You wake with painful pressure all around you, pushing down on your body, making it hard to breathe. You panic, clawing to get away, and you realize you're surrounded by dirt. Buried. It doesn't make the fear any better, and you can't breathe.
The earth is hard to push through but you manage somehow, they buried you shallowly; in a hurry, perhaps? You draw in air into your lungs, body dirty and aching, eyes wide as you're staring up at the night sky. The moon is there, full and beautiful and all you can focus on.
All that really remains in your head.
Who are you? What is happening? Why are you so empty?
You try to stand, and just stumble and fall. Exhausted, weak. No knowledge of who you are and where you are. What you are, with this purple skin and the tail behind you. You somehow know how to use it, to steady your gait, but it's all this so strange.
You open your mouth to scream for help, but words are hard. They don't fit, you barely remember how, tasting it on your lips but the mouth unable to form them.
You're just so empty.
You slump against a tree, shivering, confused and alone. Only the moon for company. She's bright, comforting. The only good thing in this place... but there's music too, you realize. Someone's playing a violin.
You know what a violin is, but not your own name.
Your mouth opens again to call for help, and all you can do is cry out like a desperate creature, like a wounded animal pleading for mercy. At first it seems like they did not hear you, but then they come. People.
They brighten up the night in colorful clothing. Helping you up, wrapping you in blankets. Taking you with them to a colorful tent with colorful furniture, all so bright and vibrant that it seems unnatural. Neon, almost glaring. Dreamlike.
They feed you, clothe you, ask your name. You cannot reply, cannot thank them, but they do not judge. There's only kindness and love and family.
'Empty' is still all you can say, but you certainly do not feel that way anymore.
Drugs are Bad, Reality is Worse.
The dream starts nicely. You're happy, easy, just hanging around with friends. Then three of them disappear, torn away from the rest of you by giant hands and a laughing, terrible face of a huge man with facial tattoos, other features barely visible as if you only heard him described.
You're running after them, but the ground is now thick with blood, hot and sticking to everything. Your clothes, your weapons, your body. Then you realize it's your own blood, pouring endlessly from your chest in massive gushes, and you stumble, falling face down into the half-coagulated mess.
Somehow you're floating in that blood now, surrounded by crimson seeing nothing but red, red. Eyes suddenly appear around you, staring. Blinking. You look at your hand, and the snake tattooed there also had a red eye.
It also blinks at you.
That laughter is heard again, but this time it's your own. You can see a purple tiefling (and you know it's you), covered in dirt and hair nearly completely shorn; no tattoos, no panache. Just a dangerous smile. This other you reach out, your friends appearing between his fingers like the cards you carry.
The last thing you see is crushed bodies in purple hands and you scream, mouth filling with the surrounding blood.
[ He jolts awake with a gasp, curling forward over a knee as he flounders between dreaming and waking. Palming a hand down his face to help, Fjord's Darkvision kicks in to sort the shadows out and he glances down at the body beside him, staring at Molly and not knowing whether it's wiser to let him continue sleeping or ...
Fuck it. Who would want to remain in that dream? ]
Molly, hey. Hey, wake up.
[ Giving him a shake on the shoulder, Fjord rakes hair out of his own eyes and takes a steadying breath, casting off the last shudders from the nightmare. ]
[ Molly's in his 'stress ball' pose again, curled up against Fjord's side so tightly that he could probably loop his tail around his own head. It's a big difference from the usual lax pose, sometimes starfishing on the bed and hogging space.
The tiefling's ear twitches a bit when he hears his name, and the shake then makes him open his eyes wide. He draws in a panicked breath, grabbing at anything and trying to come to his senses while still half in his dream. ]
[ He's not used to nightmares, only having a few when he was 'new'. Molly's heart is racing, and he quickly leans against Fjord as he's pulled into those arms.
The tiefling breathes heavily, head spinning. They're alright. Fjord said they were. Fjord was here. ]
I did, sorry. It was another weird tagalong dream, only this time it was yours.
[ He sits up a little to bring Molly with him, hands skimming over his back and shoulders before one rests at the nape of a sweaty neck as a reliable weight.
Doesn't mention that the dream is also a decent metaphor for Fjord's fears regarding Lucien. ]
You're still you, you're Mollymauk. Dandy purple wastrel extraordinaire.
[ He mutters against a pec, glad for his horn caps so he's not scratching his friend. The weight against his neck is soothing, and the words even more so.
At least in a way. ]
...and if he turns on you, will you still think it is me?
[ He doesn't have the energy to argue again about how that isn't him, Lucien would never be him, but he's heartsick and trembling and so, so tired of this. ]
[ Pillows are pushed up against the wall and he tugs the blankets closer. Reclining, Fjord reasserts the hug to keep Molly inside the circle of his arms as those trembles start up again. ]
You're safe. I spoke to the Augur and they gave back something to help me protect us. Do you want to see?
[ Molly doesn't want to move, so Fjord getting himself comfy is barely noticed as he leans against the green chest. The hug does lessen the tremble a bit, the warmth slowly easing his tension. His tail has wrapped against Fjord's ankle, just holding on.
It all feels like it leaves a hole in him, though. A nothingness, empty. ]
...they did? Why didn't you tell me?
[ He asks, curious now. Nodding, Molly lifts his head a bit to watch. It had to be a spell, right? ]
I snuck off while you were busy, wanted it to be a surprise in the morning. This is better, though.
[ Letting go of Molly with one hand, he gives a bit of a show of 'nothing there, nothing up my sleeve here' even though he doesn't have a shirt on, trying to make it more carnival-esque when he holds his hand out over the bed above them and summons the Star Razor in a flash of lush green light.
He rests the handle against his wrist in order to hold the broadsword up one-handed. Snowflakes flutter down and he hazards a smile at Molly, shaking the excess off the blade so that they're in a mini storm, whooshwhooshwhoosh. ]
[ He very much appreciates the attempt at showmanship, and it draws a smile from him. It's sweet, how the half-orc tries to make him feel better in every way.
The gleam of the blade takes him out of his darkvision for a moment, and Molly can't quite stop a surprised laugh as he sees it steady in Fjord's hand. The snowflakes fall on his face, little stars of cold that wake up the numbness in him. ]
[ He rests the longsword across their laps and says the command, Galas'var, making the blade glow with a soft blue radiant light, runes brighter than the rest as they pick out against the marbled iceflex. Fjord guides Molly's hand to the hilt so he knows it's okay to explore. ]
It carries within it the blessing of the fiercest full moon and starlight, that's why it glows. An acolyte of the Moonweaver helped one of the Wildmother make it, back in the Age of Arcanum.
[ Molly strokes his fingers over the flat of the blade, amazed how long it is, marveling at the marbled color and the shining runes. It's cold, like his scimitars when he activates that rite. ]
The Moonweaver and the Wildmother.
[ There's a somewhat broken laugh at that, and he nods. ]
Good. I'm glad you have it back, it looks like an extension of you.
It is, and if you listen closely, you can hear it ...
[ He looks entirely serious as he cups a hand to an ear, leaning down. ]
'Molly, don't be sad ... Molly, I'll stick myself up people's butts if you want me to ...' [ Fjord shrugs, as matter-of-fact as he can without breaking a smile. ] Well, there you have it.
[ It says something for Molly's tired state when he fully accepts that the sword can talk before Fjord starts whispering. The laugh it brings from him is a lot more stable and genuine, and he pats the sword gently. ]
Thank you, darling.
[ The sword or Fjord? Who knows. ]
I hope this dream sharing doesn't continue. I trust you, but I don't know if anyone else sees them.
[ Something as stupid as the sword 'talking' just proves how sweet Fjord is, and it kind of helps in a backwards way, knowing they can still be silly in all of this. ]
I hope so. I don't often dream, so it's all so much more vivid when I do.
[ He doesn't dream much either, and when he does it's hard to remember the mush of images and sentiments. Like a play behind a misty curtain, unimportant when his mind would just rather rest after straining to handle the vivid nightmares of Uk'otoa after so long.
Fingernails pick at the runes on the sword. ]
I'm sorry ... that I told you. I had no right to dump everything on you like I did.
[ He's been Thinking Stuff Over since their cry for help over the network, three-offers in from other people who were willing to give Fjord their favours with the Augur so that he could have his powers back. Three strangers who saw his distress and acted. Meanwhile, Molly has been suffering quietly, pushed away and mocked, and all Fjord has done is make him a fucking bath to apologise. It's a lot, being on the island, he agrees with that, but he can't find any excuse for how badly he's letting Molly down; letting one of the Nein down. Fuck. All his recent musings and inner debates crescendo into a tornado in his chest as he cups Molly's face and acts on what feels like reliable impulse in the moment, not possessing the words to sew up the fault-lines he has cracked through his friend and reduced to actions instead.
The kiss is quick and chaste, and he leans back once it parts with a soft sound. His cheeks feel like they might be on fire as well as his ears, but Fjord stays as calm as he can, all but defiantly holding eye-contact. A ball of anxiety bounces around his ribs but he holds it together. ]
Then don't feel those things.
[ Fjord has no wise advice, only what he regards as relatively acceptable behaviour based off what he thinks he would do in the same position. ]
[ Molly's stewing in the moment of silence, wondering if he should just leave and find some alcohol. He doesn't blame Fjord for anything (the bath was a nice apology) but he's just not been himself for a while now. Getting fucked up every day just to not feel like he's shattering.
There's a green hand at his face, cupping his chin, and those red eyes widen a bit in surprise when Fjord' lips meet his own in a sweet little kiss. It might be chaste and quick, but it's still a kiss from Fjord, which isn't something he'd expect.
Neither is the blushing and the desperate eye-contact, like he's trying to build himself up. Draw strength. Feel something else.
Molly leans up and returns the kiss, slowly and questioning with a brush of his nose against the half-orc's. ]
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lusi2020-11-13 08:36 pm
NOVEMBER 2020
🌙 Halloween Party (Fjord)
🌙 Halloween Party (Vaati)
🌙 Halloween Party (Aphrodite)
🌙 Halloween Party (Oran)
🌙 Halloween Party (Even)
🌙 Joint Network Post (w/Fjord) (Guiying, Wanda, Peter, Nyx, Dave)
🌙 Event (Fjord)
Event Dreams
You wake with painful pressure all around you, pushing down on your body, making it hard to breathe. You panic, clawing to get away, and you realize you're surrounded by dirt. Buried. It doesn't make the fear any better, and you can't breathe.
The earth is hard to push through but you manage somehow, they buried you shallowly; in a hurry, perhaps? You draw in air into your lungs, body dirty and aching, eyes wide as you're staring up at the night sky. The moon is there, full and beautiful and all you can focus on.
All that really remains in your head.
Who are you? What is happening? Why are you so empty?
You try to stand, and just stumble and fall. Exhausted, weak. No knowledge of who you are and where you are. What you are, with this purple skin and the tail behind you. You somehow know how to use it, to steady your gait, but it's all this so strange.
You open your mouth to scream for help, but words are hard. They don't fit, you barely remember how, tasting it on your lips but the mouth unable to form them.
You're just so empty.
You slump against a tree, shivering, confused and alone. Only the moon for company. She's bright, comforting. The only good thing in this place... but there's music too, you realize. Someone's playing a violin.
You know what a violin is, but not your own name.
Your mouth opens again to call for help, and all you can do is cry out like a desperate creature, like a wounded animal pleading for mercy. At first it seems like they did not hear you, but then they come. People.
They brighten up the night in colorful clothing. Helping you up, wrapping you in blankets. Taking you with them to a colorful tent with colorful furniture, all so bright and vibrant that it seems unnatural. Neon, almost glaring. Dreamlike.
They feed you, clothe you, ask your name. You cannot reply, cannot thank them, but they do not judge. There's only kindness and love and family.
'Empty' is still all you can say, but you certainly do not feel that way anymore.
Drugs are Bad, Reality is Worse.
The dream starts nicely. You're happy, easy, just hanging around with friends. Then three of them disappear, torn away from the rest of you by giant hands and a laughing, terrible face of a huge man with facial tattoos, other features barely visible as if you only heard him described.
You're running after them, but the ground is now thick with blood, hot and sticking to everything. Your clothes, your weapons, your body. Then you realize it's your own blood, pouring endlessly from your chest in massive gushes, and you stumble, falling face down into the half-coagulated mess.
Somehow you're floating in that blood now, surrounded by crimson seeing nothing but red, red. Eyes suddenly appear around you, staring. Blinking. You look at your hand, and the snake tattooed there also had a red eye.
It also blinks at you.
That laughter is heard again, but this time it's your own. You can see a purple tiefling (and you know it's you), covered in dirt and hair nearly completely shorn; no tattoos, no panache. Just a dangerous smile. This other you reach out, your friends appearing between his fingers like the cards you carry.
The last thing you see is crushed bodies in purple hands and you scream, mouth filling with the surrounding blood.
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Fuck it. Who would want to remain in that dream? ]
Molly, hey. Hey, wake up.
[ Giving him a shake on the shoulder, Fjord rakes hair out of his own eyes and takes a steadying breath, casting off the last shudders from the nightmare. ]
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The tiefling's ear twitches a bit when he hears his name, and the shake then makes him open his eyes wide. He draws in a panicked breath, grabbing at anything and trying to come to his senses while still half in his dream. ]
Plea... ah... Fjord?
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[ He leans down and scoops him up by the waist, pulling the tense wad of tiefling against him so that Molly can feel how real he is. ]
It's okay, we're alright ... [ Rubbing all over his back. ] It was a bad dream, that's all.
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The tiefling breathes heavily, head spinning. They're alright. Fjord said they were. Fjord was here. ]
Shit... did you see that?
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[ He sits up a little to bring Molly with him, hands skimming over his back and shoulders before one rests at the nape of a sweaty neck as a reliable weight.
Doesn't mention that the dream is also a decent metaphor for Fjord's fears regarding Lucien. ]
You're still you, you're Mollymauk. Dandy purple wastrel extraordinaire.
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[ He mutters against a pec, glad for his horn caps so he's not scratching his friend. The weight against his neck is soothing, and the words even more so.
At least in a way. ]
...and if he turns on you, will you still think it is me?
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[ With a sigh he plants his cheek on a forehead, half on a horn. Rubs Molly's back a bit faster!! ]
I won't let you forget me, asshole. You can't get away that easily.
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It was weird.
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[ Pillows are pushed up against the wall and he tugs the blankets closer. Reclining, Fjord reasserts the hug to keep Molly inside the circle of his arms as those trembles start up again. ]
You're safe. I spoke to the Augur and they gave back something to help me protect us. Do you want to see?
[ Might be a good distraction for those nerves. ]
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It all feels like it leaves a hole in him, though. A nothingness, empty. ]
...they did? Why didn't you tell me?
[ He asks, curious now. Nodding, Molly lifts his head a bit to watch. It had to be a spell, right? ]
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[ Letting go of Molly with one hand, he gives a bit of a show of 'nothing there, nothing up my sleeve here' even though he doesn't have a shirt on, trying to make it more carnival-esque when he holds his hand out over the bed above them and summons the Star Razor in a flash of lush green light.
He rests the handle against his wrist in order to hold the broadsword up one-handed. Snowflakes flutter down and he hazards a smile at Molly, shaking the excess off the blade so that they're in a mini storm, whooshwhooshwhoosh. ]
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The gleam of the blade takes him out of his darkvision for a moment, and Molly can't quite stop a surprised laugh as he sees it steady in Fjord's hand. The snowflakes fall on his face, little stars of cold that wake up the numbness in him. ]
It's beautiful, Fjord. Star razor, right?
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[ He rests the longsword across their laps and says the command, Galas'var, making the blade glow with a soft blue radiant light, runes brighter than the rest as they pick out against the marbled iceflex. Fjord guides Molly's hand to the hilt so he knows it's okay to explore. ]
It carries within it the blessing of the fiercest full moon and starlight, that's why it glows. An acolyte of the Moonweaver helped one of the Wildmother make it, back in the Age of Arcanum.
And now it's here, keeping us safe.
no subject
[ Molly strokes his fingers over the flat of the blade, amazed how long it is, marveling at the marbled color and the shining runes. It's cold, like his scimitars when he activates that rite. ]
The Moonweaver and the Wildmother.
[ There's a somewhat broken laugh at that, and he nods. ]
Good. I'm glad you have it back, it looks like an extension of you.
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[ He looks entirely serious as he cups a hand to an ear, leaning down. ]
'Molly, don't be sad ... Molly, I'll stick myself up people's butts if you want me to ...' [ Fjord shrugs, as matter-of-fact as he can without breaking a smile. ] Well, there you have it.
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Thank you, darling.
[ The sword or Fjord? Who knows. ]
I hope this dream sharing doesn't continue. I trust you, but I don't know if anyone else sees them.
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His smile evens out as Molly's worries crest again. ]
I assumed we were seeing them because we were sleeping together. In bed. Sleeping next to each other ... distance of our heads, or. Something.
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I hope so. I don't often dream, so it's all so much more vivid when I do.
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[ He doesn't dream much either, and when he does it's hard to remember the mush of images and sentiments. Like a play behind a misty curtain, unimportant when his mind would just rather rest after straining to handle the vivid nightmares of Uk'otoa after so long.
Fingernails pick at the runes on the sword. ]
I'm sorry ... that I told you. I had no right to dump everything on you like I did.
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[ In case things changed here. In case he lost himself. Gods, how he wanted the lie, though. The kindness of falsehood, of not knowing. ]
It's just... I can feel it in my chest, like I'm breaking.
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The kiss is quick and chaste, and he leans back once it parts with a soft sound. His cheeks feel like they might be on fire as well as his ears, but Fjord stays as calm as he can, all but defiantly holding eye-contact. A ball of anxiety bounces around his ribs but he holds it together. ]
Then don't feel those things.
[ Fjord has no wise advice, only what he regards as relatively acceptable behaviour based off what he thinks he would do in the same position. ]
Feel something else.
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There's a green hand at his face, cupping his chin, and those red eyes widen a bit in surprise when Fjord' lips meet his own in a sweet little kiss. It might be chaste and quick, but it's still a kiss from Fjord, which isn't something he'd expect.
Neither is the blushing and the desperate eye-contact, like he's trying to build himself up. Draw strength. Feel something else.
Molly leans up and returns the kiss, slowly and questioning with a brush of his nose against the half-orc's. ]
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🌙 Fjord's Canon Update (Fjord)