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bakerstreet2024-05-02 06:08 pm
shonenjump) wrote in bakerstreet2024-05-02 06:08 pm
Dreams
D R E A M S ☁ M E M E
Dreams are difficult enough to understand. They range from embarrassing, to frightening, to thought-provoking, to just plain nonsensical. You may find yourself wondering what that was all about, or trying to forget about it as quickly as you can. It may be close enough to reality to confuse you, or dream logic may prevail. Whatever the case, the world of dreams is a way to delve into your psyche and deal with what happened to you that day, your fears, and whatever's on your mind.
Except... what's that person doing there? This isn't their dream.
How It Works:
☁ Post with your character, name and fandom in the subject.
☁ Others respond to your character.
☁ Roll the RNG 1-8 for your situation, from the list below. That's the type of dream your character is having. Or, just pick the one you like the best.
☁ The replier has found themselves in your character's dream, able to interact freely.
☁ Have fun!
1. sweet dreams
Something like this might not happen too often in your waking life, if ever. You've found the world's largest supply of grape ice cream, you've won the lottery... or, perhaps, you're just having a really good day. Will this person share in your joy or ruin it for you?
2. nightmares
Your worst fears are being visited upon you tonight. Whether it's falling, losing those closest to you, insects, or something particular to you, there's no doubt you'd wake up in a cold sweat if everything went normally. Having this person there isn't 'normal', though. Maybe they can make things better.
3. sexy dreams
Isn't it so awkward when the person you're in bed with suddenly asks why you're dreaming about them in a schoolgirl costume?
4. bizarre dreams
It's hard to categorize this, but it probably seems perfectly natural to you that you need to find the smallest grain of sand in the world to stop an alien invasion up until someone points out how weird that is. And maybe it still seems normal to you even after that. They might be the ones being silly!
5. memories
The mind often revisits important events in one's life. For good or bad, you're back in time, reliving something that stuck in your head. But... that guy wasn't here before, was he? Or maybe he was, but hasn't seen it from your point of view yet.
6. prophetic dreams
A dream of your future. Is it good? Is it bad? Is it something you would even want another person to witness?
7. violent dreams
Whether you want to or not, you're hurting the person you're in bed with. Isn't that going to be a little hard to explain?
8. combination/other
Dreams are many and varied. Mix up the flavors, or try something completely different. Wherever your mind will take you is game.
Taken from here!
julia cross | oc
Éowyn | Lord of the Rings | OTA
Casimir Zarek | OC | OTA, info and CWs in journal
Charles - Dead Boy Detectives - OTA
Doesn't mean he won't show up in someone else's by accident though.]
Hob Gadling | Sandman (Netflix)
vash | trigun stampede | ota
Mai Taniyama || Ghost Hunt || OTA Gen
Thrass | Star Wars | OTA
memories ~
Or so he thought, anyway. He could be wrong.
He could read and write both Kittât and high Sith at least- after all, he often used the language to embellish his own jewelry- but the artifact's design made it difficult to parse where one sentence began and another ended. At least there was writing to figure out of at all, Azrael supposed. It would have been even more of a problem if it had been some nondescript multifaceted thing.
So while Thrass and Thrawn caught up, he sat with both something to write out translations with and some of his tools while he tried to get the thing to open and reveal its secrets- his tongue sticking out as he tried his best to keep his concentration up and his purrs deep as he pondered the mystery in front of him.
He could feel the whispers of the Force calling to him but it wasn't as though they were giving him instructions and so he was scrunching his face up with focus, eyes trained on the device in his hands. Soon. Or so he hoped.
He had certainly kept Thrawn waiting for his answers long enough.
Azrael did honestly wonder where the archaeologists of old had found their patience in dealing with things that did not want to give up their secrets though.
"Almost got it... I think..."
no subject
He was also admittedly curious as to the artifact that Thrawn had brought to Azrael. It was Sith in origin, and Thrawn didn't trust Palpatine or Vader with the item, and thus he'd brought it to the one other Sith he knew. That it gave the brothers an excuse to catch up was a nice benefit.
Both of them paused mid-chat to turn to Azrael, walking over to the Sith to watch curiously.
"I have faith in you, ch'eo." Thrass said.
no subject
He was adept at meditation and combat. But these more finicky parts of Sith mysticism were more difficult. He hadn't exactly ever had an interest, nor had he ever been educated to handle this sort of thing. Still though- he didn't want to disappoint Thrass's brother given that he very much wanted his approval. To be found worthy by him as something more than Thrass's weird red cat thing as he had heard others refer to him as when they thought he wasn't listening or couldn't understand.
He jotted down a few more of the runes inscribed on the artifact's surface, the motion quick and practiced. Following the runes up with a translation beneath it.
"In typical Sith fashion, whoever made this did not want to easily share their secrets."
Typical Sith indeed.
"I do apologize that this is taking so long," He said, briefly shifting his gaze to Thrawn, before looking back at what he was doing, "I don't usually work with anything more complicated than a lightsaber."
no subject
Thrawn glanced at Azrael's writings, noting the ease with which he wrote down the alien language. It wasn't the writing of someone who had only studied that language, but of someone who had been immersed in it his whole life. That could mean any number of things, so Thrawn didn't want to jump to conclussions.
"I understand," Thrawn assured him. "However, out of all the Sith I know, you are the one I find most trustworthy." Both because Azrael wasn't like the other two Sith, and because Thrass trusted him.
no subject
Not something he liked saying about himself, all things considered, given that he strongly identified as a Sith. But he was more even-tempered than most. He did lack the detachment commonly found in Jedi though and had a tendency to care way too much to ever truly relinquish his identity as a Sith in more than species.
Another few jotted notes before he picked up one of his tools- finding the pliers he normally used for delicate jewelry to be the perfect tool to handle the artifact with- along with a hook to delicately lift one of its metal sides, sliding it beneath a fold to gently fold it out to get at the inscription beneath the top layer.
The pliers allowed him to keep a grip on it, while the hook allowed him to gently pull the side open- and then there was a click and a flash and an "oh dear-"
---
Next they knew they were somewhere new- a sandy area surrounded by high stone walls inscribed with runes in the same language as had been on the artifact and murals of the ancient Sith people. There were a set of stairs that led up to a platform that overlooked the area- an arena if the signs of combat were anything to go by. A Sith man who looked similar to Azrael stood there, alongside an absolutely massive Sith woman who looked down into the arena, her muscular arms crossed.
Neither Sith seemed to notice the trio that had just appeared, instead focused on the combat happening. A small boy down in the sands, flanked by many combat droids. The boy appeared to be perhaps four or five years old.
"... I guess we know what the artifact does now," Azrael commented, looking down at what was obviously a younger version of himself from where they now stood not too far from the memory of his mother and father.
no subject
---
When the light cleared, both of them looked around, utterly confused. They didn't recognize this area which was certainly not the living room. In fact, this wasn't anywhere on Csilla or the Ascendancy. Thrawn immediately studied their surroundings, taking in the architecture and the writings, recognizing it from the artifact and Azrael's writings.
"Fascinating," Thrawn mused.
Thrass's eyes were fixated on the large Sith woman, and then on the small child. He smiled. "You were so cute when you were little."
no subject
The Azrael down in the arena was small. Nothing at all like the tall, dense wall of muscle he had grown up to be. He had a much thinner build, with a mess of wild dark hair and what would grow into sharp spurs were still just rounded little nubs. He looked slightly worn out- and a tad injured from his fight against the combat droids.
"Azrael," The Sith woman called as she uncrossed her arms, moving to go down the steps into the arena- a cowering slave running in with a wooden saber that she grabbed as she passed the slave by. The slave shrank further down, near curling into a ball on the stairs, revealing just what sort of person the woman was.
Azrael's younger self fixed his gaze on her, the look on his face the best attempt at defiant that such a small child could manage.
"Do you intend to be another dead failure in the sands of our ancestral home, child?" The woman cooed, doing a couple of test swings with the wooden saber, "Must you embarrass me so?"
"... Or look up at the sky, perhaps," The adult Azrael said, even though he himself was looking down into the arena.
no subject
"Was she like that... often?"
tw: child abuse
Especially since he hadn't actually said much about his background. Speaking in vague terms like not being close with his family before their deaths. Thrawn seemed to be working something out, but honestly Azrael would rather not have Thrass witness this.
His younger self had shifted into a combat stance- looking ridiculously tiny out there in the middle of the arena facing down a woman who dwarfed even his adult self. The Sith man atop the platform they were standing on was watching impassively- from the look of him, likely Azrael's father. The way he was watching told a story, really. That the house's authority belonged to Azrael's mother and that Azrael himself didn't matter that much to him.
The Sith child let out a combat cry, lunging at his mother with his own practice saber- closing the distance between them faster than he should have been able to. The woman shifted to the side- avoiding the thrust of the wooden blade- and rather than swing her own swiped her leg out to hit the young Azrael in the midsection, using momentum and a bit of Force to send her son flying. The strangled yelp the boy let out was almost deafening as the air was knocked out of his lungs, coughing and hacking as he rolled to a stop in the sand. He was clutching his stomach as he tried to force breath into his lungs, eyes narrowed in what could be described as fury as his mother approached.
"Stand," The woman demanded, and his child self responded by trying to sit even as he heaved for breath, a few stray tears running down over his cheeks.
"Stand," His mother demanded again- frowning when he didn't immediately respond and delivering another sharp kick that knocked him back once again and onto his back, "Get to your feet, boy. Now."
When her son didn't immediately dance to her tune she moved closer once again and reached down dragging Azrael's younger self up to his feet and pulling the wooden saber he'd held to her with the Force- shoving it back into his hands even as he coughed and gasped desperately for breath.
"Again."
no subject
He wanted to push the woman away, take the child and run. But this was just a memory, something he's unable to change. And even if he could, he'd be no match for that Sith woman.
"Did nobody know about this?" Thrass whispered. "Did nobody step in?"
"I suspect that even if someone were to intervene, there is little that could be done," Thrawn pointed out. "This family was of high standing, and few would dare stand against the mother."
tw: child abuse
Despite the memory, Azrael was still purring- not particularly upset at seeing his younger self get the snot beat out of him. The day that he surpassed her in strength would come eventually after all.
In the arena, his child self had a wide stance now- standing, but still gasping for breath. Both of those small hands clutching the hilt of his practice saber before he let out the best cry that he could in his condition, charging forward. This time his jab was deflected, the force of it nearly knocking the saber from his hands though he was quick to recover and go into another jab. This time the saber was knocked from his hands, though he dodged a swipe from his mother that would have connected to his head if he hadn't dropped down at the last second.
His child self spun around, tiny hands gripping his mother's wrist and lunging forward to dig sharp teeth into her flesh in attempt to get her to drop her own practice saber- only to be flung back, rolling a few times in the sand again before righting himself up into a standing position- a hint of nearly black blood running down from his mouth. His mother's blood, obviously, given that he had broken skin.
The Sith woman was not particularly pleased it seemed, nostrils flaring as she closed the gap between them- backhanding her son hard enough to knock him down and this time the blood that spattered on the ground was his and she quickly moved to jab her saber down into his shoulder, causing her son to cry out.
"How many times must I tell you that we do not use our teeth, boy?! You are not an animal!"
She swung her saber down, and the cry this time was shrill as the wood came down on his other shoulder- dislocating it or perhaps fracturing it.
"You use your saber! You bring a dagger! We do not use our teeth," His mother lectured, raising her weapon again. Only now did the Sith man react, calling out to his wife, "Mirana! Remember that he has a recital tomorrow!"
The woman- Mirana- paused and then sighed. Doing as she had done earlier and aiming a swift kick to her child's ribs, before motioning to a pair of medical droids, "Fix his shoulder and then lock him in his room until the recital tomorrow. No food or water. If he is going to act like an animal, then he will also be punished like one."
no subject
Thrass continued to look on in horror, rendered speechless as he watched the scene play out, knowing that he was powerless to stop it.
As the child was dragged away, he turned to his lover. "Did all of that really happen?"
tw: child abuse
The scene shifted in a blur of color- brief scenes playing out around them. A young Azrael locked in his room, alone besides the droids that brought meals or gave lessons. Brief flashes of more days of training. Flashes of him being punished, locked in his room without food for days on end until all the energy he could muster was to glower at the person who came to let him out. His younger self playing with slave children only to have his mother go off on him and the slaves and their families being sent away.
Finally the passing windows in time settled into a proper scene. A grand dining room filled with Sith artwork- ancient in the modern era, but in the memory it seemed quite new- where his mother was seated at the head of the table, signifying her rank within the family. His father seated next to her, seeming quite content to be where he was.
The Azrael in this memory still seemed pretty young- six or seven years old perhaps- and he entered the room quietly- subtly pulling a knife off of the tray of a passing servant and tucking it into his sleeve. The child's purr was going as normal, though his eyes were bright and intent upon his mother- not that she seemed to notice where she was talking to his father quietly.
"Oh, I remember this," The adult Azrael said, "The first time I ever failed at something I set my mind to."
no subject
Thrawn was busy looking at the artwork, still making connections, but also getting that look on his face when he'd figured out a mystery. Thrawn held his tongue for the moment, so he could let the memory play out. To an outsider, it would look like he was apathetic to the scene before him, but Thrass knew otherwise.
Thrass just kept looking at the scene before him. "You... what did you do?"
no subject
After all, he had never gotten to see it from this angle before.
His younger self had completed his movement across the room now and in a flash of motion the knife was out of his sleeve coming down hard into the flesh of his mother's thigh- the spurt of dark red almost black blood that splattered across his chest and face suggesting that he had certainly hit something right.
His current self's head remained tilted as his childhood self pulled the knife back for another jab as the room became a flurry of motion- servants jumping on him to hold him back as he struggled and hissed and growled, his mother slipping from her chair with a puddle of blood quickly forming, his father helping his wife and trying to stop the bleeding. His mother, despite actively losing blood reaching to him and speaking, "Oh my boy, I'm so, so proud of you-"
The adult Azrael did frown on that, but still commented, "Just a few centimeters to the right and she would have bled out too fast for help to arrive in time."
no subject
"You... this was your childhood?"
All the while, Thrawn steepled his fingers, looking deeply contemplative.
no subject
At least fairly typical of an ancient and noble house like his own. Both the Rhys family and the Celeesa family that his mother was originally from were ancient and had held onto both wealth and prestige through times where most ancient Sith bloodlines had struggled or died off entirely. His parents had carried the weight of that before him and then had tried to make him carry it too- only to find him perfectly capable of feats beyond his age that they could brag about but entirely unwilling to obey and be who they wanted him to be.
"Typical of a Pureblood family as old and noble as mine, at any rate."
There were probably Pureblood families out there who had chosen to spoil their heirs entirely. To leave them expecting the world without meeting any hardship, simply for the fact that their skin was red and the blood that flowed through their veins was a deep and noble black. To Azrael that was almost crueler than what his mother had done to him.
In the background his mother was still cooing to his younger self- proud of the fact that he had managed to push down his murderous intent enough to complete his attempt on her life at such a young age.
Memories once again shifted- years passing around them of Azrael spending his childhood either locked away for long passages of time in a featureless room without so much as a window, depriving him of anything that might bring him joy or comfort, being carted around to lessons and used as a prop for his mother to brag about and severely punished when he resisted, or combat training so brutal it was a miracle that he'd even survived.
Even so time passed and by the time the memories settled again, the Azrael in the memories appeared to be somewhere in his teens- not quite at his full height yet, though he'd grown into his spurs and ridges somewhat.
"I was fourteen here," He clarified as his younger self moved through a space port and exited out into a city on a cold and rather gray planet- though the city itself was impressive, even with the strong military presence with guards posted everywhere. The statues told a tale of the planet being historic for Purebloods, though the old clashed with the new that was Imperial symbolism and propaganda everywhere one looked and the young Azrael took it all in as he waited for a young slave woman to catch up with him carrying a small bag with his belongings- because of course his mother had not let him leave without at least one person attending to him.
"Shall we go, young master?" The young woman asked, looking rather nervous- which was probably to be expected given the sort of family the Rhys family was.
"We shall," The young Azrael said, though not before pulling the scarf he wore off to wrap it around the woman's neck, "Ziost is cold so let me know if you'd like to stop for something warm to drink on the way."
A lifetime of being beaten and yet his mother had not been able to beat the kindness out of him.
no subject
"That you came out of all of that without becoming cruel or callous... it says a lot."
no subject
Ordinary kindness in a household that was typical, yes, but also harsh. His mother failed to see that she had beaten entitlement out of him and left room for small kindnesses to stand out brightly in a bleak existence.
His younger self and the slave were making their way through the street, with his teenage self matching his pace to hers so she didn't have to struggle to keep up. The people passing by were a mixture of both Purebloods and humans, and a few aliens here and there. Including some that Thrass and Thrawn both would recognize, bearing uniforms with a very familiar- if perhaps a bit archaic compared to the modern version- symbol on the shoulder.
no subject
Thrass looked at the memory with interest, as did Thrawn. Chiss. Did the Ascendancy have relations with this world in the past?
The uniforms caught their attention too. That symbol was old.
Thrawn looked like he had just solved a very interesting puzzle.
no subject
Azrael had simply taken the things she'd forced on him and learned to enjoy them out of spite, left her lessons about cruelty behind entirely, and learned to live and enjoy his own life without thinking much about his childhood and his family. He'd become his own person, won his own victories, and become a man he could be proud of even if his mother would have hated seeing who he'd become.
"I don't think you'd like me very much either if I'd lived my life in a way meant only to spite her."
Azrael liked the person he'd become. And though some of it was motivated by spite, he much preferred living in the present and connecting with people without being weighed down by his past. He liked himself and that mattered more to him than holding victory over his mother's head even back when he could have.
Of course even in the memory, far away from his mother, it was obvious that she'd set someone to tail her son and the slave she'd sent with him as his attendant. Both the current and the younger version of him were purring in a very kittenish way, and other Purebloods in the memory were giving the teenager looks as he passed- suggesting that purring was seen as rather baby-like in the culture and not to be openly done by teenagers and adults. His younger self was taking winding roads, and soon enough he had lost the ones tailing him and turned to the slave woman- reaching over her with an excuse me- and undoing the collar from around her neck, the thick metal falling to the snow-covered street with a clatter.
She looked confused as he reached to take his bag of belongings from her- until he pressed both ID that would allow her to leave the planet and money into her hand.
"Leave the Empire and start a life somewhere else," The teenager said, wrapping the scarf more tightly around her again, "Make sure to take a roundabout route."
He gave a friendly wave as he headed off while the former slave was stammering her thanks. Another kindness done- and another little act of spite against his mother as he returned to somewhere he could be tailed again to ensure that the woman was one former slave who would be able to slip free of the Empire.
It was rather reminiscent of how he'd run his cantina before moving to the Ascendancy with Thrass, really. Giving safety, giving a way out to those around him.
"She actually sent me a letter a few years after this. She'd gotten somewhere safe. Settled down. Started a family. Still had my scarf too- she liked wearing it during winter to remind her that not every Sith was scum. Even if being scum was true for the majority of us."
no subject
It was then that Thrawn finally spoke up. "Have you noticed anything odd, Thrass?" He asked in that way that said he knew the answer, and was just trying to see if those around him had noticed it too.
"I... perhaps." Thrass looked around again. "I don't recall us ever being allied with a world called Ziost, nor with the Sith. Or the Empire." He was a Syndic, so he kept track of these things, and knew his Ascendancy history. He would have remembered if the Chiss had been allied with the Sith in recent years.
"I was also led to believe that Azrael is the one of the last of his kind, possibly even the very last. Yet they seem to be thriving in this memory. So, what would cause so many to simply vanish in such a short period of time?"
Thrass looked at his lover, then his brother, then the memory. "What are you saying?"
Thrawn looked right at Azrael. "Were you ever planning on telling him?"
no subject
Still it was a conversation he had been avoiding and his purrs grew significantly more worried-sounding. The same sort of rumbling self-soothing purrs as Thrass had heard once before when Azrael had said that he felt very alone and almost scared.
"I... Thought I'd sound insane if I did- the past is the past and I've no choice but to live in the present."
His head tilted and he averted his eyes, adopting a much more insecure stance that suggested that he had felt ashamed about not telling the truth.
"I went from being lost and alone to finding a home. To finding someone I want to share my life with for however long he'll have me."
Thrass had given him stability and belonging. Something he hadn't had ever since his little... Time mishap. He had been surviving when they met, sharing his life with people who needed him, but Thrass had given him something more than just survival. He had flourished again after meeting him rather than simply being someone who went through the motions.
"I didn't want to jeopardize that with a hey, by the way, I'm from nearly four thousand years in the past and if I hadn't had a Force-related accident I'd be as dead as the rest of my species. That's 'you should be locked away in a mental institution' talk in this day and age."
no subject
Thrass would normally enjoy seeing such historical evidence first hand, and knowing that the Chiss had indeed allied with the Sith and their empire in the long forgotten past. But he was still in shock from the revelation.
"I mean... I can understand why you said nothing. I might not have believed you had we not seen all of this. But, then again, we do not know how the Force works, so perhaps I would have convinced myself that you were telling the truth, so that I could keep seeing you."
no subject
Both being from the past and about what his life had been like back then other than vague mentions of how his upbringing had been, "Besides, when I arrived in this time and realized that I was the last of my species... To the galaxy we may have been gone for a long time. For me, the realization is still very recent. So those feelings weren't a lie, even if the time frame is off by... A lot."
Suddenly finding himself alone. Realizing that he was the last. The pain was still new to him, still real, even if the world had moved on without them.
He looked to Thrass then, those worried self-soothing purrs still going, "I wanted to live with you. Want to live with you in the here and the now. To share my life with you and move forward. Not to be shackled to a past I can't change."
no subject
Thrass took Azrael's hands in his own, rubbing the back of his palms with his thumbs. "I like our life together too, and can't imagine myself with anyone else. I want to be with you until my hair loses its color and the light leaves my eyes."