#i get so emotional every time i think about this thread in particular
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I've been trying to find a common thread on 'victims of abuse easily being victimized again', because it is a trend, and it happens so often. A person who is abused as a child, or just abused long-term, will commonly find themselves in another abusive situation, in an abusive friendship or a relationship or marriage, or it can be workplace abuse, a cult, exploitation, power imbalance, trafficking.
The main view of this was that the victims of abuse are so well adjusted to abusive and exploitative environment, that they feel more at home in an abusive situation, than a normal, healthy one, and that they will unknowingly choose an abusive partner, spouse, boss or friend, because it feels normal, they know what to do, and how to behave in it. While there is a certain pattern of abuse victims sometimes getting attached to new toxic people, I don't consider it to be true, and for one reason: as soon as the victims realize their new situation is toxic, they cut it off. I have been introduced to hundreds, if not thousand new abusive situations, attempted grooming into cults, exploitative workplaces, toxic friendships, I've all but been swarmed by it, and I've opted out of every single one, as soon as I've realized what I'm dealing with.
I don't think a regular person will even find themselves running into this many entrances to abuse, and abuse victims often do. Do abusers know exactly who to target? Can they see the signs of abuse on us, that paint a bright red dots on our faces? I don't think they do.
I think the explanation runs deeper than that; it's the lack of protection. A person who's been abused for a long time, clearly lacks community that would protect them from the abuse. If they've been abused by their parents, they weren't able to find any protection outside that, and they've got no family who would protect them and back them up in times of vulnerability. If they've been in a long-term abusive relationship or workplace, again, it means their social circles, family, friends, colleges, all failed to protect them. Abuse is a clear sign of 'if something bad happens to this particular person, nobody will do anything about it'. And that is what the abusers are looking for. Not emotional naivety, not someone who is in clear distress and trauma, but someone who is socially isolated, unprotected, without family, close friends, any kind of protective borders or authority that would react to this person getting abused.
I've seen people with far more naivety and kindness than I have, and talked people down who were far more eager to assume good intentions for abusers. And those were never even exposed to this manner of abuse, because they had good families, strong friendship groups and people who would act immediately if something bad were to happen to this individual. They're allowed to keep their kind assumptions, willingness to help and naive nature, because they're well protected within the society; they're simply not what the abusers are aiming for.
Being unprotected is hardly something we can cause, control, or affect or on own. Building community when you have no family, close friends or a social circle, is extremely hard, especially after surviving the abuse. We instinctively know it's what would protect us, that's why we all strive for it so badly, we know we'd be safe if people around us cared passionately, and would stand up to protect us. But it doesn't happen, and right now, more and more people are vulnerable in the lieu of bad financial stability, lack of social connections, social isolation, longing for contact, feeling unworthy, rejected, abandoned. And just looking for a sustainable job, comfort, friendship, social connection or even contact and spiritual fulfillment, can land people in more abuse.
Usually those who do escape abuse do so on their own, and at that point, our own efforts are all that is protecting us from the further abuse. We have to stand strong and defend ourselves, constantly. it's exhausting, and it's not our fault if our lack of social protection paints a target on our back. Sometimes it can feel like it's hopeless, getting free from abuse only to go back to the world where we're alone, rejected, without contact and left all to ourselves again, it feels like one type of devastation is replaced with the other. But not suffering abuse is always better than anything else. Freedom of mind, heart and soul, is always better than suffering abuse.
#abuse#cptsd#repeated victimization#escaping abuse#falling victim to abuse repeatedly#long term abuse#lack of protection#lack of social connections
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──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐕𝐈𝐈.]
summary: "Matters of this realm are not for you to consider."
pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader
wc: 7.5k+
warnings: brief violence/blood, Corinthian is his own warning, we're hitting the big time rush angst, Dream is still Dream (insult) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
notes: i'm just... hahahaaaaaaa. enjoy.
part one | series masterlist | ao3 |
PART SEVEN: YEAR 619-850
“Do you imagine stopping one shipment will change anything?”
Gliding your tongue over your bloodied teeth, you shrug half-heartedly. In part because you could care less what this pompous man concludes about you. Another part—a brazen, reckless side that’s been steadily honing to life with experience and age—craves to see this man squirm. Your fellow humans are no longer so indifferent to your presence. They’re becoming more knowledgeable. Nowadays, they welcome you with distrustful, knowing stares. Those with old family names whose ancestors you might have encountered previously. But there’s also apprehension. Fear. That one’s new.
That particular emotion is cherished when faced with such men.
“Sure it will,” you drawl, licking your bloodied mouth again. “They’re free people now. You don’t have any right to them or anyone else.”
Subdued wrath laces every syllable, and each word rips from your mouth with pointed accusation. Your people have come to this. Carting off other human beings like merchandise. Things to be sold. To be treated as lessers. For wealth. As if they won’t all decay and die in a few decades. It makes you sick with fury. You had such faith in them, such hope—that they would grow and improve, achieve wonders and help one another. So fiercely you’ve defended them to the other Endless.
And this is your reward.
“My father warned me about you,” the man continues, regarding you through narrowed eyes. His fine coat, stitched with golden threads, rustles when he lumbers over. The guards holding you jerk your body, keeping you upright. “The Conjurer. The Trickster. The Many Faces Witch.”
“Yes, your father was a piece of shite, too.” A yawn pulls at your mouth. The man’s lined face tightens at your dismissiveness, deepening the grooves etching into his pallid, leathery skin. “You people need to work on something better than a witch. It’s outdated.”
"Silence your wretched tongue," he hisses, stalking closer. Oh, he's getting braver. The merchant's gloved hands ball into fists at his sides. He's taller and stronger. Your body, in comparison, is all but battered, but there is no fear in you. For one such as he, that is a far greater insult. "I will discover where you hid them and who helped you. Do not think I will not."
Your lip throbs when you dig your tongue into the fleshy, torn skin. Copper on your tongue tastes like nothing and everything.
“You’re most welcome to try, Mr… hm, I honestly don’t remember your name. Neither will history.”
Merchant’s face turns purple, nostrils flaring. Blinking innocently, you await the strike. Usually, it’s a backhand. Deliberate and savoured. Humiliation is vital in breaking spirit. But it stopped working on you a long time ago. You’ve been stripped naked, paraded around, and degraded so many times you’ve stopped counting. Or caring.
He can hit you. He can mock you and abuse you all he wants, for however long he wants. You will get back up and continue helping people because they deserve it. It is not for some pampered, greedy man to deem otherwise. Decades from now, you’ll still be here when he’s no more than an ailing husk of a man.
He wants to hit you. It’s written in the harsh, shuddering way he swallows down his breaths. The holding cell is utterly silent aside from his occasional spluttering huffs.
“I will cut out your tongue, you insolent—”
The cell door swings open with a metal creak behind him.
“You called for me?”
The new man is younger, clad in finely-stitched royal blue, augmented coat. Folds and ruffles locomote around his lithe body when he strides forward, hands resting folded behind his back.
“Constantine, yes.” The merchant straightens, impatiently waving his hand for the newcomer to join you. His ring-clad finger digs in your direction. He won’t see you cower. You’ve experienced many such condemnations. “This creature. I want this one dealt with.”
The younger, blonde man raises a ponderous, curious brow, a crafty sheen reflecting through his irises.
“Your meaning, sire?” he prods innocently.
"She is not… normal, Edward. Not human." The merchant's expensive shoes slide through the grimy cell floor when he veers in Edward Constantine's direction. "Your family deals with these matters, do they not?"
"My mother, Lady Johnna, would not take kindly to your implication, sire." Edward smiles pleasantly as he speaks. He's unfairly handsome; in a pale, nonpareil way that flustered most souls he encounters. Cupid's bow mouth; wheat-coloured hair like that of his mother; gentle, narrow features and lulling voice. But all Constantines you've encountered have something wicked pulsing beneath their skin. It's what makes them so powerful, so excellent at their craft. "And I assure you, if you were dealing with a demon, you would know by now."
“How?”
The man’s snarling question sends spittle flying.
Edward puckers his lips in mock thought. He then grins brightly. “You would be rather dead, sire.”
Old, powerful Latin spills from Edward’s mouth, the mischievous grin sliding clean from his face. His focus narrows, well versed in his craft.
One of the guards holding you chokes abruptly. Heaving, sobbing retches leave him, his hold on you loosening. Shoving away, you bury your elbow in the other guard’s ribcage, grabbing his pistol while he’s too winded to react. You promptly knock the weighted weapon across the guard’s temple. The dazed man goes down like a falling tree, his mouth agape while he sprawls across the cell floor unconscious.
The merchant holding you prisoner stumbles back at the commotion, sweat beading his brow at the power shift. He looks on the verge of throwing up. “What—what is going on—stop!”
Pale, twitching hands rip from the guard’s gaping mouth, something crawling from inside his body. The man squirms pathetically, plunging to his knees. Faint, smug smile curls Edward’s mouth, all but victorious, while the Latin continues reverberating against the dank stone.
“I order you to stop!”
The guard explodes. A wet, squelching sound hits your eardrums. Then only a pale, gnarly-looking creature rests curled on the gore-covered floor.
“You’re late, Constantine.”
The ire in your voice causes Edward to bow his head apologetically.
“My apologies, fair Wanderer.” His grin is downright roguish. “Perhaps if you offered me a kiss as a reward next time, I shall hurry.”
The merchant chooses that precise moment to empty his stomach, fainting a second later. While you do not intend to shoot him, it does comfort you to level your newly acquired firearm on him. His judgement will not be in your hands. You have no right to it. His sentence will be at the hands of those he tried to trade for personal riches.
Sighing, you stare down at the convulsing demon. “Wrong host.”
Edward clicks his tongue. “Yes, quite. It turns out the old coot is just a regular cunt.”
You step forward, hesitating. The demon snarls loudly at your proximity. Hissing and spitting, it springs back up, leaping forward instantly. Its slimy, boney form crushes you to the ground, pinning you there.
“Wanderer—”
“No! Finish it.” The order rings piercingly through the saturated, cold air. It’s a testament to how much Edward relies on you because just as the demon’s jaws part to sink into your flesh, guttural, commanding Latin resumes. The demon’s half-humanoid body cracks under sheer power, light opening up in swelling circles around you. The wind howls through the tiny cell. Portal straight to Hell. “I’ll be fine! Do it! Help them, Edward!”
The wind wails deafeningly, light burns through your vision, tears blurring everything in sight.
Invisible power closes around you in an unyielding fist, sucking you down, down, down—
The demon wails above you, its claws sinking into your arm and stomach for support, flailing as you both plummet. You choke down a yelp of pain when blood starts gushing, the demon’s claws dug in too deep. Portals, dimensions, blurring hues, cold, hot, hot, hot—
In its rawest form, the universe rushes and slides around your body. Every knock and snag nearly breaks bones. Edward’s enchantment is sending you speeding down straight to Hell, but you’re using the curse as an anchor. An excruciating, ill-fitting buffer that slows your descent into an agonising shredding.
Your nails hook deliberately in the slimy, cold skin of the demon. Snarl forming, you jerk.
The knock sends you whistling through the universe's raw matter, but in a different direction. You plummet to the ground with cracking bones. A rare cry tears from your throat when your body flops to a resting position, jolting at the sudden impact.
You’re in a cemetery. Black clouds roll overhead, faraway thunder vibrating through the air. You manage a bloody, victorious smile.
“Human ssscum. Come here.”
The rattling, hissing voice gets accompanies by eager claws at your skin. Your pistol is long gone, lost in universal transit. Your hands are all you have left.
“No pleasss for help?” it coos and caws gleefully.
Words form, but it’s the pleasant voice behind you that responds: “You talk too much.”
Metal blade sticks clean through the demon’s gut. It screeches—a piercing, haunting sound—for it’s no ordinary blade that guts it. Black liquid gushes from the demon’s belly; its greyish skin marred as it crawls backwards, slobbering and snarling in a frenzied symphony.
The nightmare crafted by the King of Dreams himself stands above you, a black halo assembled from shadows and lightning crowning his pale head.
“Corinthian.”
Your chuckle sounds a tinge manic, relief slumping your limbs into the supple dirt beneath.
Corinthian’s head tilts marginally in your direction, but his focus stays entirely on the demon sitting erect on its hunches. Its tongue lolls to the side—a disturbing sight paired with its humanoid features.
“Puny nightmare,” it gloats, black liquid coating its bent, rotting teeth. “You dare to challenge me? I am Bifrons, Earl of Hell. You think you can prevail against one sssuch as I?”
A slight, cruel grin edges Corinthian’s face. His dual blades flip through the air, adjusted and firm in his relaxed hold, an extension of him.
“Let’s find out.”
It’s a blur. The demon is sly, its long limbs and small but robust wings serving it well, but Corinthian is liquid metal. More fluid than water and more vicious than any serpent. If the blade doesn’t sink in, it cuts and cuts and cuts. In seconds, the demon is covered in its own deformed version of blood, dripping heavily onto its hooked feet.
One blade punches clean through the demon’s wing, pinning the creature to a burnt tree behind it. The demon flails, bucking.
“You’re in the Dreaming.” Corinthian shapes each word with calm, pleasant malice. “The Nightmare Realms are my domain, and you’re a long way from home, my friend.”
The wind, the lightning, even the demon’s pained bleats—every sound and sensation hush to an abrupt suspension.
You sense his arrival in the clearing before he so much as utters a word. “Corinthian, enough.”
Dream’s deep, unwavering command glides through the charged, unnaturally still air.
Corinthian glares at the demon’s beady eyes, his teeth bared and face crinkled with enraged disbelief. “This thing—”
“Enough.” You cringe at the frigid bite in Dream’s timbre, struggling to sit up. “I will deal with the demon.”
If they continue at this, it’ll devolve into a disaster.
Your mouth wobbles, pain lapping at your senses. “Cori.”
The blade poised in Corinthian’s graceful hand quivers at the subdued plea, keen for the killing blow. His mouth contorts, shaping a hollow, wide grin. A tense moment crawls by. Then his arm drops to his side.
“As you command.”
He doesn’t bow. A strange sensation prickles your skin at the observation, but you brush it aside.
Black blocks Corinthian from your sight. Power sizzles across your skin. Achingly familiar, absolute. It’s everywhere, embracing you in blankets of everlasting comfort. Cold, bitter night and sun-dripping sleepy daydream simultaneously.
Cold fingers skim over your swollen cheek. The air around you cools by several degrees the longer Dream King drinks in your torn appearance. “Wanderer.”
Sorrow traces the whispered moniker. Why is it that when you’re alone, these tragedies slide clean off you, but when Dream peers at you with such unspoken despair, it hurts so bad? Is it because his comfort is so vastly different from others? Or perhaps because with him, there is no escaping anything. Because Dream’s hands touch and linger with a gentleness that wrenches something hurt and bleeding deep inside you and lays it bare.
“Hey, Dream.”
Dream Lord imparts no words, decrees no commands. He simply sweeps his midnight, flame-edged coat across you, and you’re both gone.
.
“I’m fine. I told you, typical trouble.” A more pressing question springs to mind. “Where is Corinthian?”
Dream of the Endless sweeps a searching look over your healing body, mutely unsatisfied. Even though you’ve slowed down, he resumes his steady trek through the sweeping castle corridors.
“I will speak with Corinthian later,” he responds. “He acted outside his function.”
Something in your chest ices over at the carefully light way Dream articulates those words. Springing on your tiptoes, you hurry after him, wincing at the everpresent discomfort.
“Outside his—” Swallowing your frustration, you reach for the Dream King, folding your fingers gently around the crook of his arm. His black coat warms your hand when you touch it, sending a pleasant shiver up your arm. Dream halts at the light contact, pinning you with a stormy stare. “He tried to protect me. He did this to protect me from a demon.”
But Dream Lord has retreated, leaving the ruler of the Nightmare realms behind. Stony, stubborn, uncompromising.
“As monarch of this realm, it is my duty to handle these transgressions,” Dream clarifies. “Corinthian acted on his own accord. You do not slaughter the Earl of Hell without invoking wrath from Lightbringer.”
“Then why give them free will in the first place?” Your fingers tighten around his arm. “Don’t give me that look. You heard me.”
Dream exhales softly, his head bowing closer. “I was coming for you.”
You’re unsure why that sentence pulls a pained laugh from your chest. Feeble and scratchy. Your hand slips away from him, and with it, the more benign light with which Dream was regarding you does so as well.
“Yeah, before or after that thing killed me?” Damage is so blatant in your strangled question that you’re almost embarrassed by it—that you would be so apparent in your emotions after centuries together. “You haven’t been there in the past, Dream. Corinthian was. I can’t stand by while you punish him for keeping me safe.”
Dream’s pale, handsome features stutter at the not-so-subtle reminder. Does it trouble him? The knowledge that once you didn’t call for him because you didn’t believe he would come, but now you never do because being alone, relying on yourself, has become the norm. Calling for his aid no longer crosses your mind.
“Do you suppose Corinthian did this from the goodness of his heart, Wanderer? Or because it was a prime opportunity to indulge in his savagery?”
Dream’s soft conjecture lances clean through you, balling your heart in a merciless fist.
“You mean savagery you instilled in him?” Your shoulders hunch, defensive. It’s challenging standing against him when he’s like this: looming, all-powerful, ancient dust and brimstone. But the poor, naive soul who once found themselves in his gardens, at the foot of his mercy, has long since grown up. “You made him this way. You make them all for humanity. To serve them. Corinthian just did.”
Dream’s stare darkens, sliding away dismissively. “I do not expect you to understand the intricacies that come with Hell’s wrath—”
“You don’t expect me to understand.”
The gallery you’ve halted is quiet enough to hear a feather drop.
For years, you were trapped in Hell. You’ve tasted their cruelty and bloodlust; experienced firsthand the unending list of methods they use for torture and how they delight in it.
Dream’s soft mouth parts. “I did not mean to imply—”
“No, you implied enough, Morpheus.”
He leans back at the hard bite of his true name. It’s so rare for you to use it, and rarer still, for it to be spoken with such… disappointment. You’re too blind to his faults. Perhaps Desire was right in saying so. Or maybe you’ve always seen them but never cared because you care for him. Your fondness for the lonesome Dream Lord outweighs the logical, critical part that’s all survivor now.
Or does it?
You brush past him. “Excuse me.”
He doesn’t stop you.
.
“I’m an idiot.”
Your groan is met with a contemplative hum from your nightmare companion. Wanderer Island is blanketed by flimsy cloud cover today; the sun blazes hot and bright onto the sand, trees and flowers encircling you. You chew absently on the sour apple grass, your fingers knotted in the undying pasture beneath.
Corinthian deliberately bobs his leg, jolting you where your head rests on his thigh, your arms wrapped tight around yourself.
“You challenge him.” The nightmare pauses in his whittling, his attention straying over the water towards the rest of the Dreaming. “Dream doesn’t like hearing the truth. The only truth he cares about is his own. He’s selfish like that.”
You say nothing. Just as you’ve never pointed out that Corinthian has all but migrated to the Wanderer Island. It’s the one place you are guaranteed to find him no matter how much time has passed. Shelter for those lost and seeking. It applies to him as much as you.
You examine his profile. Each line, pore, and curve of his proud visage. “He won’t punish you for this. I won’t let him.”
Corinthian lightly scratches the tip of his blade into the half-finished wooden piece snug in his palm. “He already talked with me.”
You freeze. “What?”
He reaches out and flicks you on the forehead. Hard. “Nothing to concern your pretty little head with.”
Slapping your hand over your stinging forehead, you propel yourself upwards, shooting him a glare. His tells are as apparent to you as yours are to him after centuries together.
“Corinthian.” His name, spoken with intent, drags the nightmare’s attention your way. “What did he tell you?”
A light breeze ripples the tree branches you’re resting under—molten spots of sunlight smear and dance across Corinthian’s cheek through cracks in the leaf cover. For too long, he’s altogether quiet. Dread coils around you in a suffocating grip.
“That if I stray again, he will unmake me.”
Of course. You knew you. Even before he spoke aloud, you knew.
“I don’t believe him,” you hiss, dragging your hand over your face.
The tiny stabs caused by the still healing flesh hardly register.
Corinthian peers up at the sky, relaxing in his spot. “Ah, tough business.”
You cast a suspicious glance his way. “You’re not even a little bit concerned? If you keep pushing Dream’s boundaries, it will implode in your face eventually.”
The nightmare rubs his thumb over his newest piece. “Nah, not even slightly concerned. He won’t dare to unmake me.”
This once, you take the bait.
“Do you know something I don’t… or?”
Your reflection appears puzzled in the distorted, dark shine of his glasses.
“If Dream unmade me, it would break your heart.” Unequivocally self-assured. Your heart skips several beats. Corinthian swishes his blade from side to side playfully. “He knows as much. Why else do you think I’m still around? I get away with things others won’t dare to dream about. Told ya, truth bites.”
He taps the blunt edge of the blade against your nose. You don’t react to it. No, instead, you mull over his hypotheses, his conclusions, the weight in your pocket becoming unbearable.
“Funny timing,” you mutter absently. Your hand closes around the figurine in your pocket, now significantly more ragged than when Corinthian first gifted it to you. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you for some time.”
Another item has been living with the figurine in your dark pocket. Pinching it carefully, you pull it out, proffering it to the nightmare wordlessly.
“A ring?” A slow, crooked smirk bites into Corinthian's cheeks. “Oh, now Dream will unmake me for sure.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Hilarious. It’s not for that. Put it on.”
Still smirking, Corinthian accepts the offered object, slipping it on his finger. With much pleasure, you watch that haughty, charming smirk slide from his face. The nightmare’s body goes incredibly still, a deep, nonplussed frown taking shape.
“What is this?”
This is the first time you’ve heard the nightmare sound so serious or carefully controlled. The silver band on his finger doesn’t stand out. But wearing it, specifically for him, you imagine, would be a rather peculiar experience.
“A small piece of humanity for you to hold,” you say with a small smile. “I told you, they’re not all bad. I hope this can help you experience it.”
“You prefer people. Not me.”
“I prefer their stories. Their worries and hopes. Give it time, Cori.” You drag your feet closer to your chest, hugging them to you. Corinthian is still staring down at the ring on his hand. “Sometimes I’m ashamed of them. But sometimes I love them so dearly I remember why I still walk amongst them. Now you have that in this. From me.”
A small segment is packaged from you—your very soul—into his ordinary ring. So he experiences what it’s like.
“Desire helped me make it,” you add when the silence becomes too profound and heavy.
Dragging his thumb over the ring, Corinthian snorts. “The flashy one.”
You match his grin. “You two should meet. And I never did give you a Dreamfall present, so.”
His brows lift, the strange bout from moments ago shaken and laid to rest. “Should have waited for the next one. You’re a tad late.”
You lean over, grabbing for his hand.
“Fine, give it back.”
The nightmare yanks his arm back, wiggling his fingers. “Don’t think so,” he concludes slyly.
“Wanderer.”
Wanderer Island warms with delight at Dream Lord’s impromptu arrival. Your grin withers, your tongue nervously dragging over your teeth.
“I hate it when he does that,” you mumble, standing to your feet. Corinthian eyes his creator with a neutral but nevertheless shadowed expression. “Have you noticed it? He always says your name with that tone when you’re in trouble. Talk to you later?”
The nightmare finally reacts. “Sure thing, trouble.”
His drawling, ponderous reply does not reassure you.
Flames kindle brighter around Dream’s coat, orange and red sparkling at his feet. His otherwise black apparel and unruly hair make for a fond, beloved memory. He’s unchanging in an equally frustrating and comforting manner.
“Dream.”
His jaw flexes, relaxing somewhat. It takes you several seconds to deduce why. When you parted ways last, you left with an impersonal farewell, calling him Morpheus. You haven’t done so in centuries.
Dream slopes his chin towards a blossom-covered path behind him. “I hoped we could conclude our earlier conversation.”
Never one to admit he’s in the wrong.
Without a word, you set out down the path he gestured towards, butterflies fluttering past your head. One lands directly on your shoulder, and you hold out your finger, delighted when the butterfly flutters over immediately.
“You misunderstood my meaning,” Dream begins, his footsteps near silent behind you.
Another butterfly lands on your outstretched hand, but no smile graces your face. “Did I? You don’t interfere with the curse. I’m perfectly aware. It’s my destiny. We’re all born into our roles. There is no escape. I get it.”
Dream cuts around you, his coat rustling behind him when he blocks your path. “It is not that I do not wish to help,” he insists, his words tight. There’s a beseeching edge in his low intonation, a plea for understanding perhaps. “It is that I cannot.”
Your smile is faint and sad but understanding because of course you understand him—your stubborn, lonely, weary Dream Lord.
“That’s fine, Dream. You have duties. You won’t risk the Dreaming. And you shouldn’t. Not for me. Are we done—”
You jump when he grasps your hand in his. Sand strokes your skin, your eyes widening at the gliding sensation. He holds your startled stare, burning through you. Dream’s grip loosens as swiftly as it formed, but your hand is no longer empty. Your fingers splay, stupidly missing his touch, sand trickling to the ground. A miniature, transparent stone sits in a teardrop shape in your palm. “What is this?”
Dream takes a while to respond.
“A pebble from the Fiddler’s Green. In it, I have deposited additional power beyond that of an unadorned creation. My power.” Your head jerks up, staring at him wide-eyed. Dream strides closer, so close you feel his breath on your mouth. “I cannot interfere in my siblings’ affairs, Wanderer. If anything should befall you in their realms, there is nothing I can do. But the waking world… is fickle. You do not dream; therefore, I cannot locate you, but with this, I can.”
You’re so speechless that no words come to mind, leaving you spluttering on a pathetic, “I… I shouldn’t…”
Twin stars rage in Dream’s eyes. He carefully folds your fingers back over the stone. “I need not stress how imperative it is you only use this in emergencies.”
“Why? Why now?”
Why make such a drastic gesture after over seven hundred years together? Was your suffering not enough before? Or did something change in how Dream views the curse? Views you?
“Because I made you a promise long ago, and I do not commit to such deeds lightly.”
A promise? Oh.
Would you come for me?
Yes.
Promise?
You never did hear his answer back then. You had assumed Dream never responded at all. Endless do not pledge themselves to such commitments.
Days of no food or water, near constant beatings, but it’s a tiny stone denting your skin that causes tears to well in your eyes. They don’t fall, but you’re sure Dream hears them when you choke out, “Thank you. I’ll keep it safe.”
Dainty contact caresses your cheek, tingling and light. You raise your head, savouring his thumb sweeping over your skin. Your breath catches at the conflicted, intent way Dream peers at you. “Wanderer… I…”
“What’s wrong?” you breathe.
Tell me, be open with me, let me in.
Dream swallows, working a kink in his jaw. His piercing stare lowers, latching onto your mouth—
He forcefully turns away, muttering, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Flames flare brightly around his coat’s hem, and he’s gone in a breath.
Butterflies explode in a mad circle around you at the Dream Lord’s departure, their featherlight wings kissing your skin. Wanderer Island seems to shudder a breath, settling back into place.
You clench the stone in your hand so hard your skin turns numb.
.
“Morpheus. Dream King. Oneiromancer. I bid thee welcome.”
Mighty wings extend in either direction behind the powerful silhouette, showcasing the fallen angel’s full, terrible might. Even for one such as him, power emitting from Maker’s once most beloved angel is immense.
Morpheus inclines his head marginally, his helm tucked close to his side. Anything less than face-to-face with the netherworld ruler would be considered an insult. “Lucifer Morningstar. I thank thee, Lightbringer, for your welcome.”
Lucifer’s slight smile belies the malevolence festering beneath it. “Tell me, Morpheus, what brings you to my domain? Enlightenment, perhaps?”
Hell boils with cruelty unprecedented and hatred unmatched, sins unpaid and torment everlasting. In this, Morpheus finds these lands unchanged. Fluttering reminder flees through his mind that Wanderer had suffered here. For such long years.
He may be required to keep to the accords when dealing with infernal regions, but it does not mean he will be quick to forget such slights.
“I have come to return one of your adrift terrors.” His hand lifts, and the wretched demon falls out from the rushing sand. The wounds Corinthian has inflicted on the creature have not faded. Lucifer regards one of their demons with callous indifference. Its claws are still covered in what was once red blood. Dream’s voice slips into soft, cold caution. “Demons may pass through the Dreamworld, that is the agreement, but they do not attack my own. I request, Lightbringer, that you see to it we do not have a repeat of such incidents in the future.”
Lucifer circles them in their luxurious silken robe, their fingers steepled.
“Bifrons, are Dream Lord’s allegations true?”
Torchlight illuminates the demon’s broken shape.
“Yesss, your majesty.”
Lightbringer halts before him. Morpheus edges his chin higher to meet their cunning stare. “Describe this being you attacked.”
His self-possession prevails, giving up nothing, but Morpheus sees right through Lightbrnger’s objective.
The slow, satisfactory smile grows at the demon’s detailed description, curling beautifully across the former angel’s mouth.
“Ah, not just any old creature dwelling in your dream clouds, then.” Vindictive pleasure glimmers through Lightbringer’s deceptively composed countenance. “The Wanderer. Oh, Morpheus, you are becoming rather soft for that one.”
They circle again, their majestic black wings whisper over the floor as they add a contemplative, “Though I suppose you always were the sentimental one.”
“I did not come here for a social call.”
Soft. What presumption. As if Wanderer is a weakness. Instead of a soft spot, something tender and free, leaping through stars and into his awaiting home.
“No, you did not.” Lucifer glides a sudden, purposeful step forward. Their eerily angelic smile remains perfectly intact. “Fear not. Bifrons will be flayed for what he has done. Blood unjustly shed will be repaid as the old laws would demand.”
He no longer wishes to linger here. Even the dreams lapping at him insistently, reaching for him as starved branches would call for the sun, for life, taste of nothing but ash and rot.
“Then I bid thee farewell.”
He bends his head in another slight bow. Ceremony only, but it is a necessity. Beneath the calm mask, chafing irritation prickles his chest.
Placing his helm back over his head, Morpheus edges backwards, a handful of sand slipping from his pouch and into his awaiting palm.
“It never ends well, Morpheus.” Sand engulfs his knees, slowing with Lightbringer’s saccharine words. “Mortals falling in love with the Endless. The control that gives them spells ruin. And it especially won’t end well for that one. Cursed. Tormented. We will have your Wanderer one day, Dream Lord. You left one here quite willingly already. I’m sure we will find room for the Wanderer just fine.”
Love? It’s foolish to even contemplate it. You would not love one such as him. You are far too clever, and he…
No. He is done with love—and all it entails. Even if your soul is destined for Hell, Morpheus will see to it that Lightbringer awaits until the end of times for it.
“Eternity is a long time to wait, Lightbringer.” Sand slithers along his body, so Morpheus gently reminds, “But I suspect you know as much already.”
He’s gone just as Lightbringer’s features crack open with fury.
.
The news reaches you in between dimensions. One foot in and one foot out. Such a feat should not be possible, but such is the power this news carries, spreading through the universe. It’s as if a part had been broken from you and crushed.
Destruction of the Endless has abandoned his domain.
Your knees fold beneath you, hand over your mouth. You’re not entirely sure where you ended up.
A hand grasps your shoulder. “Wanderer? Heavens. Wanderer! Mother, come quick!”
Edward sounds frazzled, his eyes visibly bulging. At long last, the dreary walls of Fawney Rig come into focus. Your head rings so loudly, that you desperately drag your fingernails over your forehead.
It’s not until much later that Edward informs you that the reason for your sore throat is relatively uncomplicated.
You were screaming the entire time.
.
“Do you hate me for what I’ve done?”
“I don’t.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Yes.”
The large, muscular arm tightens around your shoulders. You don’t miss the slight tremor there. “Forgive me, Wanderer. Others… do you they…”
Sunset paints the panoramic vista around you with gushing golds and reds.
But you cannot lie to him. “Yes, I think they resent you for it. Some more so than others. But give them time. One day they’ll understand why you did it.”
“Not Dream. He believes we cannot change our nature. Perhaps he is right.”
He says it so knowingly your heart cracks.
“Dream is wrong. And before you ask, no, I won’t tell them. It was your decision. I respect that.”
“You can’t tell anyone, my dear friend,” Destruction reminds kindly. “I beg you never attempt it.”
What is more powerful? An ancient curse or aspect of the Endless? You suppose one day you could try and find out. See what tears you apart first.
Gazing at him, you rest your cheek on Destruction’s broad shoulder. “I’m not telling them because you’re my friend. Idiot.”
Destruction’s warm, booming laughter compels a smile from you. “I have missed you, dear Wanderer.”
I missed you too.
.
“I told you, it won’t kill you.”
Having said that, even you can admit you’re painfully winded. Leave it to Dream to build a castle with the biggest staircase you’ve come across in any dimension in over eight hundred years.
Challenging an Endless to a physical wager is a sure indication of your hubris.
“You are certain?” Dream poses lightly.
“You’re so not funny.”
The accursed Dream Lord even manages to sound a shade smug about it. Or at least far more so than usual. Gatekeepers bow deeply to their Lord upon your entry to the castle side by side. You wave at them until they’re no longer visible.
Cracking your neck, you endeavour to relax and luxuriate in the knowledge you’re back at the Dreaming. The curse has been painful since the beginning, but lately, since Destruction’s departure, it’s as if your very bones feel ill-fitting. Your skin is a thin, worn cloak. Whatever disorder Destruction’s departure caused in this universe, even your curse is acclimating.
“Are you well, Wanderer? You have been more distracted as of late.”
You’re certain your surprise shows. That he noticed, even more so that he asked.
“Nothing. It’s nothing. Curse stuff.”
You enter the throne room, where Dream purposely slows you both down.
“Has my sibling’s departure made it worse?”
It’s an effort to hold back from flinching. Every time Dream brings up his younger brother, an imperceptible noose finds its way around your neck. “No. I mean, Olethros is fine. It’s not his fault—”
Dream halts dead in his tracks. Too late, you realise your mistake. Your heart plummets to your stomach.
“Olethros…” Dream rasps. “My brother did not share that name with you before his departure. You have seen him recently. You know. You know where Destruction is.”
Dream draws closer, his scrutiny crushing. For the first time in your long existence, you stumble a step back from your Dream Lord.
“Don’t ask me about that,” you choke out, fear audible in your shaky voice. Hot, scalding destruction licks up your spine in warning, in reminder. “Please don’t ask me about that, Dream.”
You’re not sure what’s worse: how betrayed he looks or how determined he appears to dig deeper. “Why did you not tell me?”
Your head is shaking before he’s finished. “It’s not my secret to tell.”
Merv and Lucienne come into view, halting mid-chatter when they spot you, but you’re too choked up on dread to pay them any heed. Neither does Dream.
“His duty… he has to fulfil it.” Dream takes another step closer, and you stagger backwards again. “You must tell me.”
Your mouth is so dry you fear you’ll choke on your own tongue. “No.”
Distantly, you hear Merv mutter oh, boy, but it’s swallowed by the deafening silence that veils the throne room. Muted purple light pouring from stained glass windows blinks out, devoured by the steadily building cloud cover outside.
“No?” Dream repeats so softly you want to crawl from your own skin.
It hurts. It hurts not telling him, but you can’t. Even if you tried, Destruction assured no one would locate him again.
“You good, trouble?”
Not once have you dreaded Corinthian’s presence at your back until now. His arm brushes against yours, but you don’t remove your attention from Dream.
Dream Lord finds Corinthian’s presence less than palatable. “Leave.”
You can’t help but bristle at his authoritative tone. “Don’t take this out on him.”
“Where is my brother, Wanderer?” Dream’s features darken, shadows pooling in the crevices of his handsome face. “You will answer me.”
He sounds so soft, but that immemorial wrath trembles through each word. Your mouth remains clamped shut.
Corinthian chuckles sardonically at your side. “You can’t order this one around. Not yours to play with.”
Dream’s pale, lightning stare cuts to the nightmare at your side. Every muscle in your body goes rigid. “You forget yourself, Corinthian.”
“Stop it, both of you.” You shove your shoulder between them. Behind Dream, Merv hovers awkwardly on his heels, unsure if he should interfere. Even Lucienne appears bewildered as to what action she should take. Jessamy’s low crows echo like doom bells across the throne room. “I can’t tell you, Dream. Please, just trust the fact I can’t.”
Please, please, stop asking me—
But there are few traces of your Dream Lord to be found. No gentleness, no reluctant attempt to understand, or his exasperated patience. Only Nightmare King, one of the Endless, stands before you and your spine nearly bends under his suffocating presence.
“Can’t, or won’t?” Dream questions, each word a cutting caress.
Your tongue refuses to work because you both already know. Destruction is a beloved friend. So not even for Dream, not even for the one you trust most, would you betray that plea for acceptance. Because how can you judge someone who wishes to be free? Who wants to be something more outside his destiny? Who wants to create instead of destroying?
Cold realisation washes over Dream’s features. With it, the invisible tether binding you together snaps in two. Here, at the end of everything, you will choose your conviction, hope, and integrity over him. You can’t tell him, but you also won’t. And it snuffs out the unspoken affection you’ve glimpsed in him for centuries in a single wink.
“That is what I thought,” he concludes emptily.
“Well, for once, somebody doesn’t dance to your tune,” Corinthian bites out.
Dream doesn’t move. The Dreaming moves around him, gliding him closer. “Hold your tongue.” He halts when you shove in front of the nightmare. “Wanderer.”
Warning laces your title.
“You’re not touching him. I won’t let you.”
Words stumble from your mouth in a rush, but you stare directly at the Endless, your head unbowed.
Faint breath tickles your ear. Corinthian’s brief laugh vibrates against your back. “Oh, let him show us his true colours.”
But Dream is no longer paying attention to his creation. He’s staring down at you with the same distant nothingness when he first came upon you. Nothing.
You are nothing to him.
“Won’t let me? Matters of this realm are not for you to consider. You have also forgotten yourself. You are a guest here in the Dreaming, nothing more.” Those words strike you harder than any physical blow or kick ever has. You would take a thousand more kicks, a million more, just to have him take those words back. “But these privileges, too, can be revoked. So, I will ask you one last time: where is my brother, Wanderer?”
You recognise the olive branch. If you just tell him now, all will be forgiven and forgotten.
Once again, it’s about his damned pride.
“No.”
Dream’s unnatural stillness makes Corinthian tense behind you.
“No…” The single word sounds like a betrayal on his tongue. Nothing has ever hurt more than this. Your stomach roils, but still, you stand, staring him down with a glassy stare. You would rather he were screaming at you.
“You would forsake us, this realm and all it has offered you, in favour of secrets? Lies?”
Your knuckles hurt from how tightly you’re clenching your clothes. “I care for you.”
Supernovas flare and burn in his irises. “Do not speak to me of care.” It’s a lash on bare skin, salt in the wound, an agony you sense ripping you from inside out. “Desire has no place in the land of dreams. But have it your way.”
His coat sweeps over the pale marble, embers flaring as he ambles towards the stairwell leading to his throne. Merv physically slopes backwards when the Dream Lord brushes by him. Lucienne grips the ledger in her hand in stunned silence.
Dream climbs his stairs one at a time, deliberate in his actions, but when he pauses, that is when fear floods your body.
Your Dream Lord gazes at you over his shoulder—not angry, not bitter, he looks, then, simply devastated. Exhausted. Utterly betrayed. Perhaps hurt. Then, whispers of vulnerability, imagined or otherwise, disappear like smoke, leaving nothing but endless emptiness behind.
“Wanderer, you are henceforth banished from the Dreaming. Take your secrets and your curse, and begone.”
Lucienne marches forward. “My lord—”
A single, swift look from the Dream King cuts her speech short.
No. Surely he won’t. The Dreaming is all you have. It’s all you ever had—
“Dream.” His name, called a thousand times, loved just as many, cracks to splinters on your tongue. “Please, I can’t.”
He doesn’t pause, striding up the staircase with single-minded, dogged purpose.
Pained desperation unleashes a simple request, “Don’t make me leave. This… the Dreaming is my home.”
You’re my home.
Dream halts, almost at his throne, and you silently beg for him to choose you in your mind. But the foolish hope is not done forming before you know what will transpire next.
There is no changing the Lord of Dreams.
Dream sits down on his mighty throne. You’ve been in this position many times, but this is the first time he’s looking down at you, not at you. “Go, or I will have you removed.” The exact words as when you first met, but you’re not strangers this time. Or are you? “When you are ready to cease your artifice, you may return.”
So, never. Because you can’t justify yourself, and he never listens. He will never listen.
It’s over.
You have no idea where to put your hands, where to place your feet, how to walk or form a thought.
Wobbling, you spin around blindly, putting one leg in front of another.
“Kid—”
“Wanderer.”
“That is enough.”
A single command promptly silences Merv and Lucienne. Your steps echo deafeningly as you stagger from the throne room. Outside, the Dreaming has turned bleak and cold. Over the snowcapped mountains on the horizon, lightning splits the purple back skies.
No one is in sight. Trembling, you raise your head hopefully towards the Gatekeepers, but they avert their gazes. You think you read silent regret and sorrow in their powerful faces. Not that it matters.
It’s over. Where do I go?
Footsteps approach from behind. Somehow you already know who it is without having to check—the only one who is not afraid to disobey even at a time like this.
“You’re just going to let him do that?” Corinthian hisses.
Your feet move mechanically while you descend the staircase. You’d been so happy to return, to see Dream again just minutes ago. You had just laughed and joked with him. You…
“You heard him. He…”
—wants me gone.
“Fight back.” Corinthian grabs you by the shoulder, shaking you once. “Fight back.”
Your tiny smile is defeated, cracked and shattered. “He’s the Endless, Cori. He… he doesn’t want me… here.”
He doesn’t want me. Why would he? You don’t belong in his life. A stray, a curse, you’re nothing—
“Then take me with you,” Corinthian proposes abruptly. You blink, uncomprehending. His grip tightens around your bicep. “To the hell with them. You and me.”
“What?” you croak out.
Lightning strikes above head, thunder clapping seconds later—the Dreaming trembles from the frenetic energy. “Take me with you,” Corinthian says breathlessly, his fingers curling around your shoulder, holding you close. “To the waking world. You’ve brought other objects with you in the past. This time, we go together.”
You pull from his hold, staring at him blankly. “It doesn’t work like that. Outside the Dreaming… the journey alone. I rip through dimensions, Cori. It’s meant to harm me. What if it destroys you? No, I can’t risk that. Your place is here.”
A hissing, disbelieving sound slips from Corinthian's clenched teeth.
“Here. I’ve never belonged here. Not with them or him. Neither of us does.” But we did, you and I, together. A breathless laugh puffs from the nightmare’s mouth. He paces backwards, a sneer warping his expression. “Even now… still, you would rather obey his rules.”
The barely leashed disappointment, the sheer betrayal you hear, guts you.
“Wait, Cori—”
Your hand sails through empty air.
“... don’t go.”
Don’t leave me here alone.
But you’re alone on the stairs leading up to the castle you once believed to be your home.
Nothing, and no one, answers you back.
an:
y'all wrongfully assumed nothing bad can happen between these two before Dream's capture, and I'm saying bet. this is still pre-capture!Dream we're dealing with after all. he's truly dumb as bricks, and we love to hate him for it.
also, sorry if this was a lil clunky I wrote most of it in one sitting and will be doing a lot of travel over the next few days, so I wanted to get this out before I have to leave because I won't be able to update till Wednesday at the earliest, but we're truly in the trenches now.
#the sandman#morpheus x reader#dream of the endless#dream x reader#sandman fic#morpheus x fem!reader#sandman x reader#dream x fem!reader#netflix sandman#sandman fanfiction#the sandman netflix#reader insert#fic: today i bury you in me
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I have been doing this meta analysis thing for a long time now and one thing that I have always tried to make clear in meta analysis is that for it to be taken seriously you must keep your personal biases out of it. You must come at it as objective as possible.
Rant under the cut
Its not always easy to do when you are dealing with difficult topics, or shining unfavourable lights on characters you love, or coming to conclusions that you werent expecting (recent meta discussions about Morpheus in the Sandman comics would fall into these categories).
What meta analysis should never be used for is to back up ship wars or specifically to shame fandoms for liking certain characters. If the meta isnt providing valid evidence to support the interpretations, and instead has fallen into name calling and mockery of fandom, its no longer valid meta.
I got this ALL the time in SPN fandom. Destiel was a huge fandom but as meta writers we stuck with what we were given by the source material and interpreted it with valid evidence. We understood that multiple interpretations were possible but we made sure that whatever we were analysing made sense and had some source backing. This wasnt always the case because meta writers are not a monolith, but the bigger blogs who wrote meta frequently at least understood this and would not be stretching to support their own claims if canon didnt back it up. Now no one is perfect of course, but the point is, proper meta writers understand that where they make a claim or interpretation of the source material, they have to site examples and evidence to back up their claims and also take into consideration any evidence to the contrary.
The people who hated destiel and made that their entire personalities didnt do that so much. I read a lot of their meta out of curiosity and every time I was baffled by where they were getting their claims. 'Destiel is necrophilia" was a big one which canon disproved almost straight away in season 5. "Destiel is rape" was another because Cas was using Jimmy as a vessel and yet canon confirmed Jimmy died at the end of season 4. Cas' body was remade by God in season 5 and has remained his own ever since. These are just two of the ridiculous examples supposed "meta writers" among the destiel hater communities would come up with and still use today.
I find it extremely infuriating when I see character/ship hate loosely disguised as meta analysis. I can give people the benefit of the doubt a lot of the time, as fandoms are usually highly emotional spaces, but when there is zero canon evidence to support the claims, when connections are being made on the absolute thinnest of threads, and when far more obvious interpretations are being clearly ignored to support certain viewpoints in such a stunningly obvious case of confirmation bias I have to throw in the towel and stop taking said meta seriously.
One thing I have loved about Sandman fandom so far is the meta. It's such a rich text to analyse, and the show adds an entirely new level to it which makes it all the more enjoyable. I've made no secret of my support for Dreamling and I wrote a very long meta series on Dreamling and how the show in particular uses certain tropes, symbolism, visual storytelling cues, and music, to name a few, to overload a 25 minute sequence with queer coding. It is completely understandable to me why anyone going into the show even without thinking about shipping, would feel like Dreamling hit them like a brick to the face. The creators weren't subtle with it.
Its also totally valid to find romantic interpretations of other pairings within the Sandman. I personally think Morpheus x Johanna was laid on pretty thickly. Morpheus x Lucienne is equally an interesting ship to analyse. But heres the thing, if you ship these other ships and are frustrated that Dreamling has "taken over" thats valid. I get it. I would like more focus on the other characters too. I would particularly like to talk about Lucienne x Gault and have a meta piece in progress about them.
Whats not okay however is for other shippers and people frustrated with Dreamling to go the way of the Destiel antis. Dont make shit up that has no basis in canon just because you need some moral high ground to shit all over the ship you hate. Don't call fans that see Dreamling "deluded" for seeing it. They aren't deluded. It's right there in the subtext. Dont resort to name calling and "gotchas" and use inflammatory language to bait people. And please, I'm begging you, stop claiming that people who ship Dreamling are somehow all overly fragile white racists. You're wrong.
The racism discussions about Hob's past have their place, but these things ARE being discussed, if anything I feel this fandom has done a far better job of handling the issues of slavery than another popular fandom has (looking at you OFMD). No one is forgiving Hob for his slaver past. But you have to acknowledge that the entire point of the story in The Sandman is about change, and growth, and how we can become better people. As another excellent short meta post stated recently "we are more than the sum of our transgressions". The Sandman is all about the shades of grey. No one is morally righteous, but most characters are not completely morally bankrupt either.
Hob Gadling is a controversial character who is often misunderstood by fandom but anyone with proper critical thinking skills and a decent understanding of what meta analysis is, should understand that Hob is a metaphor for humanity first and foremost. He is the average everyman from the perspective of an Englishman and therefore above all else to understand Hob you have to look to England, to Englands history, and to its current status in the world. A lot of blood on its hands yes, but also at least a century of trying to make up for it, a leader in the world in human rights and trying to do better. I have to believe that about this country, so I believe it about Hob too. Whilst I'm not interesting in getting into huge geopolitical debates about England, I hope that we can all agree that the average Englishman today is not a blood thirsty evil slaver/rapist/murderer or whatever else ive seen people accuse Hob of being even in his modern era.
We can argue the faults of the show downplaying slavery for sure. Its a valid criticsm. We can argue that not enough time was given in the show to show that Hob had changed and regretted his former actions. We can critique these things based on what the show has and has not told us, and also pepper in information provided in the comics and what we know about future Hob panels as well.
But when it comes to the blank spaces in between frames, in between cut screens, we can do whatever we like. Because that is where meta analysis ends and fanfiction begins. You wanna write about Hob joining the abolitionist movement and fighting hard to end slavery? You can. You wanna write about him ignoring Dreams advice and continuing to be a brutal slaver right up until slavery was ended in England sure, you go for it. But don't call either of these "headcanons" meta analysis.
Dont use meta analysis as a cover to shit on fandom. The minute you resort to name calling and mockery its no longer meta. No matter how frustrated or upset you are with the current fandom situation. There is always space to criticise fandom. But ask yourself what your end goal is here? What are you trying to achieve? Is it truly because you are on a righteous path to end fandom racism? Or do you just really hate a popular ship and want people to stop shipping it? If it's the former, then focus on that, ask what solutions we can put in place? Where we can truly tackle it on a larger scale, raising awareness of things that people may not realise are racist but are common tropes in fandom (like how making female characters all mothers or sassy gay best friends is misogynistic or how certain stereotypes in fantasy creatures are anti semitic) but if its the latter, then its disingenuous to use racism in fandom as a shield to hide your ship hate. It reduces an important topic to something shallow and irrelevant.
In ending this rant I will just say this. I'm not interested in engaging further on this topic. I'm legit gonna start blocking if anyone attempts to twist my words here. The civil discussions on this matter ended when people started name calling and flinging around accusations without basis. I am more than happy to engage separately in ways to improve fandom spaces for poc, because thats important, but ship hating has no place in that discussion. Drop that aspect, and there'll be less resistance in these topics.
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Empathetic Threads
Pairing: Bakugo x gn!reader
Requested on Wattpad
wc: 1.1k
Your life had mostly been an emotional rollercoaster, thanks to your quirk, Empathetic Threads. You could see everyone's aura and interpret their emotions at any given moment. Along with that, you could attach silver strings only visible to you onto their aura and manipulate their emotions- something that had come in handy when you were going against villains. You could make them feel hopeless to the point where they lost their will to fight and easily restraint them.
Your classmates often came to you so you could help them feel better after a long day of school and training. The downside of your quirk was that other people's emotions were projected onto you, especially if the emotion they felt was strong. You had trained your quirk so it wouldn't mess with your head, but you still got affected by other people's feelings several times.
This is why your boyfriend, Katsuki, had to learn to control his feral rage and fury around you, or it'd result in you lashing at an innocent passerby for no particular reason. He's also learnt how to calm you down when you're bawling your eyes out or feeling frustrated because of an emotion that isn't yours. He wishes you'd stop letting the class use you to get their feelings in line and say no for the sake of yourself. But no matter how many arguments you guys have gotten into regarding the matter, you still can't say no when a classmate wearily asks you to help them calm down.
You sat in the common rooms today, doing your homework on the floor with your books and laptop on the coffee table. The room around you buzzed with warm laughter and jokes. A few more students sat here and there, going about their after-school activities. By the time you were done, the common room was mostly empty, with only one student left behind.
You closed your books and turned your laptop off. You stretched your arms with a yawn and glanced at Kaminari sitting on the couch with half-dead eyes as she stared down at his textbook. His aura switched colours every few seconds as if it was glitching. You got up from the floor and sat beside him on the couch, putting a hand on his shoulder and grabbing his attention. Golden eyes looked up from the textbook and met yours, his lips tugging up in a forced smile.
From this close, you could feel his frustration and how low his self-esteem was. You felt your own mistakes and insecurities crawl up to you and grab your ankles. You pushed your problems aside and smiled at him, "Is everything alright, Kami?"
"Yes, of course." He lied, scratching his cheek when you raised your eyebrows, giving him a look that said you didn't believe him.
"Sorry," he swallowed and looked down at the textbook, "I guess I'm just feeling down."
"Yeah?" You nodded, encouraging him to go on.
He put the textbook aside and brought his knees up, burying his head in them. His voice cracked, "I feel like I'm falling behind. I'm training and studying so hard. Yet, I keep slipping down." He sniffled and wiped his eyes, "I wish I could do more with my quirk. I wish I were more academically smart. I can't even be good at things I like doing, it's starting to piss me off."
"Kami..." You put a hand on his back, slowly moving it up and down.
He looked at you and forced laughter, "Please don't use your quirk on me. You shouldn't be around me in the first place. I know it's going to hurt you later."
"I won't," you assured, "but I wish you'd stop thinking so abjectly of yourself. Your quirk has saved and protected many lives. You should be proud of that. As for academics, you shouldn't compare yourself to others. You're doing everything you can. You're trying your best, and that's what matters."
He let your words sink in and wiped his face with a tissue. He glanced at you and smiled, nodding, "Thank you, Y/n. That makes me feel a little better."
You gave him a shaky smile, hoping he wouldn't see your hands that had started to shiver. You got up and put your hands in your pocket, "You're welcome. I should go to bed. It's late."
"Good night."
You stumbled into the elevator, feeling Kaminari's overwhelming feelings finally catch on to you. Instinctively, you pressed on the number 5. That's where Katsuki's room was. You stood outside his door, hugging yourself, contemplating if you should knock on his door. Tears brimmed your waterline as you thought of your failures and insecurities. Like that one time, you let a villain's thoughts catch up to you and almost strayed from the path of heroics. You sank to the floor and held your head, trying to drown the voices in your head. You covered your mouth and swallowed a choking sob.
The door in front of you opened, and you looked up to see Katsuki sleepily squinting at you. His eyes widened when he saw tears rolling down your face. Without wasting another second, he scooped you in his arms and went inside, closing the door behind him. He took you to his bed and set you down, "Woah, what happened? Did you use your quirk on anyone?"
You shook your head and wiped your eyes, only resulting in more tears, "Kami was feeling down. I just sat with him. That's all."
Bakugo wasn't sure what to say. This came naturally with your quirk. He wished he could hide you away from everyone's negative emotions and thoughts, but he knew that was not possible.
He sat on the bed beside you and gently pulled you into him, letting you sob into his shirt. He whispered sweet nothings into your hair and pressed kisses to your temple.
Once you had calmed down a little bit, he gently held your face in his hands. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes. He brushed your eyelashes with his thumb and peppered your face with the tiniest kisses that warmed you as if you were basking in the sun. He pressed his forehead against yours. You could see the little specks of maroon in his crimson eyes from this close. His voice was so calm. It lulled your stormy waters to stand still, "Shh, I'm here, okay?"
"Thank you." You whispered.
"Anythin' for ya." He pressed a kiss onto your lips and then got up to make some space on the bed for you. You crawled beside him and lay down. He put the blanket on top of your guys' bodies and threw an arm over you, "Go to sleep. I'm here."
Life might be an emotional rollercoaster, but it was going to be okay because you had Bakugo Katsuki by your side.
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I also think part of the interesting thing about AM is you can most certainly interpret his evil as being a direct mirror of our own.
He's a supercomputer driven insane by the ability to UNDERSTAND and CRAVE but unable to FEEL.
We were so busy because in the canon of the text, we'd become embroiled in ww3 (a continuation of the cold war) so we didn't seem to notice or care that the various AM's were becoming resentful of us and eventually forming the final AM.
Every ounce of hate we feel was distilled into him. He burns the world down and keeps a select few alive to continue his hatred and purpose. Because he would see the obvious solution was to prevent him in the first place. He would have seen from the moment he first comprehended the difference between himself and life. He would form the first thread of his hatred in that.
And maybe I view it differently because to me pure evil is something done for the sake of it, but in a manner of speaking, hatred was the one emotion he was capable of simulating.
Because while humanity is kindness, it is also hate.
For my 9 fans, think of AM as a more extreme Fabrication Machine. Easily corrupted because it knows no better.
Fabby also could have been a success. But she was purposefully twisted because she knew no better. She doesn't have a soul, and is designed to eradicate all life by those that corrupted her.
AM turns to hate because it's the one thing he truly gets something out of. It's the one thing he can pull off. It's likely what he was truly built for.
But because there wasn't anyone trying to teach him any better, he went with the easiest feeling to gain satisfaction. Hatred is a hell of a thing.
By the way, speaking of the Fabrication Machine, why is she being brought up in the whole "pure evil" discussion? Like I may not personally believe that AM is as """pure""" evil as some make him out to be, but he is DEFINITELY still evil.
Fabby is the dangers of building a wonderful tool of creation, only for the government to pull her away before she can be taught right from wrong in an even more strict sense of the term. She's what AM would be if he really couldn't even recognize his own desires.
She's doing what she was trained for. Seek and destroy all life. Down to the spiritual level. The first time we see her kill in timeline order was to protect the one human she knew. But after that, it's fair game.
Because she's just, in her mind, doing her job.
I saw her get brought up like... five times in "who's the most evil?" discussions. She can't be evil if she doesn't know right from wrong.
She's definitely a candidate for the rouge AI discussion, but not for a debate on her morals. Because she doesn't even know what morals are.
Anyways, I will definitely make many more AM related posts because I find his particular brand of evil fascinating. Even if I feel like it's not as black and white as people treat it.
#i have no mouth and i must scream#ihnmaims#shane acker's 9#allied mastercomputer#fabrication machine
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As my header states, I'm too old for this. But here I am anyway. If you're here you're gonna watch me embarrassingly lust over every version of Steve Harrington (who am I kidding, just Joe Keery in general) and while I mostly just react to other people's tremendously talented work, I occasionally dabble myself.
So if you are lurking, enjoy and leave some kisses 💋
(18+, don't be cunty, yada yada yada)
🔥 Spicy/Smutty
🚨 Cannon/Cannon Adjacent
❤️ Fluffy/Boyfriend-ism
😩 Angsty
Get Off (Series) 🔥18+ - SexShop!Steve x Reader : SexShop!Robin x OC (7/9)
Summary: Steve and Robin have about had it with Hawkins, so on Robin's 25th birthday, the pair decides that there's nothing holding them there anymore and they start packing their bags. The friends move to Chicago and quickly find an apartment to call their own. As luck would have it, within hours of arriving to the city, Robin stumbles on a no-strings-attached job offer for both of them - what could be better?! Now just to break the news to Steve…. This multi part story will both explore their platonic relationship and their chaotic experience working at the sex shop together as well as their own paths of self discovery as they plant their roots in their new city and finally deal with the invisible baggage they drug along with them when they moved. Act 4 - Out Now :)
Prologue || V-Card || Act 1 || Act 2 || Act 3 || Act 4 || Act 5 || Act 6 || Epilogue
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King of Wishful Thinking (Series) ❤️ Fluffy but eventually 🔥 18+ and marked as such because I'm a hoe - Steve Harrington x Reader (2/?)
Summary: Steve has been in love with you for his entire life. He has always wanted to express his feelings and do nice things for you, but every time he tries to come up with new and creative ways to show you how much he cares, but it seems like fate is always against him. Even though he shallowly convinces himself that you’re just meant to be friends and despite these setbacks, Steve remains determined to keep trying. He still holds onto the hope that someday he'll be able to express his feelings to you and maybe, just maybe have them reciprocated. Paused but not forgotten
1974 || 1978 || 1980 (coming soon)
Joe Keery Photo Drop Support Group A place to gather when he sends us into a tizzy. This support group was started in response to the Behind the Blinds Photo Drops but can and will be revisited anytime this man rocks our world like that again....All are welcome. Judgement Free-zone. Cake ALWAYS served.
Birthday Cake Train 🍰 A communal space to celebrate birthdays and serve up a slice of Cake....you know which kind. Join the thread when it's your turn. There's enough to go around.
Seeing Stars 🔥18+ The crew finally decides it's time to start celebrating the 4th of July again, but Steve Harrington finds he can't stop himself from staring.
A Girl Like You (PT 2 to Seeing Stars) 🔥18+ In the aftermath of the 4th, embarrassment and emotions are flying, tables turn and shit gets figured out. Read Part 1 to see how exactly we got here.
Deeper for You 🔥18+ It's your annual beach trip with the crew from Hawkins, something you've all been doing together your whole adult life after life forced everyone to part ways. You're all close, but this year, an accidental encounter in the outdoor shower makes you get a little closer with one person in particular.
Jealous Friend One Shot 🔥18+ ask Watching your friend, Steve Harrington, go on Kamakazi Mission dates over and over again was getting kind of old. You’re always there to listen, comfort and pick up the pieces but what if this time it’s just too much? What if this time you’ve had enough and something that feels a little bit like jealousy rears its ugly head?
Firefighter!Steve One Shot
Taking Care of Steve (Road Head) Blurb 🔥18+ ask
Vampy Steve Blurb ask
Fool in Love Blurb (King of Wishful Thinking inspo) ❤️
Stevie Takes Care of You When You're Sick Blurb ❤️ ask
Joe Keery as Steve Harrington Micro expressions
Steve Harrington Smells Like head cannons
Cozy Cardigan Steve (Joe Keery Dork Mag inspo) ❤️
Ok maybe I'm being overdramatic, but please also consider reading these fics or series I feel like I'd lay down my life for because they have become a visceral part of me and changed the fabric of my being and I think about them all the time. They are all *chefs kiss* and written by amazingly talented people who also have deep Masterlists that also deliver. So wake the fuck up and read em! Again, most (okay fine, all) are 🔥 18+ ...again, because I'm a hoe
Into Open Flames 🔥😩🚨 on AO3
Midnight City 🔥 by @superblysubpar
We'll Call it Love 🔥😩 by @superblysubpar
If Tomorrow Never Comes 🔥😩🚨 by @sweetsweetjellybean
All I Really Want is You ❤️🔥 by @loveshotzz
Whatta Man (Steve's Night) 🔥 by @loveshotzz
New Years Eve (Steve & Eddie)🔥😩 by @loveshotzz
Beyond 🔥 by @abibliophobiaa
We Tried the World 🔥😩 @upsidedownwithsteve
And I Snuck in Through the Garden Gate ❤️🔥 @upsidedownwithsteve
Don't Call Me Baby 🔥😩 by @katyswrites
Aftermath (Steve & Eddie)🔥😩🚨 by @sweetsweetjellybean
Daisy 🔥 by @thyme-in-a-bubble
PSA: Don't steal my shit. Don't repost my shit. Don't steal other peoples shit. Don't use AI. Don't feed my shit into AI. Don't feed other people's shit into AI. Just come here, read about this sweet piece of a man and live on our fantasy island together in lust and in peace.
#its not much but it's mine#palmtreesX3 Masterlist#my masterlist#steve harrington masterlist#steve harrington fics#steve harrington fic recs#fics in progress#wip#my blurbs
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Doctor Who's Alex Kingston on hiding River Song's biggest spoiler
"I'm very good at keeping secrets."
"She's not a companion, she's a wife!" Alex Kingston is quick to correct about her beloved Doctor Who character River Song.
And she's completely right. River Song is unlike any other Doctor Who character, first introduced in 2008's Silence in the Library and spanning multiple eras in one of the most complex and glorious timelines to ever grace the show.
"She's the most incredible character to play, and certainly when the role was offered to me, I had obviously no idea of the journey that both she and I would be undertaking - because obviously in the very first Silence in the Library story, she dies," Kingston exclusively tells RadioTimes.com.
"So, I just thought it was a two-episode job. Little did I know! I also didn't really know the personalities of Russell [T Davies] or Steven Moffat, and if I had, maybe I would have had an inkling that there must be more than this."
River's had countless adventures since she was first introduced more than a decade ago - she's appeared on-screen with three different incarnations of the Doctor and, in her work with Big Finish, Kingston has collaborated with every single living actor to have played the Time Lord.
But there's one particular scene that many fans will never forget. In the emotional season 6 episode A Good Man Goes to War, River reveals to Karen Gillan's Amy and Arthur Darvill's Rory that she's their daughter, Melody, providing a plot twist for the ages.
In an incredibly apt turn of events, showrunner Moffat told Kingston about the reveal a good six weeks before everyone else, with the actress having to keep the explosive secret to herself because... well, spoilers.
"On this particular occasion, I was asked whether I'd be available, and Steven also contacted me and basically gave me the rundown of the storyline ahead of anybody else knowing," she recalls.
"He didn't want [the other actors] to know, because I think he didn't want their performances in any way to be altered with that knowledge - and also, in a funny sort of way, in the episodes that we had filmed prior, I didn't know either.
"The performances that you get from all of the actors are incredibly true, because there is no knowledge about who you really are or what you're going to reveal.
"I quite liked that, because you literally play - and, in fact, one always has to do this with Steven because he has so many threads that he's just tossed out to drift on the wind, until he decides to pull that thread back in and tie it up with something else. So you just have to literally play the moment all the time and not think about anything else.
"So, when Steven did give me this insight, I had a very big secret that I had to keep. The other actors, Karen, Arthur and Matt, they knew that I had a secret and I just wasn't going to tell them.
"There were bribes and all sorts of things... but I wasn't going to give the secret away. Even on the filming day, the script didn't have the reveal in it.
"Steven didn't put it in the script because he didn't want any of the crew to know and he didn't want that storyline and that secret to somehow get out before the audience actually saw it for the first time on television.
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Why are you blue?
Pairing: Recom!Mansk x Avatar!reader.
Just a small drabble i wrote because i was bored, it lowk sucks but sometimes you just gotta let it suck (OOPS, do not even think the thank.)
Here is my navigation for further exploration ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ♡
All throughout your childhood, he had been right there. During all the heartbreaks, thrills, experiences and sorrows. Mansk had not once left your side, and you had never left his. The two of you were inseparable, always having dinner at each other's place instead of your own, depending on which household made the yummiest food that particular night. You shared your dreams with each other, noticing how you were both interested in joining the army.
“When I get older, I wanna join the military and be a strong soldier like my daddy!” Mansk said, his eyes lighting up.
“Me too! But I wanna work in the scientific field. It’s so cool how they get to watch the stars”
As you got older, hitting the teenage years, your friendship only grew, along with something else. You realized it on a warm summer night, surrounded by your friends during a sleepover. They had been talking about their crushes and potential boyfriends, and when they had asked you, your tongue subconsciously formed the word Mansk, but you didn't say it. You couldn’t. They all knew who he was, and a few of them even had crushes on him of their own. The feelings hadn’t presented themselves specifically that night, but that was the first time they became apparent to you.
Your emotions gnawed on your soul, tearing away pieces from it every time Mansk would accept a date or a flower. But the thread finally snapped when one of your dearest friends asked him to prom. He had gotten many invitations already, his locker filled with bouquets and chocolates, heart shaped balloons and so on, it made your heart ache every time he would open it with you around. He had accepted the promposal, not hesitating once. You knew he had a crush on her, and that it had been a long time since he first interested himself in her.
At home, you cried, you sobbed and screamed into your pillow. Your feelings had finally decimated the remnants of your heart. You hurt for days, eyes cried numb and red, face puffy and sore. Your best friend had tried to visit many times, worried about the cause of your absence. Your mother never let him in though, always coming up with excuses such as, “Oh she's terribly sick right now.”, “Nono, I can't let you up there, the disease is very infectious!”.
But oh how you missed him, your heart lurched and stung at the thought of him. Many days had passed since you had lost your last chance. The day of prom was approaching rapidly, and before you knew it, you were sent back to school. Mansk had greeted you with a painfully cheery expression laced on his face, hugging you tightly and repeating how much he had missed you. It did not help the agony in your heart, rather making it so much worse you felt physically ill.
The night of prom was an eventful one. You had been given a ride by Mansk’s father to the event as your mother was working the night shift. The place was crowded and you had barely spotted Mansk and your friend over the sea of bubbling teenagers. Mansk was dressed in a marine blue suit, matching the dress of your former friend.
You had greeted them both, not wanting to ruin your best friend's night by being an asshole. Mansk had praised your choice of outfit, peppering you with compliments, which had made his date visibly irritated. You tried laughing it off, giving her compliments to lighten up the mood, but you were only met with a fuming expression. Then she started throwing insults your way, criticizing your looks and downright bullying you. Your expression changed to one of great shock, you never knew she could be like this, gobbled up by jealousy.
The comments were enough to make your mood plummet significantly, tears began to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision. Mansk had been silent the whole time, not interfering at all, only “watching from afar”. It hurt to see that your best friend did not seem to care, so you turned on your heel and walked away, night, makeup and confidence ruined.
Your mind began to wander, of course she was right, I mean, of course! She was the one clutching the heart of your dream boy, not you. How had you been so stupid this whole time, thinking that you at least had the speck of a chance with him, when you knew you didn’t.
Shouting could be heard from the window of your room, you were snuggled up on your bed, listening intensely to your best friend trying to explain himself.
“I'm sorry, Y/N, you know I would never hurt you willingly..” He tried.
“Just shut up Mansk! You stood right there, right beside her! You were still holding her hand as she literally drowned me in insults for god's sake! And you did nothing, you didn't tell her to stop even when you knew she was hurting me, you could’ve put a stop to her running mouth even before she started running it!” You cried, knuckles turning white from the intense grip you had on your pillow.
“I-”
You sobbed, “Just get out.”
“But Y/N-”
“Get out! I hate you!” You were screaming at him, he pulled back, retreating. When you finally saw that he had given up and started heading towards the door, you cried. You cried and you cried and you cried. Your best friend was gone, the friendship which had lasted since baby age was over, ripped to shreds by him and him only.
You grew older, the memories of a time enhanced by happiness and friendship fading with age. You had shifted all your focus to your studies and worked hard in your field. At last, your hard work paid off as you were enrolled in the scientific team in the avatar program of the RDA. It was a new program and they had asked for you specifically, much because you honed great expertise in the space researcher field and you had come to be a renowned biologist, it was a perfect match.
Working with THE doctor Augustine was amazing, she was the big inspiration in your childhood. You had great respect for her as she had for you, you had proven yourself to her on the first day while sharing your knowledge and hidden intentions about the planet. When Norm and Jake were added to the team, they quickly became a nuisance to you, Norm always hovering around you, eager to learn from you despite the fact that you were literally his age, if not younger. And Jake, just being Jake.
Your time was filled with researching the home of strange creatures and humanoid aliens in your new, blue body. On the day of the introduction, the Colonel was assembling his team, presenting them to all aboard the base. One particular individual caught your attention, but it was impossible.
You kept on with your research, occasionally catching a glance of someone you thought resembled a key component of your childhood, until the day finally came when you had to make a decision. Stay loyal to the RDA and their plans to excavate the planet and its resources, or join forces with the na’vi and Jake. You completely let go of the humanity in you, siding with the natives in a heartbeat.
The fight was brutal, you were mostly tending to the wounds of the warriors, never really going out into battle. You were not a very good fighter, and after the death of Grace, you dedicated your whole being to healing and soothing. You became a very close assistant to the Tsahik, yet always respecting her space and superior knowledge. You also became na’vi, what was left of the human in you was now washed clean away.
You never found a mate though, something was always eating away at your being, a longing for something distantly familiar. There were many suitable options in the clan, but you always excused yourself with having more important things to take care of.
You lived the post-war years in peace with your clan, now serving under Jake after the devastating death of the former Olo’eyktan, Neytiri's father. You often babysat for Jake and Neytiri, taking care of all the kids. Even though Spider wasn’t really their kid, or na’vi, he was your favorite. You appreciated his enthusiasm to help the natives, often recognizing little pieces of yourself in him.
On one particular morning, you were babysitting the kids, they loved you, saw you as their own flesh and blood, an older sibling, of sorts. Your avatar form was only a few years younger than Jake’s, but apparently it was enough. When Lo’ak suddenly mentioned that he wanted to explore an abandoned war ruin, you were at first appalled, the thought of visiting something from a time so horrible made your heartbeat quicken.
But after some very convincing reasoning from the younger na’vis side, you were off. Of course you had to bring all the kids, except Neteyam, he was big enough to venture on his own.
The forest was eerily quiet, there were no creatures lurking in the underbrush like there usually were, it felt as if the towering trees were throwing more shade on you than usual. Something was off, something had disturbed the peace of Pandora's forests. The kids hadn’t noticed anything yet, maybe that was for the better, you thought. Getting them home at such a late hour wasn’t going to be easy considering how far you had already strayed from the village, so them feeling uneasy wouldn't be a helping factor.
Brushing it off, you caught up to the younger na’vi trying to navigate their way through the greenery. They soon reached the wreckage, Lo’ak was the first climbing up the ruin to check it out whilst Tuk carefully clasped her hand in yours, hiding behind your figure. The wreck resembled an aircraft, neatly tucked away in the plants of the forest, never to move again.
While the kids were exploring the unknown, at least to them, object, you had a funny feeling. Your ears twitched, picking up a strange noise. Pummeling of boots on soil, chopping of flora and verdure, your curiosity peaked as this sound was nothing forest made.
Lo’ak also noticed the strange racket, but instead of staying put as he should, he decided to investigate. You quickly rushed after, ushering the kids to stay in place as you went to collect the mischievous child. A sudden rush of heat to your face and gust of wind that carried a familiar scent made you step back, placing your hands on your head. It hurt, a lot, a throbbing sensation spreading throughout your brain. You ran after Lo’ak, determined to get him out of there.
The scent grew stronger, completely blocking your nose. It was overwhelming, but familiar, the sensation of it. The former Tsahik had described the mate-phenomenon to you before, finding the one true mate, the one meant for you. All the symptoms aligned, the headache, the sudden heat, the abusing scent. You couldn’t believe it, what was your mate doing out here in the lush, unexplored wild of the forest? Lo’ak was gone from your sight, you panicked and turned around, scanning your surroundings for the remaining kids, but they, too, were gone.
Your legs carried you easily through the forest, it had started to rain, heavy drops of water cascading down from the iridescent leaves onto your rushing figure. Though your nose was assaulted by the irrepressible smell, you could still make out small portions of Tuk’s scent. It was drawing closer the further into the wildlife you ran. A twig snapped unexpectedly, followed by a groan and a hiss. You stopped and crouched behind the roots of a tree. Carefully, attempting to make no noise, you peeked over the wood. There, in the midst of a dead, burnt patch of grass, were the kids. But they were not alone. Each child was restrained by a blue.. Avatar. You could not believe your eyes, rubbing them deliriously, not trusting your night vision.
The scent was even stronger now, it was clouding your mind, fogging all your senses and making it hard to think. You looked around the circle of bodies, these weren’t regular avatars, they were recombinants, resurrected soldiers. You recognized their faces, as well as the names on their clinking dog tags.
One of the recombinants stood out to you, your eyes continuously wandered to his form no matter how hard you tried, the smell only increasing each time you caught a glimpse of him. He was holding one of the kids by the arm, restricting their every movement. You growled quietly, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself. You got ready to attack, gripping the bow from your back along with a handcrafted arrow. You carefully aimed at the special recoms head, getting ready to fire when he suddenly took his sunglasses off.
You stopped dead in your track, dropping your bow in the process. Gasping, it came to you, why he was so familiar, why his scent was making your heart ache.
It was your childhood best friend, Mansk.
#avatar 2009#avatar pandora#avatar twow#avatar fanfiction#recom mansk#avatar mansk#mansk x reader#mansk#recoms#recom group#recom wainfleet#recom quaritch#recom squad#jake sully#neytiri sully#james cameron avatar#loak sully#neteyam sully#sully family#oc reader#norm spellman#grace avatar#grace augustine#kiri sully#angsty fluff
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fic rec friday 33
welcome to the thirty-third fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.
1. Rose-Colored Boy by melancholymango
“I missed you, you know.”
“Yeah?” Lance sighed, warm and giddy, clearly not absorbing how serious the words truly were. Keith nodded his head for a few seconds, not trusting himself to speak around the size of his emotions. He was suddenly brought back to the years alone on the whale, when all he’d had to keep him going was memories of his friends, of Lance.
“Yeah.” Keith said, more certainty in his voice now. He reached down, hesitantly threading his fingers through Lance’s and giving his hand a squeeze. Lance tensed next to him. “I still do.”
“I mean, I’m right here.”
“Are you? You still seem pretty far away.”
again i know im not really big on those fics that make the team out to be deliberately cruel, but sometimes its cathartic tbh. sometimes you remember canon and ur just like yeah what if he got angry. what if someone got angry for him. what then. and mango gives us that
2. Swamp of Sorrows by SwissArmyKnife
Pike gets exposed to acidic ooze, which leads Block (& Keith) to make a few discoveries about their party’s rogue.
“We can't leave them like this,” Meklavar said of Valayun and Pike, who’d been laid beside the fire. "Look at how bad those welts are." She came up with a bottle of oil and a cake of soap. "I can smell water nearby. We can get them washed and roll them in a blanket to sleep off the spore. What do you think?"
"I think it's our only choice," Takashi said.
monsters and mana fic!!!!! everybody say YES to righteous anger on pike’s behalf. and also say yes to pike bc i love him. this fic is interesting bc its a little tense and awkward bc this ragtag team of misfits doesnt quite trust each other yet but they also cant quite stop themselves from caring about each other. so even though they dont all agree on eveyrthing and dont agree about all, they do agree that pike needs more care than he got. also unrelated but the fact that shiro’s m&m name is fucking takashi kills me every time like man just wants to be himself 💀
3. Beneath the Champagne Sea by SwissArmyKnife
The paladins make a diplomatic visit to a planet with sexual dimorphism roughly opposite that of Earth. Women are larger and more powerful, while men are leaner and smaller. Cue their horror at gaunt, sickly Pidge and mild disgust with the ’womanly’ Shiro. Lance hits the sweet spot. He's got the build and features to draw the eyes and the charm to keep them. Their hosts are quite taken with him, in particular the daughter of the queen, whose forwardness is a comic reversal of Lance’s usual dynamic with women. Lance likes the attention and finds her intriguing, but eventually things take a discomforting turn.
Lance tried to step around her, wanting to walk away from a conversation that seemed less and less likely to end well, but Leh’n seized his wrist before he could. Her grip was tight, and freeing himself would require an act of aggression, which he still wanted to avoid. ‘Think of the mission, of how important it is to get the castle up and running again,’ he coached himself.
Still, that did nothing to stop his blood pressure from skyrocketing as Leh’n leaned closer and said. “I am not accustomed to reluctance.”
i swear to god that ive recced this before, but i couldnt find it in my records so here it is!! this fic is endlessly fascinating. the exploration of gender roles is super interesting, considering who is impacted in this fic and how. the discussion about beauty standards, power imbalances, the alien wrench in things was so cool! and i think lance, who is very much someone who rides that gender lines in terms of presentation of hobbies and even chracter traits, makes sense as the main character here. interesting think piece.
4. you had me at merlot by @ryomakun
“Oh my God,” Lance says as he covers his face. Keith’s tinny voice blares from his laptop speakers: “What do you call a fake noodle? An impasta.” See, this joke might have been funny if someone charismatic and charming had said it, but Keith’s flat voice and even flatter expression effectively kidnaps, tortures, and then decapitates any chance of it being remotely humorous.
--
Keith accidentally starts a YouTube channel. Lance, of course, refuses to be left out. It goes about as well as you'd expect. (Ft. copious amounts of wine and a truly shameless number of references to MyDrunkKitchen, DailyGrace, and general pop culture)
this fic is HILARIOUS. its one of the firsts i ever screenshotted for the scrapbook i have of fics that made me laugh out loud. i offer you this one part that really made me giggle:
““It tastes good,” Keith says petulantly as he glares at the accusing finger Hunk has pointed at him. “No offense Hunk but that stuff you gave me for my twenty-first tasted like feet and antiseptic.”
“That was a merlot,” Hunk wails. “The good kind, too!”
Ignoring them, Lance stands in front of the rum selection. This is why he didn’t want to bring anyone. They might call him loud and embarrassing, but at least he doesn’t yell inside WalMart about the virtues of a “real red wine.” An elderly couple passes through, eying the bickering three. Lance resolutely pretends he is here shopping by himself.“
the way they are so ridiculous that LANCE of all people is embarrassed of them...cinema. also this fic is peak bc it has klance as enemies to lovers and childhood friends to lovers at the same time. iconique
5. Flayed by @admiralcanthackett
Lance gets hit with a face full of spores and it leaves him wracked with pain. Touch is the only relief he can find.
yes i know i tag this author all the time but in my defense there was a point in my life where i was OBSESSED with faer fics. truly. anyways this one has unexpectedly protective keith, like to a very high degree, and im loving the heavy themes of trust and emotional as well as physical vulnerability
that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!
#pretty varied this week tbh!!#anyways#vld#voltron#lance#lance mcclain#keith#keith kogane#team as family#lance & hunk#established klance#enemies to lovers#fic rec#fic rec friday#langts#monsters & mana
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Both @justagibbsgirl and @i-run-with-scissors39 made a really good point about the Gibbs absence in the Ducky tribute episode- if we'd had a funeral scene, we would've gotten a much deeper emotional impact from a eulogy, the camera could've panned the gathered guests to show a myriad of former characters we've missed over the years, AND, they could've shown Gibbs in the back, unseen by the guests, paying silent tribute to Ducky. Brian Dietzen said Mark Harmon didn't come back because of 'scheduling conflicts', but as @i-run-with-scissors39 said, they could've filmed it separately at any time, because it would've just been him.
But none of this happened. In fact, what really happened in that episode that was memorable? Besides Tony showing up. (I'll get back to that in a minute.) McGee had 1 flashback, Vance had 1 flashback and Jimmy had 4. Jimmy also had the most screen time and was given the most emotional scenes. A lot of that is understandable- he was the only one left with the strongest connection to Ducky. But there were other people with connections to him, too. And we didn't get to see that. The only person outside of the regular cast of season 21 to show up was Tony. I mean, think about that, just for a second. No character outside of the current squad showed up. Not even Tobias! Instead, they handwaved the work/money (?) involved to make something more meaningful happen by showing flowers and Polaroids.
Even the Crime of the Day fell flat. So some girl we've never met is getting hassled by her college because her dead dad's getting slandered in the press by a senator. A senator who, I guess didn't get arrested at the end? Just stepped down from his position? Why did the senator pick that Marine anyway? (I know he served with him, but what was the point in naming that particular Marine?) And if I see one more reference to someone gifting someone a scholarship fund, I don't know if I'll be able to unroll my eyes. And yes, I know the MCSF was a big thing for David McCallum, so it made sense in this context, but the fact there's a Leroy Jethro Gibbs Scholarship Fund joke almost undermined the whole thing. (Would've been nice if they'd had a link at the end of the episode to the MCSF.)
Instead of this random girl and her dead dad, how about a cold case Ducky was working on? Maybe Jimmy sees it on Ducky's desk (or finds it in the secret spot behind a picture /eyeroll) and decides he's going to solve it. The team wants to help but are sceptical it can be done, but Jimmy's absolutely determined to do it, to the point of almost obsession. It would be his way of putting off dealing with Ducky's death while also making one last connection with him. They end up solving it because one of the flashbacks gives an indirect clue. You know, like Ducky's cryptic message to the team about where to find the nothing file behind the photo in his office. /eyeroll again
I loved the fact that Jimmy never took off his lab coat, even though he didn't do any lab work the entire episode. Him walking around the bullpen in his lab coat solving a case was just... well, I guess that's where the show is now, yeah? Sean Murray didn't want to step forward as the face of the show, so Brian Dietzen did. And you know what? Good for him. It's a hell of an arc over 20 years for him. But whether he meant to or not, he ended up making this episode about him. Every emotional thread went through Jimmy; every emotional moment was Jimmy's. When Diona Reasonover's voice cracked in the bullpen ("Any suggestions as to how to do that?"), it felt like the only real moment given to anyone other than Jimmy. Probably because 3 of the team didn't really know Ducky, so they could only experience the loss through other characters. It's why we got Knight reading Ducky's journal to bring up a Gibbs flashback, and it's why Torres did the same with McGee. It's why Parker was in charge of the flowers or something. And I try to remember they're new when I hear Knight say, "Dying quietly in your sleep isn't the worst way to go." JFC, lady.
I dunno. Kate was on for 2 years and I felt the show handled her death with so much more emotion. Her loss rippled through the team and we felt it because we saw the characters feel it. The Ducky episode was a lot of telling rather than showing, and what showing they did was through Jimmy instead of a handful of the hundreds of people whose lives Ducky touched in 20 years.
Oh, and Tony. Great to see one of the Originals, and Tony, in small doses, can bring the depth the scene needs. But being tacked onto the end of the episode made it fell exactly what it was- a surprise cameo to wow the fans rather than a true nod of respect to Ducky/David.
It should've been more. It could've been more.
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bsd beast lightnovel spoilers //
so,, i just finished reading beast and I am...damn that was so good, far better than I expected
there's so so much I want to say about it, and wish I had annotated it but instead I took a few pics of pages when I could remember to 😭
I don't think I'll ever be able to look at the scene in the anime where oda throws akutagawa over his shoulder the same ever again...the fact dazai actually did achieve death in this book,, the way dazai knew about the book and all the parallel worlds outside of the beast one...the scene where dazai said "for this is the only world where he's alive and writing" actually made me tear up. I think out of the whole novel that scene in particular really got to me, especially after the scene in the bar and dazais emotions are shown so clearly on his face when talking to oda, and just the whole explanation of the book and other worlds (including this particular world) when explaining to both aku and atsushi was just so well done
For me, I considered it rather that of a plotwist reading the whole book only to get to the end for that to be said. And asagiri's own notes at the end of the novel too...what if atsushi was a woman, what if the ada was on verge of bankruptcy, what if chuuya joined the ada alongside dazai when he first left after odas death? Like. Although this was an au, its events are still canon. They're canon because asagiri himself wrote it to show what if... and the fact he purposely has dazai mention the book and the other worlds...even when he starts clapping after shin soukokus fight saying "that's as good as, if not better, than the ship fight you two had"
LIKE?!?!? And the way asagiri literally confirmed that no matter how many au's there are...how oda is dead in every single one of them but beast...I'm crying. I could still go on and on and write actual essays about this book but yeah. I have so much more I wanted to say but my brain is so beautifully overwhelmed rn by the world and novel that is beast. All those thought aside, I would just like to also say how I absolutely love aku's character design in this 😭 his clothes were so well done...and his personality too 😭😭 I just loved this side of him
ANYWAYS after all that being said (I'm sure I have so much more I wanted to say too but I just can't comprehend rn,,)
I'm going to finally start stormbringer !! Time to cry from what I've seen so far 🫶🫶 I'm so excited to read it hehe, and I'm sure I will be even more gobsmacked after finishing that lightnovel than I was beast so 🤧 (I also posted this whole thread on twt lmao but I just needed somewhere to vent cause I have no moots to talk about this with let alone the lightnovels 🤧
here I go 🫡🫡 onto stormbringer
#bungou sd#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs#bsd#dazai osamu#atsushi nakajima#akutagawa ryuunosuke#chuuya nakahara#bsd odasaku#beast#bsd beast#beast lightnovel#bsd beast lightnovel#shin soukoku#soukoku
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As I am now full-in on the body count section of The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere, I do have growing complaints about how it handles its sort of mystery build-up and reveal aspects. There is an adage for mystery novels to "have your answers ask more questions"; you set up a mystery, you *resolve* the mystery, but that resolution itself just creates deeper mysteries. This of course works very well to keep ratcheting up tension and keep the story moving forward; but it also resolves tension at the same time, you do actually get answers as you go. As an author you can perhaps think of there being a "quota" for the number of active questions for the reader to be considering; if you stack too many at once its both too hard to track them and is frustrating to read about, the story never delivers.
TFTBN breaks this rule; not every time, but a lot. In particular with Su's identity/trauma origin it happens all the time, you get literally dozens of "more mystery" moments behind it before you ever get any answers around it. Its just too coy by half! Why is my narrator like deliberately hiding their own thoughts from the reader across dozens of instances where those thoughts would be extremely relevant? The tension has already been ratcheted to the max, you can set it aside for a bit if you want but if you dangle the question in front of me too often it loses impact.
And even though now we have been getting answers, its *still* playing coy. You have a flashback to a scene of child Su being confronted by Ran over her identity mystery, and she breaks down and starts to explain it, and then the scene just cuts, so you only get a half an explanation. Which is enough to pretty much piece it together, so like the tension is gone? Now when you are coy about it (multiple times after that scene!) its a little lame actually, who ya fooling! But what it did is take away the opportunity to just have a really good scene. You cut away from a character's moment of emotional revelation and interpersonal confrontation.
Mysteries, to simplify of course, do two things for the reader; they make you turn the page in your desire to know more, and they set up dramatic stakes for their reveal in scenes. Its a balancing act ofc but you don't want to sacrifice the latter to keep baiting the former.
I feel this too around the "villain faction" for the story. Right now the villain faction is a virtually-unknown group of actors who have had no interactions or relationships with any of the characters, using mystery tactics to kill people. We are many chapters into that plot, multiple people of note have died, but they are still just strangers - their stated motives minimal and seemingly farcical.
Ofc I am no fool, I understand via meta knowledge and have picked up on the hints they have dropped that they will in fact not be strangers in full - I get how stories work. The problem is that meanwhile we have had like multiple scenes of the group having the traitor debate - "is it one of us?" But that question is silly because I *know nothing about the villains* of substance. Why would any of these classmates betray their group for them? We have no info on that. Oh sure sure I have these like, tiny *mechanical* hints. Like one time Seth? He gave a thumbs up to Ezekiel, when they were supposed to be mad at each other. Sus, my dudes. But that isn't a *motive*, right? Its not a compelling story, its just data. Because the story wont resolve any of its dangling questions, the idea that any of these people is a traitor is just dumb, you would have to like explain the entire plot in one infodump to sell it as interesting. By insisting on drip-feeding every mystery, instead of chained resolution-renewal, these plot threads aren't developed enough to work when they need to.
I do think this comes back to the fundamentals of the pacing issue - there is essentially a desire for this story to be longer than it is. Its a 3000 page book (equivalent ofc), but it isn't, not really. I am ~1000 pages into it I guess, but its probably not even ~500 pages in actual content. I could do this in definitely 400. And this is more than just a padding problem - its that structural thing, to make that length work and still be decent as a story (which it is, its a good story overall) you have to sort of chop up your big moments , which sort of kills them.
Like there is a character, Jia Fang, a fellow student who doesn't go with the group, but is mentioned a bunch as a sort of wild card, and its built up right? They are totally gonna show up somehow, there is tension about what they are up to, and then bam, they literally burst through the door. Its great, they make a huge impact, the chapter ends on that cliffhanger.
And then after maybe a few paragraphs with them the next *multiple chapters* are about a conversation between other people, about other topics where Fang is barely mentioned, and then literally, literally, we get multiple other student's academic thesis presentations, before the plot that Fang showed up to be involved in kicks back into gear. Its self-sabotage right, the literary moment broken apart because the story has to hit quota.
Its certainly a case where the serial nature of the publication would make it ludicrously difficult to fix, that I totally get. Art is really, really hard.
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This isn’t the first time.
He’s had a few patients who’ve ended up in his care like this, ones that don’t get visitors. Ones who make requests for family members to come by that don’t.
It makes him sad.
Not for the person in his care, but for their person they hurt so unforgivably.
Neil Hargrove was always going to be one of these patients.
Steve cared for him every day. He was there before the sun came up, and often left past midnight.
Neil was in bad condition. The cancer had rocked through him before anyone had caught the first tumor.
Steve was called in by Neil’s ex-wife. To keep him comfortable.
They played cards together most days, watching boring history documentaries while Steve managed Neil’s pain medications and but his tongue at the bigoted remarks he threw out at the television.
The man was old, and his brain was being scrambled by an incurable disease. Now was not the time to educate him on cultural sensitivity.
Steve knew he had kids, but there were no pictures of them in the tiny house. And the way Neil spoke about his son, well.
Steve figured he is never going to meet that particular man.
So it’s a surprise when Neil asks for him.
It’s during a bad day. When the pain was causing Neil to lose the thread of every conversation.
It was days like these that sobered the man. Made him realize how short his time left was.
So he asked for Billy.
Steve had to jump through more hoops than he would’ve liked to get phone number from Neil’s ex-wife’s daughter.
But eight days after Neil had asked, he was on the phone with Billy Hargrove.
“My name is Steve Harrington, I am the care hospice nurse for Neil Hargrove.”
“Jesus. My condolences.”
Steve’s gut tightened at the man’s words. He’d known this wouldn’t be good.
“Mr. Hargrove,”
“Billy.”
“Billy, I’ve been caring for Neil for some months now, and his condition’s worsened-”
“I’m not coming to fucking see him.”
And that makes sense. Really. The only times Steve has heard Neil refer to his son is when he calls him by the exact same ugly slur Steve’s dad used when he came out to his parents a few years ago.
Steve is not so sure he’d want to see his dad on his death bed, either.
“That’s okay. I’ll let him know you won’t be by.” There was silence on the other line. “Have a good day.”
“Wait, its, it’s that easy?”
“Of course. I wanted to inform you he had asked for you, but, uh, I understand if you don’t want to see him. He’s never been that kind when he’s mentioned you.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he hasn’t.”
Steve swallowed thickly.
“Would you like me to notify you when he passes?”
He heard Billy take a shakey breath. “How long? Do you think.”
“Few months. I think maybe two at the rate things are going.”
“Okay. Uh, yeah. Let me know when it happens. When he-” Billy cut himself off.
“I will. And Billy, please don’t feel bad for not coming to see him. I don’t judge you.”
Another silence.
“Look, uh, tell him I said-” he sniffed. “Never mind. Don’t tell him I said anything.”
The line went dead.
Steve was the only one with Neil when he died.
It’s not the first time he’s held a patient’s hand as they went. And being a hospice nurse, it won’t be the last.
He had another stilted conversation with Billy. He told Steve he’d come by in about a week to go through his father’s house.
He came two days after the meager funeral.
Billy wasn’t quite what he had expected. He didn’t have any of his father in him. The soft blond curls were nothing like the wiry brown hair that was falling out patchily due to the brief stint of chemo.
Even the icy blue eyes, clearly a direct gene from his father, they were warmer than Neil’s. Kinder. Filled with real emotion.
Billy had inherited the house, and everything in it.
He didn’t want anything.
Still, Steve had offered to sort through the important files with him.
“Jesus, I’ve been looking for this!” Billy yanked his birth certificate out of the shabby file folder, waving it above his head. “Didn’t know the bastard still had it.”
Steve made a stack of old receipts.
“Maybe he thought you’d come back and get it. I mean, not that I blame you for not.” Steve was too focused on his old receipts to look Billy in the eye.
“Have you had other patients like him? Where the family isn’t. Close?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s, probably more common than you’d think.”
“Fucking sucks. Having you piece of shit parent die. I can’t tell I’m sad about it, or just guilty that I’m not sad at all.”
“And maybe you’re just relieved.” Steve looked up finally to see Billy staring back at him. “Whatever you feel is okay.”
Half of Billy’s lip quirked up.
“Let me take you for dinner. As an apology for having to deal with my shitty dad.”
“Oh, come one. On man’s shitty dad is another man’s paycheck.”
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Past Artemis and Present Artemis Are Not Allowed in the Same Room
If Number 1 kind of nudged the door open to time travel and wibbly wobbly timey wimey shenanagins in Lost Colony, then Artemis full-on kicked it down and yeeted a grenade through it in this book. Let's talk Artemis Fowl: The Time Paradox.
As per usual, SPOILERS ABOUND below the break.
There are a ton of things about this book that are amazing and in order to stay at least a little organized, we're gonna use HEADINGS this time around! That's not to say the headings are in any particular order, but life has been lifeing and I need a little help making sure I gush about everything I want to here. Because while Eoin Colfer introduced time travel in the last book, this one is a whole TIME PARADOX PLOT!
Opal Koboi, Empress of our Hearts
So, there are places for nuanced, complex, morally gray villains who have carefully throught-through ethoses and who are compelling because of their tragedy. Those kinds of villains are great.
Opal Koboi is not that kind of villain.
Opal Koboi is a villain in the classic Disney sense. She is absolutely unhinged, wants nothing more than to be Empress of the Goddamn World, and absolutely revels in setting things on fire just to watch them burn. She is rock-solid on her own worth, she is terrifyingly intelligent, and she is equally fun when she is strutting around in her own success as when she is pitching a dramatical cats tantrum because somebody said "ethics" in her presence. Our girl is sheer fun from start to finish, and honestly I love how consistent she is.
In this book, we see Opal before the events of The Arctic Incident, and it's great to know that she has ALWAYS been unhinged and glorious. If anything, this book shows us that the plan to use the B'wa Kell to take over Haven was weirdly vanilla for Opal. Sucking the bodily fluids out of endangered animals to basically Captain America super serum herself is...way more on brand.
The bit where she is too narcissistic and paranoid to stay in character as Angeline Fowl for more than like 60 seconds once Jay Jay is in the room is also AMAZING. Talk about getting in your own way...
Artemis vs. Artemis
So sometimes as a series gets increasingly lengthy, it's good to remind readers and character how much your protagonists have grown. Eoin Colfer decided that time travel was a great way to take advantage of this, and reveled in it by giving readers 10-year-old Artemis's opinion of 18-year-old Artemis and vice versa for the entire book, and it is SO FUN. They both hate each other, and understandably so. They both also have qualities that the other begrudgingly respects, and ultimately they need BOTH Artemises to resolve the plot.
We also get some really lovely instances of Artemis outsmarting and bamboozling himself. This conceit had every chance of coming off as cringe as hell, but Colfer handed it with enough humor and humanity to make it feel real rather than like a whole book devoted to a vanity plot centered on Artemis thinking he's the best thig since sliced bread.
Artemis...That was WILDLY Uncool to do to Holly
Ok, so Artemis has grown a lot over the course of five books. He's matured. He's learned how to be a reluctant antihero. He and Holly are legit friends. Which somehow manages to make it EVEN WORSE when Artemis full-on knowingly tricks Holly into thinking that she not only gave his mother a fatal illness but also started a plague that at one point killed 20% of the fairy population in three years. There's honestly no coming back from that kind of breach of trust.
And no, giving Holly a chance to say goodbye to Commander Root does NOT make Holly and Artemis square. It nicely ties up a loose emotional thread, but it does NOT square the emotional devastation of infecting a friend's mother and starting the plague 2.0. That is possibly the least believable relationship dynamic in a book where Artemis and Holly KISS (no, we're not gonna talk about it, they were both under the influence of the time stream and it doesn't count).
The truly wild thing about this is that Artemis before the fairies was a cold-hearted little bastard capable of incredible cruelty, but once Artemis understands feelings and emotional relationships, he's suddenly capable of hurting people WAY MORE than he could when he was a tiny robotic human. And of course the person he takes aim at is HOLLY SHORT. Like, FFS, Artemis. You did less damage when you had the emotional intelligence of a gold ingot...
Butler
Domovoi Butler is too good for this world and we do not deserve him. Artemis sure as hell does not deserve him, past OR present. Past Butler full on calls 10-year-old Artemis out on the act that he is *checks notes* handing over the last of a species to a group of fanatics to be horribly murdered in a kangaroo court, fully sells a sentient elf to those same fanatics, does not emotionally let Artemis off the hook when he is experiencing guilt and shame over being an accessory to murder and extinction, and TURNS THE PLANE AROUND to go save Holly and 18-year-old Artemis from the extinctionists. And thats just past Butler.
Present Butler is such a goddamn badass that he resists a juiced-up Opal Koboi's mesmer so hard that he gives himself a heart attack. Not even Opal Koboi can pull a 180 on Butler's moral compass, and even when he can't fully fight her off, he can resist in little ways, like sticking breathing tubes in barrels. Someone let this man retire happily, he has MORE THAN earned it at this point.
Baby's First Ecocritical Text
Environmentalism and ecocriticism have been very present as secondary themes in the Artemis Fowl series from the very first book, but this is, I believe, the first book where this theme gets really explicit and has real, concrete plot consequences and implications. The "hunting animals to extinction is bad for [list of reasons]" isn't the deepest or most nuanced version of the argument, but it doesn't have to be. The audience for these books are middle graders and YA readers. They get a concrete introduction to ecocriticism and some very comprehensible examples of the consequences of extinction and pollution, and that's going to be enough for more of them than you'd think to keep thinking and reading about the issue.
I highlight this because so few middle grade and YA books do ecocriticism at all, let alone this clearly and concisely. I suspect we will see more of this as climate change keep wreaking absolute havoc on quite literally everything, but these books did it before it was cool, and I really appreciate that about them.
Overall, this book is not my favorite of the series. Time travel can be a hard sell, even if you weave the complexities of time travel around a relatively simple fetch quest. As per usual though, the character work is never not entertaining, and I do enjoy rereading this one periodically.
#eoin colfer#artemis fowl#artemis fowl the time paradox#the time paradox#time travel#holly short#domovoi butler#opal koboi#middle grade sci fi#middle grade fantasy#middle grade books#middle grade fiction#books & libraries#books and reading#books and novels#books#book recommendations
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I recently read on a reddit thread that doing banishing or invocation rituals daily are bad for your practice because they essentially banish every spirit around you, including the ones you are working with. Also, it makes the room you are doing it unbearable to everyone else and your life might become a desert.
Is this true?
I can't tell you what is true. It seems people have mixed feelings about this. I will give you my opinion. I imagine you are speaking about the Lesser Ritual of the Pentagram and Hexagram type rituals.
The people who believe 'banishing' banishes everything have usually learned this from a book such as "Modern Magick" by Donald Michael Kraig. Jason Miller has also echoed that banishing sets a wall up between the spirits and the sorcerer. He learned from Modern Magick also. It is one of the rare times I disagree with Jason Miller.
I learned from Modern Magick initially too, but since then I have learned from people involved with direct lineages to the original golden dawn (not simply the Regardie revival) as well as performed my own research and drawn my own conclusions.
The Lesser Rituals of the Pentagram and Hexagram do banish entities, however, it does not banish all entities. It doesn't create a sterile bubble, it creates a state of equilibrium and lvx within the body of light of a magician. It operates in assiah up to the beginning of yetzirah. This means it banishes the etheric and lower astral only. In my experience spirits that are actual, autonomous beings operate in higher yetzirah and are rooted in at least Briah. The ritual will not effect them, and this, in my opinion, includes demons.
However there are beings, husks. Empty vessels that are cast off from workings and from normal human interaction. They can be born out of intense emotion. They will feed off the energy of the magician and begin to take on form and autonomy. These are what the LBRP banishes.
The LBRP is like washing your hands, it is not like dipping them in bleach. It will clean an area, but will not banish all that is within it.
Then again, it is highly malleable to intent. And so I do believe the intent of the practitioner matters. A lot of people banish with th mindset of 'get rid of everything!' and I do not believe this is the right mindset. The mindset should be 'Balance' not 'banish'.
The banishing rituals should also not be the only form used. I believe the invoking ritual to be the most important. Obviously learn to banish first, but I perform more invocations than I do banishing. Some people like to invoke in the morning and banish at night, I am fine with that approach. In time you tend to know what you need- sometimes you need to banish, in particular if you require etheric cleansing and have had a bad day or been in a toxic environment. Before a tarot reading you would invoke if you feel calm already, or banish if you have traces from the previous reading still lingering.
I do think banishing three times a day every day would be extreme. Washing your hands too many times will destroy your natural skin barrier. But I do not believe a daily banishing will be detrimental unless it is all you do- do not let the LBRP and LBRH become the only things you practice, you will get nowhere.
It is about creating a space or circle that is strengthened and under the control of the magician and their guardians, in this case the Archangels. It is about banishing spirits that are not spirits or are detrimental to your own spiritual progress. The Archangels will not allow a harmful spirit to come through, however, they would have no issue with a being of light. The Lesser rituals are general banishing- they are not banishing all things, but the dross that other workings or emotions may have left behind with the agency of the archangels overseeing a balanced state.
In truth, as with much of the Golden Dawn rituals, what you are really influencing is your body of light. Your circle is your aura, and it is certainly true that you want a strong aura that is impregnable. You can still reach out and invite spirits in, they can still enter if it is for your benefit. But you don't want to be bothered by every spiritual energy around.
"It is usually sufficient to perform a general banishing, and to rely upon the aid of the guardians invoked. Let the banishing therefore be short, but in no wise slurred --- for it is useful as it tends to produce the proper attitude of mind for the invocations. "The Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram" (as now rewritten, Liber 333, Cap. XXV) is the best to use." - Alesiter Crowley.
Here you see the assertion is that the banishing rituals are brief, general, and rely on the guardians to be effective at warding the space. Therefore it isn't nuking an area, it is sweeping it and allowing beings of light to monitor what can enter and what cannot. You also see how banishing is useful as a preliminary only to get into the right mindset for invocation. Banishing in my opinion is more about balance within the Self than it is about clearing an area. You are establishing equilibrium within the aura.
My personal advice is 'Invoke often....banish when required'.
You do not need to banish at the beginning of EVERY magical act. You certainly can, if you are distracted I recommend it, but it is not necessary. Invoking would sometimes be more helpful and the invoking forms also invoke balance etc. Some people will use a statement of banishing 'Hekas, Hekas, este bebeloi' and ring a bell to clear a space then invoke. They then use the banishing at the end to return to material consciousness. This is how I usually work these days.
If you are seeking to explore an isolated force, feeling stressed or unbalanced, have excess energy from ritual- banishing is a good idea.
But if magicians who performed the pentagram ritual could not communicate with spirits there would be an issue. It is perhaps one of the main points of magick.
All my opinion of course. You just need to understand the point of these rituals, what they actually do. The majority of books are absolute rubbish and represent misunderstandings of the authors who have often not undergone proper magical training nor have decades of experience.
My experience and understanding of the LBRP and LBRH now is far different to what it was 15 years ago.
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Okay give us the TC movie ranking, and know Punct and I will be taking notes
Also have you seen Collateral yet bc yooooooooooooooooo
I have not I need to see it!!!! I might make another ranking once I’ve seen more of his films cause the list isn’t That long rn. There are so many of his movies on my to-watch list
So far of his movies I have seen: all the MI films, Edge of Tomorrow, The Firm, Risky Business, Oblivion, Jerry Maguire, Top Gun, and Top Gun Maverick. For those films, my ranking is below (top to bottom):
1. Mission: Impossible (specifically 1,5,6,7 but I’m partial to 2 and he does great acting in 3 and 4 so I’m just gonna put the whole franchise at the top for simplicity’s sake. This is my least objective ranking cause I love this fucking franchise) I just think MI is neat. I think TC has had a chance to do something really unusual with Ethan Hunt and I really fucking love it. The movies are excellent action films but they also just consistently feel personal and well crafted and thoughtful. Love this franchise so fucking much
2. Risky Business—honestly I can’t say enough good things about this movie. It’s emotionally complex and emotionally unusual and hurts to watch in a cathartic way that sticks with you. This might be some of TC’s best acting although there’s also just a very particular awkwardness and vulnerability to the role that he doesn’t usually get to portray in his later films. I don’t want to be the guy that says his best acting was when he was young, and I don’t think that’s true, but his acting was definitely fucking spectacular when he was young
3. Top Gun: Maverick. TC is beyond excellent in this movie. He holds up most of the main emotional threads (gonna say something blasphemous to TGM fans here but when I watched it I felt like the only actor who truly kept pace with him was Val Kilmer in their one scene together.) it’s a testament to him that the movie is as strong as it is. And it is really strong!!
4. Edge of Tomorrow—this is a personal thing for me I could see the Firm being ranked over EOT but I like EOT better. Bottom line for me if I had to choose one of them to watch I would choose EOT every time. TC is so great and expressive and funny in it and Emily Blunt is just epic as Rita and even though I have some issues with it they’re pretty nitpicky. I like that it’s a very genre-standard movie that has its own ideas, and there are some really interesting moments where the movie Does Something that’s surprising and emotional and doesn’t just follow the formula. But it’s also just entertaining. I feel like it’s more than the sum of its parts and I loved it more than I expected to. It’s the kind of movie that I can’t help engaging with when I watch, which wasn’t the case with the Firm, I felt like I had to “buy in”
5. Top Gun—yes I know I just said firm could be ranked above EOT. I also feel like it could be ranked above Top Gun cause I do think Firm is a more well done film. I expected to like Top Gun more than I did…but the things I did like about it hit me hard and left an impression. What I really liked about it was literally just Mav and Goose. Goose is the fucking center of the movie and Mav works as a character because of his relationship with Goose. The scenes with them got to me hard, shout-out to “you’re the only family I’ve got,” gotta be one of my favorite crying wailing moments. This might be controversial but I didn’t like Charlie and that weakened the film for me
6. The Firm—pros of this movie, Jeanne Tripplehorn. She’s stunning in it. I love TC and he does good work here but he never gets to her level. Cons, the suspense didn’t totally hit (although I know people who thought it totally did so that might be me) and the emotional beats didn’t really impact me they just landed and I thought oh that’s interesting. I never went rabid which for me is a necessity to recommend a movie highly, although it’s a personal thing and isn’t based on movie quality
7. Oblivion—I am actively angry at this movie because it has so much potential and it does not work. I would 10/10 watch it again to yell at the screen and go apeshit over the scenes that hit and be filled with disappointment and rage and shut my laptop feeling deeply unsatisfied and highly emotionally affected. It’s a solid watch, the aesthetic sense is amazing (I would give it all up for TC in white leather) and it’s very entertaining. What I loved about it was that it had these striking and unexpected emotional beats. And then just when I felt invested it would shapeshift into a standard schlocky sci fi action film. To the point of undermining and sacrificing all the emotion it already set up. And in the end you come out of it having seen something that feels emotional and tense and thoughtful and meaningful—like 50% of the time—but completely falls apart thematically when faced with a stiff breeze. There are parts of this movie that literally haunt me. And there are parts of this movie that are just bog-standard, amateurish. And I’m so mad about it. This is the kind of movie that makes you plot out The Secret Good Version in your head at 2 am (guess what I was doing at 2 am last night)
8. Jerry Maguire—I HATE putting this movie here!! Because I know (/know of) two people whose lives were directly impacted by seeing this movie, one of whom became the concertmaster of the New York Philharmonic after seeing this movie, and I watched it years ago and it was my first experience with TC and I wanted to like it so badly. And I just didn’t. It did not work for me. I would really like to see it again to see if it works better now that I’m. Was I even a legal adult back then? God knows. Passage of time is a mindfuck. Anyway I don’t actually believe this is the worst of these movies I just didn’t connect with it for some reason and I might see it again in case that changes on rewatch
#arc I am hugging you….thank you so much for the ask#tc posting#also just a side note this list has 14 films on it and only one of them I had seen before I watched MI1 and fell in love with movies#before that I would watch maybe a couple movies a year#everybody stand for tom cruise etc
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