#finite dreams
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Licking Language
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Licking language with tongue of silver
First line never to repeat. (A)
Choose "wolf" or "purple", if you want it soft. (B)
Each line a number natural hides beneat'. [AA]
Composites merely echo. But prime starts a new. (C)
Beat a path in space, or like the plankton waft. [AB]
Short or long (D)
Neat and tidy teat with milk so inkly sweet. [AAA]
Oft' in strain for next we hold perfection 'loft. [BB]
Treat to flaw, and need not keep true [AC]
for poets lie a plenty. (E)
Seat may be taken on the street, but dreams are never offed. [AAB]
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Just the WIPs/sketches of Mourynn's Greatsword(s) progress before I start lineart and colouring. I just wanted to show how she cultivated her Greatsword from a seedling/bloom as it grew to a dagger->sword->greatsword, and then how she Reforms it with broken Caladbolg later down the line, using her parasitic vines and magic to graft them together.
I figured that after doing that poll deciding which weapon she should us (which ended in a tie lmao), I thought it would work even better if it reflected her own life as she and the Scion were both grafted together as they were both broken and weak (and this is the same method she uses on her "minions"), and it's sort of bittersweet to as she loves her GS (I'll give it a name later) and seeing it get completely mangled will hurt a lot (it's her baby), and seeing as how Caladbolg was also broken, it works thematically for her to put it together (using her own unique magic).
I'll probably wind up repeating what I said here in the finished drawings lsjfldk. I just wanted to provide some context.
(Also for reference, this is for my Gw2 OC for non GW2 goers. I often see Gw2 stuff mislabeled as DnD when they're not specified)
Also under the cut here is what her Greatsword is based on:
It's based on the Pink Quill Flower! It's funny bc it was absolutely not what I was expecting to find when I was looking for "plants/flowers shaped like blades". I mean, look at it!!!! Also I just put a compilation of my refs together into one image to make it easier for me lmao
#wipgallery#gw2#gw2 oc#sylvari oc#also just posting this as a WiP bc I haven't posted something i a while so there we go#I just need to do her ''in the dream'' look (nakey) and her sapling look (first outfit)#then I can start drawing more lore related stuff. I just needed her early stage weapons here as well so I'm basically still doing reference#at least for a while longer since I still need a lot more (But at least it's finite)#at least after a couple more I can do actual character stuff before I go back to making more references lsjkf
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Winter Wonderland
The snow flurried around the shivering hero, who adjusted their thin coat.
The villain, bundled in appropriate winter clothing, raised an eyebrow.
“Frostbite will kill you before I do.” They commented. “Didn’t you check the forecast?“
“I don’t have winter clothes.” The hero said through chattering teeth. “I was relocated here with no notice.”
“Ah.”
The hero glared at the villain’s relaxed stance.
“Well? Are we doing this or not?”
The villain folded their arms, once again taking in the hero’s shivering form, down to the not snow appropriate shoes hastily put on over the normal fighting gear.
“Yeah, no. While I think the movement would be good for you, you’re most definitely going to slip and crack your head open the second you try anything risky.”
Huffing, the hero threw their arms out to the side, stamping one foot on the snow covered ground, creating a crunching sound. “What sort of villain are you!”
“A fair one?”
“You’re literally trying to blow up city hall!”
The villain rolled their eyes. “Well I was, until you managed to dismantle the explosives. Consider the day saved. We’ll do this part,” they motioned vaguely. “another time.”
“No.” The hero frowned. “We’re going to fight, and I’m going to take you to jail.”
With a smug grin, the villain cocked their head to the side. “Alright, then.” They held out their arms. “I’ll let you have the first shot.”
The hero lunged.
The hero slipped.
The hero fell.
But then the villain was there, catching the hero mere inches from the icy surface they had slipped on.
“We’ll do this another time, yeah?” The villain said with a sense of finality, hauling the hero upward, bringing them face to face.
The hero could feel their face burning in embarrassment, in frustration. They weren’t accustomed to being clumsy, and they certainly weren’t accustomed to the sudden proximity, the warmth that came with it.
Their face burned even more as they shoved the villain away.
“Yeah.” The hero said finally. “Another time.”
“Good. I look forward to you properly foiling my plans.”
The hero only nodded, thinking of how they would explain this to the higher ups.
“Well?” The villain’s tone was expectant, hands on their hips. “Run along. And by that I mean walk, carefully this time.”
Once the hero was well out of sight, the villain let themself smile, alighting their hands as they set to work, melting down the ice to create a more agreeable pathway.
They looked forward to their next encounter.
#villain#hero x villain#hero#heroine#snippet#villain x hero#heroes and villains#villainess#writing#heroes#no editing we die like men#also hashtag don’t worry about the#um#well now I don’t remember#anyways don’t you remember being a child and having a dream to be something when you grew up#and now there’s so much it’s so much and I want to do it all and do everything but it’s almost impossible because even though life#life isn’t a finite source there’s only so much of it I personally have#there is an aching for something I will never know and never can know and it hurts#anyways you ever feel like that? me personally I can’t relate bc I was never a child#that’s propaganda#I spawned in like Steve in Minecraft#if you made it this far I’m in love with you tell me about your day every bit of it frustrating amazing ups and downs everything#do mutuals deal with snow??? I’ve seen snow but never like had to live with it continually#ok <3#don’t do drugs stay in school eat your vegetables blah blah blah
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Two for joy - Chapter 14
(Vox Machina having already dispersed, it’s without Vax and Keyleth and Grog that Vex is briefed over breakfast.)
(In theory Tary should be here, yet his absence is a conspicuous silence.)
--
“- and the regiment just has not been the same without him,” Cassandra is saying, poking at her eggs with a fork. She looks, in the moment, so very much like a teenager and not the Lady expected of her. “Though of course Percival has been overseeing their training, and Jarett has some grasp of the drills. Do you think he’ll be back?”
“Not sure,” Vex is forced to admit. “Emon’s reconstruction is still demanding a lot of everyone involved - I think they only let Pike go because it would be impossible to force her to stay.” More gently, she adds, “And I know he was worried about how he left things, here.”
Cass scowls and stabs a yolk with her fork. It bleeds gold, and she tears at the white flesh. “That’s foolish. He is the best shot shy of my brother. I’ve seen him teaching the riflemen - he’s good at getting the concepts across. A little hostility shouldn’t keep him at bay - Percy and I want him here, so what the rest think should matter little. Will matter little, once they’re reminded of his dedication.”
Her mutilation of her breakfast halts. “Kynan was good company, too, when on duty at my side. If you do see him, or hear from him - please let him know Whitestone is lesser for his absence?”
Vex grins. Pity Percy isn’t awake yet to see this.
Not that she knows for sure - they had each retired to their own chambers, after their walk and talk. Taking it slow. It was with a pang she realized his room was no longer near to hers - Percy had moved to one of the rooms occupied by the de Rolos, not their guests. Another tiny way in which things have changed.
Still - she doubts a few weeks of lordly work made him a morning person, so it is little surprise that he wouldn’t be here just yet. That much, at least, she knows would always be true to Percy.
[One for sorrow] [Ch1] [Keep reading on AO3]
#ITS TIME FOR VISIONS PEEPOL!!#let me get WEIRD with DREAMS and GODS and INFINITY EXPRESSED IN THE FINITE!#critical role#cr fanfic#critical role fanfiction#perc'ahlia#percahlia#vex'ahlia#vax'ildan#percival de rolo#cassandra de rolo#the raven queen#vex is the raven queen's champion au#my writing
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brand new warrior cats headcanon time. if dead cats fade when the living forget them i think it would be cool if they changed appearances based on the clans' general cognition of them. like for example thunderstar. thunderstar during life is still a pretty huge cat but then he dies and slowly he appears larger, maybe more intimidating or more noble - depending on who's looking at him of course - until at some point it seems to the living he's the most impossibly giant cat to have ever lived (until they meet the sisters but that's a different story).
you could do this with dark forest cats also. tigerstar dies and sure there are still cats who knew him while he was living, but he starts to attain nursery-myth legend and his ghost begins to distort. his stripes are that much more distinct, his teeth and claws seem to get bigger and sharper, the wound on his stomach opens up wider and wider, etc etc. the potential for character design is huge.
#partially inspired by the retelling myths in The Road to Immortality (one of if not The best wc fangame of all time btw. required reading.)#where the story of the original series up to arc 4 has just warped so much it's basically a different story#if you wanted to go above and beyond you could also have it be that the precise details vary depending on who is observing the spirit#i have the image in my mind of firepaw somehow seeing thunderstar (dream sequence? moonstone?) and thunder is like towering over him#kinda intimidatingly. not outwardly mean but firepaw is like Dude you're nice but you're kinda freaking me out#but then later on as fireheart/star comes to feel more Part of thunderclan and idk learns more about thunder himself thunderstar reappears#and he's firestar sized although maybe not firestar shaped. this sounded and looked a lot better in my head oh well#warrior cats#low pitched finite woofing
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anyway, I'm probably going to play origins, so lets get some origins/ac2 adjacent lore thoughts out of the way. you know that failed resurrection of brutus? where the body came back for a moment, but not the man? brutus should have wrapped cassius' body in the shroud out of some grief-driven hope that it would bring him back, only for something Ancient to use cassius' body to pass on some horrible omen for what was to come. HOW ARE YOUR DREAMS? HOW REAL IS THE GROUND YOU WALK ON?
#(the first one is a reference to brutus' own thoughts re: weird dreams. the second one is AC Origins stuff)#thats a line from one of the AC Origins messages you can listen to btw#anyway AssCreed give me back desmond i miss him#literally im so mad that AC decided to go with a new modern protag and is just. doing nothing with her#its so stupid! they want to extend the game as long as possible so they commit to no meaningful narrative beats!#because to commit to the story would require them to know there is in fact an end!!!!#AssCreed started as a story with a finite amount of narrative to explore and its just so. UGH#anyway ideally they'd use desmond and leila to explore the past/present/flux of time theme#but ubisoft sucks and the current AC team cant write for shit so :|
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you would ask dream of the endless what his pronouns are and he’d stare off into the distance and say something like “nouns…. the objects of our desire, of our hatred. in the waking world these articles are finite, but in the dreaming they are multifaceted and vast as the sea. yes… i am pro-noun. humans would be nothing without their possessions and muses - and thus, i suppose that without humans, i would be nothing as well” and matthew the raven would pipe in like “boss only ever answers to he/him don’t worry about it”
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i've updated the refs for the Little Mari AU! nothing has changed aside from new art and a rewritten summary down below.
(art by me, text by @sunkitty143!)
the general premise of this AU is an ageswap between mari/hero and sunny/kel. on the day of mari and sunny's recital, aubrey witnesses a fight between the siblings and sunny's accidental death. sunny's cause of death and aubrey's choice of cover-up are the same as canon.
the ships in this AU are sunkel, heromari, and photobomb. sunny and kel started dating when they were ~13, though they never revealed their relationship to the kids. hero and mari have unresolved feelings that were only starting to be explored before sunny's death.
shortly after sunny's death, mari finds herself in sunny's iteration of headspace. like canon, sunny has been exploring headspace since he was very young. everyone's awareness of it varies, but the only ones who know the full extent of its existence is mari and kel. headspace in this AU is based on how i imagine it was in canon before mari's death (ie everyone having purple hair in honor of her, mari and basil not wearing pajamas etc) but with creative liberties due to sunny having longer to expand it and mari's eventual influence. it's important to note mari is not crafting headspace to match what she knows of sunny's version. for reasons that have yet to be revealed, headspace did not have a "true reset" when a new dreamer entered it, which means it is still the very same one sunny would explore.
in headspace, mari takes over her dream world counterpart's role as the save point and, in her eyes, the perfect little sister. eventually, she completely forgets why she found herself in headspace in the first place and what she had been looking for. since her exploration of headspace is limited to her picnic blanket, mari asks sunny's party to help her with her problem. but after a particularly nasty battle, a horrified mari convinces sunny to watch over the picnics instead so he can never get hurt again.
now leader, mari explores headspace with aubrey, hero, and kel. but each time the party succeeds in their mission, aubrey remembers the truth. she is not banished to black space, but outright erased to the best of mari's ability with her finite control over headspace. as if she had never existed, what is left of aubrey is now the entity referred to as stranger and basil takes the open spot in the party. all the while, an odd girl known as omori wanders the dream world. even odder, she is looking for the very same thing that mari is.
thank you for reading all of this… again! like i've been doing, anything for this AU will be posted out of chronological order to keep my motivation and enthusiasm up hehe. please look forward to more content in the near future!!
(you can find the original refs/info here!)
#little mari au#omori#omori mari#omori hero#omori aubrey#omori basil#omori kel#omori sunny#omori sunkel#sunkel#omori heromari#heromari#omori photobomb#photobomb#my art#cat collab
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Messages from the GazettE to the fans (Google translations)
〈 RUKI 〉
At the end, he said, "I want the GazettE to be forever." I think what he meant by "forever" was that he hoped that the amazing scenes he saw from the stage in 2023 would continue forever.
The scenes he saw with his fans, the happy faces of his fans, and the scenes where we all sang together were treasures that could not be replaced by anything else, and I think he hoped that moment would continue forever.
I remember him saying that he wanted to perform live soon.
Even now that he's grown up, he was a kind and passionate man who can honestly say, "Even if something bad happens, it's the most fun when we get together like this and laugh with the band members."
I loved that honesty.
This year was no different, and every year on our birthdays we would jokingly tell each other to take care of our health.
The band will never be a four-man band.
No matter what anyone says.
Because you're the only bassist we have.
Because I believe that my soul is always beside me to the right.
I'm sure everyone can feel it, even if they can't see it.
The proof that Reita has built up in the GazettE so far will not disappear and will definitely live on.
I believe that, so I will continue to sing beside him so that his soul can be right beside me.
I will not become the GazettE that Reita hates.
I don't want to make him sad.
Although all humans live in a finite life, I believe that souls never disappear.
Reita's soul, the members, myself, and the fans.
I want to continue to perform live shows that make all the people who loved me want to come back to the stage forever, even after they have become souls.
So it is only with each and every one of our fans that we can create the scenery that we hoped he would be eternal.
That's why I want him to stay by my side and be there, unchanged from now on.
He should look at me and smile, and think, "He was the best guy!", rather than looking at me with a sad face.
We are more determined than ever to protect this band.
We will make Reita's wish for eternity come true.
So, Reita, rest assured that you can come to every live show from heaven.
Your seat will always be there.
You're going to be super busy from now on.
I'll contact you again when the schedule is decided.
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<Uruha>
To all the fans who have supported REITA up until now.
I think he was a huge support for everyone, and for me.
I myself have not been able to accept and realize the fact that he is no longer here and that we can no longer stand on stage together.
There may be many things that I will come to understand little by little from now on.
However, if I continue to be drowning in sadness, I will not be able to make his wish for eternity come true, and I strongly feel that now is the time for me to have the strength to look forward and move forward.
I also think that the path we walked together until now was irreplaceable for him, and I think it will continue to live in the hearts of everyone and myself.
He gave us so much, and we walked together for so long, and he is still and will always be our best friend.
Please treasure all the words, memories, and love he left behind in your heart.
REITA will continue to exist and live in everyone's hearts.
We would like to express our sincere gratitude to everyone who has supported and cheered on the GazettE REITA.
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〈 Aoi 〉
For a long time, the members and a small staff have been working on various projects, saying "this and that," but writing this letter was the last thing I wanted to do.
There have been moments when I felt like giving up on my dreams.
Every time, we talked about it again and again, sometimes pushing each other, and pulling the members' arms so that they wouldn't give up.
Because we were such a band, the GazettE has been able to keep moving forward without stopping.
REITA, you're not the one who wishes for eternity, you're the one who connects eternity.
I can't say something clever like "I'll take care of you."
I wanted to make more music with you, and see more scenery together.
Every scenery is wonderful because we see it with the five of us, surrounded by our fans.
I don't know why, but it's so painful that I can't make it happen even though I have so many things I want to say.
When I get there, I'm going to start with a big lecture. I know it's lonely because we're gone so suddenly, but please take a rest until then.
I have a few more things to do here.
Thank you for walking this long road with me. Rest in peace.
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〈 Kai 〉
For me, REITA is an immeasurably big presence, saved by his many words and sounds, the mood maker for the band, and all I remember are really fun things, and above all, the sight of him shining on stage.
He is the best partner and the only one in the rhythm section.
That has never changed, and will never change in the future.
I want to continue carrying his feelings and continue with the GazettE with even greater resolve.
Finally, to all the fans and people involved who have supported us for the past 22 years.
Thank you very much.
And from now on, our feelings will remain the same and we would like to continue running as a group of five, so please continue to support us.
REITA
Thank you for all your hard work.
With the same feelings, we will continue to protect the GazettE together with our many friends... I promise.
There are many friends out there who don't want your 22 years to go to waste, and they are waiting for you.
You must come to our shows too!
Let's have some good sake again.
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Simple Wisdom
In the quiet spaces inbetween thoughts, there's a clever truth waiting to be discovered—a truth so simple, so obvious. Let's imagine it like this: life is a bit like a puzzle, and sometimes the pieces might seem tricky, but what happens if you don't think about what you call a problem? Is it here?
What if I told you that all problems are imaginary dreams? They might look real, but if you stop and really think, you'll find they're not as solid as they seem. It's a like magic—seeing through the tricks you play on yourself.
Sometimes, it feels like we're caught up in a storm, doesn't it? But who is perceiving that storm? Is it bothered by any of it? Isn't it quietly watching? Look closely!
So, let's wake up to this simple truth: You are the canvas, and you are the artist. You have this fantastic ability to create your own masterpiece. No need for complex brushes.
In the world of easy and finite words, there's a profound infinite intelligence. It's not about big, complicated ideas. It's about understanding the simple magic of existence and using it to paint a beautiful picture of your own story.
infiniteko's PB
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still into the idea of hob casually using phrases related to death because, you know, they're common phrases, but dream hears them as straight fact every time
hob: life is short! let's go get ice cream
what hob meant: time is precious so we should do things we enjoy
what dream heard: HOB'S DEATH IS IMMINENT. HE HAS ALREADY ACCEPTED THE FINITE NATURE OF HIS LIFE AND IS PREPARING FOR THE END BY INDULGING IN PLEASANT ACTIVITIES ONE FINAL TIME. SOON THE EARTH IN MY IMMEDIATE VICINITY WILL COLLAPSE INTO A BLACK HOLE FROM WHENCE THERE IS NO ESCAPE AND IT WILL RAIN FOREVER IN THE DREAMING AND--
#dream: hyperventilating#hob: i didn't think ice cream was this nervewracking?#dream of the endless#hob gadling#dreamling
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Ancient of Childhood Youngblood doesn't understand why Danny stops seeing him even though Danny is only 15 years alive and 1 year dead.
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There was supposed to be a whole chunk of writing to go with this. But I couldn't type it up at the time. So I typed up this draft to come back to later and then forgot about it for 2 months. So now I definitely don't remember all the pretty words I had planned out. Figured I might as well release this as a prompt instead.
Details I do remember:
The area that the Portal opened into is basically The Nursery of the Infinite Realms. Meaning basically everyone there is a baby ghost.
Youngblood is not a baby ghost though. But being the Ancient of Childhood, and usually only visible to the children. The Nursery is naturally his domain.
When an Ancient gets really old and weary of being an Ancient, they reincarnate. A new life is like a vacation, very refreshing and they'll come back after it ready to take up their responsibilities again.
Ancients always exist in pairs. Time has Space. Dreams has Reality. The Growth has The Freeze. These forces work in tandem and balance each other out.
A natural kind of cycle has developed such that 2 Ancients of the same pair never reincarnate at the same time. They take turns.
Youngblood's counterpart is they Ancient of Caretaking. They are the only adult that can see Youngblood despite being an adult.
Usually they'd be in The Nursery with Youngblood. Doing as they do. Taking Care of the children. But they went for their reincarnation cycle several decades ago and hasn't made it back yet.
So for now Youngblood is the only "adult ghost" in The Nursery. "Adult ghost" in quotations because Youngblood's nature as the Ancient of Childhood prevents him from ever really acting as an adult ghost. At most, he can act as a slightly older big brother.
Normally this wouldn't be an issue.
The Nursery is at the heart of the Realms. It's the safest area in the whole Infinite.
Youngblood is good at keeping the babies in the safe area, playing all sorts of games with them so they don't even feel the need to wander off into the "boring" adult areas. At least, he was good at it. Until those scientists/hunters tore open a portal directly into that heart of the Realms. Suddenly the babies are slipping out into the Finite Realm to play and Youngblood is not at all equipped to play the responsible parent role and wrangle them back in.
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bergamot
Summary: moments of quiet reflection reaffirm what you both already know to be true- he’s always going to come back, and you’re always going to be waiting with open arms
Pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader
Requested: no
Warning: idiots in love, friends to lovers, mutual pining, scarecrow's fear toxin, mentions of death and grief, slight angst, fluffy ending, loosely based off of batman: hush (2019)- but no major spoilers
Word Count: 3,930
masterlist
a/n: I know that dick has a tolerance against/is immune to scarecrow's fear toxin, but let's pretend he isn't...for the plot
Sleep is cruel in the way it continues to evade you when you crave it most. Mocking and teasing, exhaustion morphs into desperation. Even with your eyes shut dreams fail you, and nightmares taunt.
A siren wails, bellowing out into the night and echoing caution even after the initial cry has faded. Could be a police car, or an ambulance. Maybe even a fire truck. You try not to consider all of the possibilities, knowing it’ll only starve your slumber, further. With a huff, you adjust the heavy comforter, pulling it up until it bunches just under your chin.
In a few weeks, branches will be stripped of their leaves. Snow will fall, and the city will suffocate under a blanket of white. July was only yesterday, sticky and never-ending- infinite until finite. Now, January lurks around the corner- weeks away, but daunting, nevertheless.
The pillow tucked behind your back is a poor imitation of the brawn you wish feathers and fill could replicate, just as the one pressed to your chest acts as an imposter mimicking the body meant to be sleeping peacefully beside you. It’s impossible to tell feelings of loneliness apart from being alone, and deep down you know that reminiscence is merciless. Memory is wicked. But you can’t help remembering. It’s the only way you won’t forget- and even then, so much time has passed that you’ve begun to fade, and he’s begun to blur. Spiraling further and further away from reality and control, you drift towards hope, feeding each dangerous possibility until you have nothing left to give, but delusion takes and takes and takes…
Answers elude like comfort- and sleep. When, how, and why is lost upon you. He’s been gone for so long. Even so, your life has continued, evolving to accommodate the gaps he used to fill. Though, it’s about as effective as papier-mâchéing an open wound shut. Everywhere you look, everything you do, every time you shut your eyes, he finds a way to bleed into you, one way or another, and you welcome it every single time. All you really have are memories and a space in your bed which has always been his to come home to.
Outside, the wind howls. Angry and violent, the sound rattles the windowpane and you burrow deeper into the covers trying to block it out. Shadows dance across the ceiling, but none of them belong to the ghost you’ve been waiting for. Another frustrated huff fails to quell burning exhaustion, and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before checking the clock next to you. Neon green flashes, all too pleased to report that it’s well past midnight and you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Already tomorrow, and you’re still mourning today.
Pushing the covers off, you shiver. There’s a chill in the air and little comfort to be found in the fact that the entire apartment feels cold and empty without him in it. At least it’s not just the bed. It’s the entire room, the hallway, and the kitchen, too. You reach for the light above the stove and begin to search the cupboards for a mug. If nothing else, at least a cup of tea will warm you up. Thanks to muscle memory, you act on autopilot, filling the ceramic with water and placing it in the microwave before picking a teabag and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Three monotone beeps call your attention back before it has another chance to wander away from you, and you retrieve the cup and place the teabag inside. Steeping time be damned.
You can’t wait any longer.
One leg curls under the other as you take a seat and bring the mug to your mouth. It burns the tip of your tongue, a small price to pay for your greed, and you swallow the too-hot liquid regardless of the consequences. The pain barely registers, anyway. With both palms pressed to the vessel, warmth finally finds you, and a barely contented huff passes your lips to blow the steam from the cup. It’s not always like this. It’s not supposed to be, but for so long, it has been. Never months, always weeks. You don’t know how to do this or how much longer you can put yourself through this torture when every sunrise twists the knots in your stomach tighter and tighter. How much longer until you snap?
You’re so tangled up in your suffering that you miss it the first time, until the hair on the back of your neck bristles. Did you imagine it? Silently, you wait, setting the steaming mug down to listen, and this time, you hear it. Faintly, but there. Real.
Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.
I’m here. I’m safe. Can I come in?
Your feet move before the rest of your body does, and the chair scrapes loudly across the hardwood as you jump from it in shock. A cocktail of excitement, worry, disbelief, and fear bubbles and swirls through you when you spot a familiar glimpse of black and blue through the window near the fire escape.
“Dick?”
Crossing the room without any memory of doing so, you fiddle with the latch that keeps you from him, and him from you, until finally it clicks. With only one foot through the window, you reach for him, desperate to savor the illusion until mass, warmth and a heartbeat prove it to be real. Upon realizing, your breath hitches. He’s real. He’s real, and he’s here. No longer a dream. No longer a nightmare. No longer a vision only sleep can grant or mold, he stands before you. He takes a moment to properly slide the window shut behind him, returning the lock to its rightful position- keeping the rest of the world and the winter, out- before turning to face you once more. He can’t even get a word out before you’re pressed against him, wrapping your arms around him and holding yourself back from crushing him with the intensity of your longing. Overly cautious of injuries you can’t physically see- mindful of bruises, tears of flesh, and wounds that remain eclipsed by kevlar and moonlight- you embrace him with a hesitancy that severely undermines your fervor. Holding him gently- delicately, tenderly- the way you’ve dreamt about entwining with him on nights when sleep has been generous instead of cruel, you finally look up at him.
A sigh of relief dispels the hoarded tension in your neck, shoulders, and chest when you rest your head against his chest and inhale. Sweat and copper muddle his natural scent, but even when he’s covered in his victories, even when he’s drenched in his defeats, he still smells like home- warm, safe, familiar, and comforting.
He hesitates to envelop you with the same thinly veiled desperation, holding himself back.
Every muscle in his body carries the strain of battles fought and won. His head throbs with the force of his thoughts, and the inescapable dizziness that always accompanies crashing down from a high. Then again, he’s never been one to ease into things gracefully. Tiny cuts and scrapes, angry blacks and blues, and even gaping gashes that are still seeping and tender to the touch hardly register as anything other than a stinging, burning sensation. Everything is dull. Ferocity and intensity both subdued. Through the haze of everything that competes for his attention, you’re the one thing that’s clear. As always, the hold you have on him, both physical and metaphorical, brings him back to his senses, but doubt keeps him withdrawn.
Warily wrapping his arms around you, Dick returns the gesture as best as he can. Cages built of muscle, meant to keep you close, refuse to lock you in place, and he finds it increasingly difficult to resist surrendering to you entirely. Just as his nerves begin to settle they spike once more when the gravity of the past few months finally begins to sink in. As you continue to tremble in his arms, he swallows a lump in his throat and fights the urge to hold you impossibly closer. If he weren’t so afraid, he’d never let go again. But he’s not the same man he was the last time you saw him. Having seen too much, he knows that he can’t let this become something more. Fear is rotten. He’s seen the future, and if he keeps leaning on you then he’s only going to drag you down with him. Regardless of what he really wants, he won’t let this become something more, but then he looks down at you in his shirt and realizes it’s always been something more- and it terrifies him more than anything.
When pink swirls around the drain- a muted severity of soapy lather and remnants of crusted, oozing red- he rests his forehead against the cold tiles and lets out a deep sigh. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a proper shower. Under the trickling scorch, he allows his shoulders to slump forward, letting the too-hot water soothe his muscles like a balm, and it stings in a way he welcomes- a reminder that he’s done it again, he’s survived the worst and now he just has to survive the recovery.
He’s never been good with the after, always losing himself in possibilities of what comes next without taking a minute to catch his breath, but he’s trying to be better. He owes it to you. Not only you but himself, too- but mostly you. So, he tries to forget. He pushes memories too fresh to be forgotten somewhere else, banishing them to the far corners of his mind and locking them away until he’s ready to face his demons at his own pace, on his own terms, but his wicked creations fight back. Even when they’re crafted from delusions, mirroring real-life counterparts with a precision too exact to be a figmented replication, he finds himself engaged in an internal match that never crowns a victor. It’s a conflict that never ceases, even after his own surrender. Still, he’s found that the intrusions are less when copper is overpowered by citrus, and when red, inevitably swirls into pink.
Steam amplifies the smell of sweat and body odor, so pungent that the only word to describe it is bad, and he holds his breath while he reaches for your soap once more. He can’t believe you let him anywhere near you. It’s even more unfathomable that you sought an embrace, despite the remnants of battle that’ve woven themselves into his being- lingering, even long after. He’s repulsed by that which exposes him, a stench so strong that it serves as a testament to the fact that he reclaimed you as soon as he could, coming right back to this haven of sorts without any prior stops, and his stomach churns uncomfortably, the once soothing mist tainting each attempt at air, and a weight teases the aching muscles of his chest which breath does not alleviate.
Through the haze, he sees the truth- when reality remains undistorted by the tricks of his own want and longing, he recognizes fact without his own warped perceptions of fantasy- and he realizes just how careless he’s been. By allowing desire to suade better judgment, he’s put you at risk. Guilt punishes with an onslaught of emotions ranging from frustration to anger, sadness to grief, and even regret to sorrow. His own reluctance to accept how dangerous it was, and always has been, to lean on your affections as a crutch has finally caught up to him. After all that he’s seen, after everything he’s been forced to bear witness to over the past few months, coupled with a lifetime of loss, he’s no longer able to ignore the thought that’s broken free from the shackles of elsewhere. What was once dull, always there but never really forgotten, has become intense and persistent.
Every time he finds his way back to you, he invites peril into your life. He’s hazardous. Even if he’s not, being attached to him- in any way- puts you at an even greater risk of endangerment. Trying to justify something even as tame as a friendship is absurd. You’re so much more than that. Whether he meant for it to happen or not, you’ve found a place within his heart. Every beat echoes your name and carries secrets of his devotion. All that remains of the walls meant to protect both of you is rubble, and Dick stands alone in the epicenter of the aftermath, unsure and torn between chaos and order. Selfishly, he wants. Greedily, he craves. Morally, he knows that he should just walk away- but he can’t.
The scene shifts, ceramic tile falling away to reveal an eerie, yet familiar boneyard, and he shakes his head. It’s not real. It was never real- but it was so vivid. Cold fog obscures his vision, and he closes his eyes. This is a trick. This isn’t truth. He knows what comes next. Forced to indulge in his worst nightmares, the shrill, piercing sound of your terror renders him numb. He can’t move. Paralyzed, he fights limbs of lead, but he can’t act. It surrounds him, your agony, and he can’t do anything to save you. He can’t protect you. With each cry of his name, you plead, but there’s nothing he can do. When silence follows his ragged breaths, he refuses to look down. He hates this part the most, but he doesn’t have a choice. Crimson stains the black and blue weave, and he can taste metallic. He doesn’t have any control over this hallucination, born and bred from his greatest fear, and all he can do is witness the fallout of your shared torture- your blood on his hands, his body slumped against your tombstone, and the triumphant laughter of a clown, a scarecrow, a ventriloquist, and a hundred more that delight in your demise.
He can’t catch his breath. Drifting further and further away from reality, he struggles to claw his way back towards the light. When his vision begins to fade, he reaches for more soap. In for three counts, out for four. In for three counts, and out for four, again, Dick feels lightheaded. There’s no limit to how far he’d go to keep you safe, not a single rule or code he wouldn’t break to protect you from anything and everything- and that’s an entirely different threat, in and of itself. His loyalty has the potential to become his ruin, and he’d let it- for your sake- but would that be enough? Could his devotion be enough to keep you safe from the otherwise brutal fate that awaits you with, and without, his intervention?
The bite of a washrag leaves his skin raw. Lost to his thoughts, he’s been mindlessly scrubbing away at his flesh, dousing himself with bubbled distraction. Another breath fails to alleviate his unease. All he can think about is that which is out of his control, and he can’t help but wonder, is there even a chance for the two of you?
Every thought is a contradiction.
He could wax poetic to Bruce about love- how precious and fragile and conscious it is- but he can’t even bring himself to act upon his own advice. Even worse than following in a denialist’s footsteps is being a hypocrite, but there are just too many variables for him to take into account- too many what-ifs and maybe’s that enable him to cower behind words left unspoken.
In spite of this, he dares to dream of a future where you’re his and he’s yours, and nothing else matters. Lost to his delusions, a smile threatens to work muscles that’ve remained dormant for months of disuse. It hurts. Stretching, pulling, and manipulating his face to actually convey what he’s feeling instead of trying to veil it, hurts. However, the worst pain follows. As he reaches for the illusion, it slips through his fingers- so close he can almost hold it, yet just out of reach, simultaneously- and just like that, reality distorts the mirage. Pried from him, ripped away and sporting his claw marks, what could’ve been remains what could’ve been- and it’s all his fault.
Fear suppresses his love.
He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose this, too. He won’t. However glutinous, he craves more- even when he knows he can’t have it, he wants with a desire that’s almost too strong to ignore. Almost. Locking his feelings away, he throws away the key, but his ribs begin to expand with the intensity of his longing, and his chest feels tight. This isn’t like before. It seems as if his secrets have outgrown their cages, and he finds himself at a crossroads. His mind begins to drift and he wonders if this agony is why Bruce kept Selina at arm’s length…
A sigh, and a revelation- he’s not Bruce, and you’re not Selina.
Dick’s been going about this all wrong. Despite everything he’s been taught about love and loss, he’s allowed a life outside of a domino mask and kevlar. He deserves to cherish someone, to protect and devote himself to something other than his work- someone to fight for, someone to come home to- and he deserves to be beloved, too. Even if only for tonight. Even if tomorrow isn’t promised and all you have is right now, you’re here. On the other side of the frosted glass screen and plaster, you’re waiting for him. Another smile, less forced and genuine, feels like a relief instead of a burden. His skin pebbles under the frigid stream left in the wake of molten steam. With a shiver, he seeks your warmth, reaching for the faucet and stepping out of the enclosure.
A worn shirt rests atop the counter, the fabric faded from years of wear and wash, folded neatly beneath a pair of fresh boxers and socks likely left behind from the last time, or the time before that, or even the time before…truth be told, he thought he’d lost it, misplaced it, or given it away. Of course, you’ve had it in your care, all along. The corner of his mouth threatens to twitch into a smile. Slipping the towel from around his waist, he begins to dress, wondering when you managed to sneak in without him hearing you. The door used to creak, and he realizes that you must have fixed it while he was gone. It’s hard not to think about what else might’ve changed since the last time he saw you. Would you have stayed with him, if he asked you to? You always have. Six years and counting, he muses if you always will…
His hair is getting long, again. Droplets fall from the overgrown strands at the base of his neck down his back, making him shiver and reach for his towel once more. He pats his hair down, ruffling it with the towel a few times before wiping away at the mirror. Making eye contact with his reflection he’s the first to look away. He’s looked worse and supposes that's a small win in and of itself, though he can’t stand the sight of himself any longer than he has to. A deep exhale and a shake of his head diverts his attention to the countertop where a spare toothbrush has been left out for him to use. Of course, he already knows where the toothpaste is. He helps himself with a growing smile and places it in the holder right next to yours when he’s done. His chest expands with something he can’t quite name when he finds himself surrounded by gentle reminders of your care. A small cup of water and painkillers act as physical embodiments of your thoughtfulness and he revels in the knowledge that you’re letting him know you’re there for him while giving him space to come down from whatever adrenaline rush
the past few months have spiked. It’s in those silent gestures of love that he hears it the loudest, echoing and amplifying all around him.
It must be killing you to act so selflessly, and he tries not to be selfish with your affections, but it’s difficult not to feel like a burden when you’ve rearranged more than just a spot on the counter, or a place for him to keep his toothbrush next to yours, for him- giving him a home without expecting anything else in return.
Down the hall, the mattress protests against his arrival, angry springs squeaking from months of disuse before welcoming his weight and warmth on the side opposite of yours- his side, from the very moment, years ago, when he found his way back to you after a night that left him bloody and beaten but not broken. Never broken- not when he’s always had you. Though most memory of the first evening spent beside you remains a blur, the ability to recall details and specifics stolen from him as his wounds wept crimson tears that stained your hands and upholstery, fondness prevails. Despite robbed recollections, tender warmth, and affection remain. Even then, he knew. Without really knowing, without certainty, he was certain- he loved you, and you loved him, and every gentle, devoted gesture has always reaffirmed the one thing he could never doubt. Every silent offering, every selfless sacrifice, and piece of yourself that you’ve surrendered to him further insists that your heart acts in favor of three words never spoken.
His arm finds your waist easily, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to tiptoe around his reluctance to accept what this is, anymore. Not when you’re here. Not when you’re waiting so patiently for him, and snuggle back into his hold the moment he reaches out for you. Some limbs tangle, but not yours- the two of you fit perfectly together, like you were truly meant to be, and the moment that you’re allowed to converge, you press your palm flat against his arm, holding him close to you.
Reacquainting yourself with him after is always your favorite part. Though, your heart cleaves when your fingertips ghost over a new scar- the skin still raised and angry, even if the wound has closed. With something akin to sympathy, an apology for the pain he’s suffered that you can’t take away, you gently trace the new mark in acknowledgment.
Tomorrow, or later today, when the sunlight illuminates the sky, you’ll ask him about it. Or, maybe you won’t. When the first glimpses of warm light threaten to spill over the horizon, you might get answers to the questions you’ve spent the last few months pondering. Or, perhaps everything unasked will remain unresolved. Either way, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that tonight, you’ll sleep- safe and protected, at ease and engulfed by all things him- and even if it only lasts for the night, you’ll cherish whatever small moments of intimacy the moon grants before the sun, inevitably, rips them away- a fate you’ve grown to expect, time and time again.
Still, you let your eyes flutter shut, basking in the silence for only a moment before it’s interrupted.
“I love you,” Dick confesses softly, words warm and whispered against your shoulder encouraged by a fleeting moment of courage- and the tender caress of your touch- that prompt the secret to spill from his chest, an accident he fears he may have to render excuses for to salvage whatever broken pieces are left of this unspoken relationship.
“I know,” With your back towards him he misses the stretch of a smile ghosting your lips, and finds himself tensing behind you. Could you have really known? All this time? Is that why he always comes back? Is that why you let him? “I love you, too,”
“No, I mean, I really lo-“
“Tell me in the morning, yeah?” You suggest before he can get too far ahead of himself. Torn between wanting to clarify his confession and realizing that maybe he doesn’t have to, Dick relents. He can’t really argue, anyway- having kept this to himself for so many years, another few hours won’t hurt. With a breath- of acceptance, not defeat or surrender- he closes his eyes and finally relaxes into your embrace.
It’s over.
For now, Dick can rest easy knowing that when the smell of bergamot fades, this tacit love will always remain, and he finds enough comfort in the realization to let it lull him into a peaceful sleep.
a/n: I love him so much!!! this has been rotting in my brain for nearly a year and I just found it in my drafts last night lol! anyway, this started as a challenge to myself where I wanted to see if I could write something with only five lines of dialogue, and I'm curious to hear how you all think it turned out! as always, requests are open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!
everyone who requested to be tagged: @idyllcy @wicked-laugh @ul4lume
Send me some feedback, or request to be added to my taglist! (please specify which taglist you’d like to be added to- character or general) !Requests: OPEN!
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#dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson angst#dick grayson fluff#dick grayson fanfic#dick grayson fanfiction#nightwing#nightwing x reader#nightwing imagine#nightwing fluff#dc titans#dc imagine#dc comics imagine#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x you#nightwing x you#nightwing x y/n
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STAY OFF MY TERRITORY - Time Travel in Lore Olympus (feat. Springlock, our resident time traveller)
AH YES. TIME TRAVEL. BUILDING COFFEE TABLES FROM IKEA. BOTH A MESS, BOTH SOMETHING YOU SHOULD NEVER ATTEMPT EVEN AS A GAG.
THERE WILL BE FASTPASS SPOILERS IN THIS ANALYTICAL DISSECTION OF LORE OLYMPUS' TIME TRAVEL !!!
Let's establish the "time travel" in LO first of all - it's briefly introduced by Hecate, who says that Hades isn't in a 'where' but a 'when' , hahahaha i so love time travel jokes /s THIS ISN'T A LAUGHING MATTER-
We had already covered this in the criticisms that Kronos' 'dream comas' would have been better allocated to his time travel abilities, and it seems now Rachel is trying to make that a reality at the last possible minute. I'm going to completely tear apart that reality to present to you why it doesn't work in LO.
Aw, Kronos' time abilities are finite? Get on my level, sir.
The caveat is the existential toll that time travel takes on the jumper, and the fact that in most cases, it's impossible to perform due to paradoxes. And Lore Olympus' time travel presents a lot of paradoxes. No wonder Kronos went crazy, I'm going crazy just thinking about everything that's wrong with this.
So Hades is trapped 'somewhere' in time. This isn't something I haven't seen before, but the issue it presents is getting someone back to their present time, as it presents the first paradox -
PARADOX #1 - There are no accidents. If someone is to jump into a timeline outside of their own, even if by 'accident', that would still have to be predestined by the timeline itself. This is in line with the grandfather paradox, which I will let the almighty Google define for us all to keep things brief:
You cannot travel back in time 'by accident'. If you were to travel back in time, it would have been written into the script of reality already, so any effects caused by your jumping would be purposeful, even if they seem like 'accidents' to you - such as becoming your own grandfather, Philip J Fry.
Moving on, in the most recent FastPass episode, Melinoe reveals that she was taken from her timeline by Kronos.
PARADOX #2 - Which version of Kronos took her? Was it the present version travelling into the future to take her from her timeline into his present? Or was it some future version of Kronos who has escaped yet again at some point in the future and then travelled back into the past to interfere with the events of the current present, possibly in an attempt to rewrite the script? If it's the latter, this means that Hera and Persephone can't feasibly stop Kronos indefinitely, as to stop Kronos would mean that he wouldn't exist in the future to take Melinoe from her future timeline and thus this present timeline of events would cease to exist. If we want to get even more granular with it, 'present' Kronos is still 'past' Kronos as it's the Kronos from ten years ago who got his hands on a deity to help him mess with people's dreams, and that deity has been revealed to be Melinoe, who would have had to be ripped from some point in their future timeline. This falls in line with a temporal paradox, or as most people know it, the 'kill baby Hitler' paradox, which designates that one cannot go back in time to kill baby Hitler, as killing baby Hitler would remove all the subsequent events that would lead up to you deciding to build a time machine and go back in time to kill baby Hitler.
Melinoe claims she's only been here a few days. That would be all well and good, as time is funny like that - I've done my fair share of jumps into the distant past only to return a few minutes later - but what doesn't line up is the present timeline of events that would only work unless she's actually been trapped for longer than a few days.
PARADOX #3 - So it's only been a few days, but Hades and Persephone have known about this child trapped in Tartarus for weeks, and we know Kronos has had her since the dream diving arc back near the end of S2. So unless Kronos is simply jumping to different points in time to cause shenanigans - which leads to even MORE paradoxes as you feasibly cannot travel to your own past to change it due to it creating a different future - then it can't have only been a 'few days' for Melinoe, it would have been at least a few weeks, giving some wiggle room to the past events of her appearing before Hades in his dreams due to her being the goddess of nightmares. Kronos escaping Tartarus after using Melinoe to put people to sleep and possess them was not something that happened in a pocket dimension, it was very real and very present.
Hades commits an even bigger sin, however, and the biggest issue with this 'time travel' plotline:
PARADOX #4 - I truly hope 'home' means 'home point in her timeline' and not their literal home. Hades and Persephone cannot take Melinoe, for two reasons: they haven't had their daughter yet, and the future timeline versions of Hades and Persephone need their daughter back. If Hades and Persephone were to adopt this version of Melinoe in their present timeline, it would create a clone paradox, as they would have a duplicate Melinoe from the future, OR it would create the grandfather paradox if they opted not to try for a child knowing they already have Melinoe which would erase the whole sequence of events that led to future Melinoe's birth in the first place.
Ultimately Lore Olympus' time travel suffers from the same issue many time travel stories suffer from - not having consistent rules. It is choosing now , near the finale of the series, to introduce time travel, rather than establishing it back in Season 1 when Kronos was first hinted at. It's also still not clear in what Hades' role is in this, as him being taken to a 'when' could still be read as a dream sequence rather than actual time travel. After all, Kronos supposedly "exhausted" his time travelling powers centuries ago - surely as a way for Rachel to have her cake and cover for the fact that she's had Kronos in the series since S1 and never actually had him do what he's known for - but now she's trying to eat it too by just giving him his time travel powers again for no reason besides rewriting the dream diving finale from S2 but with ambiguous time travel instead.
It's all a huge mess and the best thing I can do for myself is simply not let it keep me up at night. I have enough time travelling problems to worry about as it is. I will be sticking to the Austin Powers method -
youtube
(I am not enjoying myself.)
#keep your hands OFF time travel rachel#you can't even tell a coherent LINEAR story and you think you can do TIME TRAVEL ???#she's deadass just using this as a last minute crutch to make up for her piss poor writing#it's really easy for people to just go “well yknow timey wimey stuff!!!!” to handwave away every single plothole and inconsistency#lore olympus critical#lo critical#anti lore olympus#ask me anything#ama#anon ama#anon ask me anything#Youtube
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just woke up from a dream where the s1 dads returned to s2 but they were all voiced by beth may to show that they were being possessed by willy. i think the only dad absent was glenn as per usual
#i was like slowly realizing each dad was being possessed bc of the voice & bc they talked and acted every so slightly Off#dndads#my dreams#low pitched finite woofing
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Ramattra
“ I was created to lead omnics into war. But all I have ever wanted is a better life for my people. The fact that we exist...is a miracle unto itself. We have studied the ways of peace and harmony. We have meditated on the universe and our place within it. We have tried to coexist with humanity, but humanity is not interested in sharing their world. How many more omnics should perish to fuel mankind's dreams? No more. Our race is only a single generation, finite, and dying all too quickly. We can find our own place, and we must. Join me, and together, we will make a better future for all omnics. “
#dailygaming#gamediting#gamingedit#overwatch#overwatch 2#ramattra#owedit#ow2edit#overwatch ramattra#he looks so so cool#my edit
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