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eponymous-rose · 3 years

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E127 (March 2, 2021)

Tonight’s guests are, of course, Ashley Johnson and Marisha Ray!

Marisha, on her thought process behind the date: “It was a fascinating study on designing something with another player in trying to navigating how to do that in a way that makes sense and wouldn’t be too metagamey or overly scripted or anything like that. I had a bunch of ideas thought out, then I just typed it out and sent it over to him, and then he interpreted it as such.” Liam had ideas, but Marisha wanted him to keep the details a surprise. The theme of “let’s start over” was the leading motif for the design. Three acts: pre-game cocktails at the Nestled Nook, picnic in a field of Xhorhasian wildflowers, and then close it with after-dinner drinks and hot tub at the Steam’s Respite. And the very last thing was “and all the cats were dogs”. Brian: “What was his response to that?” Marisha: “He texted me and was like, ‘Are you serious or is this dog thing a joke?’”

Ashley is asked what it was like to know it was coming but not know the specifics. “For both of us, I don’t think we thought it was going to be right then. I think because it’s been so long in the relationship between Beau and Yasha and it felt like such a natural progression for the two of them, and they’re both awkward together. I think there was something to just being thrown into it.” She spent time thinking about what things Yasha would talk to Beau about on a date. “We got to maybe one of them. It was just so fun! Exploring romance in D&D can be super weird, especially when you’re streaming. But it felt like that’s where our characters were going. There was that excitement of trying something that is out of my comfort zone, and I think so much of Marisha was part of that, as being the initiator as Beau, where I was like, okay, this is where it’s going it. Let’s do it, let’s see what happens!” She mentions how “fun and freeing” it is to trust your improv partner in something like this.

Marisha: “I just wanted Beau to be a fuckboi!” But she highlights that it’s hard to deny the deeper connections that come up in D&D scenarios. “They’ve been with each other through so much that it’s difficult to deny when those bonds start to happen.” She texted Liam in a panic before the game. “What do I wear? And he said, ‘In the game or in real life?’ Both!”

Marisha was expecting a Sam curveball at some point. “My/Beau’s reaction of ‘I love you!’ was pretty accurate. She does care! She’s not just a troll trying to ruin our shit.”

Marisha on Yasha liking dogs: “I clocked that shit when you bought a dog figurine.” She keeps notes about all the members of the party when they reveal things like that.

Ashley has started taking more detailed notes, partly to play catch-up for events she may have missed earlier. “Turns out, notes are very helpful and can help you in your RPing!”

Favorite parts? Marisha: “The fade-to-black moment at the very end, and I think it’s because Ashley’s eyes--maybe this is going to get weird--we had this moment where we were in the hot tub at the end, and I looked over and was like, ‘hey’, and you looked over and were like, ‘hey’, and I was just dead. I will never forget the look on Ashley’s face. There was just a pure moment.” Ashley: “That’s so funny, because I was going to talk about this one moment with Marisha. It’s just clicking into the scene and clicking into the moment.” Marisha talks about how the moments associated with the game have real, tangible emotional connections. Brian highlights that the emotional side of things is what you remember the most after the campaign is done.

Character thoughts on Kima? Marisha: “I was like, step on me! Please! Both of you! We’d be friends.” Ashley: “It’s also that nostalgia that feels so good at the table. These characters we know and love are still living and breathing and happy together and just kicking ass. For Yasha it was an amazing example of a relationship that works in this world, and something beautiful that these people who are different but are connecting. It was a lot of-- it was cool. I think Yasha’s a very big fan of Kima and Allura. When she gave over the sword, Travis texted me and was like, it’s the Holy Avenger. Looking it up and talking about it, it was like, holy mackerel, this sword is insane. But there’s going to have to be some conversations had to attune with the sword. But I like that Matt presented that challenge, that this isn’t necessarily in your class, but let’s do some RP and see what happens.”

Where’s Yasha at with the Stormlord right now? “I’m curious to explore that more, but knowing that the Stormlord was the first person to bring her back to her own will, of pulling her out of whatever was happening with Oban and the Laughing Hand for however long. It’s also weird to see the relationship that the clerics have, and I think Yasha’s still figuring out how to be her own person, but also... not serving somebody, but still trying to figure out that relationship with her god. But again, he saved her from a very, very dark place, and I think that’s something she values and holds on to.”

Cosplay of the Week: An amazing Essek! (Blushingvioletcosplay on Instagram)

How is Beau handling the Eyes? “All the theories! It’s hard for it to not feel like a ticking time bomb. I always have to try and separate my theories from Beau’s theories. That’s acting and shit. I, Marisha, am very interested if I can somehow utilize this to our advantage. Beau, also interested but simultaneously terrified that it might be a bad idea and I might just get further initiated. When it comes to Matt, you know there’s always something more lurking underneath all of this. As players it’s kind of our job to navigate that.”

How about Yasha? “I think it’s one of the things that didn’t really come up in the date, which is funny, because it’s something I was thinking about. Me as a player, that’s something I’m extremely stressed about. We don’t know what’s going to happen. We kind of got into it, but I think the fact that Lucien was listening, and the Eyes, I think it made me as a player as Yasha very nervous about interacting with Beau, because I don’t know what they’re picking up on. There’s so much we don’t know, and Lucien is so confusing, and the Eyes, and with Matt... we don’t know! It’s a point of extreme concern for Yasha, especially someone that she has feelings for and cares about, it’s an extra level of I don’t know what this means and I can’t lose this person, but I need to protect at all costs.”

What was it like for Beau to discover that Dairon and the Soul not only listened but took action? “That moment was so deeply powerful. Honestly, I was just as taken aback as Beau was. I never in both mine or Beau’s thought process did I think Matt would take action in that way, or that would ever be handled. And I think that’s what makes it so emotional. You condition yourself to think these things just happen, so much so that they permeate your D&D game. So rarely do abusers get held accountable for their actions. What was powerful about it was that he was, and other people cared. That alone was so emotionally impactful, and I was completely thrown by it. I feel like I had to walk away from that situation kind of unpacking those things. What does that say, what does that mean? Same thing for Beau, where the cycle of abuse has happened repeatedly to her with no repercussions to anyone who’s causing it. It’s why she’s always had a weird tenuous relationship with the Soul. It throws you into these layers of reconciliation and thought. I didn’t think this was going to be addressed. What does that say about society? So many different layers to peel back. It all speaks to so many real-life experiences that happen every damn day to so many people. There’s not many examples in media of abusers getting handled, and especially not in a way that’s not some sort of device to motivate somebody.” She highlights how rare it is that the abuser was handled without pulling the victim into the mess. I’m definitely not doing what she’s saying justice with my speed-typing.

How is Yasha feeling about solidifying her identity as a protector? “Putting together this character and starting to play as her, there was a part of me that wanted-- when I work on characters, you go through the list of questions you have as an actor, what’s your motivation and all that stuff. But I very much wanted to see if I could have a character that doesn’t necessarily know what their purpose is, because I feel like a lot of people feel that way. I think when we see movies or TV shows, there’s always a character who says, I know what my purpose is. I wanted to explore what it meant to not know what that is. I left that open with Yasha, and I didn’t want to set that for her, because I thought that was an interesting thing. I still like that idea, but in the conversation with Beau and knowing the date was coming up, there were a lot of internal conversations I was having of how is Yasha feeling in this moment. At the end of the day, I feel that’s a very solid purpose for Yasha in this moment, of all I can really provide is protection - and of course she can provide more than that. But now I’m just, yeah, I think protection for her is the best way she knows how to describe her purpose.” Brian: “And once we arrive there, the goal is to find a greater purpose, to be of service.” Ashley has tied in Yasha’s protectiveness with her grappling with loss.

Fan art of the week: A second amazing Essek! (by Saturday_sky)

Thoughts on the amulets: set-up or bad luck? Ashley: “I thought they were a set-up!” Marisha: “I think [Astrid’s] an opportunist. But I think it’d be much more convenient if anyone other than her killed Trent. To what end, I don’t know.” Ashley: “Me, personally, how I interpreted her crying in that alleyway, I felt like she was crying because of a betrayal. But I don’t know! I think she definitely cares for Caleb.” Marisha: “I also got betrayal tears. That felt like guilt-crying to me.” Brian: “I don’t like any of this.”

What prompted Beau going full assassin? “If they were to get in and out and I could have jumped over that tower without killing that guy, I would have.” She didn’t have a lot of options as a monk and not a rogue assassin, but needed a quick and quiet way to get him out of the way. “I went through so many ideas in my head. I thought of an idea to dump all of the ball bearings under him, then light fireworks” to try to get him to fall off the edge.

Is Yasha’s hope for Molly still alive? “Yes. I think that because Yasha has been on the other end of doing terrible things under someone else’s influence, she has a lot of forgiveness for people. At this point, of course, it’s hope that he’ll come back or have some type of recognition of his life as Molly. There’s a lot of questions. I don’t think she’ll ever give up on him.” The only moment of hesitation was when Lucien was cool with Gelidon leaving with Beau.

How are they feeling about their odds? Ashley: “I feel really great about the ideas that the group has to get out of tricky situations. This one I’m nervous about.” Marisha: “I agree. We have our little side player thread, minus Matt, and I don’t see how we’re getting out of this without some sort of compromise that’s not necessarily in our favor. I think we’re going to get out of it, but I don’t think we’re going to get out of it completely.”

Ashley didn’t tell Brian about the date after the episode ended, but wound up blurting it out right before he was about to watch the episode for Talks.

#long text post #critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers

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just-a-fangirl13 · 3 years

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Thoughts & Theories about MacGyver 5x10 [MacRiley]

HOLY SHIT!

This episode was absolutely INSANE. Im writing out my thoughts once and for all because I need to stop thinking about everything that happened (I highly doubt I will be able to but here's to trying)

SPOILERS FOR 5x10 OFCOURSE

Straight off the bat, I was screaming *internally* and yelling at Mac when he showed the diamond to Bozer. I suspected it yesterday when we got the snippet of Murdoc saying the words DIAMOND and RING with extra emphasis..(everyone on twitter said I was jumping to conclusions.. I thought so too honestly) But damn I did NOT expect them to actually do that!

Now here's why I am not mad about it anymore. [this is my interpretation you are free to disagree]

Firstly, when Mac told Bozer he was going to propose he didnt say I’m doing it because I love Desi or I want to spend the rest of our lives together or because she’s the one (doesn't mean he doesnt care for her ofcourse)

He said “Ever since I lost my dad & Jack, I have been thinking about the bigger picture and a commitment to make things work is exactly what Desi and I need right now. A grand romantic gesture.” He wanted to propose for stability so he could finally be on the same page with her. They never really defined their relationship before and this was a way for Mac to final bring it together. A grand romantic gesture is usually something people use to win their partners back which is what Mac was trying to do I guess. It almost sounds like he has to do it so he doesn't lose her again

(ill get to my second reason in the end)

Then ofcourse Bozer tells Riley about it so she can be prepared. Bozer is such a good friend. He is supportive of Mac AND wants to protect Riley. I love him for it! He really is doing everything to be the best friend he can to both of them. (Leannas death was so painful and I just want to hug him but thankfully Riley had that covered.)

Next we get the BIG REVEAL. The moment all of us had been waiting for.

The moment that SHOOK Angus MacGyver and CHANGED EVERYTHING!

Rileys Feelings!

“You want me to say it out loud? Fine. Yes I had feelings for Mac. There I said it. and yeah watching him and Desi together was breaking my heart so I moved out of his house. I should have said something to him a long time ago but I didn’t and now its over. ”

I had the opposite of a HEART ATTACK! (my heart rate was through THE ROOF!)

I have to say they really really outdid themselves on this reveal.

SIDE NOTE: If anyone comes for Riley and tries to call her a slut or a home wrecker? You will have me to deal with. Even after Murdoc played the clip of her confession she still tried to deny it and brush it off so it wouldn't complicate things for Mac and Desi. If Riley had wanted, she could have easily told Mac this to his face while he was dating Desi and then let things happen from there but she DIDNT. She kept that secret buried so deep she herself was in denial.

(also if anyone calls Mac a player or anything like that.. I will end you. He is doing his best to deal with everything that has happened to him and people keep giving him shit for it....)

Anyways, we see Mac’s expression & he is just confused and shocked and clearly not trying to think about it because it changed EVERYTHING for him.

[Murdoc saying I THINK IM ON TEAM RILEY was a HUGE HIGHLIGHT for me! I love him so damn much!]

Desi took it really well too actually. If they keep going down this road of growth and maturity for her I think I could actually like her again. (Russ too when he apologised to Bozer)

She didnt throw a hissy fit or say I knew it or look at Riley like she was the villain. She focused on the mission & I respect her for that.

(Riley does say, “the next thing you are going to hear on that recording-” and then gets cut off by Desi.. If this will come into play at some point later on or if it was just her trying to explain herself, remains to be seen.)

Then after the climax, we finally hear Riley say the words to Mac in real time and we get our FIRST MacRiley hug of the season!

At this point I thought they would agree to be friends and make the friendzone thing clear BUT NOPE. (you have no idea how happy I am about it not going down like that!)

I was also a puddle on the floor. SO

“Mac look-”

“You don’t have to say anything if you dont want to. Really.”

“I want to. Last year in Germany. I realised I was starting to have feelings for you. Real feelings. I didnt want to make anything weird between you and Desi. I didnt want to mess up our work or our friendship so I decided to bury it. Until the feelings passed.”

“Emotions aren’t a science. You can’t control them.”

Gosh they are so perfect together! The way they look at each other and the HUG! OH MY GOD THE HUG! Its just perfection.

Now we also see this from Desi’s POV. Again no anger or jealousy from her. I think it was an understanding. She realised that she and Mac were never going to work.. maybe a little pain but honestly everything that went down with her and Mac was her fault too. The lack of trust and understanding was always a problem for them. Sure, things were going well but she didnt seem like she was ready for a commitment if im being honest. If Mac had proposed I think Desi would have said no.(again nothing wrong with that)

She didnt want to label their relationship..they haven't said the words I love you to each other and I dont think they even live together. It really was way too sudden.(these are just things im assuming people define how well a relationship is going by.. I have no experience.)

Then ofcourse we have what im calling the goodbye scene. Its the break up before the break up in my opinion.

Desi tells Mac that they should pretend the last 24 hours never happened (that might actually include Mac wanting to propose but make of it what you will..) and that they should have a clean slate. But its very clear from Mac’s face and Desi sees it too that he isnt 100% onboard with it. He cant forget about it.

Which is when Desi says “Look Mac just do whatever you feel is right” and Mac looks confused.

She then gives him a goodbye kiss.

Look if you have ever watched any show/movie before where the characters are saying goodbye to each other or breaking each others hearts...THERE IS ALWAYS A KISS ON THE CHEEK. A final farewell of sorts.

That is what it seemed like to me. It was Desi telling Mac to do what he has to. Even if it inevitably leads to their break up.

Again real emotional maturity from Desi here!

Then we get the scene, Monica Macer (the show runner) tweeted about back in December.

Mac knocking on someones door. If im being honest? I thought it was Desi’s place and he was going to propose...

BUT it turned out to be Riley’s.

Mac clearly hasn't stopped thinking about what happened. I wouldnt either if my best friend who has put her life on the line for me and trusts me 100%, now has feelings for me? That would turn my world upside down too.

especially if I had feelings for her that I buried so deep that I never acknowledged them.

Also this is my scenario for how their first kiss goes down just FYI.. (Mac showing up at Rileys doorstep and finally confessing his feelings and kissing her *probably won't happen that way now though, but I still love it*)

Mac hesitates for a second before finally knocking on her door.

“Mac? Everything okay?”

“I can’t pretend like the last 24 hours didnt just happen. They did. So I gotta ask. Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“Hiding your emotions and letting it pass. Did they go away?”

and I proceeded to pass out. My brain just checked out...

Now initially in all my freaking out I thought Mac was asking Riley about his feelings. If HE buried them deep enough would he still be able to move on with Desi but then I rewatched it and I realised he was asking RILEY if her feelings were still there, if there was still a possibility of something ever happening.

She never told him its all good now! my feelings are gone and it was a long time ago. She told him she buried it but he needed to know if a future with Riley was something tangible.

BASICALLY ANGUS MACGYVER ASKED RILEY DAVIS IF SHE WAS STILL IN LOVE WITH HIM. *I think I need to go to a hospital now*

So this was my second reason for not being annoyed about the proposal. The writers used it to show what a huge impact it would have on Mac. How much Rileys feelings would actually mean to him. the GAME CHANGER it would be.

A friend of mine said it was kinda funny and a little jarring but I liked it. (I could have done without the proposal) But I understand why they did it. They couldnt have Mac and Desi break up the same day Riley’s feelings came out because then people would hate Mac. They had to make him want to take the next step with Desi but then drop a bomb on him, that would make him question everything.

Again this is what I took away from it.

BUT GOSH WAS THIS EPISODE AMAZING!

I do get that some people are not happy with this and some said it was too sudden *not like we’ve been waiting since season 1 or anything* but I think after 5x11 things will slow down again. Mac may break up with Desi only at the end of the season when he finally comes to terms with his feelings. (Some people are still cautious and I get it but after everything that just happened I find it hard to believe that Mac and Riley won't end up together after all.. not to mention the leaked script conversation between Mac and Riley from 5x15)

Now I dont know how the final scene ends.. they definitely dont get called away for their solo mission immediately after because Mac’s cheek injury is relatively healed in this stills, which means Riley does answer Mac’s question. She may try to avoid it or deflect but he is standing right there so...who knows.

Next weeks episode is a MacRIley solo mission and lets just say things definitely are heating up a bit..*wink wink*

YUP IM HYPED.

BRING ON THE SEXUAL TENSION AND THE ANGST!

#MacGyver #Angus MacGyver #riley davis #macriley #mac x riley #macriley is endgame #macgyver 510 #murdoc

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mittensmorgul · 3 years

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Re: signs that 15x20 is unreal, how about the monkey statue? It's a feature of the Roadhouse in 2x02, so it seems fair enough it would appear in Heaven's Roadhouse. However, it also features in Dean's dream bar in 14x10 and in Lebanon, 14x13. You could say then that it represents Dean's desires ... but actually, both of these episodes featured dangerous fantasies that Dean had to choose to end in order to get what he really wanted. In Nihilism, Dean has to snap out of the supposed ideal reality in order to obtain freedom from Michael's control. In Lebanon, Dean undoes the pearl's granting of his "heart's desire" because although he could get Michael out of his head and also get his father back, it would mean losing Mary, Cas, and Jack, and becoming estranged from Sam. So, I really think that the monkey statue is a massive red flag. (Especially as it seems so prominent in an otherwise sparse set, sitting outside the Roadhouse, between Bobby and Dean - like a third character, or a barrier. Are there other theories about it?)

Also, the saturated colours, vintage vehicles and general retro Americana feel of both the street at the end of 15x19 and the pie festival in 15x20 bear an uncanny resemblance to Charming Acres from 14x19 - which of course turned out to be a false reality created, controlled and violently enforced by the mayor (one of those 'little men in positions of power'), a father who proclaims himself God. So, to me, everything from the end of 15x19 to 15x20 screams false, dangerous dream, which claims to be what you want, but isn't really.

It's the moment that Jack becomes God that everything stops making sense, really. Dean asked God to bring Cas back, but he doesn't ask Jack? Dean's worst nightmare is to be on his own, and yet when he gets to Heaven and finds out he doesn't have to be alone, that everyone is together, he ... drives off on his own???

Sorry, forgot to add: I love the way you said that either 15x20 obliterates canon or canon obliterates 15x20. That sums it up perfectly!

___

HELLO THERE! Before we begin, I have to say I LOVE THE HEN OF LETTERS. She’s ADORABLE!

Okay, now that we have that out of the way, for reference purposes this is regarding this post I made yesterday (linked with an addition I threw on a few hours later, for the sake of keeping it as current as possible):

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/640259612227059712/so-signs-that-15x20-isnt-real-el-sol-beer

Thank you for contributing so much, and potentially saving me having to rewatch to try and catch all the details for sciencing purposes. :’D I’ll take your observations one by one, for the sake of orderliness. :)

1. The Roadhouse Monkey. Sort of an in-joke on the Supernatural set since s2 (Origin story here). It also appeared in the Black Spur Bar in 13.02 where Asmodeus killed the bartender and disguised himself as her in order to get information about Jack out of Dean. Which, if nothing else, serves as a sort of red flag for “this is not what it appears to be.” So what did Asmodeus chat with Dean about with the monkey as a backdrop? Deadbeat dads, running away from home, but still wanting the approval of their fathers more than anything. Imagine that.

Because of how to came to be part of the roadhouse set, with Jerry basically HATING the thing yet directors LOVING it and thinking it made for a great establishing shot of the Roadhouse interior, it also serves as a sort of “cry for help” from the production designers. Like... a “we had no other choice” warning. It was literally the establishing shot of the original Roadhouse’s rubble after it burned.

And also what you said about it above, too. It’s a very meta monkey.

My tag for the monkey

2. YES. THE COLORS. Beginning with 15.19′s final scene and that incredibly weird montage with Sam and Dean’s drive into the fakey-fakey sunset. Like... one out-of-nowhere shot they’d been using in the promo for the finale was the final scene from 2.18 Hollywood Babylon where Sam and Dean walk off the movie set into the “sunset,” which turns out to be a fake sunset painted on a giant screen that rolls aside to reveal the cold grey gloom of reality behind it. Same exact feeling there with the extra-orangey light pervading the finale.

As to the “nostalgia for the past” aura of the episode, that started for me during the bunker montage at the beginning of the episode (and that SONG CHOICE had me cringing too, because heck... that was a depressing way to open the ep... little did I know it would only get more depressing from there). Dean’s precious Dead Guy Robe just gets unceremoniously tossed aside like so much dirty laundry in the room Dean once cared so much for... the old-fashioned alarm clock on his nightstand... Sam doing laundry in a literal machine from the 50′s while he just stands there waiting for it like he has nothing better to do... Dean cleaning all his guns for apparently lack of anything better to do... not being able to find a case and yet not being even remotely interested in exploring the brand new potential of the future and remaining trapped by now-nonexistent duty and the literal actual past... It’s... so wrong in every way.

3. And yeah, the emptiness of Heaven is partly attributable to Covid, but it didn’t have to FEEL completely empty like it did. Like, even devoid of the SIGNS of humanity, with Dean driving completely alone down deserted highways through the wilderness. The Roadhouse was the only tangible sign that anyone else even existed in this heaven, aside from the roads and the bridge in the final scene. Like... where are all these people Dean supposedly cared about LIVING? or... whatever you’d call existing in Heaven as a soul if not living?

And why would Dean’s first desire, when he’d been doing it his whole life and had been most recently doing it within minutes of having died, be to go on a drive? It’s beyond absurd to me. That was not the Dean that Castiel knew and loved. That was not the Dean who literally did everything out of love for the world and the people in his life. That was not the Dean that Cas sacrificed himself for. Sorry, it’s just not.

It’s almost as if all of Chuck’s storytelling power simply transferred over to Jack. It’s almost as if the storyteller interfering was irrelevant and only hindering his story actually playing out. Like the storyteller only needed for Sam and Dean to let their guard down, to believe their free will had won, for them to lose all their agency and become nothing more than irrelevant characters to be disposed of.

You can’t have both things. Either you believe the first 326 episodes of Supernatural, or you believe the 327th. They are mutually exclusive.

#spn 15.20 #the roadhouse monkey #color and temperature #chuck's process #hen of letters

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halinski · 4 years

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Red Light, Green Light

I lost the original ask when I tried to post the other day but thankfully I had this saved! Thank you to the anon who sent this!! It was a great challenge and obviously it took me a long while (so I hope you’re still around!) but I’m actually quite happy with it :D I might finally be gaining some confidence with writing hehe lots of thanks to @kcfriedchicken for always putting up with me and cheering me on, and also to @livinginfictions for the thorough beta!! <3

[Read on AO3]

Derek blinked lazily at the clock on Stiles' desk, wishing he could close his eyes and keep dozing, pretend he hadn't seen how late it was getting because that meant putting an end to this. But...an alpha missing out or being late to his own pack meeting would not do. Especially if he popped up around the same time as Stiles, both of them smelling distinctly of each other.

No. This...whatever it was—well, relationship, yes, in a way—it was just theirs for now. Stiles’ and his. They hadn't put a name to it, mostly because Derek feared to bestow a cursed title upon Stiles. Connections like this generally ended badly. But this was something that was just theirs, safe and secure behind four walls, or car doors. For now.

Another minute ticked by, striking Derek's ears, drawing attention to the impatient little black hands, swinging further on and on, tempting Derek to dig his claws into the plastic and tear it apart, as if that would eradicate the concept of time so that he could continue to lie here with Stiles on his shoulder. If that was all his life consisted of from this day forward, Derek wouldn't mind. He'd always seen himself bleeding to death at the hands of an enemy, enduring inexplicable pain but now...

He could spend eternity here in Stiles' room, on his tiny bed, and not be bothered at all, or alternatively, and more realistically, die happy on the spot in a good way.

He was half tempted to go public with their...relationship but it also made the fear of vulnerability stir inside his chest. It was one thing to have Stiles see his cracks and edges: to let him soothe them like balm in privacy, but revealing this thing with Stiles would mean letting the rest of the world know about his weakness. He knew the pack didn't mean him any harm, and yet...

Derek was working on giving the softness inside him space. It was a work in progress.

He sighed, another tick and tock of a minute having gone by, the planned event creeping closer. Stiles snuffled against Derek's shoulder at the sound, rubbing his scent into the worn grey shirt. His arm re-adjusted around Derek's torso.

"If you keep up with that all my shirts are gonna be shoulder free - but only on the right side," Derek said, amused and hell, proud even, at how quickly so many wolf-like behaviors had grown on Stiles; faster than anyone else in the pack, when he wasn't even a wolf. It spoke volumes of Stiles' understanding. Sure, he had been tactile from the start, searching for contact, and Derek had seen the hugs and shoulder pats he shared with his dad but this...it just felt right.

Derek was glad the human's eyes were closed because the smirk he was wearing may have been closer to a smile, and he didn't dare encourage Stiles’ ideas further. If he gave his cheesy thoughts too much room he would ruin their balanced give and take. They both found a necessary challenge in the other. Derek couldn't just surrender.

"You can buy new ones," Stiles mumbled, not caring to lift his head even the slightest bit. "Shit, it's not like you're poor. Don't be stingy. Let a guy enjoy himself."

Derek let out a light snort. "You've enjoyed yourself plenty. It's time we get ready."

Stiles just whined, slightly high pitched and grating, but a wordless communication Derek appreciated, if only for the fact that Stiles didn't necessarily need his words around him anymore. When he didn't want to, which...wasn't very often.

"Come on, let's go," Derek said, giving Stiles' a vigorous little back rub to try and get his system going, after which he managed to pull him up into a sitting position with him.

"This sucks. I'm going to excommunicate from the pack. Both you and me so we never have to deal with any responsibilities ever again," Stiles said, blinking unhappily into the room.

Derek swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, stretching his back. "And then I'll whisk you away and we'll live in a cave like real wolf-men for the rest of our lives," he quipped.

"Exactly!" Stiles exclaimed, a grin splitting his face. "This is why I'm dating you."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. You only want me because I'm a werewolf." Derek let out a put upon sigh after slipping on his shoes and grabbing his jacket. Stiles joined him then, taking hold of Derek by wrapping his fist in the hem of his shirt.

"Come here, hot wolf-man," Stiles mock-growled, pulling him in. Derek went along easily, lips finding Stiles' blindly and letting himself sink into the warmth. Stiles' hand stroked over his cheek with the tenderness of a sunlit daisy.

God, Derek was a goner.

Derek gently nudged Stiles back, righting his head. Stiles followed his movement with a subtle lick across his lips, pupils all wide and open, as if he had a whole world in there for Derek alone to make his home in. But he couldn't let himself get distracted by Stiles again.

"I'll race you," he blurted out to shake himself out of this delirious high. A challenge: one of the strongest motivators for Stiles. On cue, Derek watched the spark ignite in his eyes.

"I'm listening." Stiles smiled at him defiantly.

"I bet I can make it home, shower and be ready before you are."

"On foot? No way! I'm so going to win this."

"Oh yeah?"

"You're a goner, Hale." Stiles was right about that on one count.

Derek met his gaze with equal glee. He held the moment just for a second longer, fingertips brushing against Stiles' nape. Stiles' pulse jumped beneath his thumb and Derek couldn't put the feelings in his chest into words, nor actions. The most he was capable of was resting his forehead against Stiles', just breathing him in.

Resisting the tangible temptation to give in to Stiles once more, Derek merely parted his lips to whisper, "Go!"

He ripped himself from the human and fled, holding fast to his next objective.

"Hey!" Stiles objected after a heartbeat, but Derek was already out the window.

--------

Stiles screeched into the parking lot, foot on the break and hands pulling the steering wheel for a sharp left. He skidded to a halt next to the familiar figures at the entrance to Derek’s building - he still couldn’t believe his boyfriend had bought a whole building just to maintain his social isolation. Then again, having to listen to your neighbors do literally everything couldn’t be great. It would drive anyone insane. Stiles yanked the emergency break as he parked and left the car running, jumping out in one smooth move.

Isaac could shut it, he was totally smooth.

“You asshole!” Stiles ranted, pointing at Derek in frustration. “You cheated.”

Derek did nothing but smile smugly, eyebrows openly laughing at Stiles.

“I don’t cheat,” he declared, arms crossing over his chest, now wearing a nice bright blue shirt. There was a light, earthy cologne crawling up Stiles' nose as he stood in front of this man of brawn. Stiles knew intimately how solid and strong Derek was beneath that sturdy dark blue top but instead of indulging said train of thought he had to expel it. The pack was probably used to his hormonal responses to Derek but he was supposed to be growing out of that phase.

Thank goodness for strong deodorant, Stiles thought,watching Derek's nostrils flare. He breathed in relief at the small nod that deemed him clean enough. Any lingering scents of each other scrubbed away, and a change of clothes. Dating a werewolf on the down low among other werewolves was a pain in the ass. Especially when assholes like Jackson would sneer and complain about the "ghastly stink" of artificial scents only when it came to Stiles. Naturally, he didn’t dare talk smack about Derek in his presence.

"There's no way. You absolutely cheated," Stiles insisted and jabbed at those abs, just under Derek's elbow, where he knew he was ticklish. Then he bit his tongue lest he let anything incriminating slip and whirled around, grinning to himself at the quiet wheeze behind him.

"You done?” Lydia asked with an audible eye roll. How was it that all of Stiles’ favorite people had perfected that movement?

“Yup!” Stiles declared, making a beeline for Erica to hook his arm into hers. Erica was bound to try to interrogate him about what kind of cheating Derek had done but Stiles was a sheriff’s son, and he had all his evasive techniques down. Of course, Erica had her own theories about him and the alpha, which may or may not have resulted in him confessing to her about his crush. Despite not being able to tell her about any of the developments, he found comfort in the fact that he could be sure she was rooting for them. “C’mon, bestie. Let’s go!”

Stiles didn’t miss the grin Erica sent Derek’s way before they turned and headed up into the loft, making a pit stop at the still running Jeep. The rest of the pack slowly shuffled after them.

--------

Somehow... no matter how organized Derek tried to be before a pack meeting or how sternly he glared and attempted to keep the pack in line, pack meetings always resulted in chaos and headaches. Right now, there was a discussion going on about cats and full moons that weren’t based on any scientific (or supernatural) evidence and Derek couldn't even recall when the conversation shifted.

Even Stiles was getting tired at this point, rubbing his forehead vigorously as he hung over the laptop. Derek hadn't heard him typing for the past 15 minutes and it hadn’t been long after that Stiles had stopped sending sullen looks his way and started stubbornly picking at the permanent stain on the table.

"Okay, let's wrap this up and get something to eat before I start tearing out throats," Derek sighed.

Stiles' laptop snapped shut before Derek finished the sentence.

Boyd smirked. "We haven't heard that one in a while," he commented.

"So, we're done, right?" Lydia declared, already packing up her things and slipping her shoes back on.

"We're done when I say I'm done," Derek said. "Any other questions left?"

Erica raised her arm from her lounged position.

"Yes."

"Are we done?" she asked, without as much a hint of amusement, and Derek was. Derek was 100 percent done trying to deal with these teenagers.

He gave her a long blank stare. Just to prove how much he meant it, before he turned from where he had been pacing and pointed at Stiles.

"Patty's. You're driving."

Then he marched upstairs to his private bathroom, just to buy himself some alone time, hanging out the tiny window and staring out at the tree tops.

He loved his pack, he did. Sometimes it was all a bit much and he needed to breathe, though. He'd been the same even as a kid.

He waited until everyone had made their way into the stairwell before taking a deep breath and following. A small part of him was hoping Stiles would linger behind so they could have a moment but he quickly buried that thought with logic. They would be heard and how could he even already miss Stiles when they had just spent hours together?

Grabbing his jacket, wallet in the pocket, he pulled the door shut and ambled down the stairs. He didn't bother locking it. There was nothing to protect, and Derek made sure to chase off any stupid teens who wanted to screw around and vandalize the place. Any supernaturals wouldn't be bothered by a lock anyway.

The only exception was, of course, when Stiles was around.

Of course, the kids weren't even close to figuring out a seating order by the time he joined them. What did Derek even expect?

But upon approaching the Jeep, he found one seat occupied. The passenger seat. Derek stopped short.

"Erica." Because of course.

Her curls bounced as the young women turned to look and flash a grin at him.

"Derek, hi! Would you look at that, we're matching," she said, shimmying in her own leather jacket, just as black as his, but newer and shinier. Derek wouldn't really say they matched, because Erica was a fashion statement in herself, a force of her own, and Derek was just…wearing a memento because it was comfortable. Whatever.

Derek crossed his arms.

Stiles came over to his side, leaning on him and in toward Erica. Stiles let his fingers tap lightly against Derek's pec. Thank God Stiles had always been reckless with physical contact and there was no sudden change in intimacy that could cause suspicion. Derek just had to make sure he didn't preen too much.

"Eyebrows basically mirrored, matching, with only a slight degree of tilt, I would say maybe like a good… 19%. And then we have a non-flared nose but alert ears and oh, dare I say… that freshly trimmed stubble really drives the point home,which is…Erica, I think you better move," Stiles warned, voice lifting from dramatic broadcaster to a cartoonist sing-song tune.

Derek chose not to acknowledge Stiles, because encouragement would surely only escalate this situation. Either in the manner of Stiles' antics, or instead with the fondness trying to bloom in Derek's chest.

Erica only proceeded to lean further into her seat, eyes flickering between the two of them with a certain glint.

"And why's that?" she challenged.

"Because I say so," Derek muttered.

"And he's the alpha," Stiles finished for him, straightening with pride.

Erica gazed back between the two of them, lips pursuing with evident consideration of pushing further. Then she sighed.

"You know it's really not fair when you gang up on me," she said, but a smile still snuck its way onto her face. She turned towards the middle console and hiked herself up to clamber into the back. Halfway there, she stuck her hands out and called for Boyd's assistance, who gave a small shake of his head but quickly came to his girlfriend's aid.

Derek bit back a comment while Stiles laughed at his side, and then detached himself from him. Before Stiles left to go grab his own seat, he left a gentle pat on Derek's back.

--------

Two and a half hours, 12 burgers, 7 large fries (4 regular and 3 curly), 2 cartons of onion rings, some chicken, multiple stacks of pancakes, 4 waffles, 8 milkshakes, and a juicy mixed berry pie later, they were back in the cars, making the 20 minute drive to Beacon Hills. Sure, there were plenty of places to eat in town but after discovering Patty’s diner one early morning while dealing with some kind of manticore-like creature nearby, they had deemed this the best reasonably close diner. Now, it was a regular thing.

Jackson led the way in his Porsche, of course, with Lydia right at his side and Scott and Allison in the back, while Jeep tailed them with Stiles at the wheel. Erica was splayed out in the backseat with her head resting in Boyd’s lap, quietly humming along to the radio. Isaac was smooshed over on the other side and yet still somehow found a way to rest his head on Boyd's shoulder and close his eyes.

Hungers sated, stress digested and drama enacted all through dinner, everything was starting to slowly settle. Even Derek's restless soul found sanctuary in the familiar scents of his pack and the rhythm of Stiles' fingers against the wheel as they corresponded with his heartbeat. Derek allowed himself to find comfort, sinking further into the seat and stretching his arm casually out to rest on the back of Stiles' seat.

He watched Stiles' eyes flicker his way but halt and return to take in the sight in the rear view mirror. A small smile tugged at his lips and Stiles hummed along with Erica as if the swell of affection radiating from him was not at all related to Derek's action.

Derek followed his gaze back out to the street in front before he could get lost in retracing the slope of Stiles' nose and the starry path of moles down his cheek. The Porsche was growing ever smaller, occasionally disappearing from view entirely.

"You're going to lose them," Derek remarked. Not that it really mattered; everything still felt safe enough. As safe as it could, that was.

"If Jackson wants to flash his bougie car as some sort of compensation even though he didn't even buy it himself, he can be my guest. I'm not pushing my darling today," Stiles said, making a show of stroking the wheel. He smirked. "Unless you want to pay for a full on “Pimp My Car” session?"

Derek snorted. "In your dreams."

"One day. Just you wait. You'll see."

"Upgrading anything about this—this—" Derek reconsidered calling Roscoe a piece of crap whenStiles threw him a warning glare, "—hunk of metal…would cost more than buying a brand new SUV, including A/C and all the good stuff."

"You know, if you give me that in cash, I could totally start saving up for that upgrade." Stiles gave him an impish little smile.

"Absolutely not."

"C'mon, Hale. Fork over the cash," Stiles sang, holding up a hand and rubbing his fingers together. "Otherwise I might have to start charging by the mile, along with a service fee."

Which Derek had absolutely offered Stiles before. Well, not payment by the mile but he had happily suggested taking care of all charges for the usage and maintenance of the Jeep. He had repeatedly insisted and it was Stiles who, more often than not, refused.

"I think we might have to switch over to transport by taxi. That'll be cheaper as well as a smoother ride," Derek countered.

"What are you, 50? Have you ever heard of Uber? It's what all the—"

"Eyes on the road, Stiles."

"I am paying attention. Jeez, relax."

"And both hands on the wheel."

"Stop acting like my dad—"

"Oh my God, Stiles. I am not that old. Stop comparing me to your dad, of all people."

"Then stop acting like it. You're out here lecturing me like I don't always get you right where you need to be. With special bodyguard services, if I may add, which you will never get from any carpooling service."

Derek shook his head at the smug smile on his mate's face. There was time for sweet praises to be whispered into burning ears from within warm embraces in bed later. For now, he just preened at the familiarity of the interaction. Nothing like some good old bickering to help digest a feast.

"It's red." Derek pointed out to the street light ahead.

"I have eyes," Stiles said, easing down on the brake a little harder. The Jeep eventually rolled to a stop before the empty intersection, the hanging mist seeping from the tall dark trees radiating a gleaming red.

Derek loved it when the world made it seem like time stood still.

Stiles turned to him.

"Red light," Stiles proclaimed, voice suddenly open and unguarded. It was like the silvery shine to full moon nights when they encased Derek in protection. He reacted to the words on instinct, habit pulling him forward. Derek leaned in without hesitation.

Letting his lips meet Stiles' didn't require any guidance. He'd probably find his way home to Stiles' soft touch blindfolded from the opposite side of the world. Kissing Stiles was sweet like honey and warm like a fireplace in the dead of a Siberian winter.

It wasn't a peck, definitely a longer interaction, but it was still soft and sweet. They were encapsulated in their own little world until they finally parted. Derek found those beautiful amber eyes and smiled.

"Green light," he said softly, having registered the quiet click and the now lightened fog outside.

Stiles breathed out between parted lips, a corner of them hiking up. He was just about to shift the car into motion when—

"What the ever loving fuck was that?!" Erica burst between them with a shout, nails digging into their sleeves. "What? I mean, this! You kissed!"

Stiles brought his foot down on the brake again hard, but he forgot the clutch and killed the engine instantly. He'd let out his own shout that fell quiet as the car came to a rocking stop.

Derek winced at the volume before he could register what was going on and then… froze.

"Erica! What the hell," Stiles breathed out, throwing his hands up to his hair. His discomfort couldn't solely be attributed to the surprise from the backseat, Derek figured, chancing a look over to see the blush climbing up Stiles' face. Derek knew all too well how it started; with the pink gleam budding just beneath his collarbone before it expanded like smattering star dust all the way up his neck that found its heart in his cheeks. Right where Derek found the source of his happiness when they tugged up and bunched around Stiles' smile.

"No." Erica shook her head. "Not me. What is going on right here?" She tugged at their arms. "When did this start? How long has it been going on?"

"And how in hell did you manage to keep this a secret, Stilinski?" Isaac threw in, his head popping up beside the bouncy curls.

Stiles looked over at Derek cautiously. His heart was clearly doing double time and well, so was Derek's. They had always avoided discussing the possibility of an involuntary reveal so, honestly, it served them right. Derek should've known the universe would have a trick up its sleeve as soon as he relaxed.

But…this wasn't necessarily something bad. He was pretty sure that the pack wouldn't mind about this development. Chances were, it would bring them all closer together. Somehow.

Still, doubts remained. Fear crept through him on spindly legs, ready to strike with its black widow fangs at any moment. There was so much that could go wrong. So much-

There was a deep intake of breath from beside him.

"It's not what you think," Stiles said then.

"Oh, so Derek wasn't just shoving his tongue down your throat?" Erica hummed, and she leaned forward to place her chin on Stiles' shoulder.

"There was no tongue involved!" Stiles exclaimed, throwing up an arm.

"There was a kiss though," Boyd intercepted.

Stiles glared at him through the rear view mirror. "You too? Betrayal."

"I am pretty curious about this," he replied, gazing over at Derek as best as he could past Erica's and Isaac's heads.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathed. "It was just…a game! It was—it was just a game."

"A game?" Erica had nearly perfected the signature Hale eyebrow lift.

Stiles was not fully successful at covering up his jealousy.

Nor the shame and upset at having to play the incident off. Derek wasn't having it.

"Yes, a game. The red light game. You spend hours on your phone. How have you not—" Stiles started.

"No," Derek interrupted. There was a quiet hitched breath as all heads turned to stare at the Alpha. He tried to remain calm, and turned to look at his mate.

"It's not just a game. It is our game but we're also dating." Derek swallowed, keeping his breath and words steady. "He's my boyfriend."

Erica's squeal almost drowned out Stiles' beaming joy, but all Derek could see was Stiles; and the unfiltered, sunshine-bright love shining off his exhilarated face. There was surprise there, and some hesitance, but it was overrun by excitement.

"I fucking knew it!" Erica laughed loudly, smacking a kiss to Stiles' cheek and quickly infecting him with her laughter.

It wasn't long before most of the car had joined in, searching for touch all around. Derek felt both pats on his shoulders as well as a grip near his neck, grounding him to pack amidst all the congratulations. It seemed funny now, worrying about the reception of this news. Derek ducked his head to hide his burning eyes.

Relief, happiness—he wasn't even sure what to feel first, but he almost felt like he didn't need to name it. All he had to do was let himself feel it for now. Stiles put his hand over his, squeezing it lightly. Derek took it.

"Wait, so this is why we found you two cooking together that one time!"

Derek smiled, looking up to the road ahead with a lighter soul.

#eternalsterek #sterek #eternal sterek #sterek fanfiction #fanfic #derek hale #stiles stilinski #secret relationship #prompt fic #anon #ask #red light green light #i wrote this

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hongism · 3 years

Text

Hyello, okay so. I don't have the emotional energy to take in and discuss everything in that chapter so imma just gush over the info cause I am a ✨whore✨ for world building.

So obviously MOC SPOILER

hi bestie HELLO guess WHO!!! finally ANSWering!!! altho im gonna answer separately and space everything out all Neatly bc im all over the place so strap IN we’re going on an moc RIDE!

THERE'S A WHOLE SIREN COMMUNITY?! AND YN AND IT MUST BE WOOYOUNG WERE FRIENDS? SIRENS HAVE A FULLY FLEDGE COMMUNITY WITH PRIESTS AND SCHOOLS AND MULTUOLE CITIES TO SOME EXTEND??? MAYBE EVEN AN ENTIRE PLANET WITH SIRENS MAYBE THEIR ORIGIN PLANET? HOW MANY TYPES OF SIRENS ARE THERE AND IN THE COMMUNITY HOW DTRICT ARE THE DIFFERENT ROLES?!?! ALSO DOES THE SIREN COMMUNITY ALLOW FOR DIFFERENT TYPES OF SIRENS TO BE TOGETHER? OBVIOUSLY THEY SHOULD BUT ARE THE CHILDREN THEN HYBRID TYPES, LIKE WHEN WE GET BLUED DARK SKIND BABIES OR CAN A SKREN ONLY BE ONE TYPE. WHAT POWERS DO SIRENS HAVE AND DOES THE POWERS REFLECT THEIR PERSONALITY AND DO THE DIFFERENT TYOES LEAN TOWARDS CERTAIN JOBS. LIKE WE JUST LESRNED THE OCEAN GOTTA BE PRIESTS BUT MOON ISNT STRICT WHAT ABOUT FIRE. AND IS YN INSTIC TO PULL OUT A HEART CAUDE HER PERSONALITT, TRSUMA OR IS IT RELATED TO THE MOON. ALSO CAUSE ITS A RED MOON WHICH IS COMMONLY A BLOOD MOON, IS YN THEN A SPECIAL MOON SIREN AND THATS WHY HER POWERS ARE STEONGER OR HER INSTICTS TO USE THEM ARE STORNGER BUT THEN THE MILITARY FUCKED HER UP. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

now this is the thing im biting my tongue on SO HARD bc it’s my favorite aspect of the world building and the universe and everything involved in it bUTIHDFKJG THERS SO MUCH I WANNA SAYYYYYYYYYY in short that one dream sequence holds more hints and information than ANYTHING from previous chapters, i think that it’s probably the MOST IMPORTANT dream to date. while we’ve seen some crazy ones in the past, this one is both the biggest hint and the biggest window into y/n’s past by FARRRR. even tho that whole scene was dialogue i think there’s so much to pick up on from it and so much to see and learn from it and it’s one of my faves bc there’s so much to unpack from it !!

Like yes the story and the development is freaking ✨yes✨ I love it. Genuinely think moc should be released as books. But I just cannot deal with the emotions rn.

But also now all I'm going to be thinking about how many sirens are actually out there. And if yn knew her parents and wasn't just an orphan the military found in the streets... How the fuck did she end up in the military grasps. What happened to her parents what happened to the community, is it still out there? Guess I gotta go back and reread the galaxies and the backstories, obviously I must have missed or have forgotten something. Ugh how the puzzle pieces are puzzling (or something). Moc is a drug and I'm not going sober anytime soon

(obviously you don't have to respond to my questions, this is more just an insight into the spiralling of theories going on in my mind)

releasing moc as books? a dream and a half, i can say that much slkjdlgkjlkf but back to the sirens... how many are out there? we heard early on that hongjoong was looking for ‘the last five’ but then seonghwa debunked that and said that was a mistranslation over time that was passed down and such, but beyond that, we don’t really know much about sirens as a whole? there are some hints in the galaxies and planet descriptions but if that dream sequence is a puzzle, i would say we have a handful of pieces that can be put into place based on what we’ve learned so far!!!!

Okay I lied, I am ready to unpack a little of the ✨emotions✨

When hongjoong explained that hwa tried to stop San only for San to detain him and in a sense make him watch the scene unfold. And then realising hwa had to go through that again, only being even more helpless. I don't doubt hwa loves San, but to see the events happening again, with someone he clearly loves as much as he does yn even if he also loves joong, and to see the desperation and determination must have been just. Horrible. Just absolutely soul breaking horrible. I can imagine him vowing to himself after San that he would never let something like that happen again. That of any of the crew got out of control like that, that he would fight harder to stop them. That he would would do absolutely everything in his power to stop it. And then being helpless as he watched yn do it. Just pure heart wrenching pain. And it must have been beyond terrifying to see someone you love ready and determined to kill themselves partly from rage and partly from desperation. With the backstory, that scene becomes almost as cruel as the warehouse scene with San. The only redeeming quality is no one needing life saving surgery in a time crunch, otherwise they would be the same level of ✨never again✨

honestly i think the two crew members i torture the most are san and hwa bc i just keep putting them thru all this shit and hurting them so much but really this was the defining point of why seonghwa was so afraid. before we kinda just knew he was afraid of yn and hongjoong was mad about it. in this revelation we get to see the source of the trauma and how it was amplified by it being someone he loves as dearly as he loves yn. and for sure when first reading that scene of yn and jisung in the brig, it’s meant to evoke a sense of anger and rage like yn is so angry to a point where she would do this sort of thing, but my hope with that scene was also to show that desperation. that when looking back at it after having already seen the rage and the aftermath, that reading it again shows how desperate and hopeless she was in that moment. which is exactly the same emotion that was evoked back in that warehouse scene with san, except it was relayed differently because the warehouse was a more immediate sense of desperation. this brig scene was meant to emulate that but in a slow burn kinda way where the veil of realization is pulled off after the fact and not in the moment!!!

Just to make sure you don't misunderstand. Those asks were compliments. You are an absolutely incredible writer. And the fact that you aren’t afraid of hurting your characters *cough cough* SHOOTING SAN?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!!!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? *CLEARS THROAT AGRESSIVELY* just makes the story much better. No one gets plot armour, making it more realistic (?) and really draws in the writer and sorta imitates the fear and desperation the characters feel

PLS don’t worry, i live for every moment and i live for these open and raw and genuine conversations i didn’t take any as an insult i PROMISE!! i think part of the nature of this whole trope of space pirates and criminals is that hter is no guarantee of safety! i don’t wanna have to cut corners to make sure everyone stays unharmed and undamaged throughout the story when the nature of the world i’ve built thus far is a wildly dangerous one!!! i always say that i try to be as realistic as i can, all things considered, and i think that’s the biggest thing that adds to the ‘realism’ in my mind so im so happy to hear that you see it and appreciate it and enjoy it!!!

OHOHOHOHOHOH ALSO

YN GRIPPING SOMEONES HEART??? YOU WRITE THAT SO FUCKING WELL. LIKE ENIGUH DETAILS THAT WE KNOW WHATS GOING ON, BUT ALSO NOT SO MANY DETAILS SO IT GETS DETACHWD FROM THE STORY. LIKE THE LACK OF CLEAR SUPER MANY DETAILS REALLY MADE IT THAT *YOU ARE EXPERIENCING THIS, NOT JUST READING IT* LIKE IT MADE IT WAY MORE EMOTIONAL AND OERSONAL AND THE READER REALLY GOT IMMERSED IN THE MOST HORRIBLE WAY THAT KUST MADE IT ALL RHE MORE BETTER. ALSO JOONG AFRAID????? JOONG REALISING HE GOT A FULLY FLEDGED HEART RIPPER SIREN WHO CANT CONTROL HER BODY TO MOVE THROUGH A HARMLESS DOOR BUT CAN DEFINITELY KILL IN A HEARTBEAT (OR TWO 👀) ALSO THE CONTRAST OF REMOVING RHE BLOOD COLOURED WHITE OLASTIC AND HAVING A CLEAN HAND UNDERNWATH. THE SYMBOL OF IT ALSO BEKNG A TRASH CLEANERS SUIT. LIKE SHE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO ACTUALLY USE THE TRASH PROTECTION DUIT FOR ITS INTENDED PURPOSE. ALSO THE OART WHERE SHE SAYS SHES FINE EVEN TJO SHE ISNT. AT FIRST I READ IT AS HER TELLING HERSELF TO LIE BUT THEN I REALISED ITS HER ADMITTING SHE VERY MUCH ISNT. AND SAN NOT KNOWING???? AND KISSING HER HAND AND UGH AND SEONGHWA KNOWING. I BET HE'S LOWKEY GETTING MORE AND MORE AFRAID OF HER. LIKE YN IS READY TO KILL HERSELF AND ANYONE AROUND HER TO KEEP SAN SAFE. AND SHE INSTICTUALLY GOES FOR THE MODT AGRESSIVE METHOD POSSIBLE. IHHHHHHHHHHHHH I FUCKING LOVE YOU AND YOUR WONDERFUL WTITING AND YOUR TWISTED MIND THAT CAN CREATE ALL THESE FUCKING SCENES THAT GOT ME THUNKING AND FEELING ✨EMOTIONS✨

truly one of the HIGHLIGHTS of the chapter simply bc of how shocking and sudden it is!! for me, that was one of the easiest scenes to write in the chapter, oddly enough? it was something that when it came time to write it, i knew how i wanted it to be and was able to just sit down and write it out the way its written in the final draft of the chapter. i really love playing with those aspects of fiction and storytelling. tangible to a point, without spelling it out. i think it’s obvious that i really love delayed realization in writing, but i really like playing with how the brain processes information and for me personally, i don’t pick up on things right away! i can realize them in a snap or it can take me a bit to go ‘oh god that’s what happened’, and i like playing with that in y/n’s character a LOT.

and in that same vein of thought, there are some layers to that scene as well when compared to the door scene. in the door scene we saw hongjoong clearly tell y/n ‘you need to do this to save san’ yet she wasn’t able to do it despite trying and believing hongjoong. then in the heart scene we saw y/n clearly tell herself ‘you need to do this to save san’ and she did it then. so there’s a lot at play in that parallel alone too. and with that internal monologue she has of im fine vs not fine, then san kissing the hand that touched a literal real actual beating heart for me that was a sort of self indulgent scene and i was really worried about it coming across as too cheesy or something like that, but that is something that’s gonna impact y/n as a character and her relationship with san when they have the conversation of ‘oh hey i put my hand through a man’s chest for you’

i think part of why this chapter was so difficult to construct and write as a whole definitely is because of all the undertones and nuances throughout, and in a lot of ways it’s so so much to even think about that it’s almost too much packed into one chapter alone, but even if you don’t pick up on all the nuances throughout, i’m hoping to revisit them and bring them back around in that delayed realization style again bc that’s one of my favorite things to do ofc :3

#21y redeemed fool #mists of celeste #moc: spoilers #caly answers #sorry i wrote you a whole essay in response oh my god?!??#T_T

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tomhardysteeth · 4 years

Text

Counting Heartbeats

[ao3] Joe x Nicky 2.7k words During the time it takes Nicky to come back to life after an accidental death, Joe thinks back on their 900 years together.

It hurts every time.

The waiting, the tattoo of his heartbeat growing stronger and faster the longer the wait as a tangible reminder that all hearts permanently stop beating eventually.

This time is very stupid.

Joe and Nicky were just eating a lovely dinner together in one of their safe houses when Nicky laughed at something Joe had said and subsequently began choking on the food Joe had cooked. Joe, of course, tried to save him, but it was a fluke accident that inevitably ended in Nicky’s death.

Joe counts the rhythm of his heartbeat as he waits. He holds Nicky’s head in his lap on the floor and strokes his thumb across his reddened cheek and hums a soft tune as he counts.

The first time Nicky had died was clear in Joe’s memory, because he had been the one to kill him and watching a man come back to life is not something easily forgotten (at least, not the first time). Joe thought he was just imagining things, until Nicky stabbed him through the chest and Joe experienced the nothingness himself, the unquantifiable dark emptiness of nonexistence before he impossibly breathed himself back to life and killed Nicky again. And again and again and again until other soldiers began to take notice, and there was a moment of understanding, a moment of looking into each other’s eyes for the first time not as enemies but as allies, and they fled together, wordlessly, into hiding because they knew that they were the same and that they were different.

They learned each other's languages patiently and painstakingly, and for a while they spoke a combination of Arabic and Ligurian, oftentimes switching mid-sentence and then switching right back. Once they could fully understand each other, the first real conversation they had was about what it felt like to die.

“Did you see what you were fighting for? Heaven?” Joe asked.

Nicky shook his head and smiled, his eyes cast down thoughtfully at the ground of the cave they were holed up in. “There was nothing. Every time. Nothing.”

“And when you wake, it feels like no time has passed, and that all of time has passed.”

Nicky laughed and nodded his head. “Yes. Exactly.” He looked at Joe, considering. “What we were fighting for is meaningless.”

“Your religion? Maybe. The god you worship, did he rise from the dead?”

“He did. Perhaps he was like us.”

“So does that mean he was a man, or that we are gods?”

Nicky laughed again. Joe quickly discovered that he liked that small, quiet laugh and that he liked being the one to cause that laugh.

It made sense, in their own little pocket of the universe, when Joe kissed Nicky for the first time. They had been living together, hiding together, running together for a year, maybe two, and they had met Andy and had some questions answered while others continued to pile up, but meeting her put things into perspective. They had an inherent bond with her, of course, but it was different than the bond they had with each other. Until they met Andy, they believed their bond was born primarily out of having the same affliction, but Joe remembered recognizing right away that he would never feel for Andy what he felt for Nicky, that the intensity of his affections were reserved for one person only. And he could feel it, too, without ever having talked about it, that Nicky felt the same. Their love began easily, with gentle touches and secret kisses, and it was altogether thrilling and scary, monumental and simple, and even if they had had just one lifetime together instead of a hundred, Joe would still feel like the luckiest man alive.

The next time Nicky had died was also clear in Joe’s memory, because he loved him, he loved him, he loved him, and he watched the light extinguish from his eyes, and Andy was there with a firm hand on Joe's shoulder, holding him back and yelling in his ear, Nicolo will come back, keep fighting! But it did not stop his heart from hammering furiously in his chest until Nicky came back. That time, Joe felt before he saw; the beat of his heart evened out before he even saw that Nicky was alive. His heart knew.

“When I die, do you feel it?” Joe asked Nicky, one night when everything was still new, when they still felt young and years still felt like years instead of minutes, when they had been together for a single year and it felt like a significant amount of time, a collection of moments, of firsts, to hold and cherish for the long future ahead of them. “Do you feel the pain?”

Nicky was on his back, Joe curled under his arm with his head resting on his chest. He could feel Nicky’s heart beating softly beneath him. “Of course I do,” Nicky replied.

“We began together, do you think we’ll…?”

Nicky squeezed Joe closer against his side. “‘Began,’ is that what you call it? I think of it as being born together.”

“You didn’t answer my question, love.”

“You know I don’t like thinking about it.”

“Humor me.” Joe lifted his head to press a kiss to the underside of Nicky’s jaw. “Please,” he mumbled against his neck.

Nicky huffed a laugh. “I sometimes wonder if it’s not the time that matters but the number of times we die. Maybe Andromache is still alive because she has only been killed 200 times, and maybe on the 300th time she will not come back. If it takes many millennia for that many deaths to occur, then she will live for many millennia.”

“By that logic, if she wanted to die, she could kill herself over and over until she reaches the magic number.”

A beat passed before Nicky said, “It is probably best if we don’t tell her this theory.”

“Agreed.”

“I know it is illogical, but I do keep count,” Nicky continued. “As much as it is possible, I want us to stay close to one another in how often we die.”

Joe traced a line with his finger down Nicky’s chest, the skin smooth and unblemished despite how often it had been stabbed. “Yes, it would be good to try to die as little as possible.”

Nicky kissed the top of his head, burying his whole face in Joe’s hair. “I know we are young, but I fear it will never get easier to see you die. I will worry every single time that it is your last.”

Joe squeezed his lover tight, in confirmation that he felt the same.

After a decade together, Joe began drawing. Everything. He still felt like a young man, but memories are tricky, and the one looming fear of his life was that the vastness of time ahead of him would make him forget all the good he had already experienced. How fortunate he was, to be scared of eternity not because of loneliness and heartbreak and loss but because of having too many good memories to recollect.

Nicky became exasperated with him, with how often he stopped whatever they were doing so he could draw whatever they were doing, or just draw Nicky because “you made a face I like, I need to preserve it.” Parchment was not easy to come by, but Joe was relentless in his efforts.

He drew and drew and drew, a constant as rocksteady as their love for each other.

For a period lasting nearly 50 years, neither of them died. They still fought battles, with Andy deciding when and how they would fight, but they survived each one like very lucky mortal men. It was during a skirmish with a small group of religious extremists somewhere in Europe that Nicky’s throat was cut clean across, and Joe cried out in pain so loud that Andy pulled him against her body and held him tight until he felt his heart calm.

That was the first time he remembered feeling old. He and Nicky had been together for so long, what felt like so long, they often acted like old men. Their love deep and settled and sure, they spent many days together not even speaking, only small touches, sexless for weeks without noticing.

But after Nicky’s throat was slit, a fire ignited in Joe, a myopic feeling of impermanence making him hungry for every touch, every kiss, every fuck. He mapped his body with his lips for several nights in a row, kissing and licking every inch of skin, opening himself up while swallowing Nicky’s cock, bringing him right to the edge with his mouth before readjusting and sinking down, riding him slowly and surely because they had all the time in the world.

And after, lying naked together, Joe scooped Nicky into his arms, back to chest, and whispered against his ear the many ways in which he loved him.

The next time, it was Joe who died a brutal death, and it was Nicky who experienced an existential crisis that resulted in many pleasurably sleepless nights.

When they grew past the age of a normal lifespan, they began counting in decades instead of years. There was a decade of boredom. A decade of bliss, and a second, third, fourth decade of bliss. Then a decade of bickering with one another. A decade of attempted relationships with others outside of Joe, Nicky, Andy—they tried having pets, they tried making friends, they even considered finding a way to raise a child together.

But they were outcasts, and not because of their supposed immortality. They could lie about that, could know a person for years before it became an issue, but for the other reasons. The other reasons were not so easily overlooked. Christian and Muslim, holding hands—they avoided much of Europe for many years. Progress is not linear, however, and so they could spend several years in a place where they could be themselves, only to move on to a place where they could be killed for being themselves, and this was over and over again, for hundreds of years, and in the 21st century they both finally began believing that progress was a line and not a circle only to stumble upon a small town in the American Midwest where they were refused a room at three different hotels. The decade was the 2010s.

They had never broken up. Not once in 900 years had it even come up. They needed space sometimes, sure, but the one thing they had learned from living so long is that time is not real and that a decade together can pass in a moment while three days apart can feel like a year, and so they had never spent more than a couple weeks apart from each other in 900 years.

There was longing, yearning, stretches of time where they wanted to escape the life that was chosen for them, and there were many years that they did not fight any battles, that they did not even see Andy. They both went through periods of depression, mania, and every human emotion in between, identity crises and existential dread, and sometimes the only thing tethering them to reality was the steadfast surety of their love for one another, that when all else seemed lost, they had each other. They checked on Andy a lot during their lowest moments. It was impossible to imagine how she had survived all this time without an anchor.

Living so long rattled one’s moral compass. Any hard decision, any mistake would be forgotten or would prove unimportant with the ever patient and forgiving passage of time. Hundreds of years, killing countless men, it is not possible to feel them all, to remember them all and carry the burden of all that death. No matter how many wars they fought, Joe was never fully confident that they were on the right side or that there was a right side. There was always the nagging deep in his subconscious that there could be more, that they could be doing more with the time they were given, but he wasted years and years trying to figure out what. Once they became old enough to read about things they had lived through in history books, it seemed obvious that they should have done this, could have done that, focused more on this, ignored that, and the world would be a better place if they had just been able to see the big picture. Living through so much of the world’s history made it feel like the responsibility of the world’s trajectory was on their shoulders.

“We can only do what we can do,” Nicky would say, every time Joe had to get his jumble of thoughts out, and he somehow always had the grace to be gentle with him, even after having the same conversation hundreds of times. “We are only men, after all.”

They were not always careful, or they were not always lucky. They had been tested on by doctors, priests, scientists, witches; it was hard to keep track of all the times they had died on operating tables, only to be discarded when their secrets could not be revealed. These deaths were painful, like the others, but for some reason they made for the best sex afterward. We are only men, after all.

When Booker was born, they began fighting smaller battles. They were for-hire for any job that seemed like the right thing to do. After Booker’s last son passed away, the four of them lived together for many years. They all four liked each other, then they hated each other, then they loved each other. There was a sadness in the set of Booker’s shoulders that time could not heal, a grief somehow heavier than the kind Andy carried. It was through Booker that they learned that grief does not compound or diminish with time, it comes and goes as it pleases.

And then came Nile.

It hurts every time.

At beat number one hundred ninety-nine, Joe’s heart evens to a steady pace. At two hundred twelve beats, Nicky coughs his way back to life, red skin fading back to white, blue eyes blinking open.

Joe’s face splits into a grin as he looks down at his lover. “That was all my fault,” he says as a tear slips down his cheek. "I finally cook dinner for once, and you die."

Nicky reaches up and cups his jaw, fingers pressing lightly into his beard. “It’s OK, that’s the first time in several hundred years that you’ve accidentally killed me.”

“I told you, it was Andy that accidentally shot you in the Revolut—”

"I know, I know." He smiles warmly up at Joe. Quietly, he says, "You're OK. I'm here."

“What are y’all doing?”

Nicky and Joe both lift their heads at the sound of Nile's voice. Nicky sits up and leans his weight back against Joe’s chest, both of them still on the floor of the kitchen.

“Joe was waiting on me to come back to life. He poisoned my food to see what would happen.”

Joe playfully bumps his shoulder against Nicky.

Nile raises her eyebrows at them. “Cool. Um, I was hoping I could talk to you guys for a minute.”

They help each other up and gesture to the kitchen table as they talk over each other with of course you can talk to us, anything you need, we’re glad you came to us.

Nile sits across from them and folds her hands on the table. “You’ve been alive nearly a thousand years, right?”

They both nod.

“Do you remember what it was like? At first?” She scratches the side of her face, her eyes wide as she looks down at the table. “Because I’m 27 and I still feel 27 even though I know I’m gonna be 27 for, you know, a really long time. I don’t feel old yet, and I don’t feel like I’m gonna feel old for a while. But I can’t even imagine what it’s like to live for so long, like, am I even gonna remember any of this in a couple hundred years? How do I make sure I don’t...forget?”

Joe and Nicky share a look. Nicky nods his head, silently telling Joe to get up.

Joe excuses himself. He has some drawings to retrieve.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #nicky x joe #immortal husbands #the old guard fic #my fics #i was doin this for the clout but then i had a lot of fun #sorry i'm like this lmao

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hawkinsschoolcounselor · 3 years

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I don't know if this has been asked before but could you try to explain Wills superpowers in your own words? How do they work you think? I know they got something to do with imagining things into reality but HOW? does he have limits or not? Could he imagine having like telekinesis or super strength and voila it becomes reality? Why is it so hard for me to imagine the way imagination powers work? 😂 thx and happy weekend

Hello, thanks for the Ask, and, as always, I apologize for the time it took for me to respond.

I like this question, as we often take superpowers for granted in fiction. By that I mean that we generally don’t question how or why they work. For example, what exactly propels Superman in flight? Originally, he was only able to jump very high (able to clear tall buildings in a single bound), but this eventually gave way to his ability to freely fly through the air (and space!).

Will’s powers aren’t so much imagination powers, really. Instead, his latent powers are manifesting through his imagination, while he has no conscious awareness of it. His powers are actually those of reality manipulation. I see Will’s powers as being similar to those of Franklin Richards, the son of Reed Richards and Susan Storm of the Fantastic Four. I think @kaypeace21 may have brought this up before, but, regardless, it’s a very apt comparison, I think. Franklin was able to manipulate matter and energy to the point that he could change anything if he wanted to. He was seen as one of the most powerful mutants in the Marvel Universe, considered to be on par with The Celestials, making him god-like in scale.

Franklin was able to subconsciously create a pocket dimension, complete with a false “history” for those who resided within it. It’s this part that I think compares to Will Byers. Will hasn’t (or simply can’t) manipulated the “real” world, but I think he’s responsible, albeit unwittingly, for the Upside Down and everything in it. Whether he’s similarly responsible for the breach between the two universes is a different story altogether. El was shown being how the Gate was opened, but, depending on how you view the DID theory, it still could’ve been Will in a way. I think it’s possible Will unknowingly created the Upside Down as a place for his most unpleasant memories and traumas as a way to protect himself from them. The problem is that trauma like that generally can’t be buried so easily, even with powers.

I think the conclusion of Stranger Things will involve Will coming to terms with his past, allowing him to counter the Mindflayer and the Upside Down threat. I like the idea that the Mindflayer is an aspect of Will who thinks he is protecting itself (and Will) through his violent actions. It’d be a nice twist if, instead of defeating him, Will is able to make peace with the Mindflayer. I’d certainly take that over a more predictable and cliche final battle where the Mindflayer is killed or sealed away. I think it’d be very cool if Will grew powerful enough where he could bestow powers on his friends to grant them the attributes of their D&D characters, at least within his pocket dimension.

Enough of the plot is still open-ended enough that I could be totally wrong, but I feel like there is enough evidence for this. Will is able to manipulate reality, at least to the point of being able to create a pocket universe with tangible beings and environments. This has resulted in the Upside Down, demogorgons, and Mindflayer all being threats to the “real” world. The Upside Down is out of control because Will is unaware of, and unable to control, his powers. It makes sense that stopping this threat would involve building up Will to the point that he could take back control.

#stranger things #will byers #will the wise

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welanabananaworld · 4 years

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Ouija, Origin of Evil and the profane voice - Part I

Though extremely shocking and disturbing, children happen to be at the core of major horror films. Samara in The Ring (2002), Dalton in Insidious (2010), Dany and the Grady twins in The Shining (1980), the children in Sinister (2012), Thomas in The Orphanage (2007) are among many other examples that prove the existence of an entire branch of horror cinema built on the mythology of the malevolent child. Why is the figure of the child so prevalent? Why should the most innocent and purest human beings be the main characters of films that are gruesome, violent and whose public age is strictly restricted? Precisely because their vulnerability and purity of soul make them easily influenced and manipulated by external forces. Besides, children are known to have an overwhelming imagination and a propensity to trust which are necessary to open the boundaries between the worlds of the living and the dead in accordance with the codes of the genre.

In addition to this, the more the prey is opposite to our expectations and subverts our beliefs of what is proper and what is not, the more the fright and fascination are potent. To consider a child as a monster, a killer or a possessed body is beyond our general understanding, hence the uncanny appeal of creepy children.

As pointed out by Alison Nastasi in her article published online on Hopes&Fears, this devious appeal for corrupted and murderous children portrayed in horror films might echo to « real-world fears about parenting, gender and social responsibility. »; a theory supported by Joe Dante’s comments about the subject : « Could it be connected to the fact that more and more parents have difficulty balancing work responsibilities [and] child-rearing (not to speak of nurturing their own relationships, personal and career aspirations) and are squeezed financially by the costs of raising children […]? Therefore, is it any wonder that children in genre movies are portrayed as powerful, disruptive, and uncontrollable? Perhaps these menacing moppet movies reflect the fears inherent in helicopter parenting—that the minute you take your eyes off your child, something dreadful will happen. » In any case, the films in question use the creepy kid trope in order to suggest that something is wrong, that the natural order of things is being shattered.

The corruption of innocence can take many forms but the most interesting one to study in relation to the narrative role of the voice in cinema is the threat of an invasion from the Beyond. In Ouija: Origin of Evil (2016), supernatural forces hold a young girl hostage by inhabiting her body and making it go through such transformations (vocal and physical) as to change it beyond recognition.

Taking place in 1967 in Los Angeles, Ouija: Origin of Evil tells the story of the Danzer family. Alice, a spiritual medium, is striving to make ends meet after the loss of her husband and father of her two children by hosting readings in her own house with the help of her daughters, Lina (15) and Doris (9). Running a declining scam business, in which Alice pretends to talk to the dead to bring closure to people and the girls help her out with tricks intended to make it all real, Lina suggests her mother to add a ouija board as a new prop to modernise her readings. The factitious dimension of the ritual which unfolds through the display of ingenious devices (stretchable table, a cupboard big enough to hide Doris, extinguishable candles…) is both an ironical comment on how fake spiritism is going to beat the family at their own game by revealing its true power and also a cleverly designed introduction to set the tone and build the tension.

All the ingredients are here to turn the ouija experience into a nightmare. The bereaved family is craving for a contact whatsoever with their loved one, little Doris first. She wishes she could talk to her father at a seance like other people do when they come and see her mother for help, that is why she does not talk to god directly but instead send prayers to her dad every night before going to bed. Contrary to Lina who is a teenager in complete denial and pushes down her feelings, Alice and Doris seek communication and are open to it, hence the evil befalling on them.

Portrayed as an angelic but lonely and bullied girl who is deeply grieving her father and believes in the blurry frontiers between the worlds of the living and the dead, Doris becomes the perfect human and tangible vessel through which supernatural forces can express themselves. All starts with the introduction of the ouija board as a prop into the house and with Alice breaking the three rules which are to never play alone, in a graveyard and never forget to say goodbye. At this very moment, Doris becomes inhabited by Marcus’s spirit whose identity is yet to be defined. How does this possession first transpire? Through speaking. Marcus uses Doris’s voice to start materializing and, as soon as she touches the board, the voices appear all around her, thus enabling the world of the Beyond to let in.

Doris is progressively attracted by the ouija board which makes her believe she is talking to her father, Roger. They are deceitful spirits who do everything to earn her trust to better trap her, hence the hint at the money buried in the cellar. Contrary to Lina who is far from being fooled, Alice thinks her youngest child is gifted and asks her for help. As the readings follow one another, the trap is closing in around Doris who starts feeling pain in her neck at the same time she excels in the occult. She can now reproduce the voice of the deceased summoned during the seance.

Once she is fully possessed, Doris first goes through a radical physical and behavior transformation by becoming lethargic, stolid, her eyes often turned white when no one is watching her. Besides, her vocal abilities also go through creepy changes. In addition to mimic the deceased’s voice during the readings, adults’ voices, Doris keeps whispering in people’s ears in a demonic way when the evil entity starts spreading its malevolent influence on the whole family.

When the film reaches its climax and Doris fully assumes the devil’s voice, which is guttural, otherworldly and distorted by hatred, she no longer is a young innocent child. Marcus’s spirit corrupts and perverts Doris to achieve revenge by desecrating her body and soul and making her utter bloodcurdling things. The scene which most epitomizes the figure of the violated child is when Doris explains step by step to Lina’s boyfriend how it feels like to be strangled to death. The most uncomfortable thing about it is to witness the contrast between what she says and the sweet voice in which she says it with an angelic smile on her face. The mise-en-scène that keeps stressing Doris’s vocal changes, by shooting her facing the camera (or the fourth wall) as if she was already part of the Beyond, is meant to emphasize the element through which she is channelling these powers and forces : the mouth.

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The mouth as an organic element stands as a kind of leitmotiv throughout the film inasmuch as the possession of Doris’s body and soul by the demonic entity is made complete through that means. One night, Doris is awakened by her pain in the neck and gets assaulted by a dark creature who thrusts his devilish arm into her throat. This shadowy creature, one can notice, has no mouth or rather a distorted sewed one, similar to Lina’s mouth when she looks at herself in the mirror one night. At the light of these elements, what was supposed to be a nightmare was in fact real and prophetic.

But what can be the meaning of the recurring imagery of the sealed mouth (see also Lina’s doll)? Who is Marcus? Why is he portrayed as an evil spirit? What does he want from Doris and her family? He clearly states his purpose when trying to possess Lina’s soul : to snatch her voice.

Father Tom Hogan, a friend of the family, is the one who uncovers the ugly truth behind Doris’s pretended benevolent gift of clairvoyance. She is not channelling good forces but Marcus’s spirit, a man who happened to have been mutilated and murdered in this house a few decades ago. After the second world war, a twisted nazi doctor, called the devil’s doctor in the camps, escaped to America where he succeeded to get hired in a mental institution. He went on practicing his sadistic experiments on patients in the basement of his house. In order to do it, he cut out their tongues, severed their vocal cords and sewed their mouths so that no one could hear them from above. However, Marcus’s story does not end with his death. Violently murdered, he never rested in peace but instead was doomed to wander in the cold darkness of the underworld among other desperate, voiceless souls and malevolent creatures who must have been summoned by the doctor who was into the occult.

In the end, Marcus, who has been silenced by force, deprived of his own voice and overtaken by the surrounding evil influence in the Beyond, seeks revenge against god and people who have the ability to express themselves, eaten away as he is by hatred, frustration and pain. The only way for him to exorcise the horrible things he has been through is to communicate and hurt others, but for that a voice and a body are needed, hence his attempts to snatch the family’s voices. That is the only way to be heard and to have an influence outside his doomed world. Helped by her father’s good spirit, Lina grabs needle and thread and silences her sister for ever, thus fighting hard against the entity who strives to engulf her.

Ouija, Origin of Evil, like many other horror films, uses the voice and its communicative powers as narrative tools to address issues and challenge notions such as grief, loss, family unity, parenting, revenge, alternative beliefs, suffering, innocence, corruption, violation and religion. Religion…such a crucial theme whose set of practices and beliefs makes it the most cherished subject of the genre. Any idea which emblematic film is yet to be analyzed in the perspective of the profane voice and corruption of innocence?

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delldarling · 4 years

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charting dreams | spiros

a commission for an absolutely wonderful anon!

male deity x female reader 5k words lemon | dream sex, creampie, hints of future angst additional note: ‘night flying’ ointment is a real thing, BUT please consult healthcare professionals or experts and do copious amounts of research before seeking it out and dear god, don’t ever ingest it, please & thank you

————-　✵　————-

There are… Way more books on the subject than you thought there would be. Which is good! Being able to compare information will help you find one that works well for you, but honestly? It’s kind of depressing that none of them have that old-world magic-looking binding. Just once you were kind of hoping that you might stumble onto something tangible and magical outside your dreams. If you can, you’re going to complain about the lack of embossed covers and fancy sounding titles when you see him again.

If you see him again.

Thus, the books. Lucid dreaming has been on your mind for quite a while now. It’s an interesting turn of phrase, and the thought of it, what all the books describe it as: Being able to bend your dreams to your will? That sounds pretty damn awesome. It’s not like this all came out of nowhere though. You’re not looking into it because of nightmares, which is apparently fairly common, or because you have some kind of serious yen for knowledge about brains and dreams. You’ve been… Dreaming of someone.

It would probably sound like some kind of fairy tale to anyone that hadn’t experienced it, and most people would just write it off as some kind of intensely vivid, though random, series of dreams. You’d been half tempted to do that at first too, of course.

It had all started out as crystal clear flashes in your dreams, like a perfect memory of a favorite movie scene. Simple conversations about your day held on a fancy looking carousel, glittering golden lights drawing your eyes away from your companion. Some days you traded amusing anecdotes under towering arches, draped over the top with what you first thought was blue gauzy material and fairy lights. Instead, you found out that they were actual fairy lights, little winged beings flitting about in a storm, eating holes in the sky.

“Stars,” he’d explained, pulling you to a stop as one of the little pixies pulled a dark blue swirl from the sky, like midnight-colored cotton candy, and ate it, leaving a gleaming star-like hole behind. You’d felt such an intense sense of wonder, heart loud in your chest, that you’d woken yourself up, hand actually outstretched as if you could touch-

They were wonderful and strange, and you remembered them with a clarity that you’ve never associated with dreams before. You could smell things - sweetness in the air, salt water on the breeze, and you could feel the heat and cold when you walked by his side. Still, it hadn’t been hard to write it all off as nothing more than an overactive, tired mind. Maybe you’d binged too many fantasy stories in media lately and your brain was just mushing everything together? Never mind that you can’t recall anything recent about pixies eating holes in the sky.

They’ve continued though, the dreams, the meetings you have with him. Far off places on maps are spread out before you like a feast, his arm warm under your hand as he escorts you or does his best to leave you breathless with laughter. You’ve always woken from those dreams invigorated, but with the strange sense that you were missing something, until- his face. On a shore with cresting orange waves, you turn away from the blinding glare of reflective sunshine, and then you see him, draped in a dark chiton, just before you wake.

Even having seen it just the once, you can’t erase it from your thoughts. The color of his eyes, shades shifting when you unfocus, like photographs of far flung nebulae. The impression of feathers twined with his hair and yet arching away from his temple like actual wings. The way his lips look when they shape your name, his hand taking yours so he can twine your fingers together-

He’s too beautiful to be true.

You’re both convinced you’ve made him up, and absolutely convinced you couldn’t have. Aren’t people supposedly only able to see those they’ve seen before in their dreams? And you know, without a doubt, that you’ve never seen anyone that looks like him in your day to day life. Unless he’s just a piece-meal of people or ideas you’ve found attractive. Even then, you’re not sure you could have put him together so smoothly.

It’s hard to believe that you’ve made him up though, when he declares that he is real. That, at least, has never happened before. Though you’re not sure you’ve ever taken the time to ask someone if they were a product of your imagination when you’ve been dreaming, having been too caught up in your imagined adventures yourself.

One night he’s stroking his thumb over your cheekbone, claiming that you should chart your dreams-

“Prove it,” you blurt, and you can feel your pulse speed. His image wavers, there and gone, and his eyes widen. “Prove that you’re real,” you clarify and your pulse ratchets up another notch.

“How?” He asks with a laugh and then takes your hand in his, clinging almost, like he can’t quite believe he’s touching you - never mind that he’s touched you before. His laugh sounds strained though, and the smile on his face is… Thin. “And you must calm your heart, dear one. You’ll wake, and how will I prove myself then?”

“I don’t-” know, you’re about to say, but he presses a finger to your mouth, worrying at his lower lip as he glances over your shoulder.

“Perhaps… Perhaps, I can tell you the dreams of those near you,” he says softly. “Yes, wait here for just a moment.” He does vanish then, and the dream loses a bit of clarity. You have a vague memory of being unable to read one of your favorite books, and then he’s back, whispering random sounding things into your ear, arms curled around your middle. “A family dog, a work dispute interrupted by a cart of apples, and a great webs, knitted by a grandmother. Ask your neighbors,” he pleads, mouth deliciously warm where it’s brushing your ear. “I am real, and I know their dreams - ask them,” he urges, and then you wake.

He’s so strangely eager for you to believe him, and after that list... You give in to the mild embarrassment and make awkward small talk with two of your neighbors. Bringing up recent dreams in front of the mailboxes is a little difficult, but you manage, if not exactly smoothly. You half hope it comes to nothing, that they brush off your questions and move on with their day - what are you even doing, trying to prove that a dream man is more than a figment? But one of them mentions an old dog they used to have, and then the other claims they dreamed or arguing with their boss.

“-we were at the bottom of a hill though, and one of those old apple carts came tearing down, nearly mowing us both to the ground. It was a bit more.. Vivid than usual, I suppose.”

“‘S nothing,” your other neighbor interrupts with a laugh. “My kid thinks great grandma must be a spider and has nightmares about her knitting webs as gifts.”

With a peculiar fluttering feeling in your chest, you march right back into your place. He’d been telling the truth.

Or you’d become prescient. You’re not sure which is the more likely, but…

Lucid dreaming.

You crack into the stack of books you’d taken home from the library with eagerness. You want to try and take control in your dreams not only because manipulating them would be interesting, but because you’re desperate to prove that he’s more than a figment on your end. You try not to get caught up in thoughts of prescience - even if he is real in some way, it’s still a bit hard to believe you’re suddenly able to tell the future, even through dreams. You’re tempted to bring that up though, just like the very non-magical looking books, when next you see him.

There are a copious amount of notes and preludes in nearly all of the books, as well as the articles you’ve looked up online, that say to not get your hopes up. Lucid dreaming apparently doesn’t work the same way for everyone, and the results are rarely immediate.

Succeeding on the first try isn’t unheard of, one person writes, but it is exceedingly rare. True success will come in stages, starting with Awareness. Are you aware that you’re dreaming? Are you aware of where exactly you are in your mindscape? And that brings us to another important vocabulary word: Mindscape.

“Mindscape,’ you mutter, flicking idly through the pages. Some of the books are very cut and dry, but on the other hand, the articles and first hand accounts on the internet are… Kind of out there. You feel less like you’re researching and more like you’re getting drawn in by click bait or conspiracy theories when you read about personal mindscapes and see the hand drawn maps. Some of them are detailed enough - in both drawing and description - that you wonder why they aren’t trying to market them.

Still. You try and gather up information without getting your hopes up about it all, but honestly that’s the most difficult part. Having already experienced something.. Other while you were dreaming, you can’t help but think maybe you’ll have the upper hand. He’d told you, more than once, that your dreams had felt different to him, so you can’t get it out of your head, and... your hopes are most definitely up.

You clear your schedule, and even buy some special kind of ointment meant to help aid in lucid dreaming, heavy with mugwort and pennyroyal. The fancy art on the jar reads Night Flying in filigree letters, but on the back, in very large red print is: DO NOT INGEST. Half of you wants to set it aside, but you have done the research. On your forehead and temples only, or sometimes- you check your notes, wrinkling your nose when you see the written neck, and feet included. You open the jar, still unconvinced, but it only smells faintly of mint.

You’re unashamed to admit that you use less than the recommended smear, just to be safe. You settle down in bed, going through the breathing exercises that supposedly help aid sleep, and cross your fingers.

Not much happens. You wake in the morning, feeling well rested and too lethargic to get out of bed, but- No dreams. Not that you recall, anyway. Your hopes crash hard for a few hours and you clean your face and neck of the flying ointment a little more viciously than you need to. It seems so silly in the light of day, but you can’t shake the feeling of those dreams. Not the memories of them, crystal clear, not the weight of his hands in yours. But he hasn’t always shown up every single night.

You try again. And again, and it isn’t until the third night, when your pillow now seems to be steeped in the scent of minty pennyroyal from the ointment, that you finally achieve a vaguely lucid dream.

You’re walking down the street when you realize that you can’t hear the sounds of traffic, and then- Then you realize you’re dreaming. Your heart rate picks up, and you spin in place, exuberant, wondering why you’re turn seems to take twice as long as normal - and then there’s a plain looking door standing in the middle of the sidewalk. You walk towards it, after all, where else is there to go? But as soon as you place your hand on the plain brass handle, you frown. Between the books and the disappointment of not being able to tell the future, of not getting to see him, you.. You want magic in your life. You’d rather walk through a door that reminds you of Narnia, with gilded edges and some kind of fancy door knocker, than walk through one that looks like you can push it over with a strong breeze.

Concentrating on actually changing a dream takes way more effort than you would have thought though. If you close your eyes, it seems to give your subconscious enough tether to try and take back control. You close your eyes, and instead of seeing the fancy door you would have wanted, you’re distracted by thoughts of fluttering pages- no. You open your eyes, forcing yourself back on track, and laugh, finding your hand not on a plain brass handle, but on an ornate knocker. You smooth your fingertips along the swirling lines of it, pleased with yourself. Maybe it’s not quite what you’d hoped, but you’ll happily take it. You knock and then step back, assuming with every fiber of your being that he’s going to be on the other side, that he’s going to swing it open and pull you into his arms, but- The door creaks open, revealing a plain looking room with purple windows. It’s disappointingly empty, and he isn’t anywhere to be found.

You take a step into the room, letting the door close quietly behind you and then glance down at your hands. Lucid dreaming is all about being able to change things, isn’t it? You think of him, breathe deeply, and snap your fingers, willing him to appear with everything that you have within you.

Nothing happens. You’re still alone, with only the slightly hazy room for company. You can’t help but feel like you’re missing an intrinsic piece to the puzzle of his presence. Maybe you need to call his name, but…

You frown at the ornate rugs beneath your feet, eyes getting distracted by the whirling patterns. You’re not entirely sure you can remember his name. You have vague memories of him telling it to you, but all of those seem to be the ones in which you hadn’t yet been able to see his face. For a half second, the weight of disappointment bows your showers. Maybe you have made him up. You blink, and the dream seems to lose focus, your lucidity ebbing like a tide. You’re on the verge of waking, you realize, and then his voice is heavy in your ear, his lips warm as they brush against the shell of it, saying quickly, and fondly: “My name is Spiros. Don’t forget it so easily next time, hm?”

You wake with his name on your lips, half expecting him to manifest inside your bedroom. After a few heart stopping seconds though, you have to sigh. It stays tragically empty, and yet the heat of him, the texture of his lips- you can still feel it. You’re not going to give up.

After a while though, you feel like all your free time is spent sleeping. You experiment with the flying ointment, but after the last two or three times, decide that you no longer need help. The awareness of lucid dreaming happens more than half the time now, and you can change some things, but otherwise… You’ve been spending each night combing through strange places, catching the barest glimpses of him over the horizon, hearing his voice, faint on the breeze. Maybe, you tell yourself one evening, you need to stop chasing him. It’s like trying is only tiring you out, making you wander through long roads, only to find he was right where you left him. He doesn’t feel like a figment any longer, but the fact that he doesn’t is beginning to scare you, just a little. You can’t spend all your time searching for him, can’t spend all your time sleeping. You decide to stop chasing, even if you still practice actual lucid dreaming. But then, the next time you achieve more than awareness, more than that sense of reality, Spiros is waiting for you.

“Been searching, have you?” He teases, reaching out for your hand and- you can feel him. The faint whorls of his fingertips, the drag of his nails over the palm of your hand. It’s more than just the strange clarity from before, or the sense of being aware, Spiros’ feels real, and if you couldn’t see the shifting nebulae of his eyes, you might think you were actually awake. He tugs you a step forward and then turns you about in quick whirl, leaving the room with the faint sense of spinning, like you’ve actually been turning too many fast circles on your feet.

“Who are you?” You can’t help asking, letting him take another few dancing steps before you put your feet down, refusing to be moved. “I’ve been chasing you, trying-”

“Spiros,” he says, coyly, like he thinks you might be teasing him back. “Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“Not your name,” you say, glancing past his shoulder. Maybe you shouldn’t be staring quite so intensely at his eyes. The dizziness hasn’t yet faded. “Who are you, that you can jump into another person's dreams? I’ve been researching, you know, and- I still can’t figure it out. How you knew about my neighbors. I thought for sure that I was fooling myself. Or maybe that I was prescient,” you confess, embarrassment wrapping around you like a cloak. “But if you’re real-”

“My apologies,” he says, and even more strange than knowing that this is all a dream is that you can feel it. His sincerity, heavy in the air, and it sounds like… It sounds like cricket song. “For leading you on a chase. I cannot come often, there are too many dreams to spin, but-” He rests his forehead against yours, eyes falling closed. “I cannot seem to stay away.”

“Why?” You ask, just as confused, if not more so.

Spiros pulls away, eyebrows raised and for a moment his jaw works, like he’s searching for the words to say.

“You,” he says insistently. “Something about your dreams kept me coming back, but it was you that made me stay. Don’t you remember our talks?” Spiros asks, hair brushing against your cheek as he leans in again, and- feathers, there are wings, tangled in hair somewhere above his ears.

“I do,” you reassure him, hesitantly lifting a hand to stroke a single fingertip along his jaw. Faint stubble pricks at your finger, though not enough to make it uncomfortable. “That isn’t the point of this, though. You’re attracted to me,” you say, hardly believing it, and yet feeling the truth of it all the way down to your bones. “You’re attracted to me, and- to spin,” you say suddenly, thinking of the way your neighbors had claimed the dreams were extra vivid. “You spin dreams? I thought-” But you’re not entirely sure what you thought. Maybe he was simply a person with a talent for something beyond lucid dreaming? Creating them though..

Spiros sighs, taking a step back, letting your hand fall away from his face.

“I had hoped to save this particular conversation for another time, but you are much more observant than you used to be,” he says, shrugging a single shoulder, mouth slightly mournful.

“I don’t know whether I should be charmed or irritated by the way that sounds,” you say quietly, crossing your arms over your chest, just to give yourself a sense of normalcy.

“I’m one of the oneiroi,” he says, like that should mean something to you. “One of many. I.. Once there were many who called us gods.” His eyes flash back to you and then down, the afternoon breeze whipping his hair away from his face. “And perhaps we were, but now?” He turns in a circle, as if he can see far beyond the confines of the park you’re standing in. He probably can, you realize, if what he says is true. “There are medicines to combat us, or people who have severed themselves from this realm so severely that we can’t even catch sight of their dreams. And our newest siblings-” Spiros’ mouth twists. “They are so fast, swooping in on daydreams for their sustenance. Few of you take the time to notice us these days. If we’re noticed, perhaps we’re called nothing more than spirits.”

You wake with more questions than answers, but you feel satisfied with one thing: Spiros exists. Maybe not exactly how you’d pictured, but he wasn’t a figment. And he- Cares. About you. It’s still mind boggling though, trying to process the information, trying to sort out what you should do about it. You enjoy time with him, you’re very attracted to him, but you can’t help but worry about whether disbelief will always be lingering in the back of your head if you pursue things.

If only to cement his interest, Spiros seems to return twice as often after that, taking you on such vibrant, whirlwind adventures that sometimes they short out, speeding up your sleeping heart until you nearly wake. After one of these strange glitch-like interruptions, Spiros takes you to a warm night garden so the two of you can catch your breath, and it barely takes a blink before you’re suddenly lying in dark grass, softer than down against your back.

“Comfortable?” He asks, sitting to the right of you, his eyes tracing your body like a caress.

“I want you,” you find yourself saying, almost before you can even finish the thought inside your head. Spiros blinks, and the whole area seems to pause, as if it’s holding its breath along with him. After a moment, his eyes seem to change, the cool toned stars in their depths turning to molten gold, to heat and wanting, and the air becomes heavy with it.

“Truly?” Spiros asks, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. He reaches out to touch you, fingers hovering over your shoulder and then stops, waiting for your response.

Yes, you think to yourself, thinking of every small touch, of his breath against your skin, of the way he says your name to capture your attention. His fingers tremble until you take his hand and press it to your chest, wondering if he can feel the unsteady rhythm of your heart. “Yes,” you finally say aloud, pushing away all your doubts. “Isn’t it obvious?” You ask, only half teasing, still wrought with nerves, even as he leans down to kiss you.

“As obvious as I feel?” Spiros asks and you can almost taste him, he’s so close. He cups your breast and then strokes his thumb over your nipple, breathing out slowly as he does.

A small laugh escapes you, more of a rough, low gasp than anything else. “‘S why I’m asking,” you say, closing your eyes before you can get lost in his own. His mouth meets yours, soft and warm, stubble barely noticeable against your chin or cheeks when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It’s almost a shame, you think, hesitantly sliding your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, that I won’t come away from this with evidence. His kiss turns almost desperate, needy, after that, teeth tugging at your lower lip as he straddles one of your thighs, hand smoothing down your body and taking your clothes as he goes. He tastes like evening, and it’s beyond frustrating, not knowing what else to compare it to.

Despite knowing that you won’t bare the marks of this when you wake, Spiros seems desperate to leave you with the sensation of them. Your lips feel swollen, buzzing with his attention by the time he pulls away so you can breathe, and his hands are heavy on you, half massage, half the slow drag of his nails, just enough to leave your skin pebbling even though you’re not cold in the slightest. He seems content to just touch, to watch you writhe underneath him, your hips arching as you try and get closer. He’s still dressed, still covered by that dark chiton, hands steady- but his face. The look in his eyes is greedy and pained. You wrap your fingers in the front of his chiton and yank, pulling him back down to kiss, to taste the pulse in his throat. The angle has him pressed to you, hard and hot and bare underneath his clothes and you moan against his mouth at the sensation. You don’t want him to look so sad, you want him to stop thinking, to feel you- Your hand slips between you, moving aside material until you can take him in hand.

Spiros tenses, pulling his mouth away from yours so he can groan quietly, immediately rolling his hips down into the grip you have on him. “Are you impatient?” He asks, voice gone rough and rasping. “I would think- by the dark,” he gasps, hand wrapping around your thigh when you squeeze him. He seems lost for words, lips pressed so tightly together that they’re trembling. After a moment he shifts, spreading your legs so he can kneel between them. The sight of it, the way his hands slide up your thighs, makes your heart beat even faster. A buzz, a zip, seems to shudder through the very foundations of the earth, and for a split second you could have sworn you saw your own ceiling and bedroom instead of stars and nebulae wheeling through the sky above you.

“Concentrate,” Spiros insists, breathing the word out against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His breath tickles and you shiver, blinking a- he bites you. Not hard enough even to bruise, but the sharp edge of it has your back bowing, attention fully settled on Spiros’ hand dipping between your thighs. They’re the perfect texture, and he uses just the right amount of pressure to slick them through your wetness, to stroke slowly over your clit. Between the bite and his fingers, you’d forgotten to move, but you squeeze him again, wanting to reciprocate, wanting to share the pleasure.

It feels like forever and no time at all before you’re aching so badly that you’re about to beg. Every brush of his thumb, every time he curls his fingers inside you has you rocking up into the motion, but you want him, want him to speed this maddening rhythm. “Enough,” you gasp, choking on a laugh when he ceases all movement, a slight frown curling his lips. “Not- enough of you,” you say, and then you’re whimpering as he pulls his hand away, his clothes vanishing before you can blink.

“Enough foreplay?” He asks, licking at his fingers before both of his hands are curling around your hips, dragging you towards him until his cock is teasing your clit with slow strokes.

“Yes,” you say, a bit sharply, unable to do more than grasp at the soft grass underneath you. The angle is perfect for watching, for seeing him drag the head of his cock over you until it’s gleaming with your wetness, but it’s too gentle and you can’t find purchase with your feet to help press you harder against him. “I want you to fuck me,” you demand, breath coming fast as he takes a moment to glance at the far side of the garden.

“I suppose I should,” he teases, smirking before his eyes drop back down to you. “Morning is approaching too fast for my liking.” You don’t know how he knows, you have little idea of the time you’ve spent here now, but you’re not complaining when he lets go of your hip to take himself in hand and press himself into you. You tighten, eager for him, for the feel of him filling you and his eyes flutter closed, lips parting like he’s forgotten to breathe. “You- you feel-” His jaw snaps shut, and he takes a deep breath before his hand curls back around your hip again, and he sets an unforgiving pace.

“Oh,” you get out, clutching tighter to the grass. You no longer care that you can’t move your hips, that you’re having to tense your thighs so your legs aren’t dangling uselessly- watching is wonderful. Anywhere or with anyone else, you would have worried about him getting tired, but Spiros looks like he has endless stamina, thrusting into you this way. His knees finally shift though so he can bring you closer, so his skin can brush against your clit with the angle change and then you’re shaking apart, head thrown back. You’re dizzy with the force of it, breathless and then Spiros is gasping your name and heat fills you until you’re overflowing, his thrusts slow and he loosens the tight grip he has on your hips. “Spiros,” you breathe, trying not to focus on the way the stars and trees overhead are shifting in the breeze. You blink, and you think you see your ceiling again, morning light casting pale patterns over the walls- and then Spiros is lifting you, a hand against the middle of your back as he pulls you into his lap, uncaring of the mess, to place an eager kiss against your lips.

“I don’t know that I’ll ever get enough of you,” he confesses against your mouth, hand gentle as he cradles your jaw. “But you must wake soon, and I cannot keep you here.”

“You sure?” You tease, grinding yourself down and then whimpering because- He’s still hard.

Spiros looks drunk, cheeks ruddy, eyes heavy lidded, but he grins. “If only I could,” he murmurs, and his next kiss is sweet, and lingers long after you’ve woken.

You’re alone in your room, and even though it’s cold out, the blankets feel stifling. You shift your legs, still blinking sleepily and freeze when you feel how slick you are. You wonder if you’re not going to hurt yourself with this in the future, with longing for more time with him. It’s only then that you notice a single, gleaming feather on your pillow. The sight lays your fears to rest.

If only for the moment.

————-　✵　————-

...turn the page?

#exophilia #deity x female reader #male deity x female reader #monster lover #monster boyfriend #monster boyfriend x reader #spiros #d.darling writes

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detectiveconnor · 4 years

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this is a post about flaws ive noticed in connor, that’s it. just his flaws

1. he can be tactless about things he hasn’t got a point of reference for. He has a reference for grief, for suffering, for fear, for oppression. The big things he has reference points for almost from the get-go, and he is good about them. But he needs to have that point of reference to be able to be empathetic about it - if he doesn’t know what it is like, or hasn’t seen it tear someone apart before (or gnaw at them until they are smaller than they were before it started), he won’t necessarily be able to make the connection. you will have to tell him that it is costing you something - remind him politely (or not-so-politely) that your narrative does not require parallels to his before it is made real. he agrees with this and understands it in theory, but he forgets it, himself, sometimes, especially when there is a case or something to be solved that takes up his processing ability. he will take these reminders and sit on them, and learn from what he was just told. even at the top of Hank’s lungs, am I just a statistic to you?, gives connor pause for thought. This flaw is not just because he is new - it is also because he is a work in progress, as all people are.

2. Connor is much more about acts of service and tokens of proof that he sees his friends than he is about .... valuing his presence with them. I mean this in terms of how he shows other people they are valued - he likes quality time, himself, that is how he likes to be loved. but being present in a tangible way, physically touching, making interaction with him non-negotiable is difficult. hank always-without-fail rolled his eyes at him and amanda always-without-fail took his presence as an opportunity to tell him what he was doing wrong. He knows he is good, but it takes a very very very long time to occur to Connor to physically touch or interact with his friends and loved ones, even when he knows and can see that they enjoy it when they’re touched. one muse he’s writing with rn? he only just thought to actually actively touch him like, a week ago, and he’s known he likes to be touched for months

3. he has a preprogrammed fascination with deviancy and other people’s experiences of deviancy and it sometimes takes priority over their privacy. really, it does. he is just fascinated by how other people feel it, and it means that sometimes he requests an interface with the intention of not just calming down a victim but getting a ‘peek’ of sorts into their ‘living situation’ - i have always visualised requesting an interface as knocking at someone’s front door, right? so Connor is knocking at their front door mostly - MOSTLY - to check that they are still there to answer it, but while he’s there he does 100% take a peek at the furniture. he doesn’t think to be ashamed of this, because he isn’t looking for anything that he would ever dream of using against them. he is just less careful about others’ privacy than he would have others be about his own privacy - he himself personally doesn’t like to accept invitations to interface, because he doesn’t like opening his front door to anyone. his furniture is his. it still has amanda’s handprints all over it. (besides, he hasn’t interfaced like that - accepting someone else’s request - since escaping the Zen Garden and throwing Amanda out of his head. What if she’s still outside, on his front lawn? What if they knock and she is there to say hello?) 4. he sometimes undervalues himself in the most polite, withdrawn of ways. he doesn’t do it loudly. he knows he is capable, and good at what he does, and that anyone he works with is lucky to have him. the undervaluing is more subtle, and really should be called out, only Connor absently conceals it so as to not be a bother - but you can catch it at least somewhat in the way his bravery can approach recklessness, even when he does everything by the book, calls for backup, does what he needs. you can see it in how he accepts that at this crime scene he will be called ‘it’ and it doesn’t really matter, he’s got a job to do, let’s ignore it. i think what this comes down to is that he often defines his worth by what he can do for someone or some cause, and tha means he forgets to include what he has already done. it is very forward-thinking and very pragmatic, but his achievements aren’t achievements because they’re in the past and they subsequently don’t really matter. his worth is what he can do & what he can prove he can do.

5. heeee hasn’t told anyyyooonnneee about amanda yet. this deserves its own point. if he worried she would come back he might tell someone like a tech about her for the sake of ensuring he did not pose a direct threat to the cause etc, but he hasn’t mentioned his escape from the zen garden to anyone. He has not mentioned how it feels to have control ripped from him, to anyone - the tearing-out-of-his-grip that stung and burned freezing cold. try forcing his hand though. try giving him an ultimatum, try taking that control away from him again, i dare you. it is a very easy way to annoy him. this one is not a flaw i suppose - he doesn’t ask for help but on the other hand, he has a backbone that will not be broken. god i need to write an ‘i trust you or bust’ meta properly

#ingrid talks #about connor #'ingrid you shouldn't be active today aren't you supposed to be at work'#not today! change of plans

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cuntess-carmilla · 4 years

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Update: I stopped taking psychiatric medication because they turned out to have only ever been of “help” because I have POTS/dysautonomia and one made my blood pressure rise (Wellbutrin) while the other kept it from going up too high (Lamotrigine).

Now that I’m taking meds that are for what I ACTUALLY do have (POTS/dysautonomia) not only do I not need the psychiatric meds, but they were throwing off everything else. I hate psychiatry so much. Can’t believe I turned out to be one of those people who had their physical illness mistreated as You’re Crazy for years haha. :) With that out of the way...

Some Many of my Opinions™ on psychiatry, as a psychiatrized person myself who does take medication, but hates the institutions of psychiatry and psychology, and thinks a large chunk of it is white pseudo-science:

A good amount of the issues that the psychiatric institution addresses ARE absolutely real and, as a society, people who’re afflicted by them should by all means receive help and support so they can live happier lives. I experience many of them and take medication to help myself, I obviously don’t think the difficult experiences people seek help for are made up.

At the same time, psychiatry and psychology as disciplines ARE made up (like every other discipline), making them not infallible or objective, AND they were built on eugenics, patriarchy, white supremacy and capitalist exploitation.

Those very real issues addressed by psychology/psychiatry aren’t actual literal pathologies. They don’t need to be literal tangible sicknesses in order to matter or be deserving of help and compassion. Your literal brain as a bodily organ is not physically “ill”, at least in most cases. It doesn’t need to be for your problems associated with an “ill mind” to be real and to matter. Remember, these disciplines were created at a time in history in which (white, male) doctors and theorists were obsessed with turning everything into a material, scientifically tangible subject that could be objectively measured with numbers and shit, hopefully medicalized or otherwise turned into “hard science”. That’s where ethnography came from. It’s called positivism, which is extremely dehumanizing, white supremacist and capitalist.

Psychology should be largely considered as much more of a metaphysical or philosophical discipline than as objective science, which is how most people perceive it to be. It’s mostly pure theory about emotions, thoughts, cognition, relationships and subjective experiences + perceptions -- which isn’t necessarily a bad thing on itself. It not being hard science doesn’t immediately delegitimize it. Get rid of the white capitalist idea that only (western, white) science and “objectivity” are real or of value. Actually, holding psychology to the standards of hard science turns it into pseudo-science, so... Yeah. I genuinely think we’d get so much further As A Society™ regarding psychology's potential to aid people who’re suffering if we treated it as more of a metaphysical or philosophical discipline than as some objective scientific truth.

Psychiatrists often are super ignorant of the actual way the medications they prescribe work or affect patients lmao. I had that almost ruin a whole semester at college because a shrink prescribed me meds that in combination she should’ve known would fuck me up. Not that much is known about how the human brain truly works compared to other human organs, you can’t expect psychiatric meds to be well tried and true. The research on psychiatric pharmacy is very lacking + biased in favor of pathologizing and controlling psychiatrized people, besides attempting to make the most profit under capitalism like any other capitalist industry, so of course they’re gonna prescribe you shit. Plus, like doctors of every other field, many psychiatrists arrogantly disregard the experiences, requests, questions and ideas of their patients, who’re the ones taking those meds.

Psychologists/therapists, just like psychiatrists, also disregard the experiences, requests, questions and ideas of their patients.

There’s such a strong element of power imbalance in how psychiatry and psychology function. The more a patient knows formal information about anything related to psychology/psychiatry, the more the shrink can get upset, distrustful and dismissive of them, saying they’re faking it, or telling them “not to do their jobs” when they so often do said jobs like shit anyway lmao no matter how thorough the research and understanding of the patient is.

Psychological and psychiatric diagnoses are just as made up as any other human construct (such as language, race, gender, etc). They’re not tangible realities as if shrinks had ran into a previously unknown objective fact of nature. In the realm of psychology, someone takes a bunch of traits and behaviors that by their observation they consider to be interconnected with one another, put them in the same bag, stick a label to said bag, and ask other psychologists if they agree with the bag being a thing. These considerations are heavily influenced by sociocultural bias. You can’t tell me it isn’t true that they’re made up and very subjective when “diagnoses” such as drapetomania, hysteria, homosexuality, gender identity disorder, etc, have been seriously considered at least by part of the psychiatric establishment of their times as legitimate mental disorders. Hell, some still consider being gay or trans to be mental disorders. Don’t get me started on "Oppositional Defiant Disorder”, that shit’s just evil.

A lot of the ideas spread by the psychiatric-psychological institution are legit pseudo-science that researches try time and time again to prove and end up coming with nothing, or they end up tweaking their own research or conclusions to maintain the established consensus that just so turns out to be very convenient to the people who make and sell psychiatric meds.

Many of the traits, emotions, thoughts, perceptions and behaviors that are pathologized by psychiatry and psychology aren’t inherently harmful. If they don’t make the patient or others suffer by their very nature (as opposed to like, homophobic parents “suffering” because their child is gay or a gay person suffering because of homophobia) then there’s no need to alter them. “Correcting” them is a measure of social control that crushes individuality and only attempts to mold people into obedient ~productive~ servants of capitalism. Much of psychiatric medical treatment (not just the diagnoses and therapies themselves) focuses on turning the patient into less of a social “burden”, than on their actual happiness. That’s why you have ADHD and autistic kids being given meds that turn them into zombies and that's been considered a good thing for DECADES. Like, why does the stimming of an autistic person or an “unusual” attachment to stuffed animals as an autistic adult have to be corrected? WHOMST does that harm? Nobody! But it makes allistics uncomfortable because allistics are fucking stupid and can’t mind their God damned business to save their lives like normal people do.

Even non-pharmaceutical treatments for psychiatrized conditions are or can be turned into measures of social control.

Maybe CBT wasn’t meant to be a tool to control people and shit, but it can be misused as such SO easily! It can go from being therapy to help individuals process inner pain and redirect harmful behaviors in positive ways, to being turned into training someone to react, feel and process abuse and oppression in ways that are convenient to the status quo.

Don’t get me fucking started on ABA as an inherently oppressive, abusive “treatment” for a psychiatrized condition that does nothing to actually better the lives of autistic people, instead punishing autistic traits, teaching autistic people to painfully repress said traits and ignore their needs, and seeking to appease allistics by prioritizing their convenience and subjective comfort.

Behaviors, emotions, perceptions or traits that on a man or white person would be considered a non-issue or given much more compassionate/less stigmatized diagnoses, are pathologized or given much more stigmatized diagnoses when it comes to female or racialized patients, which reaffirms psychiatry and psychology as subjective tools of social control.

While many of the traits, emotions, perceptions and behaviors of what are considered personality disorders are painful, harmful and real (and thus should be helped, with consent, not hammered down), literal personalities aren’t “ill”. They’re personalities. Pathologizing or medicalizing a fucking personality on itself is ridiculous. It is possible to address those problematic traits/behaviors/etc without saying that a fucking personality is “ill”. So much for “you’re not your disorder”.

What shrinks will deem as hallucinations or delusions can be subjective, and it definitely can be deemed as such out of white-centric cultural bias. Plenty of non-white cultures have considered different perceptions of reality as valid and worthy of respect for centuries, at times related to their sense of spirituality. Not to mention how psychiatry has deemed the real anxieties of oppressed people that they’re being followed, spied on, plotted against and all that, as hallucinations or delusions in order to discredit them.

Many patients are given medication to try to alleviate traits/behaviors/emotions that come from circumstance (poverty, ongoing abuse, trauma, oppression...) instead of addressing the root problems. While I 100% understand using medication as a palliative measure because, bitch, you can’t always fix those problems and you still have a life to live (the same way I take clotiazepam when the insensitivity of the allistics around me causes me sensory overload), this puts the burden of the person’s situation on their own body, as if their body was the essential source of a suffering that comes from outside forces they’re not responsible or in control of. This should ideally be addressed through material change in realities that can be individual (removing the person from an abusive situation, giving economic aid, giving proper treatment to an untreated chronic illness) or social (abolishing white supremacy, the patriarchy, capitalism, etc).

So many times when palliative medical treatments for suffering that comes from circumstances don’t work (BECAUSE THE PATIENT IS STILL TRAPPED IN SAID CIRCUMSTANCES, HELLO?) it’s blamed on a supposed defect of the patient’s body/brain rather than, like... You can give me as many anti-depressants as you want but I’m still gonna be miserable if I’m being abused or suffering from unending physical chronic pain lol. And then, instead of at least having the decency of recognizing the real source of the problem if your shrink can’t realistically fix it, they keep trying more and more different meds on you like you’re a fucking lab rat, keeping on blaming a made up defect you were “born” with. Imagine what that does to a person’s self-image! At least when I loathe my body for the chronic pain, chronic fatigue and more that my chronic illnesses give me, it IS actually true that it’s my body that has a defect that can’t be cured. Why convince a person in suffering due to anything, but especially when it’s due to outside conditions out of their control and your job is fucking supposed to be to help them be happier, that their pain refuses to respond to treatment because their BRAIN is so terribly defective? I don’t wish the hatred I hold for my objectively shitty body on anyone, and causing that to someone when it’s not even true...? Incredible.

Lots of genuine difficulties associated with psychiatric diagnoses are much better helped through accessibility and material considerations, or at least through teaching the patient pragmatic methods to better deal with those, than through pills. But guess what solution shrinks usually give you. Hint: it’s easier for them and they can charge you for it monthly.

Society™ medicalized emotions, bro... WE MEDICALIZED FEELINGS!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!

#antipsych

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dust2dust34 · 4 years

Text

Our New Normal (Olicity, post-8x10, Explicit)

(read on AO3)

The glowing numbers disappeared as she slowly pushed the laptop shut.

Felicity took a deep breath and dropped her head on her crossed arms. Her glasses jabbed her in the nose. Scrunching up her face, she threw them away to land on the pillow she’d woken up on just a moment ago. The very nice pillow in the old Italian villa that she and Oliver had stayed at all those years ago. Except this wasn’t actually Italy. Not that Italy, at least. It had everything their Italy had on Earth 1. Or rather, Earth Prime. Whatever.

Chest tight, Felicity settled on her arms again and closed her eyes.

They immediately flipped back open and latched onto the half-closed laptop.

She could still see the ghostly glimmers of Smoak Technologies’ numbers running across the screen that had just been on an announcement in the Gazette of a wedding engagement.

One good thing about your husband housing a supernatural entity with nearly god-like powers? He had access to computers that let her keep track of things in the world she came from, no matter where they were. Even in a realm that didn’t technically exist… or that existed outside of the multiverse as newly created… or was a bubble outside the… bigger bubble, or…

Felicity sighed into her arms.

They had talked about it at length. She’d asked a thousand and eleven questions and he answered them all as much as he could. But long story short? He was immortal and he policed the new cosmos that he’d basically rebirthed. Oh, and when the Monitor opened the door for her back to her husband, she’d bounced back to the age she’d been when the Monitor had first come for Oliver. And double oh, she was in a sort of… pause. More like Oliver had hit the pause button. She wouldn’t age like she had, because here, in this world, time didn’t exist like that.

Which meant they would, in theory, outlive their children.

The gaping hole that ripped into the center of Felicity’s chest took her breath away.

A warm, callused hand on the small of her bare back pulled her out of her morbid thoughts.

The mattress next to her feet dipped, and then by her hip, and then a heavy, familiar weight fell onto the bed next to her. That very specific, very well-known earthy scent that was all her husband filled her nose. She breathed him in as he smoothed his hand up her spine. A wave of goosebumps erupted under his touch followed by a shiver she felt in her toes.

Felicity turned to face him.

“Hey,” her husband said, his voice soft and gentle, and that beautiful smile…

Her heart jumped at the sight as her own lips curled up in response.

It was as natural as breathing, just like Before. Except now it was a little more insistent. A little more desperate, even. As if she were preparing. As if it might be the last time. Which was ridiculous. She knew that. She was here, with him, and she was staying with him. Forever. But she still wasn’t used to it. When someone spent twenty years missing another person? Twenty years of learning to live without them, of trying to move on out of necessity, of being terrified to let go of that love because the thought of it fading away was worse than death? Well, it made remembering that this new reality of hers was actually happening a little difficult.

Until she looked at him.

And just like that, all the tension melted from her muscles and she relaxed into the bedspread.

His hand paused, his smile faltering the tiniest bit.

Oliver’s eyes lit on the laptop behind her.

She stiffened before she could stop herself.

“Just trying to reach my daily stalking quota,” Felicity said. His eyes found hers again and she plastered on a grin. “Is breakfast ready? Guess I should find a shirt. Although let me tell you, I’m getting way more used to seeing all this young skin I definitely did not appreciate enough when I had it. I should’ve walked around like this way more often. That makes it sound like I’m going downstairs shirtless, which I’m not. Although I could. It’s not like anyone’s here to stop me. But then I don’t think much eating would get done. Well, not the food kind of eating. Although if you lose your shirt, too, I know those abs of yours would make an excellent plate. Lots of experience with that. And whipped cream. All over. All… over.”

And she was babbling.

Years ago, she would have thrown out a joke to cover any accidental faux pas. But that was then.

“Which we should do,” Felicity added. “Like, right now. I’ll make you a whipped cream shirt.”

Oliver laughed, and her next smile was real. Her babbling had come back hard and fast in the last few weeks. It was refreshing and a little startling considering the somber brain-to-mouth filter she’d gained after his funeral had never gone away.

But that it still made him smile like that? It could stay lost forever.

“I am definitely a fan of losing our shirts.” But he didn’t move to take his off, or kiss her, or roll her onto her back and ravage her like he’d taken to doing since she’d arrived. Instead Oliver sighed and smoothed his hand over her back again. Felicity watched his gaze drift to where he touched her. He dragged his fingertips in slow circles, over her shoulder blades, and then up the back of her neck into her hair. He ran his fingers through the long strands, quiet wonder covered his features as he pushed a loose tendril from her face. “But there isn’t any food. Yet. I didn’t make breakfast.”

The shift in the air was tangible.

Felicity couldn’t stop herself from stiffening again. “Then what’ve you been doing?”

“You asked me,” he said, still watching his hand play with her hair, “how I did it for so many years. Watching over you, over William and Mia, and nothing else. How I could stand being so close, but… not there. With you. With them.” His voice cracked. “I could have. I could have been there with you, Felicity, even if it wasn’t always, I could have. But I didn’t.”

A tremulous breath escaped her on a quiet, “Why?”

“Because I wanted this,” Oliver admitted in a tiny voice. “I wanted you, here, with me. I knew what you were going to do, that the Monitor was going to bring you here, to me, because I created the pathway for him to do it. But it had to be just right. It had be the right time. Time is… if there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that time is fickle. One little change has ripple effects that are felt throughout the entire multiverse. And I knew, if I went to you, that it would be different. Your choice would be different. Whether it was timing, or the way it happened, or how the kids turned out. God, that was the hardest one. Their future is so necessary, in so many ways, and if anything had changed for them because I was there, I couldn’t risk that.

“But that wasn’t why I did it. I wish it was, but… it wasn’t.”

“Oliver…” Felicity whispered, heart in her throat.

“I gave up so much,” he continued, finally looked back at her. He cupped her face, his fingers digging in as a tear fell down his face. “You. Our son. Our daughter. My life. And I know it was the right thing to do, I know that now as much as I did then. But then it was all over, and suddenly all I had was all of this before me. All this work, this balance I had to maintain, all this time… And all I wanted was to be selfish. For once, I wanted to have the one thing I needed more than anything else in the entire multiverse.”

He didn’t have to say it. She saw it in his eyes.

“That’s why I never came to you,” Oliver told her. “Because I needed you. The Spectre can do so much, but I can’t erase choices, I can’t change the consequences of choices people make. And the last thing I wanted to do was jeopardize you coming here. I wanted to be selfish. I am selfish. Because I wanted you here, Felicity. I needed you here. With me. Like this.”

Felicity bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood.

Tears flooded her eyes and she blinked them away as she tried to breathe through a suddenly suffocating pressure in her chest.

She had assumed as much, when she first asked him, when he had dodged the question with a non-answer. He could have been there. He could have been there with her, with the kids, building a life together instead of the shattered pieces she’d been left with. They could have been together all those years, those achingly lonely, empty years. Even if he’d only been there sporadically, it would have been better than nothing.

Right?

No.

A burst of air rocketed out of her lungs at that, and the pressure evaporated. Ask her twenty years ago - even ten years ago - and her answer would have been very different.

But now?

She wouldn’t trade those years for anything, she realized, because they had shaped all of them.

It was the struggle - the work, the hardships, the wins, the losses - that made her see what he was saying. It was the joy that came of it, the steel, the glue that kept her family together, that let them thrive the way they did. It would have been so different, if he had been there. It would have changed things, irrevocably, because that’s what love did. That’s what their love did. Did she wish he had been there still? Absolutely. The thought alone made her want to cry with the strength of the yearning that filled her. But could she blame him? Part of her wanted to, still, because it felt like a choice she should have been involved in. Except she couldn’t have been. Because it was bigger than her, than them, all of it - the death of her husband, the opening for the Spectre, the only being strong enough to end the darkness, the only way to reconstruct what had been destroyed. But not their love. The circumstances were bigger than all of them, yes, but not their love. Nothing could destroy that. Nothing was bigger than that, and the proof was right here, wasn’t it? That she was here, with him, in a pocket of time created and maintained solely by him, so they could be together the way they had always wanted. The way they deserved.

It could have been different. They deserve to have that happy ending, the white picket fence, the two point five kids, the dog…

But this was their reality. This was the next best thing. And she couldn’t be angry about it.

Not when she faced an eternity with the love of her life by her side.

Oliver huffed out a low, self-deprecating laugh. “But even then, I couldn’t help myself.”

Felicity frowned, not following.

He stared at her for a beat. “We haven’t talked about any dreams you might’ve had during those years.”

“Dreams?” she asked. “You mean, of you? Of course I dreamed about you. You were always on my mind, you were never… Wait. Are you saying…?”

Vivid pictures filled her mind, so clear and crisp and intense that she always woke up positive it had happened. At first, it had been more than she could bear. She had even resented them for a while, wished they would stop, but then she would close her eyes and her first wish was to see him. And she did. Entire conversations, laughter, tears, words of love, affirmations, sometimes anger and frustration, throwing things and raging, and other times… his touch, all over her, inside her…

A fresh burst of tears blurred her vision as she pushed up onto her elbows.

“That was you?” Felicity demanded. “Those were real? They were… you were…?”

“It was the closest I could get to you, to William, to Mia, without really being there,” Oliver admitted. Agony twisted his face as his hand dropped from her face. “I don’t know if it was the right thing to do, but I couldn’t stand spending that much time away from you, from my family. And you were always open to me, as if you somehow knew-”

“I did.” Felicity grabbed his hand. “I was open to you. Always. God, Oliver, you have no idea what this means. Those sustained me. I was able to talk to you when I needed you most, I was connected to you when I needed to be, I thought… I thought I was losing my mind honestly, but they kept me going, as if they were… as if it was somehow you, and it was. Oh god, you were there, you saw Mia’s first steps, you saw William’s awards, you saw… Oh, that car accident, and when Mia broke her arm, and the fights she got into, and when William’s grandparents died, and work, and JJ, and Connor, god, Connor and everything he went through with John and Lyla, and… Oh, those dates? You… you were so… Oliver, for a few minutes, I felt like I had you back. I had the father of my children back, my partner, my husband.”

“I was with you,” Oliver promised, another tear falling as he squeezed her hand. “The entire time.”

Felicity surged forward, her lips finding his in a graceless kiss. His free hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer, holding her there for a long moment.

“And the kids?” Felicity asked, pulling back to look at him.

“Yeah.” Oliver took a shaky breath and nodded, his tears making his eyes luminescent. “It wasn’t as much with them, because I… I wanted to protect them from thinking anything weird was going on. Which it was. And I should have done that with you, but with you, I wasn’t as strong. It was more… memories, with them. They’d revisit something they did that day, or the week before, and I would get to be there. Like… graduations, or plays, or sleepovers. Sometimes they were things I didn’t want to see-” Felicity laughed. “But most of the time, I was able to be present for things that I wouldn’t have been otherwise. And you were there most of the time.” Oliver brushed her hair behind her ear. “It wasn’t the same. I know it would never be the same, but for a second I was with my kids. I was able to be with them the only way I could be.”

Felicity didn’t try to hide the sobs that wrenched out of her. Oliver gathered her close, kissing her, their tears combining.

“There were some mornings where they came downstairs,” Felicity whispered. “And I could see it in their faces. Mia talked about it more than William at first, but you were always there with us. Always. And they knew about it all. About everything, I didn’t keep any of it from them. They knew who you were, before the Crisis, and during.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“And I… I knew I was going to see Mia,” she continued. “As a grownup, when she was still a baby, and I knew that was coming for her. That she would be coming to your funeral. And that she would meet you again.”

“That made it easier,” Oliver confided, emotion choking his voice. “There was another future that had happened, before the Crisis, and their lives… your life… they were so hard, and I hated it, but it made them into the most amazing people. And I got to meet them. I got to talk to them, and hear their stories, and live with them, even if it was just for a moment. They were the most amazing people I’d ever met, and I knew so much of that had to do with you. You raised them into beautiful, strong people, and that… It made it easier, staying away. Knowing that that would happen because of you. Although I had no doubt from the beginning.”

Felicity smiled.

Or, she tried.

When it came down to it, she had still done it alone. She’d had help, of course, and it was nice knowing he’d been there, in some way, but it wasn’t what it could have been. And for a second, she mourned that with every atom in her body.

She ducked her head and burrowed into his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder. He was so warm, so alive, his heat seeping through his t-shirt into her bare skin, his arms warm around her.

Oliver pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Felicity.”

“I know,” she whispered. Her voice hitched on a sob. “I know.”

They held each other. The silence settled around them, and tension she didn’t realize had snuck back into both of them slowly slid away. Sounds of an active world outside their room filled the air - cars, birds, people talking in the distance, the pool just outside their window lapping against rock edges, the wind blowing. The comforting noises cleared away the heaviness.

She wasn’t sure who moved first, but somehow their hands wound up tangled tightly together on his sternum.

“I wanted to be here with you, too,” Felicity said after a moment. “You know that, right? I needed to be with you. It was all I worked towards. It was the one thing that got me up the most. I knew when they would be okay without me, and that when they were set up and happy and safe, that I could finally find you. And I don’t regret that. It hurts knowing what could have been, but I don’t regret it. Because I have you.” His arm around her back hugged her tighter. “And Mia and William, they were with me in this, every step of the way. I didn’t hide it from them, and I wouldn’t have called the Monitor when I did if they had asked me not to. But they didn’t. Because they knew as much as I did how much of myself was missing because I didn’t have you. So no, being here now, with you, like this, I don’t regret it, Oliver.” She tilted her head to look up at him. “I don’t regret it.”

A flitting wave of relief crossed his face.

“I don’t,” she reiterated and pushed up so her lips brushed his in a kiss. “You are my everything.”

“And you’re mine,” he replied on a crack before pressing his lips more firmly to hers.

They settled in again. The shared silence a warm cocoon folding them in together.

It was almost perfect…

“But you miss them,” Oliver offered.

“Oh god, I do,” Felicity said. She sat up to see him more fully. “I knew I would, too, that I would miss them so much, and I made peace with that. I did. And with them. But talking about being away from them is one thing. Actually being away from them? And then there’s…”

“What?” he asked, smoothing his hand up to the back of her neck. “Talk to me, Felicity.”

“I know I won’t age here.” Felicity studied his eyes, and saw the instant he got what she was saying.

“But they will.”

That searing pain speared through her chest again as Felicity nodded. “Yeah.”

Oliver opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He stared at her, and she saw all of her own heartbreak and grief mirrored back at her, and she knew he’d thought about it, too. But there wasn’t an easy answer. There wasn’t even really an answer that he could give her that would any of it better. Because there was no making this better.

“I was checking in on them.”

Felicity’s heart stopped. “What?”

“When I went downstairs to make breakfast,” Oliver filled in. “I know it’s been bothering you, I know you’ve been keeping tabs on them, and I knew… Well, I hadn’t visited Earth Prime. And I knew I could, but I wanted to be absolutely, one hundred positive that I could before I told you that-”

“What are you saying?” Felicity asked, shooting up taller.

“I’m saying we should go visit our kids.”

“What? We can do that? We… can go home?” A sob cracked her voice. “I get to see my babies?”

“Yes,” Oliver whispered, tears filling his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Felicity gasped, throwing herself at him. A laugh fell out of her as she wrapped her arms around him. “Oh my god!”

His laughter joined hers as he hugged her back.

“How?” Felicity asked, pulling back. “Alright, I mean, I do get how, but-”

“Honestly, I’d thought about it long before you found me,” he said. “About how to bridge things back to the kids, how to bridge our world the way we knew it with what we have now. I can do so much, and I want to give you everything, Felicity. I want to give us everything that I can. And then you were here.” Oliver grinned, but there was a sadness that made her heart hurt. “And I had you in my arms again, and it was everything I’d wanted. I thought about bringing it up, so many times. I waited for you to bring it up, but you didn’t, and I… It just… I was scared. I couldn’t stop thinking about what they would think of me, now, about how everything happened, about the last twenty years-”

“They love you, Oliver,” Felicity told him. “They know who you are, they know everything.”

“I’m still terrified,” he admitted on a rattly laugh.

Felicity cupped his cheek and ran her thumb under his eye. “That’s what makes you human.”

“Even though I’m not technically human anymore?” he replied, and a hint of ethereal green shaded his eyes. “I’m not even technically alive anymore, Felicity. Not like I used to be. The Spectre can’t exist in a living person. That’s part of what ties us together. I don’t actually even know exactly what I am.”

His eyes dropped. “Does that… does that scare you?”

“No,” she said honestly. “Because you’re still Oliver. Because I was with you every step of the way, remember? When you came back from Lian Yu, everything you went through as the Arrow, as Oliver Queen, as a husband, as a father - I was with you. And I know that man can more than handle this. These last few weeks, ever since I got here, things have been so… normal. But I know things aren’t normal anymore. Not like they used to be.”

“No,” Oliver agreed. “I’m not just Oliver Queen anymore. I had the chance to come back, but when I chose to be the Spectre, I became something else entirely. And as the Spectre, I have a lot more to do, to keep the balance, in the multiverse. It’s funny, all those years ago, when I thought I couldn’t be the Arrow and Oliver Queen… It was you that helped me realize I can. That I can be both and so much more. None of this would have been possible without you. All those years, the years you helped me find myself, find my light, my balance, it was all leading up to this moment. I’m Oliver Queen…” His eyes grew bright green, so bright they glowed. “And the Spectre.”

Felicity stared into the glowing orbs.

His reticence was another presence in the room, and she knew he was bearing it all to her, showing her everything. There was more there now, an otherworldly presence, but it wasn’t separate. Because as much as she sensed the power in him that hadn’t been there before, it was still all her Oliver.

“Our new normal,” she said.

“Yeah,” Oliver whispered on a relieved grin.

Staring into his green eyes, Felicity kissed him. She kissed her husband, kissed the Arrow, the Green Arrow, her partner, the father of her children… the Spectre.

New normal was a bit of an understatement, but at the same time, it was exactly right.

When he tried to deepen it, she pulled back.

“So hang on,” she said. “Those dreams, the stuff you told me, was all that real, too? Like an earth made up entirely of shrimp, and when you tried to describe what it was like seeing colors you didn’t know existed-”

“Some of that.” Oliver cracked an amused smile. “I can’t say I’ve run into a planet made up entirely of shrimp yet.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Okay, so that was an actual dream, then. Got it.”

Oliver chuckled. “But the other stuff? It was all true. And I’d like to show you all of it.”

“Really? We can do that? I don’t have to have some special goddess status-”

“You’re already a goddess in my eyes,” Oliver interrupted and she rolled her eyes at him, earning another chuckle. “But no, you don’t need a special status.” He laced his fingers through hers again and lifted them as Felicity settled back against his shoulder. He pressed his face to her temple, and she felt his lips moving as he spoke. “The Spectre and I are like this, entwined together. But so are you and I. You are just as much a part of me as the Spectre, which means where I go, you go.”

“That… will be so frakking amazing,” Felicity said with a laugh.

Oliver kissed her temple. “Not as amazing as you,” he said. He rolled her onto her back and climbed on top of her. Felicity opened for him and hummed at the sensation of his full weight against her as he settled between her thighs. He cupped her face. “Nothing is as amazing as you are, Felicity.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, there is an entire multiverse out there-”

“Nothing,” he reiterated before his lips slanted over hers.

She moaned. “Okay, but you’re talking about me seeing the actual freaking universe-”

“Felicity.”

“I’m just saying, there has to be some sort of-”

He cut her off again, and this time he took advantage of the opening to thrust his tongue against hers. There were more words in her brain, but they disappeared as he kissed her. He pressed her further into the mattress and she pulled her legs up higher. He groaned his approval as he settled more fully against her center, his sweats and the thin sleep shorts she had on the only thing separating her from his growing hardness.

Dragging his lips from hers, Oliver kissed his way down her chin, following the line of her jaw to the delicate spot that always made her gasp before he eased down her neck. Stubble scraping as he went, his t-shirt soft against her bare skin as he moved, Felicity’s hands landed on his shoulders, her nails digging into hard muscle. He licked and sucked and nipped and she fought to keep breathing, pushing one hand into hair that was thankfully growing back, the other sprawling over his upper back. He still had his scars, all of them, and they greeted her even through his shirt in such a familiar way that it brought tears to her eyes.

“Oliver,” she whispered as he moved down to her clavicle, her chest, her breasts. “Oliver.”

“I’m here,” he replied just as his lips found one of her nipples.

The pleasure was immediate and a strangled whimper escaped her, a shudder wracking every inch of her, her back arching to get closer. He flicked at her with his tongue, sucking before grazing the tiny bead with his teeth. Heat spiraled out from that spot, searing, coursing through her right to her core. Felicity gripped his hair tight, holding him closer, her legs wrapping around him as she thrust her hips up into his. The friction was perfect and she cried out, doing it again, earning a deep growl from him. He rotated his hips, sucking harder, pinning her down…

It was exquisite torture, and any other time she would have enjoyed the ride, but on the heels of everything they’d finally admitted to each other, it was suddenly not enough.

“I need you,” Felicity rasped. She pulled at his hair, tugging him away, and he let her nipple go with a wet pop. His lips were as red and swollen as her abused breast, his cheeks flush with arousal, his eyes glassy with need, and it was the most erotic sight she’d ever seen. Felicity grabbed his face and urged him back up to her. “I need you inside him,” she told him just before her lips crashed into his.

Hard and demanding, they kissed each other as if it was their first and last time combined in one. It was inevitable, though, in a way, the desperation that captured them, that controlled them, after everything they had been through.

After everything they had found again.

Oliver pulled back, quick and harried, and he clambered off her, nearly falling when he abruptly found the edge of the bed. Felicity followed him, scooting to the edge, her hands shoving his shirt up as he pushed his sweats down his hips. His hardness popped free, swelling even more where it bobbed between them. She abandoned his shirt and wrapped her hand around him. She didn’t waste a second before leaning forward and wrapping her mouth around his thick head, running her tongue along the slit. A salty droplet greeted her and she moaned, sucking, wanting more as she started pumping him, gripping him tight, his hot skin moving against the thick steel of his need for her. He panted out a tight curse, and then the air above her was moving where he tore his shirt off. She didn’t let him go, her want for this man so intense she felt it in her bones, taking over, controlling her, making her mindless.

He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back, forcing her to let him go. She didn’t get the chance to react before he gripped her waist and tossed her back onto the center of the bed. Felicity bounced, a giggle escaping her, and she caught sight of his grin but then he was gone, his fingers finding the hem of her shorts. He tugged them down, tossed them away, and then he climbing onto the bed again.

“Come here,” Felicity whispered, opening her arms, but he stopped at her thighs.

Oliver smoothed his hands from her knees up. She whined his name, spreading her legs, reaching down to grab him, but he evaded her. The look on his face - the hunger, the need, the want, the love - it had her inner walls already spasming and she arched her hips to get closer to him.

“Oliver, please.”

“You are so beautiful,” he replied, his hands finding her inner thighs, moving up. His lips followed his hands’ path, so soft compared to his calloused palms. Her head fell back on the bed with a bounce, her breaths sawing in and out, sensation swamping her. “So beautiful,” he told her again. His hot breath danced over her delicate, trembling skin, sending waves of goosebumps spiraling out. “Beautiful.”

His mouth found her weeping sex.

A cry wrenched out from deep inside her and Felicity’s back bowed again, her leg kicking out. He slid his hands under and around and clamped her hips down, holding her still as he took his fill of her. His tongue stroked against her clit, his lips wrapping around it and sucking, his head moving, his mouth opening wider so he could lick down to her opening where he thrust his tongue inside her. Heat was a living thing under her skin, churning, bright and hot, the pleasure he gave her taking her breath away as he worked her. Felicity grappled against the sheets, twisting them in tight fists, thrusting up, her whimpers and pleas filling the room, the sucking noises and his moans sending her higher.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Oliver…”

Like he knew, like he could read her thoughts, like he was of the same mind as her, Oliver pulled back and climbed up the rest of the way. His face was wet from her, and he left a trail of arousal as he kissed and sucked his way up her abdomen, up the slope of her neglected breast, her nipple, her chest…

Felicity nodded when he finally reached her, when he finally settled the full length of his hard body against her soft one, when she spread her legs for him. His chin was still wet when he kissed her, and she moaned at the taste of herself on his tongue. Felicity wrapped him up in her arms, pulling her legs up as high as she could. His hard length slid across her tender, wet core and their combined moans was music to her ears.

“Yes,” she breathed against his lips as he pulled his hips back, his thick head finding her entrance. His kisses drifted down her cheek and she kissed his stubble, his jaw, his ear, the line of his hair as he buried his face in her throat. “Oliver…”

He thrust home.

Felicity’s mouth fell open in a soundless cry as he filled her, going so deep, stretching her completely. He fit inside her perfectly, like he was made for her, and she held on as he found one of her knees and lifted her leg up, letting him slide in even deeper. It was so good, so, so good, almost too good to be true…

“Is this real?” she choked out.

Oliver froze and pulled back to look at her.

A sudden sheen of tears blurred her vision and she blinked rapidly, needing to see him. He stared at her, his brow furrowed, his breaths ragged, but he didn’t move. She cupped his face, drinking him in, every little tiny thing. “This isn’t a dream, right? You’re really here. I’m here? This is…?”

Anguish twisted his brow.

“It’s real,” Oliver told her, staring into her. “This is real, Felicity, I promise.”

“You’re here?” she said, smoothing her hands over his face, down his neck, and to his shoulders.

“I’m here,” he whispered. He shifted, readjusting, and slipped his arm underneath her and across her back to grab her shoulder. Hugging her. It anchored her to him, so securely it made her chest ache. His other hand found hers. He laced their fingers together, tight and sure, and tugged them close between them, until they were completely wrapped up in each other. “You’re here,” Oliver said. “This is real. This is real.”

Felicity nodded.

“It’s real.”

He kissed her, and she knew he was telling the truth. She was here, with her love, and they were never going to be apart again.

Oliver slowly started moving. He pulled out the tiniest bit before thrusting back inside her. She moved her legs, winding one around his backside, the other slipping down to wrap around his leg. He lifted his other one for more leverage as he filled her, over and over and over…

They made love to each other, every move achingly tender, every touch reassuring. His hand gripped her shoulder, strong and sure, their laced hands never letting the other go, not for anything. When Oliver pulled back to look at her, their eyes meeting as they rocked together, she cupped his cheek, grounding herself to him even more.

Her pleasure built on a silent crest, slow and meticulous, coiling inside her in a crescendo that radiated through every inch of her.

“Oliver,” she breathed, and he nodded, pressing his forehead to hers. Felicity gripped his hand in hers, her other grabbing the back of his neck for something to hold onto. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed his air, taking him inside her in every way possible. “Oliver.”

“I’ve got you, Felicity,” he promised and her eyes flew open to find his already on her. Her pleasure peaked in a sudden swell. She gasped, stiffening, clinging to him, to his gaze. “I’ve got you.”

Felicity came apart in his arms. Fire licked through her veins, but not with the alacrity it usually did. It was slower, hotter, igniting every single nerve in her body. Her eyes slammed shut, her back bowing, her toes curling, pinpricks dancing under her skin in a swath of heat. It consumed her, and it didn’t stop, not as he kept moving, thrusting, filling her, over and over in a primordial dance that echoed in her soul.

Oliver fell against her.

Their tangled hands stayed lodged between them as he buried his face in her neck and doubled his efforts, hips moving faster, their skin colliding, his hold on her tightening.

When tiny, desperate sounds echoed against her throat, his breaths hot and wet, his lips and stubble scraping over her, sending erotic shivers through her that echoed the cascade of pleasure, she opened her eyes…

“Oh god,” Felicity breathed.

The ceiling of the villa was gone, but there wasn’t any sky, not like she knew.

A fresh wave of sensation crashed into her and she cried out as the multiverse above them glowed bright. Colors and swirls and stars and planets glowed against a black background that was as alive as the universes it cradled in its dark palm. The beauty of it was astonishing, mind-bending, filling her with awe as much as…

“Felicity,” Oliver moaned, and on one final thrust, he came deep inside her.

She felt it, felt him, felt his pleasure as much as hers, and another orgasm hit her.

They fell together, holding on to each other, coming together in more ways than one.

It was a long while before Felicity opened her eyes again, and it was only because Oliver moved to slowly ease out of her.

“Oh,” she whimpered and she turned to follow him as he fell onto the bed next to her. He pulled her close, cradling her in the security of his arms, pressing a chaste kiss to her sweaty forehead. Felicity sighed, lifting her leg to wrap around his hip, tangling their legs together. “I love you.”

“I love you,” ghosted across her hair as he readjusted, fitting her into the cradle of his shoulder and pushing his face against the top of her head. She hummed her approval, dropping messy kisses against his broad chest. His hand got tangled in her damp hair, his other skating down her ribs.

“Oliver?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I saw it,” Felicity whispered. She felt him frown in question and she pulled back to look up at him. “The multiverse.” Surprise twisted his face. “I mean, I think I did. This isn’t a play on how absolutely incredible those orgasms were, because they really, really were, and all the kudos to us for the amazing sex we just had, but… When you said my name, the ceiling… disappeared, and I saw… I swear I saw it. And then I also felt… At least I think I did… I felt you. Felt what you felt. Do I sound as insane as I think I do?”

“No,” Oliver said after a moment, his brow furrowing on a thought. “It actually makes sense.”

“Well, that’s comforting, and it also explains nothing.”

“When I’m with you,” Oliver said, staring into her eyes, “you’re all that exists for me. You are my universe as far as I’m concerned, and I think… I don’t have to concentrate to keep this place where we are going, it exists because I say it does, and it exists exactly like the world we used to live in, but I think I… blurred the lines a little bit? I let go… into you. What I was feeling. What I see when I close my eyes.”

“Wow.”

“Is that… okay?” He frowned. “I can try to pull it back-”

“No,” Felicity said loudly. “Don’t you dare. I want you letting go with me. I’m so glad I can give that to you. That I can still give that to you. That was… There aren’t words. I felt more connected to you, to the entire universe, in a way I never have before.”

“I felt that, too,” he replied softly, moving his fingers through her hair. “I felt you, with me.”

“Wow.”

Oliver smiled. “That’s why I know I’ll be able to take you with me when I have work to do. Which yes,” he added off her look, “definitely includes seeing the kids.”

“I still can’t believe that’s possible,” Felicity admitted, her hand drifting up to his chin, his jaw, wonder filling her voice. “I never dreamed that that would be something we’d get to do. That it was even possible. I should probably stop wondering about things being possible, shouldn’t I?”

“At this point?” he asked, that green shading his eyes again. “Probably.”

“So when can we go?”

Oliver grinned. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Emotion filled her chest to the brim. “I’m ready. With you by my side, I’m ready for anything. For all of it.”

“Me too.”

They kissed, a soft, loving touch that sealed that promise.

A quick shower later - and by quick, she meant one of the perks of having a god-like husband was the hot water never ran out and when she complained about pruny fingers, he made them disappear which meant they spent a wonderfully right amount of time having shower sex - they stood together in the villa bedroom.

“Hold on like this.” Oliver laced their fingers together. “Hold on to me tight.”

Felicity grinned. “You know, these might be the very platonic circumstances I was talking about all those years ago.”

He chuckled, and pulled her in close, not even needing a second to remember what she was referring to. Her heart soared as Oliver kissed her, lingering, and it went even higher when he whispered, “And we’ll explore those different circumstances a little bit more later.”

“Good thing we have all the time in the world,” Felicity replied.

He grinned, kissed her once more, and on a, “Here we go,” the world around them shifted…

And when Felicity opened her eyes, they were in a large open room. Against one window was the large face of a clock, and even though it looked wildly different from the last time she’d been in there, she knew they were in the clocktower in Star City.

Movement had both her and Oliver turning around.

What she saw had tears filling her eyes, joy filling her heart, and gratitude and love squeezing Oliver’s hand.

Mia and William sat at a bar against the opposite wall, and they both looked up at the same time. William’s face was drawn, circles under his eyes, and he looked haggard, but he was his same vibrant self, thanks in part to the obvious connection between the siblings, to Mia where she held his hand, so full of light and life.

Her babies.

“Mom…?”

“Dad?”

The End

I hope that wasn't too mean of a place to end it! I tweeted this after the finale and I wanted part of this to be a lead-up to a situation where it happens.

A/N: It’s no secret that I really loved the last scene of the finale. I also really wish Season 8 had never happened, for a number of reasons, but also because I don’t think this is how Arrow should have ended. But in the context of the Crisis and everything that S8 gave us? God yes, I loved that we got Olicity together in the end! But, of course, I had questions, and I wanted to understand things. So I babbled out a bunch of stuff. I started this after the finale and it’s slowly morphed into this. I wanted to capture as much as I could that encapsulates how I see Olicity wherever they are now. I have admittedly not looked too much into the lore or the comic books, so...

So this is my headcanon now!

(This was un-beta’d and I’ve been sick, so all mistakes are definitely mine.)

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it - reviews feed the soul and muse.

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity fanfiction #oliver queen #felicity smoak #arrow #arrow season 8 #fanfiction #my fics #my fics: season 8 #dust2dust34

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spirit-science-blog · 3 years

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Let us begin first with the Demiurge. The Demiurge is an ancient Greek and Gnostic concept describing a consciousness that is essentially the creator of the physical reality, but not the supreme creative force behind all things.

An excellent way to explore this idea is through the Matrix, a Science-Fiction story that suggests everything we think we know of as the real world is nothing but an illusion, a false world within which most are imprisoned, unable to identify what is real effectively. As people go about their day to day lives, they think that their world is real, but every individual is plugged into an artificial reality severed from the real world. While people suffer, there is a tremendous benefit to the ruling overlords, who were a form of AI in the film. As it relates to us, this AI is, in essence - the Demiurge.

The Demiurge was described as a force, a deity, or a consciousness responsible for creating the physical world. However, in a way, it had imposed itself over top of the actual reality, the supreme oneness that created all things. In this, it was a false god who had assumed authority over the world, masking the living beings - namely us - from the supreme truth, the highest order of creation, and making us believe that what we experienced as real, the physical reality that we’re a part of, was the actual, authentic reality. Depending on the school and belief of the different Gnostic Sects, the Demiurge was seen either as something evil, deliberately trying to deceive us, or something that was merely ignorant or misguided of its place in the universe and of the rest of creation, which led to us becoming lost in the illusion as a result.

Said in simple terms - the Demiurge was the force behind the physical universe. Still, within our consciousness, so long as we perceived that physical to be real, we were slaves to the illusion of the false or at least incomplete reality.

To that end, these ancient people, at least those who were a part of the old mystery schools, believed that the physical reality was an illusion. They sought to liberate themselves from the illusion of reality through varying spiritual practices, from meditation to plant medicine ceremonies and everything in-between, to connect with higher realms of existence, and break free of the false world by finding the truth: the supreme oneness within. This is because even the demiurge and the physical universe still stemmed from the ultimate oneness, and the light of Truth could be found within. Known to the Gnostics as Sophia, meaning Wisdom in Greek, it was the act of awakening this divine spark within us to return to the higher realms that were the ultimate goal of many Gnostic Schools.

This is where we find the roots of Enlightenment and like-concepts from around the world, which teach that within this world of suffering, we can release ourselves from the illusion through various forms of mastery and self-discipline (physical, emotional, mental). This, of course, takes considerable effort and intention to do so. In essence - transcendent people do what is hard, and that’s why their lives are comfortable. People in suffering do what is easy, and that’s why their life is hard.

Fast forward to today, there is a tremendous volume of voices from across the internet, exploring ideas, concepts and sharing a metric-buttload of memes. But amidst the voices of the masses, we find a new concept emerging and being discussed in scientific and even some mainstream circles… an idea that proposes that the entire universe as we know it is a hologram or a simulation of some kind.

Scientifically speaking, if we look at the cosmos from the perspective of quantum mechanics, there is a general acknowledgment that we don’t understand the universe like we thought we did. We are seeing the building blocks of the universe, the subatomic particles, the waves, behaving in ways that do not make sense in the context of Classical Mechanics, which reveal discrepancies in the laws of physics. Yet, physics laws still stand and apply in a practical sense when talking about our macroscopic world, but the fabric of the reality that we live in operates by rules we have yet to uncover.

The holographic universe seems, in principle, to be very much like how you might expect a movie and a projector to work in tandem. When you watch a movie, you enjoy it linearly, going through it one frame at a time, usually at 24, 30, or 60 frames per second. The stories on the screen follow a narrative of some kind and generally speaking, there are definite laws that make-up the universe you are experiencing in the film.

Yet, the quantum world, on the other hand, is like observing the entire film, timelessly at any point, which includes zooming in on individual frames, playing things backward, forwards, the sequels, the prequels, all at the same time. The particles and waves that make up our reality are non-linear and could potentially imply notions of retrocausality. While they also follow their own set of laws, they are different from the world. We exist at a macro level. Another example of this is computer code. What you see on your computer or phone screen at any given time is a filtered projection of what is going on underneath, designed to be easy for you to interpret.

Yet, under these machines' surface, there is an incomprehensible computer language to nearly everyone. Languages like Binary and Machine Code are too simple to make complex algorithms effectively. Instead, programmers use ‘higher-level languages’ designed to be understood by humans to write code that is then translated into the lower, base-level machine code, then binary at the bottom. When you look at your phone or computer monitor, what you see ultimately comprises mountains of ones and zeros that lay under the surface of the digital world, just like what is under the surface of our reality.

You might be familiar with the ancient wisdom teaching, As Above, So Below. A concept that applies on several levels, describing that which exists in higher realities is a mirror of lower realities. With machine code and binary, ultimately, all of that computational code is equal to and actively creates the digital experience on your devices, but they are two entirely different paradigms.

This is the great challenge of modern science today, unifying quantum mechanics and general relativity because we are unable to comprehend yet how the physical world with tangible substance, continuity, gravity, life, time, and consciousness emerge from this flux field of quantum information, which appears to operate by a very different set of laws related to statistics and probability. Yet… are they so different?

The question then becomes, as many are theorizing today - could our entire reality be nothing more than a simulation? An artificial reality that our consciousness is plugged into? Some oddities have been captured on camera that some people believe are glitches in the matrix. Maybe it’s fake, who knows, but we do have this curious clip of a bird perched in midair without moving before flying away.

There was also news footage from Russia many years ago that someone caught an individual levitating on camera, but when the guy with the camera called out to them, the girl dropped down and ran away. Now again - I’m not trying to say this is hard evidence of a real-life matrix, but it indeed compels curiosity, and this is what it’s all about - humanity living in the question, in the mystery of life, and these strange occurrences that beg us to ask the question… What is the true nature of reality? Now on that note, I encourage you to please do your research, go down these rabbit holes for yourself, and make up your mind! In this way, you become a conduit of free thought, rather than following in the herd mentality of that which has been established for you by the powers that be. Even if physics laws as we know them today say that this is impossible, we also understand that physics laws are incomplete. We don’t even know how to fit Gravity into our standard model of physics properly… Perhaps unlocking these secrets will change everything for us.

And this brings us to the primary key of our conspiracy theory of everything, the basis from which everything to come will build off. The demiurge is, in essence, a lesson about the illusion of reality. As we conceive it to be, the entire world is based on what we perceive with our physical senses. A limited experience of the totality of that which exists in the whole universe. This idea suggests that this illusion of the cosmos is incomplete, and as long as we believe in only it by itself, we too shall remain incomplete. We live within a material universe, but there is more to the cosmos than just that, and as long as we choose to believe in this false reality, we will continue to perpetuate its existence. Only by embracing what we don’t know and asking the right questions can we begin to break free of the constraints that bind us.

In the Emerald Tablets of Thoth the Atlantean, there is a great deal of discussion that describes the human soul as a light trapped in a veil of the night, a metaphor suggesting that the night is the illusion of separateness, the soul disconnected from the supreme oneness, or trapped in illusions in general… basically, anything that is not the highest truth. It is the unilluminated mind that actively creates the reality that it perceives to be real. As such, humanity lives out its days in the darkness, veiled in the illusion of one's own beliefs, disconnected from a higher reality.

This was portrayed excellently in Marvel's Dr. Strange when Steven denies anything beyond the material universe and then is shown a glimpse of the multidimensional nature of reality and that thoughts are things. He shows that we steer the reality field by our conscious intention, but as we become complacent in creating our lives, we give up control of the driver's seat, and who then is driving the ship? Anyone, and everything else. Jung called it the collective unconscious, the collective mind-field of everyone whose thoughts and feelings influence our very own decisions and actions by calculating their energetic weight. Whether it be the media, the news, advertisements, what your family or friends tell you, or things you happen across on the internet… Ultimately, all of it goes into our egos, shaping who we think we are, as we disconnect further from the nature of our being.

So the question then becomes, what IS the truth, what is the higher reality, and how do we connect with it? The ancient wisdom teachings describe that the quest for wisdom, or enlightenment, or the true nature of being - is a continuous journey into the unknown, and the illumination that we are active creators of our lives, not merely beholden unto the preconceived patterns that we’ve been following in.

The great truth we must understand about the demiurge is that we are the ones who actively perpetuate its existence by believing in the physical universe as the ultimate reality. Your beliefs shape the truth that you experience, as Dr. Bruce Lipton has demonstrated through his work with The Biology of Belief - the thoughts and ideas we hold in our minds can be scientifically proven to affect how our DNA and Cells express themselves.

If you believe you are a lowlife with nothing going on and will die alone and miserable, guess what kind of life you will lead? If you think you can change the world, imagine what kind of life you will lead? To break free of the limitations that we feel are imposed upon us, we must first believe that it’s possible to do so. We must open ourselves to a greater truth, a greater reality, one that is beyond the demiurge, and perceive a cosmic truth that forever changes life as we know it…

Yet, humanity is not paying attention to messages like this in mass, and there’s a reason for it. It is a very significant and critical thing. This one piece of the puzzle must be resolved for humanity to truly advance as a species and break free of illusion collectively…

Our journey down the Rabbit Hole is only just beginning…

#spirituality #science #ascension #mystery school #spirit science

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