through what she did. If that means a confrontation, she'll step in without a second thought. She doesn't care what someone does to her, she's already been damaged, but she can't sit idly by and let that happen to someone else.

The weight of her children's happiness falls on her and she doesn't trust herself with it. She knows she's rough, she knows she's grumpy and blunt, she knows she won't be what they need or deserve.

She goes through this alone because while she has made progress, she still has trouble expressing her feelings and wants nothing more than to isolate herself. Rocky knows she's afraid and wants to help her, but all the reassurance in the world can't undo the programming from her childhood, especially in such a short timeframe.

Though when the time finally comes...she's left with wonder and amazement. She still carries these fears, but she learns to love her children in spite of them.

Tara slowly blinked open her eyes, feeling rather warm with Rocky snuggled up beside her back. She stirred slightly as she lifted her head, looking out the door to see the dawn breaking over Adventure Bay. “Y-you’re awake…” Rocky’s voice caused her to jump slightly in surprise as she turned to him, a confused look on her face. He looked at her with hope gleaming across his face, but he slowly lost the expression as Tara continued to stare at him blankly. “…You don’t remember what happened last night, do you?” She slowly shook her head. “It’s…okay. It’s for the better. You had a rough time, Marshall wasn’t sure you could pull it off, but you did.” He licked her cheek and drove his gaze down to the two pups pressed up against her. She watched the newborns as their chests slowly rose and fell next to her flank, her expression easing in the silence. “They’re…beautiful…” “A boy and a girl, one of each,” Rocky stated as he got up and walked over to his little pups. “I was thinking of names… So the boy will be Rocky jr. and the girl will be Tara jr.” She furrowed her brows, shooting an annoyed glare at him. “No.”

She makes mistakes, she's not perfect, but she is not her parents.

Her family relations weren't good and they don't get better now. Even though not all of her siblings were outright cruel, the fact is none ever came to help her or stop the cruelty, which only enabled the behavior. They're the reason she was afraid of the water for a while and never learned how to swim.

Since joining the PAW Patrol, she's basically been able to avoid her family, not even inviting them to her wedding. She has no interest in subjecting her kids to the environment she had to endure, so she's purposefully sheltered them from that. Although, she can't always protect them and family events happen.

Telsa pup: "My mom says all purebred dogs should be with other purebreds. That way we all turn out normal. You two mutts? You’re disgusting." Roxy: "But I took bath today!" Brevon: "Are you really that stupid?" Roxy: "Huh? Why would you say something like that...?" Brevon: "I’m talking to that asshole, not you." Roxy: "Oh, in that case carry on."

It's a situation beyond her control, one she can't shelter her loved ones from.

A female Bernese Mountain Dog turned to him, wearing a white collar and bows on her ears. “How do you know Terra?” she asked in a posh accent. “O-oh, I’m Rocky, Tara’s wife-- I MEAN HUSBAND. Husband.” He felt kind of foolish for messing up on his own introduction like that. The female looked him up and down. “You mean you’re the loser she married?” “Ah, hahah,” he faked a small laugh, trying his best to make a good impression. “Yup, that’s me. W-who might you be?” “Telsa.” He paused, waiting for her to say something more about herself as few moments of awkward silence slipped by. “Hi!” Telsa turned away, going to mingle with her family and leaving Rocky alone. One of her siblings piped up, talking amongst his other brothers and sisters. “How did she ever land a guy?” “I kind of thought she was into girls…” The other male commented.

Her family is never gonna approve of her or her choices and she knows this. They'll be critical and pick at every aspect they can, including her family. They don't respect her, even after all she's accomplished, and they never will.

Telsa sat and watched as Tara struggled to get free from the horde of children. “My, you look...different.” “Wish I could say the same about you,” she said as she finally got on her feet, shaking her coat. “You’re still as ugly as ever.” “Come on, now, there’s no need to be rude. It’s Family Day, after all,” Telsa smiled. Tara rolled her eyes, sitting down and watching as the puppies dispersed. “Yeah, gotta love Family Day.” “Oh please, Terra,” she huffed, moving to sit next to Tara, “you hate every moment of this because these pups are better than yours.” “No, I hate them because they’re little shits.” “Well, they’re more well behaved than your two kids,” Telsa remarked. “Well at least I have only two and not twenty.” “I have nine, Terra,” she corrected. “You know, I have always wondered why you only had two unlike the rest of us.” She shrugged, turning her attention to her kids playing with their cousins. “Just blessed, I guess.” “I suppose it’s all for the better, though,” Telsa sighed. Tara cocked her brow. “What do you mean?” She sat up straight, wrapping her tail around her paws as she turned her attention to her sister. “Terra, you fell in love with a mutt.” “And?” she pressed. Her gaze shifted down, her tail nervously twitching. “Well, your pups…they aren’t…purebred…” “And...?” “They’re…mutteneses!” she blurted out. “And?” Tara pressed further. Her chest puffed out as she snapped her gaze back at Tara. “Well, at least my mate is a purebred!” “You mean inbred, you self-righteous cock,” she remarked. Telsa gasped as she stepped back. “How...dare you!” “What? It’s the truth,” she replied. “And don’t discount Rocky like that. He’s a very kind and smart father.” “Oh please, he can’t even spell your name correctly,” Telsa jeered.

Even though a few have grown up and want good relations with her, she can't forget what they allowed to happen and she can't forgive. She won't give them that leverage to walk back into her life or the chance to hurt those she's now closest to.

For the first time in a long while, Tara has something she deeply cares about, which just marks them as an easy sensitivity to exploit.

And no one does this better than her mother. Heidi puts on a mask of wanting the best for her children, but it always comes out in being highly critical of everything with her husband always backing her.

Tara: “Yeah, well I have other things to do.” Rocky: “Tara!” Tara: “Oh great.” Rocky: “Are these your parents?” Tara: “Yes. Meet Heidi and Alpine. Mom, Dad, this is my husband, Rocky.” Heidi: “…You never did have good taste in men.”

Tara thinks so highly of Rocky, she knows how good he is and how hard he tries to be the best father he can, but all her family chooses to see is a trash mutt.

Brevon and Roxy are somewhat accepted, them being kids it's easier not to blame them for who their parents are. Heidi loves her grandbabies, but they aren't immune to the bias that follows Tara and this is evident by how indifferent Alpine is towards them, often refusing to acknowledge their existence.

Tara's family views her as a disappointment, a scorn on the family name, and her husband and kids are nothing more than an extension of that.

WHEW okay I warned you that was a lot. I didn't feel the need to go super into the family dynamics since I already wrote about that and some of this was taken from a WIP fanfic I plan to eventually finish, so it'll be further explored then.

Thank you so much for giving me an opportunity to ramble though because I genuinely love these characters and sharing them so much.

#ask #paw patrol oc #tara

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wickedsrest-rp · 1 year

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NAME: Exorcisms & Seances

ALSO KNOWN AS: Rituals, Incantations, Ghost Busting

DESCRIPTION: Mediums and exorcists don’t only see ghosts – they have a number of rituals that can draw them in, commune with them, and even force them to move on or be expelled from a host. These rituals are known as seances and exorcisms, though different cultures or families may refer to them by different names. It’s not uncommon for mediums who choose not to become exorcists to spend their time perfecting seance rituals, while exorcists dive headfirst into the exorcisms and tend to leave the seances to the more experienced mediums. Both types of rituals serve different purposes, and though one might suppose exorcisms are the dangerous sort, seances are far from risk-free. The most commonly practiced rituals historically stemmed from the Roman Empire, hence the prevalence of Latin for chants. In pop culture, it’s common for Christianity to be invoked. However, these rituals can be found in nearly any ancient language if one knows where to look, and they span across cultures, religions, and times, resulting in a wide variety of ways to conduct an exorcism or seance. The success of an exorcism has far more to do with the exorcist’s willpower and belief in their incantations to work. Though, of course, none are without risk.

EXORCISMS: Exorcisms have a few primary uses – they can force lingering spirits to move on, they can destroy the very essence of poltergeists or demons, and they can remove ghosts or demons from the hosts they are inhabiting. There are a number of different kinds of rituals for dealing with different spirits or demons. Most commonly used exorcisms have been well-established for centuries. These ancient words carry the power to cast out, banish, harm, or even destroy various ghosts and demons. However, very experienced exorcists, who have an extensive knowledge of the language of choice, can combine rituals, or create new ones to combat whatever they happen to be up against. The success rate of experimental rituals tends to vary wildly, which is why most exorcists stick to what is proven to work. While exorcisms require magic to succeed, exorcists don’t really think of themselves as practitioners of magic, as they’re limited in scope. They aren’t “connected” to magic like spellcasters are, and instead are merely “borrowing” it when they channel energies through their words and willpower.

SEANCES: Mediums are the masters of seances, and they use them to draw ghosts to a certain location, connect with them on a higher level, forge pacts with them, or help them move on from the earthly plane. Rituals may differ from medium to medium, but most involve chalk circles drawn around the area of the ritual. Chances of success may be improved by using objects tied to the individual ghost that is being brought forth. In the case of mediums who might do seances in exchange for some money, these objects are often provided by the family of the deceased. While seances come with inherently less risk than exorcisms due to primarily dealing with ghosts and not poltergeists, they’re not risk-free, and some ghosts can be tricky even if they’re not poltergeists.

GENERAL TECHNIQUES:

Focal Point: A focal point can be any object that a medium or exorcist feels personally connected to. The deeper the connection, the more effective the focal point is. Mediums may employ focal points to further amplify their skills and improve their concentration, whereas those conducting exorcisms find them to be a necessary and grounding part of the ritual – if they wish to improve their odds of surviving.

Anti-Possession Wards: Exorcists and mediums can both make anti-possession charms. These are usually small ritual bags or objects that will make it more difficult for the holders/wearers of them to be possessed. Some more challenging charms to make can have additional effects, such as limited ghost sense for whatever ghost is after them. Those less skilled at making charms might end up with some pretty weird ones – like something that makes a person’s skin extra salty. Might still work. All wards have their limitations – some may only function for a certain amount of time around a ghost, others may need to be recharged somehow, and others might have a drawback for the user.

Spectral Sight: Mediums and exorcists are sometimes trained in short rituals that allow for those not otherwise able to see ghosts to see them for a short amount of time. This is limited to the area around the medium or exorcist, and the ability will not be retained beyond about half a mile away. This isn’t consequence-free – those who use this to see ghosts often find their vision is in some way abnormal for the following few days. This can present as double vision or upside down and flipped vision. The longer the sight is used, the worse this or other detrimental effects can be.

SEANCE TECHNIQUES:

Pacts: Mediums may conduct seances to create pacts with spirits. By forming a pact, the medium may then have a ghost who acts as their protector or may otherwise help them. In return, the spirit receives protection from progressing into a poltergeist, or another kind of spectral favor. These pacts are not bound by words in the way deals with demons or fae may be, but rather are forged by the strength of the seance itself, as well as the medium’s power. As such, the more pacts a medium forms with more ghosts, the more likely it will come at a cost – such as decreasing their lifespan or making them physically weaker.

Departure: Not all ghosts pose a present threat. Many just deserve to move on in peace, but won’t or can’t. Mediums are capable of drawing in these spirits with a seance and conducting a simple departure ritual, which are chants to help spirits move on. If the spirit is already present and doesn’t need to be seanced, the ritual can be done without that step. Because these are relatively simple to do, they��re often the first rituals that mediums become comfortable with. Some mediums only end up doing departure rituals, and others don’t bother with them, wanting only to deal in more dangerous affairs. Departure rituals are easier to do when the ghost is willing.

Tether: While not trained in the art of exorcism, mediums aren’t defenseless. By forging a spiritual connection between a ghost and a specific object or place, mediums can tether the two together. This keeps a ghost confined to one small area. Some may do this to keep a ghost from escaping until an exorcist can take care of it, and others may do it for their own safety if a seance goes wrong. Some exorcists utilize tethering when the situation calls for it. Once a tether is placed, the only way to untether the ghost is to exorcise it, as it has been bound to a place or object.

EXORCISM TECHNIQUES:

Removal: This type of ritual is meant to force a ghost or demon out of the host. There are a number of variations on the typical removal incantation, though all achieve the same ends if done correctly. These can be found in nearly any ancient language, and a few more modern ones, though these are used much more infrequently as many exorcists tend to stick to the classics. Removal incantations can be altered or made more specific to deal with a particular kind of spirit or demon, which doesn’t respond to the typical ritual. This can only be done through chant and exorcism – salt or iron alone won’t do it. The stronger the poltergeist and longer the possession, the more involved the ritual is.

Banishment: Very similar to removals, with the added power of forcing the ghost or demon away from the immediate area and keeping it from returning. Most banishments require more than just an incantation to focus the exorcist’s power. A common addition is a chalk circle drawn out on the floor, which the spirit or demon must be lured into. These circles can also be made with salt, ink, or blood, though blood rituals are only to be used for powerful demons, which cannot be dispelled by any other means. Some exorcists are capable of banishment rituals without the use of a circle, but they are very few and far between and doing so tends to leave even the most experienced exorcist exceptionally drained.

Harm: Once known as ‘To the Pain’ rituals. These exorcisms have their roots in the Dark Ages, and many exorcists would prefer that they had stayed there. Harm incantations are meant to inflict pain on the target and are typically used in conjunction with a banishment or destruction ritual. They are meant to be a last resort, but they are at times necessary if the target is too powerful to successfully exorcise without further exhausting it. The strength of the harm ritual varies depending on the power of the exorcist and their intent. A successful harm incantation can completely immobilize a ghost or demon for several minutes, but as they require an immense amount of energy and focus, an exorcist can be completely drained and vulnerable after attempting one.

Destruction/Execution: As the name implies, these rituals are meant to completely destroy a spirit or demon, leaving no trace of them behind. Most exorcists have a few memorized, and they tend to require the most focus and energy. Some may necessitate another exorcist joining in or something else to focus their power.

GREATER DEMONS: Some of the toughest exorcisms involve greater demons, which require the use of their true name in order to use any of the above techniques on them. Their true name can be difficult to find, as they go by many aliases, but it’s the key to being able to free their vessels. Lesser demons and monsters have no such requirement.

LIMITS & RISKS: Any exorcism or seance is only as powerful as the exorcist or medium, respectively. The stronger a spirit or a demon is, the stronger the ritual needs to be to deal with them or summon them to a location. An exorcist’s or medium’s power is in their words and willpower, so if they misspeak or stop mid-incantation, their target can easily break free and attack, or in the case of a seance, fail to be summoned at all. As exorcists are only human, they are very susceptible to injuries mid-exorcism, which leads to a fairly short lifespan for most. This is why some exorcists work with hunters, who can provide support in the event of a physical altercation during the ritual. While seances are safer than exorcisms, ghosts may not like being summoned and may not want to work with the medium; others may be straight up malicious and wish to cause harm even if they are not (yet) a poltergeist.

There are also a number of risks for the host. Removals of typical ghosts tend to inflict the least amount of harm, if any at all. Removing a poltergeist or a demon can do far more significant damage depending on how reluctant they are to relinquish their host. Though they are generally only performed once the spirit or demon has left the host, harm and execution rituals can be used while someone is possessed and often do a severe amount of damage to the host as well, sometimes destroying them right alongside the intended target.

#lore #magic #exorcism and seance #exorcism #seance

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