#this is disjointed but that's appropriate

[butterfly-in-progress]

I was born with a mask

Or I might as well have been

I didn't even know what my own face looked like

As the years went on

I added to it

Layers upon layers caked onto my face

A protective shell

But you were by my side when there were cracks in it

You loved me when the mask was still new and didn't cover much

You were with me for so long, through so much

I thought

That after the long and arduous process

Of hammering at this ceramic

To chip away the layers

And let my face feel the sun

You would rejoice as I did at seeing my face

But instead I have to wonder if you ever loved me in the first place

And chip you off of my heart

#some disjointed thoughts about unmasking autism #and losing friends I've had since childhood #or really... #having to come to terms with the fact that they aren't being good friends to me #that they got weird about me stimming in public #just flapping my arms excitedly #that they got mad at me for not staying for an additional activity due to sensory overwhelm #that when i first told them i was autistic and tried to lighten the mood #one of them said its not appropriate to joke about mental illness and shut me down from discussing it #trying to get me to skip a night of my meds so i could drink with them #becoming really aloof with me when i went semi verbal #messaging my mom behind my back to tell her i needed more therapy because i set boundaries about what i could handle and that was rude #the more confident and happy with myself I've become #the less they've liked me #and its hard to let go of friends youve had for so long #especially when those friends were among the only ones you had for a long time when you felt like you couldnt make friends #but maybe it was the fact that i struggled so much to make friends that my standards were kind of low #this kinda just hit me cause i was thinking about my birthday party #and i realized i didnt want them to be there #because they keep making me feel bad #they accepted me when i was The Weird Kid #but they cant accept me as an autistic adult #and they don't have to #just like i don't have to keep putting up with it

[exopelagic]

dr who is a strange show

#so I finished 13’s run like two weeks ago? and I’m about to finish 9 #and it’s just kinda interesting how like simultaneously continuous and disjointed it is #10 was the doctor I’d seen most of before I started watching it myself so that was who I knew the doctor to Be #but now I’ve watched 13 and. she’s kinda It #and having watched 9 he definitely feels like an early incarnation which is interesting I think bc 13 is just so tired of everything. 9 isnt #like he isn’t NOT tired but he’s not hit 13 breaking point #also like. watching 9 has been fun bc it’s constantly like ohhhh so THATS where they were getting that from #stuff that like I’d seen in 13 that I didn’t remember from 10 but no she didn’t make it up that’s a callback #I don’t have particularly coherent thoughts if you were wondering just this like. swirling mess of how these people are the same person #it’s also just rlly strange to me that we’re not gonna get more 13 now like that’s It her run ended #and it might be because 9 is so clearly Done and he’s got one season that I didn’t have a chance to get as attached #and I didn’t ever sit down myself and watch 10 I just saw chunks so it doesn’t feel like he’s done yet #(but also I mean he did just come back. there is that. strange show) #yeah idk. I’m sure if I ever watch classic who it’ll be a similar case of seeing the echoes like. retroactively I guess #very appropriate to watch the time travel show incredibly out of order. debating whether to watch 10 or 12 next #unrelated but I wanna see the lupari again I can’t believe they gave us dog people and then took them away so quickly #karvanista my beloved I’m so sorry for what they did to you it was too big a thing to just leave hanging there in the narrative #but hey. time travel show. #I also rlly like what 9’s season has done with all the recurring plot threads like it Felt like it was building to something all the way #god yeah I just miss 13. it felt like they’d only just started getting into the stuff they could do with her and then it’s just Over #I feel like that might be the point of the doctor. unclear. will report back #luke.txt #doctor who #OH HEY THIS POST DELETED BUT ITS BACK NOW #just finished 9’s last episode and yeah it fucked

[shepscapades]

Souls in the Sand: Concept Art

As I’ve mentioned here and there, I’ve spent the last two years developing an original story inspired by a small Origins+Empires server a few friends and I started planning. The more I developed plans for my empire to be a sprawling overgrown cityscape of ruins and stone framework inspired by the nether, the more I built up this backstory for the character I wanted to play, a small deerfolk boy named Esra. From there, and over months of working and reworking the story and its characters, I’m proud to say I’m coming up on a 100 piece gallery for my Masters Exhibition to display this story in the form of a song-inspired comic, titled: Souls in the Sand.

Over the next month and beyond the date of my exhibition in April, I wanted to start sharing my work here! I thought it would be fitting to first share all of the concept work I did for the characters last semester as I took each character from their old lineup and reworked them from scratch to see if there were any designs I could make more unique or appropriate for the story. This process consisted of four stages: silhouettes, full-body mock-ups, face and head shapes/designs, and experimenting with the final characters’ designs with a set of unique expressions that best fit their personalities and narrative role.

Since each character was reworked separately, the “new” concept lineup is a little disjointed (and some of the characters’ faces actually ended up different from their full-body designs), but I thought it would be fun to line them up to compare the overall cast to their old designs. With each character(s) I post the concept process for, I may share little bits of the work I’m doing or talk a little about their narrative roles as I go, but for now, have Esra!

I know I don’t post original work here often, but I wanted to share parts of this journey with you guys because it’s been very meaningful to me! And I hope all of the work I’ve been doing may at the very least serve as a bit of inspiration or encouragement for us to keep making silly minecraft stories, to keep drawing the characters we love, and to keep being creative in whatever way is meaningful! <3

#original artwork #original character #character design #concept art #Shep’s oc #Souls in the Sand #sits #art escapades #minecraft original story #esra #alo #deerfolk #boarfolk #piglin #minecraft oc #oc #original characters #conceptualization #process art #rue #wren #gale #lucian #perinnet #harlow #original story #illustration #personal art #drawings #original art

[malk1ns]

A prompt if this sings to you... established relationship mid-30s sidgeno taking in a rookie to live with them? Maybe a Russian? Maybe not! Maybe it's ABO and the baby alpha is overwhelmed by milfy Sid/baby omega is overwhelmed by dilfy Geno? Maybe not! IDK I just want to see an awkward 18 year old being completely rabbit in the headlights witnessing these two icons and heroes being dorky and frisky and middle-aged at home.

Ooooh I love this!

This isn't my best work, but I haven't written in ages and I'm rusty, so—you get what you get, haha. But this is such a fun concept and I had a lot of fun thinking about it!!! That's part of why it's so disjointed I think, I had so many ideas about how this could look and what it could involve and I wanted to cram everything in. Maybe I'll revisit this when I can actually properly use the English language again and clean it up!

--

Mack doesn't get a choice about where he lives his rookie year.

Not a lot of guys do, really—if they're bouncing between the A and the big club, they get real familiar with a few specific hotels, and if they make the show right away the team usually encourages them to look for something in a particular neighborhood—but Mack, after the excitement of the draft was over and the contract negotiations began in earnest, didn't even get that much leeway.

He's a first overall pick. He's an omega. He was drafted by the Pittsburgh Penguins. Of course he'll be living with Sidney Crosby and his mate.

Crosby—call me Sid he'd said, backstage after Mack stumbled his way onstage and held up his jersey and smiled so hard his face hurt—sends him and his parents an email in late summer, offering up a suite in his house in one of Pittsburgh's suburbs. He'll have a bedroom, a bathroom, and a living area to himself, along with a small fridge, and Sid says he'll help Mack get a car, too, if he doesn't already have one.

Mack's agent is copied on the email, along with four names from the Penguins organization that Mack doesn't recognize. It's not really an offer, after all.

Mack's parents are overjoyed. They're both betas, and when Mack presented his mom had practically lost her mind trying to figure out how to parent him appropriately, and they'd both been desperately worried about him living on his own. As if that had been an option; every interview at the combine included some discussion about where he'd stay, and it seemed like every team had a plan, no input from Mack required.

His dad's more focused on what he'll get out of living with Hall of Famers. "Watch how they spend their time off," he says to Mack as they're standing at Pittsburgh International. They'd all driven down in Mack's new car together, and spent the last two days getting him settled in and seeing the sights, and now his parents are flying back to Vancouver. "You're never going to have a better example than Malkin and Crosby. Pay attention to them, and you'll be fine."

Mack's not sure that this is quite what his parents had in mind.

Sid's amazing, of course. He knows what it's like to be an omega in the league—for all there are more now than when Sid was drafted, they're still an extreme minority, and going first overall, over all the alphas eligible, has only happened twice. Well, three times now. He walks Mack through the accommodations at the rink, connects him with the dynamics counselors and heat coordinators, and he spends a lot of time just listening to Mack, sharing his own experiences and talking him through his panic and nerves. Mack's lucky, and all the guys from BU are jealous as hell, constantly blowing up the GC with questions that Mack's not gonna answer in a million years.

Geno, though?

Mack's been around alphas his whole life. Sports at a higher level are riddled with them, obviously, and omegas aren't cloistered away anymore—he's not required to cross the street if he approaches an alpha, and North America has been totally integrated for decades.

There's getting in board battles with alphas his own age, though, or interacting with random people out in the world, and living with an alpha in his 30s, in the space he's marked as his.

Geno's not nervous around him. Which, obviously, why would he be, but Mack's used to the guys his age being a little on edge, a little anxious, a little fumbling in the presence of Mack's pheromones. Geno's a whole-ass adult, though, and he's been mated to Sid for as long as Mack can remember, so of course he wouldn't give a shit about some 18-year-old kid.

The whole house smells like Geno, a mix of coconut and snow and citrus. It's comforting; Mack's never slept so well in his life, and it just feels safe, knowing that there's an alpha around all the time. Sid's left his mark too, of course, but there's no escaping that an alpha lives in this house, an alpha who's strong, and confident, and sure of himself.

It takes Mack two whole weeks before he can talk to Geno without turning bright red and stuttering. He'd feel more embarrassed by his behavior, the way he reacts to Geno's scent, if he thought Geno noticed for one single second.

Because the thing is, what Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin seem to spend most of their off-hours doing is...each other.

Mack's never walked in on them—they're too thoughtful, and he's seen the way Geno stares down other alphas who look a little too closely at Sid, he's not interested in anyone seeing Sid that way—but he can smell them, all over the house. Geno's got a hand on Sid constantly; at his waist as they move around each other in the kitchen, on his legs when they sit on the couch, cupping the bond-bite on Sid's neck when they think they're alone. He smells like he wants Sid all the time.

And Sid absolutely reciprocates.

Mack can't blame him. If he had an alpha like that— He doesn't let himself go too far down that path, because he has to live with them, and he's too young anyway, he wants to focus on his career for a while, but there's something about how happy Sid looks, the way he teases Geno until they're both pink and smiling, the way he gets this look in his eye when he watches Geno putter around in the kitchen, that makes something in Mack's gut twinge with longing. He wants this, someday—a mate, a home, someone who makes him that happy.

He just wishes they'd do a bit more to hide when they're going off to fuck, though. Mack's cycle is still irregular, and being this close to a mated pair who are having sex practically every night—Mack is shocked they can still do it that much at their age—is gonna push him into early heat one of these days, and then he'll have to ask for a ride to the facilities, and Geno will know, Geno will smell it on him, and they'll both be so nice and understanding and go out of their way to assure him it's normal and make sure he has what he needs, and it will just be the worst, most mortifying thing that's ever happened to him.

Anyway, yeah. Mack's pretty sure his dad had something else in mind, when he was talking about what Mack could pick up from living with Crosby and Malkin.

It's going to be a long year.

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #a/b/o #my fic #my writing #macklin celebrini YOU are a pittsburgh penguin #rookie houseguest

[insane-control-room]

Some things are meant to be remembered; for the right reasons.

i've posted this review on steam, but i think that i want to say it here, too.

Here is my review of the 'promotional' material (according to steam) Secrets of the Machine

What I liked: the art appeared to be a true return to form; the style had its original charm with updated lighting techniques and slightly better optimization than previous games in the Bendy series. The audio design was also nice, with good ambiance and nice composition.

And now, the jank.

The game handles reasonably well; but it is clearly slapdashed together and is missing important components. There is no starting menu. There are no loading screens; and it is very jarring. There are no options in the game menu - you cannot minimize the game, you cannot brighten the game, you cannot make the game run any better on your computer, and it is incredibly laggy. If you have a potato laptop? Nah, get out. No game for you. There are no subtitles that you can enable, and voices are very muffled. Additionally, the game is very dark, and as mentioned, you cannot adjust that in the settings of the game, nor in steam settings. You have to do so from your computer.

Controls are extremely janky, as you cannot run, you cannot jump, and there is no indication for interaction with any objects. There are no control settings for remapping, and you cannot even see which keys do what.

Puzzles are boring and confusing; with no guidance. There were no hints, no rhyme or reason. There was more puzzle in the BATIM chapter 1 demo release. This thing is very confusing, especially when you cannot see anything at all. You will spend a long time walking back and forth between two rooms, wondering how you can progress, because you've done everything you could: you smashed cutouts; you hit targets; you opened and closed hands; you found posters for future games, but nothing that could move forward the one you were playing at the time. If you look at the community page, you will see that most people simply spent their time clicking on the soup can dispenser to see how many cans they could get.

If you have epilepsy, nah get out. Oh? I didn't mention the flashing lights? Well the developers did not either. Not only did they not mention the flashing lights, not in the game nor in steam, but they included TWO car crashes without warning - one audio based, and another that was directed at players. This is not only rude, but it is dangerous. Warnings exist so that people can make educated choices whether or not to interact with content that may be sensitive to them. Warn people appropriately. This 'game' did not take any measure to protect its players. There are many instances of sudden loud noises, flashing lights, and jarring location switches (not to mention the car crashes).

The story was lacking, and has nothing to do with the puzzles that a player is faced with. It feels like three disjointed tracks, and none of them align, all of them crashing together in a discordant, unsatisfying, confusing mess. It brought in more new characters that had nothing to do with the original story nor interested players, and had content that went against previously established material. It was (as you can tell, from a writer's perspective) a bad story.

It was less of a demo, less of a playable trailer, more like a tech demo with a few morsels for fans to pick apart and wish there was more of, wish there was more effort put into, wish there was more love and care for them, the players who arguably were the foundation of this game. There were teasers for games that, honestly, lacked the soul that the very first game had, and here's a point to prove it: there was an easter egg that if you clicked something 414 times (very funny.) it would rise in the air and then fall down without further ado. In the game files, the name for that sound effect? Sting. Yeah. It did. Games are a collaborative work; between the creators and the players. Blatant disregard and flippancy towards half of the collaboration is not acceptable behavior. This is a development team that mocks those who once loved them most, those who poured over their coding and carefully crafted world to marvel at what they had made, and coaxed in others with the rich promise of a delightful story that anyone could engage with on any level. The spite the creators have shown for the individuals who, essentially, had given rise to their stature in the first place, is painful.

Finally, by the time that I got a chance to sit down and actually play the game- I personally could not. The developers, by constantly updating a clearly unfinished game, had made their final update - that of a wood board blocking the actual place where gameplay takes place. You cannot go to any of the places shown in the screenshots, because the game is locked on the opening area. I've seen many people complaining of it; hoping that they can play the game.

Now, in the fashion we've seen common of JDS, they have rescinded their terrible design choice - but without notifying players that it is now possible to play the game; without telling players that this was purposeful; without telling players anything aside from a big old screw you. It is entirely possible that the only reason they put the game back into a playable state was the torrent of negative reviews that spawned after their. interesting. choice. regardless, those who care about their playerbase would have informed those who complained that it was a temporary gesture for storytelling reasons. They, however, did not, and there are a multitude of reviews marking the game as unplayable.

No matter what, the bottom line is this: This is not okay.

I'm not sure how much more eloquently I can put the fact that I'm heartbroken. This game, unlike any other, shows how much scorn that a developer can have for their own fans and playerbase. I am glad that there are people who enjoyed it, but I wonder - what did you really like about it?

Is it the memories?

#control critique #secrets of the machine #bendy #batim #bendy secrets of the machine #bendy and the ink machine #bsotm #bsotm review #game review

[funeral]

The ego is expressed in the conscious realm by what Jung called the persona, which is the outward efforts of appearance that the individual actively displays to the world. This persona, however, is often disjointed from the individual’s true self as it displays the character that one thinks or wants to be according to what the ego deems is appropriate to a particular society and role, not what is true to who the individual actually is. In order to execute and maintain this acceptable appearance and the sense of self-esteem that arises from it, the ego filters various components of personal experience and selfhood either into or away from the conscious dimension. What it filters away and restricts, it represses and sends down into the unconscious realm.

Robert Pantano, The Art of Living a Meaningless Existence

#robert pantano #carl jung #psychoanalysis #excerpts #quotes #p

[vinosities]

Heraclitus was nicknamed "the Riddler" and, later, "the Obscure." The murkiness of life and its extraordinary contradictions seem to spill into and permeate his writings. His work marks the beginning of difficult literature, where the reader must make an effort to wrest meaning from the words. Heraclitus is the father of Proust, with his labyrinthine sentences full of twists and turns; of Faulkner, with his disorienting, often disjointed monologues; and of Joyce, who gives the impression in Finnegans Wake that he is writing in several languages — some of his own invention —all at once. This isn't to say they're related due to similar styles. In fact, we have only a handful of Heraclitus's brief, enigmatic, powerful maxims. What they actually have in common is their attitude to words: if the world is cryptic, then the appropriate language to represent it should be dense, mysterious, and difficult to decipher.

Heraclitus believed reality could be explained as permanent tension. He called it "war," or a struggle between opposites. Day and night, wakefulness and sleep, life and death: all these become each other and can only exist in opposition; they are fundamentally two sides of the same coin. "It is sickness that makes health good and pleasant; hunger, plenty; hard work, rest...the immortals mortal, the mortals immortal, living the death of others and the life of others while they fade.""

— Irene Vallejo, Papyrus: The Invention of Books in the Ancient World

#readings #irene vallejo #greece #on linguistics

[denimbex1986]

'"Oppenheimer" is the summer blockbuster of the year. The visually and sonically compelling film does a lot of things right from examining the existential dread associated with our feeble humanity and analyzing the moral qualms with human ingenuity and its devastating outcomes that showcase we are the culprits of our own destruction.

But it also does some things wrong too. It has a woman problem.

Christopher Nolan's three-hour-long biopic tells the story of the brilliant quantum physicist, J. Robert Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy) based on the biography "American Prometheus." The Oppenheimer we uncover in Nolan's film stresses that he is a charmer – he's a womanizer. Nolan wants the audience to know that not only is Oppenheimer one of the most important historical figures in the 20th century, but he also can pull a Communist female Stanford grad student.

One of the most polarizing aspects of the film is Oppenheimer's on again, off again relationship with said grad student, Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh). Some would say the way Nolan portrays the relationship and Jean, and her inevitable death by suicide is indicative of a larger issue with the depiction of women in his films.

In their first encounter, they quickly find themselves in bed together. In a controversial scene, Jean and Oppenheimer are having sex while he reads Bhagavad Gita, a sacred text in Hinduism. He reads the line, "Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds," during the act itself. Hindu right-wing nationalists called the scene an "attack on Hinduism."

But that isn't the only sex scene between the two in the film. Further into the behemoth of a film, in McCarthy-era America, a room full of government officials question Oppenheimer's former communist ties. He reveals to the board his previous relationship with Jean and how it evolved into an affair. He's now married to Kitty Oppenheimer (Emily Blunt), who is there in the room as he admits to his extramarital affair.

Nolan portrays this confession in the most blatant way possible. Without warning or explanation, a naked Jean is seen straddling and having sex with Oppenheimer as he sits in the chair being interrogated. Is it his imagination? Is it Nolan's one-the-nose way of showing the impact of the confession? Regardless, the audience sees this as the couple going at it while Oppenheimer is staring at the board of men questioning him. It's creepy. The imaginary Jean even glances directly at his wife – his wife who just found out Oppenheimer had been cheating on her for years. Is this storytelling device attention-grabbing? Absolutely, but not in a good way.

It's vital to point out the flaws in a filmmaker's perspective when it's used to only service a man's story and nothing else. As an audience member, the context of the scene and what it does for the larger narrative matters; it is a part of the moviegoer's entire film experience. And as I was watching the second sex scene with Oppenheimer and Jean, I gasped at how disjointed it felt from the larger story Nolan was attempting to illustrate. Sex scenes aren't inherently controversial, nor do they have to be, especially if they are filmed with appropriate boundaries and respect toward the actors and characters. But in "Oppenheimer" something about the audience watching the sex scene in the same way the characters in the interrogation room watched it – feels icky and voyeuristic. And also puzzling.

"Oppenheimer" is an engrossing film. Its riveting acting and nonlinear storytelling infused with cinematic shots of the galaxy and stars hold the audience in a trance. Well, that is until you watch that ill-advised foray into filmmaking voyeurism. It completely snatches you out of the film and puts you back into your body.

Moreso, the scene wouldn't be so jarring if there wasn't such little Jean in the film. Pugh's talents are wasted as she attempts to embody an emotionally embattled intellectual. Jean is a seemingly dark, unconventional type of woman from the 1940s. She is studying to be a psychiatrist but also struggles with depression, and it was speculated that she was queer. But we don't really receive any of this information from the film. We can tell that she's stubborn, volatile and complicated but we are more or less told that through Oppenheimer's perspective of her as his love interest.

This also counts for his wife, Kitty – another female character with unbridled, untapped potential. But of course, she only exists in the roles of love interest, mother and Oppenheimer's conscience. The film only slightly touches on Kitty's tragic past, potential mental health issues and rejection of motherhood. Thankfully, Blunt's acting makes the role feel fuller than it is written to be.

If we address Nolan's track record with female characters, he is known for two tropes: Dead Wife and Woman in A Refrigerator. Across the filmmaker's extensive work, he has a proclivity for fridging, that is killing off a female love interest – in films like "Memento," "The Prestige," "Inception" and "The Dark Knight" – as an alluring and tragic backstory for his male protagonists just like he did with Jean. Of course, she is based on a real person, but Nolan's treatment of her and her tragic death is the same as if she were fictional. The audience is left with very little understanding of Jean, not even with her tragic death. Instead, her most indelible scenes are as Oppenheimer's sex object or in death, a way to humanize the physicist. (And when Nolan doesn't get around to killing off his female characters, he sidelines them like Kitty or Elizabeth Delicki's character in "Tenet.")

Sure, you can argue the film being named "Oppenheimer" means it's entirely about him, and all the supporting characters should only act to elevate his story. The script was even written in first person to convey that every character is just a piece in Oppenheimer's narrative.

However, just because the story is titled "Oppenheimer" doesn't mean one has to adhere to such tunnel vision in storytelling. Case in point is another film named for a singular person – that came out on the same day as " Oppenheimer" in fact – and proves that argument flimsy at best.

"Barbie" does what "Oppenheimer" fails to do.

"Barbie" follows the journey of the human-sized doll (embodied by Margot Robbie) through her existential awakening, crisis and eventual empowerment. But it also spends a significant chunk of its runtime to give her counterpart Ken (Ryan Gosling) space to explore his "neediness, loneliness and identity crisis." Gary Kramer writes for Salon that Ken "hijack[s] the plot for long stretches and force[s] Barbie to help him, not the reverse."

Ken is Barbie's accessory boyfriend but he isn't treated as just her accessory boyfriend. In the writing, Greta Gerwig and Noah ​​Baumbach allow Ken ample room for self-discovery. Ken is allowed to explore the human world without the need to be attached to Barbie's hip. He searches for his purpose and identity. He's even given a whole musical dance number to dive into his interiority. "Barbie" does what "Oppenheimer" fails to do. It gives purpose and depth to a supporting character's arc – depth that is entirely crucial to the emotional center, vulnerability and gravitas of a character like Barbie.

Ultimately, Nolan barely scratches the surface with his female ensemble and doesn't do their larger-than-life experiences justice. It just feels like a tired attempt to show us Nolan knows women exist but the catch is they do not exist outside of their relationships to men. (Sorry, Bechdel.) Their pain and suffering are a way to transform a man into the protagonist of his story, not hers.'

#Oppenheimer #Christopher Nolan #Cillian Murphy #Florence Pugh #Jean Tatlock #Kitty #Emily Blunt #Barbie #Greta Gerwig #Noah Baumbach #American Prometheus #Bhagavad Gita #Memento #The Prestige #Inception #The Dark Knight #Tenet #Margot Robbie #Ryan Gosling

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 19, "Last Light"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: The party teams up with a group of Harpers and it takes all of their efforts to make it to safety. Áine convinces Jaheira to let them stay with the aid of an unexpected familiar face. While Karlach gets a second upgrade, Áine and Astarion run into the devil they know in Last Light and Astarion suggests grounds for a deal. Jaheira explains their plight concerning the shadow curse, what may lie ahead at Moonrise, and their most formidable enemy yet: Ketheric Thorm.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Graphic canon-appropriate fantasy violence; angst; descriptions of trauma-related anxiety; a little bit of Karlach x Dammon; lightly proofread

Word Count: 8.1k

Listening to: Artificial Nocturne - Metric

“YONAS, NO!”

“MEYGAN, DON’T, HE’S BEWITCHED!”

The earth itself hissed at their feet, writhing like snakes of pure shadow. The trees themselves seemed to bend low, their roots clawing upward, enticed by towering, spindly wraiths that emerged from the most innocuous darkness cast to the dirt. Great crackling screeches surged past maws that weren’t quite mouths, fingers as long as a forearm swiping at flesh and fire, desperate to swallow the light that weakened them for the prey that was wielding it. 

This was, doubtless, the home Áine remembered.

“HARPERS, STAY TO THE LIGHT,” Lassandra cried, but there was only so much she could do with a simple torch and she knew it.

“Quickly, to me!” Shadowheart shouted at their party, radiant energy surging from her fingertips. The light formed a swirling circle of tiny shining guardians around her. An obscured wraith lurking near her burned in its glow with a disjointed wail.

Instinctively, Áine looked for Astarion. She found him backing toward the circle, unloading arrows into an especially large encroaching wraith, its form and its eyes outlined red. Her eyes flickered to a movement near the rocky outcropping they passed, the muscle memory of old survival instincts taking over as she caught on the faint outline of another wraith reforming. With a flourish, she dashed in with her lost scimitars’ replacements at the ready.

Astarion was wary of wasting each of the few arrows he had left on this wretched thing as he exchanged them for knives. Not thirty paces into these cursed lands and they were already in a desperate fight for their lives. When Shadowheart had first beckoned them all into her circle, his most hated parts of himself had snarled despite knowing by this point that the tadpole would protect his undead body from her magic. Just another upside to the illithid worm in his skull.

Finally, the wraith before him began to falter, but he realized almost too late that it was because he had nearly backed into another of its kind. As he began to pivot to try to keep himself from being corralled between the two, he saw Áine dart in from the side, her shortsword imbued with radiant magic already dragging up the torso of the wraith behind him. It shuddered and disintegrated in a puff of smoke, leaving a spherical husk in its wake.

“Much obliged,” Astarion gritted as he swiped up through the red-tinted wraith still before him with his dagger, back-to-back with Áine as she swiped her sword at another advancing but much weaker wraith. 

“Switch with me!” Áine ordered and they spun in formation. She brought the flat of her blade up to block a downward swipe from the reddened wraith and her shortsword glowed with a radiance that threw the shadow just off-kilter enough for Astarion to duck under her arm and stealthily kill it while Áine distracted it. 

“Shadowheart!” they heard Gale shout, both turning to see the guardian circle flicker and then extinguished as the cleric failed to recover from a particularly hard hit to her head that sent her to her knees. The remaining wraiths grew impossibly taller as they descended on the group. Karlach began to reach down for Shadowheart but remembered herself and growled pure frustration at her infernal engine as she took her anxious rage out on their enemies instead. Wyll and Gale bent to try and hoist her up, repeatedly having to fend off the creeping shadows as they reached for them and their fallen. 

“Chk, out of my way!” Lae’zel hissed as she shoved past the men and hauled Shadowheart over her shoulder, lunging into a sprint after the retreating Harpers, who were calling for them to follow while Halsin ran in bear form with them up ahead, carrying two of their collapsed warriors on his back. “Keep them off us!”

Karlach cut down what she could after Lae’zel ran past her with Shadowheart and Wyll held at the tiefling’s flank, the Blade in full form as he swirled his rapier and loosed bolts of eldritch power from his fingertips. 

“We need to go!” Áine cried and Astarion followed her gaze to the top of the outcropping, where more shadow-cursed creatures were beginning to unravel from the death-dried brush and twist free of the dark. The two turned tail and Astarion gripped Áine’s hand as they ran to ensure they weren’t separated. 

“Come on, come on!” Gale urged them, his eyes rounded with horror as they flickered past the pair. A conjuration of dancing lights hovered around him, just barely throwing a glow against the intensifying darkness, and when Astarion and Áine caught up with him, he extended his hand as well. Áine caught it in hers and the conjuration extended along their line, encircling Astarion and burning away the hooked hand of a wraith hovering just inches from his silver head.

The three sprinted to join Wyll and Karlach, who ran alongside them as soon as they saw their full party accounted for. Wyll shot another red blast from his hands at a wraith attempting to attack Lae’zel and Shadowheart just ahead of them, successfully burning a hole through the creature’s essence.

“Almost there!” Wyll cried.

An enormous globe of moon magic parsed the dark like a beacon and it was where the Harpers were leading them all. In quick succession, the party bowled through the barrier, stumbling into and over each other as soon as the light was breached. Áine, Gale, and Astarion were the last ones through and only realized just how close behind them their enemies were when Harper Yonas, gnarled and rotting alive in streaks of black and sickly green, neared the barrier in his pursuit and screamed unholy murder when it burned his undead flesh.

Áine’s chest heaved with exertion, letting go of Gale’s hand but keeping Astarion’s as she breathed thanks to the wizard. That had brought back memories. She supposed that she should get used to things doing that in this place. A cool hand on her cheek brought her eyes upward to meet her lover’s. He was just as winded but looked more concerned about her. 

Astarion parted his lips to speak when his gaze suddenly shot up to look over Áine’s head. She followed suit and saw a formidable woman in High Harper garb advancing on them and looking none too friendly. 

Áine let go of Astarion’s hand, feeling him try to snatch her back, but she deftly wove between his hands and hurried toward the front of the group. She barely had time to say a thing before she nearly doubled over, her feet held in place by a restrictive tangle of vines wrapping around her ankles and up her calves.

Behind her in a hushed voice, Áine heard Karlach gasp, “Oh Gods, that’s Jaheira!”

At least Karlach seemed to think that was a positive thing, she supposed. The apparently well-known Jaheira stopped in front of Áine, a green glow emitting from her palm that mirrored the aura of the vines. It was an improvement only in that this green resembled the lushness of a healthy forest rather than the sickly hue of necrotic magic they’d just evaded. 

Jaheira gave her a narrow, speculative look after taking in her companions, who all looked disarmed at their welcome and further on edge after Áine was ensnared. Áine grumbled as she tried to free herself, leveling a glower at the druid. 

“Just once I wish people would just say ‘hello’,” she muttered.

Almost pleasantly, Jaheira smirked at the bard and said, “Hello.”

Áine snorted and ceased her struggling, just aiming to stand up straight as she and Jaheira took each other in. Behind her, Gale quipped, “We save your Harpers and this is our thanks?”

“Kindness is too often a decoy,” Jaheira snapped.

“It’s okay, Gale, I’ll handle this,” Áine said over her shoulder, raising one placating hand. He inclined his head and fell silent, kneeling to check on Shadowheart instead as Lae’zel set her down.

“You most certainly will,” Jaheira agreed, her eyes back on Áine as she produced a glass bottle from her robes. Áine’s eyes fell to the bottle and her jaw tensed. There was an illithid tadpole inside. “This is why we’re here, you see. It is a curious creature that hides all manner of secrets. But if there’s one thing that we know…”

Áine stiffened as Jaheira walked closer to her, extending her hand holding the bottled parasite. “...it’s that it knows its own kind.” As if on cue, the parasite’s attention shifted to Áine and it swirled in its prison, thin razorlike teeth snapping at the glass. Her own tadpole pulsed with recognition. Bastards.

Satisfied, Jaheira stowed the tadpole again and glared at Áine as she slowly drew one of her blades. “You should never have come here, True Soul.”

Áine heard steel begin scraping free of its sheathes behind her as her companions readied to defend her and she held out both her hands between her party and Jaheira. “Just hold on, this isn’t what you think, I’m—”

“STOP!”

A shrill, familiar cry rose to Áine’s aid. She searched for the source, only to draw up empty until she lowered her gaze. A tiefling child with a bandaged eye scampered to the forefront, tail swishing agitatedly. Áine’s eyes widened. “Mol?”  

“What are you doing?” Mol demanded of Jaheira, her audacity seeming perfectly intact. “She’s the one who saved us!”

Jaheira regarded the child with shock and disbelief. “She’s the one who protected the Emerald Grove?” she asked. The doubt was palpable in her tone.

“Yup!” Mol chirped. “Didn’t leave a goblin standing! Not so bad to hang around with either.” She tossed a cheeky grin Áine’s way. “Saved two of my friends, too! One from a harpy and one from a mad druid with a snake.” She shrugged at Jaheira as if it were just that simple and the druid was the fool for thinking otherwise. “I’d pretty much trust her with my life.”

Áine was surprised and impressed that Jaheira believed her. “A True Soul with a mind of her own… How is that possible?” she wondered, looking back to Áine.

The bard’s lips pursed as she measured Jaheira’s expression, what she knew of the High Harper so far. Opting for a calculated risk, Áine reached into her pack, in a hidden pocket where the artefact rested.

“This is unwise,” the golden paladin’s voice droned in her head.

Fuck off, she thought back at the voice, still very much on the offensive when it came to the untrustworthy being in the polyhedric prism. 

The persistent “guardian” was helping her and her comrades, but the motives were still unknown and untrustworthy. She’d only for a moment considered trusting the guardian she met in the Astral and that had been when she’d considered the possibility that it could be the Oathbreaker Knight in another form. Now that she knew that wasn’t the case, she bristled every time she was reminded that the stranger existed.

Áine’s fingertips found purchase on the artefact and she slid it from her pack. She held it out for Jaheira’s inspection, only wary of it being snatched from her although it did seem to have a penchant for finding its way back to her hands.

Jaheira eyed the strange object with the glowing seams and symbols and produced the bottled parasite again, experimentally holding the bottle near the prism. The tadpole inside shuddered and beat itself against the glass a few times before falling into a state of inertness. Jaheira’s eyes widened. “What in the Hells is that thing?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Áine admitted the half-truth. “So far though it’s been a lifesaver.”

“Hmph,” Jaheira hummed, satisfied enough to stow the static parasite and sheathe her drawn blade. “Well, congratulations. You’ve earned yourself the benefit of the doubt.” She turned to address her crew. “Hear me, Harpers! All clear. At ease.”

The vines dissipated from Áine’s legs and the Harpers around them put away their weapons and returned to their tasks. Lassandra shot Áine a relieved look and a nod as she passed them to lead her wounded troop to the inn.

“Are you alright?” Astarion whispered near Áine’s ear, startling her a little as she hadn’t heard him approach. Then again, when did she ever? 

Áine looked up at him and smiled, nodding. “I’m fine,” she affirmed, her hand finding his again like a magnetic pull. He threaded their fingers together in much the same way.

“I’ll not pretend to understand what that artefact is,” Jaheira said, addressing them again. “But I’m old and wise enough to recognize a sliver of hope when it crawls out of the dark.” She cocked her head a little as she took in their party again, with curiosity this time rather than caution. “Tell me, why have you come here?”

Áine smirked. “Would you believe me if I told you I was on holiday?”

Jaheira smirked back and Áine had a feeling she may have found a kindred spirit. “Well, lucky for you, you’d be just in time for happy hour,” Jaheira quipped, confirming Áine’s hope. She gestured behind her toward the buildings teeming with Harpers and tieflings. “Welcome to Last Light. There’s food in the inn over there. Beds too if you require rest. And aloe oil on the shelf in case the vines gave you a rash.” Jaheira’s gaze fastened anew on Áine. “Settle in. Then come join me for a drink. You just might be the godsend we’ve been praying for.”

She left them to their own devices at that and Áine finally let some of the tension fall from her shoulders. Áine glanced at Shadowheart, now upright and looking a little better. At her inquisitive glance, the cleric simply nodded her reassurance.

“Do you think Dammon’s here too?” Karlach asked suddenly as she, too, noticed several familiar faces in the crowd.

“It looks like a lot of the refugees ended up here,” Áine murmured, recognizing face after face the more she looked. They should’ve been to the city by now. “Gods above, what happened?”

The party divided—some finding a space to set up their tents to afford the other inn residents the beds inside and some accompanying Karlach to go look for Dammon. It left Áine, Astarion, Halsin, and Wyll to investigate the inn itself. 

It didn’t take long to lose Halsin to a side room, in which he apparently saw or heard something of interest. The remaining three found Alfira at the inn’s center and managed to catch up on the refugees’ troubles from her and another tiefling nearby, a paladin who had much to say about Zevlor and his abandonment of his people. 

Initially, Áine had been shocked to see so many of them here, but now that she really looked around her, she realized how few of them were left. Her insides twisted.

“If you are bound for Moonrise Towers,” Alfira murmured, her laugh lines lax in her terrified expression. She winced at her own words. “If you must go, please see if you can find the others. If they are still alive, they’ll be there.”

The name, as ever, sent a chill through Áine’s bones. “We will look for them and, if they’re there, we’ll get them out,” she promised. She half-expected to hear a scoff from Astarion behind her but was surprised when that wasn’t the case. 

“Thank you,” Alfira whispered, her voice cracking. “But please, please be careful. I can’t lose anyone else. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Áine smiled, gently squeezing Alfira’s hands before she turned to face her companions, only to find them both gone. A cursory glance around the inn revealed that Wyll had strayed to the bar and appeared to be chastising a very inebriated Rolan over his treatment of the nearby children. And Astarion…

Her eyes widened and she immediately started walking to the far side of the building. Her steps brought her closer to Astarion, who had his back to her, and yet another familiar face past his shoulder. This familiarity, however, was no friend.

“A proposal?” Raphael was musing as she walked over, seeming to raise his voice just so she could hear while on her way. “If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey.”

“This is serious business, devil,” Astarion snipped. His tone wavered as he explained, “My old—well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.”

“Astarion, what are you doing?” Áine asked, managing to startle him. She suspected he was more startled at being caught than at her presence. She looked to Raphael, who just smiled at her coyly as always. “And you. Are you following us?”

“Good to see you again, Áine dear,” Raphael addressed her silkenly, ignoring her question. “I’d ask if you’d made any progress with your little problem, but the telltale twitching of your eye is answer enough.”

“The last thing we need is your meddling, Raphael,” she warned him. 

The fire of her words just seemed to encourage him. “You wound me. I’ve only tried to be a friend to you—just as to the poor souls here, where hope hangs by a single thread. I can mend it or cut it…depending on what they ask for.”

“I suppose that answers my question as to why you’re here,” Áine murmured. “You get off on this.”

“Not quite, pet,” Raphael scoffed with a wave of his hand. “It’s simply sumptuous. My last contract here fed me for decades.” A faint sneer tweaked his lips. “Something you may know quite intimately.” Áine parted her lips to fire back, but he interrupted her, “Alas if you want to know more, I could work in the exchange of such precious knowledge into the terms of your future deal. But the time for quibbling over clauses and contracts hasn’t quite arrived. You’ll be limping back to me soon enough.” He smiled, relishing the image.

“Your business tonight lies with me, devil,” Astarion growled. “Not with her.”

Áine’s heart twinged at Astarion’s protectiveness and she leveled a look at Raphael. She didn’t like that Astarion was entertaining a deal with a devil, but she’d at least ensure he got more details. 

“I don’t think he knows,” she implied loftily of Raphael’s knowledge regarding Astarion’s scars, challenging the Infernal’s ego.

“Really?” Raphael drawled, the look he turned to her now devoid of amusement. He glanced back to Astarion and Áine almost shuddered at the look of hunger in the devil’s eyes as he addressed her partner. “It’s something very important to your master. But is it a love letter? A warning? A deed of ownership? I could give you all the gory details.” He sneered. “But, of course, you’ll have to do something for me first. Let me think about it and get back to you.”

Astarion scoffed. “You’ll ‘get back to me’?! This is important, devil!” He grappled with the situation for a moment before finally relinquishing and asking, “...When?”

“Don’t worry, I’m motivated to help you. Scars often tell such wonderful stories… I think yours might be truly exquisite.” Raphael smiled sinisterly at them both. “I’ll see you soon.”

The devil disappeared in a quick flash of light, leaving the couple on their own. Áine looked up at him imploringly and he avoided her eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… Are you mad?” she asked, worry plain on her face.

Astarion sighed. This was precisely why he’d seized his opportunity to talk to Raphael alone while Áine was discussing the refugees with Alfira. “I’m desperate, darling. There’s a slight difference,” he snipped back. 

“But why?” Áine asked. “I mean, of course you’d want to understand them, but so much that you’d contract with a devil? Why not ask anyone else first? Why not ask Karlach even?”

“I did,” Astarion said, turning to face Áine. The way he was looking down his nose at her made her want to flick him in it. “The dialect is too ancient. Even knowing some Infernal from her time in Avernus, she couldn’t make horned heads or forked tails of it.”

Áine sighed, giving him a doubtful look. “Why didn’t you mention it before? That you wanted to ask for Raphael’s help?”

Astarion felt cornered and acted accordingly. Beneath the irritation was the source of truth—he was anxious that he’d done something wrong or that, even if he hadn’t, he’d still managed to upset her. That truth was buried under layers of masking. “I was under the impression from you that I didn’t need your permission to go about my business,” he said with a sharp tone.

Áine flushed with chagrin and he felt the part of a true villain. It wasn’t nearly as fun as he’d always thought it would be. “You don’t,” she said coolly, her mouth drawing a thin line after she spoke.

Astarion huffed and waved a dismissive hand toward where Raphael had stood. “Right, well… What’s done is done. Now why don’t we stop talking about it and just get on with things?” he griped.

“Fine,” Áine sighed, not particularly liking the way this was wrapping up, but knowing she’d not make it any better by prolonging it. 

I wish you wouldn’t push me away, she posited silently instead, knowing what old learned survival instincts of his had brought those tones and accusations to the surface and still finding they stung. 

Astarion frowned, watching Áine lead them from the inn, presumably to go find Karlach and the others before they sat down with Jaheira. He knew they weren’t perfect—far from it. They bickered regularly, but fairly, and usually over her taking up odd jobs for little to no cost out of the goodness of her golden heart. He’d not been fair with what he’d thrown her way just now and he’d known that from the second he’d wound back to pitch. He’d still thrown the blow. And Áine was very good at holding herself back from fighting with him when that happened. He wanted to vent his frustration, he wanted to not be questioned, and she complied in the one way he couldn’t spar with. It was her checkmate and it worked every time.

For an instant, he mused over how long it had been since she’d last had to use it. He felt apologetic, but unwilling to apologize and potentially invite further pushback. He had to know what these runes meant. He had to seal that aspect of his past if he was damned to carry it with him physically for the remainder of his existence. Even if it necessitated a deal with a devil.

A loud hiss nearby snapped him from his reverie and he looked over just in time to see an offended-looking sphynx cat loping away from where Áine stood, stock-still and looking guilty. She straightened from her crouch and awkwardly rested her hands against the back of her neck, her expression disheartened but understanding. 

When she turned and met Astarion’s eyes, she looked sheepish. His sour mood melted some. “What on earth did you do to it?” he teased her.

“I just offered my hand!” Áine insisted, genuinely looking aggrieved that she’d been so viciously rejected. “I couldn’t help but try. It was a cat! I can’t remember the last time I saw a cat…”

Astarion couldn’t help the soft smile that eased his expression. He hesitated to move closer to her, but couldn’t help that either, and crossed the short distance to place a doting hand against her hair. The span of his hand nearly covered her crown. “I should have known you’d have a soft spot for cats as you’ve had for everything else mildly domesticated that we’ve run across,” he mused. 

“I kept you, didn’t I?”

“Funny,” Astarion remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. His eyes flickered after the little bald beast that had fled their vicinity. “I would hardly call that a cat though.”

Áine peeked up at him from under his hand. “Don’t be rude,” she chastised him gently.

He chuckled and shifted his hand down to her shoulder, tucking her into his side as he resumed their path out of the inn. “It was rude to you,” Astarion reasoned and, as a sidelong apology, noted, “and I won’t have my little love’s feelings be wounded by some common mole rat.”

That got through to her. Áine smirked as she held back a laugh, dropping her head forward to hide her blush as she playfully knocked her shoulder against his side. Astarion chuckled and squeezed her close enough to drop a kiss on her head, stabilizing her through the little stumble he caused her in doing so.

The couple located the rest of their group, save for Halsin and Wyll, gathered near the stables, watching with bated breath as Dammon worked the infernal iron they’d gathered into a usable part and turned to hand it to Karlach. 

Áine noted the little sparkle in Dammon’s eyes when he looked at their beloved barbarian again—it wasn’t even close to the first time she’d seen it either. Every time they’d come to see him since Karlach joined their ranks, he had an extra glow about him that wasn’t just the light thrown off Karlach’s engine. It was very sweet.

A mechanical clank met their ears as they stopped near the others, the sound of the new part finding its home in Karlach’s chest. She paused heavily, seeming almost scared to ask, “Well… Did it work?”

Dammon smiled and the expression was nothing short of affectionate. “Only one way to find out,” he suggested. As Karlach hesitated and cast him a shy, questioning glance, Dammon chuckled and opened his arms. 

Áine felt the faint sting of tears at the corners of her eyes as Karlach moved closer, hesitantly at first and then more confidently when Dammon didn’t immediately catch on fire. Well, in the literal sense, at least. Karlach’s watery laugh of disbelief as she embraced Dammon—embraced anyone for the first time in years—was the bard’s undoing.

“You little sap,” Astarion accused her low in her ear when he caught her getting emotional. 

Áine just shrugged. She couldn’t disagree with his statement. She just leaned her head against his shoulder and was humbled yet again by the plights of her dear friends that, as much as she’d suffered in this world, there were still a great many things she’d never suffered that she’d always taken for granted. Despite his teasing, Astarion tightened his arm around her, his thumb tracing soothing paths against the curve of her shoulder.

Karlach had immediately started doling out hugs to anyone who would let her, babbling through heavy streaks of tears that rolled unevaporated down her beaming features. “My second family and I can finally hug you, I can’t believe it!” she half-sobbed as she held a very content Shadowheart and a confused but willing Lae’zel in each arm.

By the time she turned her gaze to Áine and Astarion, Áine was practically vibrating with anticipation. All the times she’d wanted to give Karlach a reassuring pat, hug, or squeeze up to this point (at times just barely remembering the peril before she laid hands on the red-hot tiefling) were accumulating into the voracity of the hug she was about to bestow on the woman. Astarion was a little less sure but unleashed Áine from his arm like a wolfhound to buy himself some time.

Áine and Karlach both squealed like schoolgirls as the bard ran and leapt into her waiting arms. Astarion chuckled at the display, thinking he might give Áine a tidbit of hell later for never being that excited to hug him. The thought alone surprised him—he’d come quite far from where he’d started in her company. Once artfully dodging every reason to have physical contact with anyone now that he was no longer forced to, he craved her touch in the simplest sense. 

He smirked to himself. How utterly strange.      

“Astarion…?” Karlach inquired carefully, getting his attention away from his musings. She was practically bursting with affection and it unnerved him, but she was waiting on his decision. Giving him the reins. 

A pang of dread lanced through him despite not being able to assign any rational reason to it. It was Karlach after all. She respected his boundaries. She was asking his permission with that puppy-dog look she always got in her bright emotive eyes. And yet still there was that fear deep down that would probably exist until he at least tried. That had been the case with Áine after all, he’d just had more of a drive to bridge that gap with her for both selfish and unselfish reasons.

His anxious gaze met Áine’s, who had since been set back down on the ground. She was observing them both and Astarion tried not to acknowledge that the others were watching them as well. Astarion cleared his throat, trying to pin down his feelings. He…wanted to hug her, he realized. He wanted to try anyway. And yet he was rooted to the spot.

Karlach was about to brush it off with more kindness than he believed was due, but Áine spoke first. “I think I have an idea,” she said with a gentle smile to the nervous vampire nearby. She could feel it rolling off him in waves, but she could also see the ache in his eyes. 

Astarion regarded her curiously and, as soon as he seemed open to whatever that idea was, Áine nodded for him to go up to Karlach and her still-open arms. He drew in a shaky breath out of pure habit and ventured in like a frightened animal, skeptical of there being any plan until he felt Áine step in behind him. Were it anyone but Áine, he would have felt boxed in, but he trusted her. Even so, Astarion wasn’t entirely sure what difference having her behind him would make until they were both folded into Karlach’s embrace and the tiefling’s hands rested against Áine’s back instead of his. 

A lump formed in his throat. She was shielding his scars.

As if to confirm it, Áine dropped a featherlight kiss to the leather of his armor, right over where they both knew one of the runes lay. Through that reassurance, Astarion found it in him to lift his arms and very lightly place them against Karlach’s sides, patting her back for good measure. It wasn’t his first hug in recent days, but it was his first time hugging anyone other than Áine in over two centuries. Still, Karlach was being very cautious not to crowd him, he noticed. Her arms were secure but didn’t feel like anything he couldn’t maneuver out of if he wanted to. 

Oddly, he found he didn’t want to. As it turned out, a friend’s embrace wasn’t so bad either. And even though her engine had been cooled considerably, she was still unbelievably warm. It was…pleasant.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he groused after a moment, softening it with a small smirk as he stepped back and the girls let him go without a fuss. He glanced between Karlach, who was somehow even more wet with tears, and Áine’s features positively radiating love and pride. “Both of you stop what you’re doing this instant. Avert your eyes if you must.”

“Oh, FANGS!” Karlach squealed with a little choked sob. “Thank you!”

“Yes, yes, you’re welcome,” Astarion muttered back bashfully, refusing to acknowledge all the soft looks he was getting from the rest of their party. Bleeding Hells, he’d have to murder one of them to maintain his reputation at this point.

The high spirits dampened with unease when the group, gathered in full once again and approached Jaheira as requested. She was poised over a small desk, the surface of which was spread with maps and what looked like an unfinished battle plan. She carefully tucked the documents aside as she placed two goblets and a bottle of wine on the surface instead. 

“Please. Be welcome. Have a drink,” Jaheira suggested, her sharp eyes on Áine as she filled both goblets. She raised hers in a toast. “To your very good health.”

Áine smiled back at her and raised her glass toward her lips. However, instead of sipping it immediately, she inhaled the bouquet, earning a mix of strange and approving looks from her gathered companions. As anticipated, something was in hers. It smelled herby and, as she sifted through the potent aroma of the wine, familiar even. It was klauthgrass. A natural truth serum. One of many smells she’d been introduced to young and taught to avoid.

In truth, she probably still held some measure of tolerance to the stuff. She briefly considered drinking the spiked wine to let Jaheira think that she was under the herb’s influence while her body easily overrode its effects, but she didn’t want to start on that foot with this woman. If Jaheira wouldn’t be honest, Áine decided she would be.

“It doesn’t spoil the taste if that’s what you’re wondering,” Jaheira remarked with a knowing look, watching Áine all the while.

“Mm, it does spoil the trust though,” Áine said, setting the full goblet back on the table. By now any strange looks that had arisen behind her had faded, catching that there was something extra in the drink. While Áine was turned away from them, unable to see their faces, she could sense their tension ease away and she perhaps unfairly wondered what she’d done to still earn so much skepticism from certain members of her party.

You’re really going to judge them for questioning their leadership? You? she chastised herself, almost snickering at the irony.

“Humor me,” Jaheira pressed, her tone implying no room for leeway. 

“Add some to yours as well and I’ll be happy to,” Áine suggested. “I seek a level ground and I’ll settle for nothing less.”

“Suit yourself,” Jaheira said, sipping long from her own wine. Áine took a mental note that Jaheira hadn’t paused to entertain her suggestion of a compromise. Interesting. “Well over a century old and yet it still hasn’t lost a bit of flavor. Still not quite so sure about you though.”

Áine tilted her head. “In what sense?”

“Well, people tend to lose more than flavor when illithids get their hands on them. I speak from experience,” the druid explained, surprising Áine with her admission. She must’ve been a thrall in another time and had somehow survived it. Newborn respect settled in Áine’s gaze and Jaheira was pleased to see it although it didn’t curb her nerves. “There’s an air about you. Something…alien.” Jaheira’s brow furrowed and turned almost pleading despite her tone remaining firm and commanding. “Answer me true and do not lie: the parasite is changing you, isn’t it?”

Áine considered her question with no intent to lie but with intent to give a fair answer. “From what we know, our parasites exist in a stasis right now. The artefact is keeping them that way when others would have transformed by this point,” Áine tried to explain. “There’s a tadpole in my brain. There’s no refuting that and there’s no refuting that it must be changing me somehow. However, past a handful of abilities I’ve seldom used, I feel that I’m the same person as when we began.”

Jaheira seemed satisfied with Áine’s answer. She wouldn’t have believed a firm “no,” but she did wish for it for the sake of those she protected. Jaheira gestured with her free hand toward the inn surrounding them. “Look around you—good men, good women. Stranded here with two feet in the grave. If we’re to survive, I have no choice but to trust you,” Jaheira stated. Her eyes narrowed. “Can I?”

“You can,” Áine said, “but will you?”

“I have every reason to be cautious. It is far from anything mirroring personal. I’ve traced people like you, people with parasites in their brains, all the way from here to Baldur’s Gate,” Jaheira explained. “The cult of the Absolute is spreading throughout the city—quietly, quickly, and with unsettling deliberation. We tracked them to this ancient village only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.”

Áine’s blood ran cold and she was glad someone else took that moment to insert a clever quip because she had none to spare.

“If he’s back, maybe you should’ve hit him harder in the first place,” Wyll implied, earning looks from Halsin and Karlach both. He quieted—that was an intimidating combination of scoldings to earn.

Jaheira was unoffended. “Believe me, he was well and truly dead. I locked his corpse in the Thorm mausoleum myself,” she said. 

The surname alone made Áine’s heart start to pick up its tempo. Yet again, only Astarion noticed her distress because he could hear it. He had questions, but he made mental notes of them all, reserving them for later away from Jaheira and the rest of their party. 

“He was a Sharran once,” Jaheira was saying. “Took to building an army of Dark Justiciars beneath this very village. Alongside the local druids, we made it our business to see him deposed. Dead and buried. But he has returned.” Jaheira’s expression became something nearing distressed. “Not only does General Ketheric Thorm live again, but it seems he’s no longer mortal. He has become, in fact, invincible.”

Ice in her veins. Thunder in her heart. Still, Áine found her voice. “Come again?” she asked. The trouble was that she already knew, as much as she could know, the answer to her own question. But she needed to ask it. Perhaps something had shifted with the arrival of the cult. 

“We met him on the road here. Commanding an army of the Absolute, intent on destroying Baldur’s Gate. I put an arrow through his eye, myself, only to watch him pluck it out like a splinter,” Jaheira explained, pantomiming her memory of his movements. “He healed right in front of me. Chased us into the shadows. Things looked hopeless, but experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there is always hope.” She sighed, looking almost sorry as she said, “You are that hope.”

“We’ve been hearing that quite a bit lately,” Shadowheart sighed. Áine wondered if her interest had been piqued at the mention of the Dark Justiciars.

“Protected by your artefact, you can infiltrate his forces at Moonrise Towers posing as a True Soul. Find out what it is that makes him invincible so we can strip him of his advantage,” Jaheira implored them. “Once Ketheric is without his shield, together we will assault his tower and put an end to this blight.”

Áine nodded slowly, sighing through her nose. What choice did she have? “Alright,” she agreed.

Jaheira was surprised by her response or at least her lack of pushback, that much was clear. “Without a cure for your infection, your days are numbered, too. Yet you selflessly offer to spend them fighting alongside us…,” she murmured. A crooked smile crossed her lips. “I like you.” 

Áine smiled back. “What have we got to lose, you know?” she asked. The question was rhetorical but somber, too, and that wasn’t lost on Jaheira.

The druid nodded. “I promise I will do everything I can to make sure you survive this. But any cure starts with understanding the disease. Whatever magic Ketheric’s using to control these tadpoles, it has to be at Moonrise.”

“What about the shadow curse?” Gale asked. “We need more than torches if we’re meant to be out in those shadows for any length of time.”

“You are not our only secret weapon,” Jaheira said. She nodded her head toward the upper floor of the inn. “Isobel—a faithful cleric of Selûne and a light in the darkness. She cast the moon shield around the inn. It’s the only reason we’re still alive. She’s upstairs in her chambers—tell her I sent you and she’ll see you through the shadows safely.”

Isobel? Áine wondered. Surely that couldn’t be a coincidence? Her gaze slanted toward the room Jaheira had indicated. It was heartening to her that, if this was the same Isobel, she’d chosen to resist the sins of her father. 

At least if her assumptions were correct, they already had something in common.

“Well, you’ve finally made it back to these godsforsaken lands, Halsin,” Wyll mused later, the bubbling of Gale’s stewpot and the grind of Lae’zel’s whetstone providing familiar background noise in their little setup beneath the dome of the moon shield. “How does it feel?”

Halsin smiled sadly toward the fire, running a hand over his scarred but handsome features. “It feels bitterly familiar,” he said. “What Jaheira said about the first time Ketheric Thorm was lain in the ground? I was there. I was among the druids who fought him back, who killed him only for him to come back unkillable. And he took the vitality of this land with him.”

“Do you think there’s any way to break the curse?” Gale wondered as he stirred their dinner.

“There must be. And I will find it,” Halsin said, not an ounce of his tone to be disbelieved. “Earlier before we spoke with Jaheira, I discovered something in the inn. A man. Near-comatose but somehow still very much alive despite, I believe, existing within the Shadowfell for quite some time.”

“Impossible,” Shadowheart said, her brow creasing. “No one could—”

“Just what I thought as well,” Halsin agreed. “He spoke of Thaniel repeatedly in his sleep. The spirit of this land, long lost to the dark. If there is a way to get Thaniel back, to trace where he may be in the Shadowfell, where I can only imagine Ketheric or his justiciars imprisoned him…then perhaps we can free this land of its malignance as well.” Halsin shook his head. “I need more information though. I must see this through.”

Gale had just taken up a ladle to serve dinner when his glance around the camp came up short. “Say, where’s Karlach? And Áine?”

“Karlach is off flirting with Dammon, I believe,” Shadowheart said cheekily. “And Áine… Well, I don’t know where she snuck off to. Astarion?”

The vampire’s vermillion gaze flickered toward the cleric at the mention of his name. He was lost in his thoughts, still parsing their conversation with Jaheira and also mulling over his exchange with Raphael, wondering when he’d be “graced” with the devil’s presence again. Not knowing what would be expected of him in their potential deal for a translation of his scars was putting him firmly on edge. 

To Shadowheart, Astarion said, “Resting by the water, last I knew. I intend to bring her some dinner.”

Gale nodded, setting up a bowl of stew packed full of fresh ingredients from the inn and fresh bread as well. Astarion took the food when offered it, feeling a little strange at handling actual food for the first time in who knew how long. He supposed since he’d sliced up that apple for Áine the morning after she’d let him drink from her for the first time.

“Bit odd for her to wander off,” Wyll noted, leaning back a little to try and see down to the dark lakeshore. “She’s been acting peculiar since we got here, has anyone else noticed?”

“Difficult to say,” Shadowheart said, her tone a bit pointed in defense of her friend. “Since we immediately ended up in a fight for our lives and were then threatened and interrogated and we’ve just been granted some respite. I don’t blame her for taking a moment to herself.”

Their debate faded behind Astarion as he took his spoils away from the firelit circle of tents. He glanced toward Scratch lying nearby and gave a quick whistle that captured the dog’s attention and brought him in step with the vampire as he sought out his lover. It didn’t take him too long to find her—she sat under a tree on a small ledge overlooking the water, her eyes fastened skyward on the moon.

Scratch pranced ahead of Astarion and snapped Áine out of her trance with a lick to her cheek, startling her. She smiled as she petted the dog affectionately but her expression didn’t touch her eyes. 

When she saw Astarion bringing her dinner, her features softened. “What have I done to earn such service?” she wondered, adding a thank-you when he bent to deliver the food into her hands.

Before he answered her, Astarion gave a scolding click of his tongue toward Scratch when the dog started to beg. “Not a whine out of you, you’ve had yours,” Astarion informed the pup, who exhaled the dog equivalent of a sigh and settled down at Áine’s side, placing his head on his paws. “Don’t believe him, Gale fed him plenty while he was cooking.”

Áine laughed softly and nodded, settling the food on her lap and resting her head back against the trunk of the tree. “Can’t blame him for trying.”

Astarion reclined in the grass beside her, looking up at her with his head propped up by his elbow. She looked pale. She made no move to eat and her eyes simply looked dull and melancholy. “You should eat, darling,” he urged her, nodding toward her cooling stew. “You haven’t eaten since our last suppertime.”

Áine rolled her head against the tree to peer down at him, her smile at least holding a bit of playfulness this time. That was an improvement in his eyes. “Keeping tabs on me, love?”

“As if it’s anything new,” he mumbled, squinting a little at the fathomless look in her dark eyes. He slid his free hand to rest against her thigh. “What’s wrong?”

Áine’s features hardened the slightest bit, almost imperceptibly. “What do you mean?”

Astarion’s brows rose at her tone, almost offended until he reined himself in. What he was feeling now was how she’d felt earlier when he’d spoken to Raphael, he wagered. Two could play her game then. He exhaled his frustration at her dodge and instead of fighting back, reframed his approach. “Don’t push me away, sweet girl,” he murmured, a silent “please” threaded into his words.

Her eyes rounded a little and she looked immediately guilty, her throat tightening as she looked away from him, down at her food. He watched her jaw work as she warred with herself and waited for her to respond. Maybe he’d just upset her more and thwarted his chance to pick her brain. He was halfway to damning his efforts when she seemed to reach a resolution.

Finally, Áine sighed and it looked like that single breath had taken the wind fully from her sails. “I know Ketheric Thorm,” she admitted, refusing to meet his eyes. “Not personally, not exactly. But enough. What Jaheira’s saying about him, the healing he’s able to do from what should be fatal wounds, is true. He’s indeed undead, but as long as he’s been undead, he’s fed off of two things to become essentially deathless: a relic—and the extent of my knowledge is that it’s a relic and that it exists—and a covenant.”

“The cult of the Absolute?” Astarion inquired, trying to follow before he began asking his questions in full. 

“Now, yes,” Áine said. He could hear her heart raging against its cage. “But not always. Not before… The covenant extends far past that. Generations of oathbound souls to feed his immortality through the gaps of what he’s siphoned from the relic and carry out his will. Slaughtering Selûnites, razing whole villages, silently slitting throats in the Gate’s upper city. Whatever he wanted.” She drew in a shaky breath. “And now that he has the cult as well, possibly supplementing him in both of those ways, he’s… He’ll be more resilient than ever.”

Astarion’s frown deepened. “How do you know all of this?” He had a feeling though that he already knew and was only just putting it together.

Áine’s throat worked and she closed her eyes, her features pinched with shame. When she looked at him, he could tell she was forcing herself to do so. “Because his covenant’s bloodline is mine,” she told him. “I grew up in these wretched, heartless lands. I was born to die in his service. My broken oath is the oath I took in service to Ketheric Thorm.”

Next chapter: Chapter 20, "Oathbreaker"

#angst with a happy ending #astarion x oc #astarion x female oc #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #tav #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion romance #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate #baldurs gate iii #bg3 tav #tavstarion #unbound fic #soft astarion #spawn astarion

[jamietarttsdaddyissues]

Okay I’m going to say this and I’m going to say this once.

I do not like how the relationship with Jamie’s father was handled in season 3.

If they wanted to go the route of forgiveness they absolutely could have. If they wanted to go the route of his dad going to rehab they absolutely could have. Those are not inherently wrong or bad. It’s a show about forgiveness and I get that. It’s a comedy and Jamie is not the main character - I get that too.

My issue is this: the show went out of its way on multiple occasions to show just how violent and abusive James is. Just to give a few examples:

Repeated physical abuse

Repeated verbal abuse

Planning, funding, and likely pressuring the sexual abuse of his 14 year old son (a minor and below the age of consent in both The Netherlands and the UK regardless of the age of the girl in the red light district)

The willingness to beat Coach Beard (basically a stranger to him) with a metal pipe in a 3 to 1 fight in a back alley which could have realistically resulted in his death (and calling Beard “son” right before the final blow)

Jamie literally gave up his dream - a job as a professional footballer on a top hometown team - to leave the country on a trashy reality show just to get away from his father. The show traced a large portion of Jamie’s issues back to his relationship with his father. Not all of course - but that was a big theme of his growth and development.

So even if we entertain the notion that this stint in rehab was successful and James is sober - that’s great. That’s a storyline I wouldn’t mind hearing - IF we had the appropriate time to show it. But the thing is, we didn’t. This season was disjointed and rushed in many ways - and I’m not complaining - I still loved it. But if they’re going to tackle a topic this serious, they need to do it right. They need to be clear that alcohol was not the only problem James had and that sobriety does not absolve you of accountability. As important as it is to portray the message that all human beings can change, including addicts, it is equally as important to show the serious work that addicts in recovery put in to address the hurt that they caused through their addiction. It is not easy work to battle addiction and to mend relationships - sometimes part of recovery is accepting that you can’t mend things with everyone you’ve hurt and that is the right of the victim to decide how they feel.

We were shown none of this. What we got instead was:

A speech from Jamie’s mom about how he is still amazing despite his dad while still somehow crediting Jamie’s talent to his dad’s abuse

Ted telling Jamie to forgive his dad as he’s mid-panic about his safety and his dad’s location

Ted making a point to say the forgiveness was for Jamie’s sake, not for James - which was ALMOST good until they ruined it

Denbo and Bug suddenly supportive despite being just as violent as James in 2x09

James suddenly in rehab for 0.2 seconds

Jamie reaching out to his dad via text despite having no idea his dad is in rehab - something that is realistically compromising his physical and emotional safety

A quick clip of Jamie bonding with his father before the season/series ends for good

The reason I connected with Jamie so intensely from season 1 was the shared experience of abuse from my father. I want to be clear that I know I’m projecting - that’s what fandom is - and I in no way expected the show to end exactly as I wanted. However, this is what I would have liked to see as 1) an abuse survivor 2) a licensed therapist and 3) a person:

The message that you can heal without forgiving those who hurt you OR that you can forgive them and still not allow them back into your life (ESPECIALLY if it compromises your safety)

The message that sometimes people don’t change for the better and you can grieve that relationship while still fostering healthier ones elsewhere.

An emphasis on support systems and chosen family when someone doesn’t have the reality of a parent or partner getting better (we saw this with Bex seeking out Rebecca and Rupert’s assistant)

Instead of Man City suddenly cheering for Jamie, which felt insanely unrealistic, having the cheers of Richmond fans drown out the boos and verbal assaults of the Man City crowd - further emphasizing that despite the pain he has attached to Man City and his father, he has a home with Richmond.

So to wrap up this very long rant, I feel very disheartened by this part of the season. I still love Ted Lasso and always will - there were so many parts of this season I absolutely adored and wouldn’t trade for anything - but I feel that they dropped the ball on this one. Most people don’t get to repair relationships with abusive parents. Is it possible? Of course. Is it important to depict that it can happen? Absolutely. It’s a show about forgiveness. But they didn’t need to do it like this for Jamie’s storyline. They could have kept the speech about forgiving James for Jamie’s sake and deleted all of the rehab/texting afterwards. I still wouldn’t have been thrilled but it would have made more sense to me in context of the show. And it would have meant a lot more to me as someone who’s father is unlikely to ever stop being a risk to my safety.

This just felt bad. Jamie Tartt had one of the best arcs I’ve ever seen in media and he deserved better than that.

#ted lasso spoilers #jamie tartt #James Tartt #anyway #you don’t have to agree with me on this #this is just my take #clearly I’m personally triggered a bit by it lol #I’m not looking to argue or anything just needed to vent #a lot of things felt off this season and I know there’s a lot of behind the scenes reasons for that #some we’re aware of and some we aren’t #but this is one of the ones that hurt #I have a few others too but since this is a Jamie blog I’m just posting about the Jamie ones #don’t even get me started on Sam being told to forgive the people who committed a hate crime at his restaurant #and no further acknowledgement of that trauma and safety issue #and no explanation of how he got onto the Nigerian team with Edwin Akufo actively sabotaging him #okay I promise I’m actually done now #long post

[currently-tired]

Separate post for these tags. I want more people to see them.

The urge. To be silent. Why speak?

Jekyll did nothing but speak all day, until he was alone. Speak to patients, speak to other gentlemen.

How he wished he could. Not speak for once! A nod was appropriate a couple of times, but an in depth, well thought out response was expected eventually…

He said words that meant nothing at all to him. But they had to be said. Pleasantries, to people he disliked, or hated. Passing comments that they both knew were false. However, society dictated it to be necessary. So out they came from Jekyll’s mouth, sweetly as honey, with a slight, practiced smile.

Hyde was freedom. Freedom in huge ways. Freedom in smaller, more subtle ways such as this one…

Why would he give that up, unless strictly necessary?

So when they had to shove words out of their mouth, they came out raspy and disjointed. Strung together by annoyance alone. [They had run out of propriety hours ago.]

And it probably showed.

Oh well. They would speak when they wanted to speak. Any other time, and others would get a rambling mess of diction.

Somethings stressed, others not. Tone inconsistent; bordering annoyance, heading into hatred at times, loudly and boldly at others. Slurred and clipped words.

It was fine that their speaking style repelled others. They didn’t want to be talking to most of them anyway.

#honk shoo posting #dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde #edward hyde

[whiteladyofithilien]

So I got bored last night while jamming to some classic music and it led to this...

The sons of Feanor assigned Planets from the Holst suite...

Maedhros - Jupiter

The music just sounds as gallant and noble as the first born of Feanor is. The king of planets' music for the High King of the Noldor. And the slower stately part of the piece (what gets extracted for the song I Vow to Thee My Country) feels very appropriate for a soundtrack to the peace he and Fingon foster together.

Maglor - Neptune

It's not just the water association that both Maglor and Neptune have at work here. The whole piece has a beautiful forlornness to it that is also an easy summarization of Maglor's tragic life. Plus all the strings near the beginning make me think of him playing his harp by the sea

Celegorm - Saturn

The music is subtle like the workings of Celegorm's mind. A slow methodical creeping melody tinged with hints of the sinister. An unexpected blare of horns for the great hunter and his hound approach and then back to the lower tones as he stalks his prey

Caranthir - Mars

It's in the name "bringer of war" I feel there's no need to really explain why this aggressive piece of music inspired by the planet named for Mars the god of War is the perfect piece for contentious Caranthir

Curufin - Venus

He is the image of his father's wisdom and skill with words. He is well spoken and where his nearest older brothers are always stirring up strife he supports with a more subtle touch. The gentler rippling melody suits the dutiful brother who follows the lead and offers love and support to his kin and is even fair enough to let Eöl go in spite of his loathing of him. He's the chill one of the middle three which isn't saying a whole lot when it comes to Feanorians I know

Amrod - Uranus

The one who in one version was set fire to by accident by Feanor in the burning of the ships at Losgar this more disjointed musical piece fits the various views that exist for Amrod's narrative. There's a dramatic beginning to the piece just as there is to Amrod's life being named "fated" by his mother. But the melody gets more merry and you can almost see Amrod and his twin brother riding far and wide enjoying a hunt in their lands around Estolad

Amras - Mercury

Youngest and therefore to my mind the most playful the jubilant whirling melody of Mercury fits best to the baby of the family. There's not much on the twins but I like to imagine that perhaps rather than always riding sometimes Amras runs during the hunts with his brother and is very fleet-footed and really into enjoying nature for a Noldor. I mean after all he was the twin okay with sleeping on the ground while Amrod went back onto the ships to sleep(in the one version). Just my headcanon for him about being a little nature boy because I refuse to fall into "twins are exactly the same" thinking. Anyone who's known twins in real life knows that's not true and I've known lots of twins. My dad is even a twin.

#tolkien #jrr tolkien #the silmarillion #silmarillion #silm fandom #holst #holst the planets #the planets #gustav holst #i vow to thee my Country #maedhros #maglor #Celegorm #caranthir #curufin #amrod #amras #amrod and amras #ambarussa #lotr #beleriand #noldor #losgar #estolad #sons of feanor #snow white and the seven sons of feanor #feanorians #twins

[tarisilmarwen]

Rebels Rewatch: "Stealth Strike"

In which, Character Development! and other exciting features.

I mentioned the husband loves Star Wars ships right? This is another one of his favorite episodes, he loooves the Interdictor class.

Always liked this little musical flare at the beginning, already conveys a sense of urgency and danger.

Sato sounds so aggrieved that he has to have Ezra along, lol.

I mean from his perspective Ezra's just an overconfident plucky kid, he hasn't been around Ezra long enough to know how competent the boy is.

Love the staggered Force Theme prelude in the strings there, all broken up and disjointed. Once again Ezra is sensing impending danger.

Still adore the kaleidoscope color effect Rebels uses to mark being forcibly ejected/yanked from hyperspace.

Bbbyyyyyyyy. :((((

Worried Spacefamily be worried.

Hera wisely understands that the best way to infiltrate a top-secret Imperial project is to keep the aliens off the mission lol.

Kanan is being predictably petty about having to work with Rex.

"I sent Ezra... this is the only way." Ouch. I bet Hera is feeling pretty guilty and has thought a lot about this since they learned about it, so you know she's run it through a million times in her head. Probably why Kanan acquiesces to her judgment.

I wanna know the thought process behind the Imps' decision to haul Ezra and Sato in to see Titus. Like, Sato I get, he's the obvious commander of the unit but I wanna know which trooper saw Ezra and was like, "Hmm, he seems Plot Important, I better drag him along too."

Sato still very much Not Impressed with Ezra's posturing.

Hi Brom Titus!

It's hilarious that Ezra's sarcastically used "Jabba the Hutt" so often it's been logged as a known alias of his lololol.

The Giligan Cut between Rex complaining that he'd never wear Stormtrooper armor and Zeb bringing them unconscious troopers to steal the armor from. <3

"I thought it was the same one we used before." LOL. Okay, I gotta stop before I quote every line in this episode.

Can't help it, it's just so fun.

We cut to the shuttle mid-hyperspace and Rex and Kanan are still bickering, but even in the middle of that we get some lovely worried Papa Wolf Kanan hyperfocusing on Ezra as his priority.

I swear it was explained somewhere what the specific codes Rex gives meant but I can't for the life of me remember where now. Pretty sure one of them meant the shuttle was going to explode? Anyway...

Rex seems like he's having just a grand old time. This must feel just like the old days for him.

Lol Kallus getting excited about Ezra's capture and warning Titus "[...]do not underestimate that boy." He knows firsthand how much of a threat and nuisance Ezra can be.

A little variation on the Death Star theme here, kind of appropriate given this is a very similar-feeling kind of infiltration and rescue.

Maybe that's why I like this episode so much, has a lot of A New Hope vibes.

Subtle animation appreciation moment: Chopper's legs jerking as he rolls over the hump in the doorway.

The ANH vibes continue with this turbolift scene, which is just hilarious. From Rex not knowing which button to push to the Imperial officer snarking at our hero duo, it's just... *chef's kiss*

They are a disaster pair and I just love them.

Cut to the troopers that are escorting Ezra to his "secure cell" and I'm sorry, I adore this whole sequence. Ezra being a little hyper-competent badass is my whole jam, okay?

This is so clever. <3333

Ezra makes very short work of his guards, without really hurting them (something that would contrast in S3 after the whole Malachor Loss-Of-Innocence thing) and then immediately shoots his intended rescue party lololol.

I love how smoothly he moves through this whole scene. He's obviously been practicing and of course the Force operates on a principal of "the more at peace and in tune you are with yourself, the greater strength you can channel" so after his whole soul-searching in "Brothers of the Broken Horn" deal he's come to some kind of serenity within himself that lets him be just super awesome here. Love it.

<333333

Chopper immediately rats Ezra out lol.

Kanan reluctant to split up from Ezra, aww.

Subtle animation appreciation moment: The way Ezra raises his hands in aggravation when Kanan and Rex get into it again.

Ezra finally chews the two of them out for all their bickering and takes charge of the mission and you can't even tell me he didn't make Kanan just a smidge proud, with that comment about how, "He takes after Hera sometimes." <3333

No but seriously, fandom of course loves Kanan and Ezra's whole "like my father before me" vibe but let's not forget how it was Hera who first took a shine to him, who saw potential in him, who knew that he wasn't as selfish as he pretended he was, drew out that inner spark of compulsive compassion planted by his parents and has been influencing him on the Rebellion side of things to complement Kanan's Jedi teaching.

Found Family liek woah. :)

Brom Titus looking a little less confident now that the scrawny fifteen-year-old he was specifically cautioned not to underestimate has given them the slip lol.

*cries* He was so TINY!

Very glad Ezra learned binary, it enables hilarious conversations like this.

This is yet another music cue recycled from the Death Star sequence in A New Hope. Like I said, they're really leaning into that this episode.

This little troll I love him so much.

Bit of the "Shenanigans" theme as Chopper rolls up.

Can I just appreciate how well Ezra rolls with blocking shots in zero gravity?

I think Chopper enjoyed all of this a too much lol.

Remember, giving people grief is how Chopper shows affection. :)

Love how they lampshade the terrible vision quality of Stormtrooper helmets.

Sato all ready to square up with this random trooper until he sees it's Kanan.

And his anxious worry over Ezra's welfare is really sweet. Sato does care, he might find Ezra bit aggravating but he's still just a kid in Sato's eyes, someone who was under his protection. (One wonders if Ezra reminds him of Mart a bit.) It's not Sato's fault he's only now learning what a precocious badass Ezra is lol.

This move of Kanan and Rex's is slick.

Lightsaber Naruto run.

I've been told this horn cue is Rex's theme. Makes sense.

Heeeeey remember what I said about Rex's deathseeker tendencies? Yeah.

Subtle animation appreciation moment: The drifting smoke in the hallway from the firefight holy cow. Attention to detail.

"I serve the order you put into place, Captain." Ohhhhhh Imma dent his face in.

*hurts in Order 66 feels*

THEY WERE JUST TOOLS TO PALPATINE, THEY HAD A SINGLE PURPOSE AND HE JUST DISCARDED THEM ONCE IT WAS ACCOMPLISHED.

This Hitchcock Zoom with Kanan as if he's sensing Rex's pain. <33333

Character growth! <33333

Ezra one-manning this hallway with Skill and Confidence. <33333

My gosh look how smooth and effortless this is for him. No wonder Sato was impressed.

Nice to see more classic lightsaber positions creeping into the choreography here.

Ezra being all, "OH HECK NO, THERE WILL BE NO SELF-SACRIFICING TODAY!" over the comms. He's very tired of them doing that lol.

The dolly shots this episode are tight.

Aww Ezra still looks really worried tho.

Don't think about him remembering, "I'll take the next one." and "I'll be right behind you."

Aaaaaaaand Chopper just scored the highest body count on the show, lol. (Up until the finale anyway with the Dome explosion and the purrgil-ening.)

My gosh this show even makes total destruction look pretty.

Yeah, getting a top-secret Interdictor prototype imploded is pretty demotion worthy ha ha.

Love how Kallus is basically perfectly fine assigning all of that chaos to Ezra in particular. XD

KANAN SALUTING REX NOT ONLY AS A SIGN OF FINALLY BURYING THE HATCHET BUT ALSO TAKING UP THE MANTLE OF SOLDIER HE WAS SO RELUCTANT TO AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SEASON.

This is one of the best episodes of the season, no joke. It's fun, it brings the nostalgia without being kitschy, it lets Ezra and Sato have a little bit of nice interaction (underrated relationship, fanficers have let me down), it shows how Ezra's developing in combat, it finishes the whole Rex and Kanan animosity plot, and Chopper murders three whole Imperial cruisers effortlessly.

Love it.

#star wars #star wars rebels #rebels rewatch #liveblog #ezra bridger #agent kallus #space dad and his precious pumpkin child #stan ezra bridger he's great

[kaythefloppa]

New S7 WK Eps - [Spoiler Free] Review + Predictions/Thoughts:

New Wild Kratts Season 7 episodes are on the premises after a 4-month hiatus. The episodes were found on https://metadatabank.pbs.org by a few Twitter users, with premises to boot.

Two of the episodes were uploaded on the TVO Kids' YouTube Channel. For anyone who doesn't know, full episodes of PBS Kids shows are uploaded on that channel and are only accessible directly to Canadian viewers. The only way U.S. viewers can access them is through a VPN.

To prevent heavy spoilers, especially for those who don't have a VPN/want to wait until the episodes come out in America, I won't provide any links. I have watched the first two episodes of the new batch, and I will be doing a [spoiler-free] review of them below the cut, again, because I know that not everyone is going to/is able to immediately hop onto a VPN and watch the eps months before they air on television. The other 2 episodes are yet to be televised or uploaded, so anything I say about them will be pure speculation until the U.S. airdate.

This is not a 100% spoiler-free thread. If you have seen the episodes on the VPN and intend on reblogging with spoilers, use the spoiler tag/cut appropriately; Spoilery comments in the thread are prohibited overall because there's no way to loop around that, so bear in mind:

Backpack the Camel:

The gang travels to the Gobi Desert to discover the last remaining wild camels in the world. They experience the harshness of the desert landscape and are rescued from it only by the wild Bactrian camels and their amazing survival skills.

No Name Dream:

Martin has a dream that he's forgotten to name some baby animals and awakens in a sweat. Aviva tries to reassure him that he named them all, but Koki, after checking the data base, confirms that Martin's right! The Wild Kratts' mission is to go back and name all the ,unnamed, and along the way, learn more about their creaturenality and share some wow facts about their animal friends!

Fish Out of Water:

After a Creature Power Disc mishap, the bros become marooned in the world of a mudskipper, a fish that can walk on land. They must find their discs within a foreign world of intense competition, with unexpected dangers at every turn

Our Blue and Green World: Parts 1 & 2:

While doing their annual Laundry Day, the Kratt Brothers disagree on what's better; blue oceans or green forests. Can the gang get Martin and Chris back in synch in time to save Planet Earth from Zach and Paisley's villainous plans?

Again, no confirmed airdates, so we know what we're in for, but we'll just have to wait. But I'll post my disjointed thoughts and predictions on each episode in this big-ass compiled post bc I'm too lazy for separate posts:

—————————————————————————————————

Backpack the Camel - REVIEW

How the fuck did it take us 12.5 years to get a camel episode? There was literally a live-action opener featuring camels and llamas which segwayed into a fucking Koala episode? I know it doesn't really matter, but it's so jarring

The episode's humor is..... not that good. It feels like they were trying too hard to make it "meme" material with a recurring facial gag but it gets old really quickly. Luckily it's not present throughout the episode, and compared to previous scenes in the show (ex. that awful dabbing and floss scene from the ant episode), it's pretty tame.

The camels in this episode are beautifully animated. I swear to god, you could clearly tell that they wanted the camels to look as detailed as possible but still retaining that WK-style look.

The Camel Power Suit, I thought it was going to be awful and at first I hated, but it actually turned out to be pretty good. It gets right what a the more recent quadrupedal power suits get wrong. Though I’m fairly certain that this is going to be an unpopular opinion once the episode comes out.

Wild Kratts has a pretty good track record for debunking animal myths so if you're frustrated with how the mainstream media misrepresents camels or how many myths and misconceptions about them are spread, then this episode is definitely for you.

Ranking: 7/10

No Name Dream - REVIEW

We started off the season with Chris angst and now we’ve got Martin angst. I can’t comment too much on the dream sequence but… let’s just say that the animators were having a lot of fun with it. It’s giving Zooboomafoo vibes if anything.

I feel like MK IRL realized that there were some unnamed baby animals, and decided to write this episode as a meta ref to that. Overall, it feels like the most self-insert-y episode of the show to date (even moreso than Liturgusa Krattorum)

This episode highlights what Wild Kratts does better than most shows nowadays. It knows how to do fanservice correctly. Mainly in the form of callbacks to inventions/locations, power suits, and animals that we haven’t seen in years. The reason they do this correctly is because they don’t do it for the sake of it, there’s a very intriguing plot around it that gives it a point/purpose and it overall makes sense. The crew goes around naming unnamed baby animals from past adventures. That’s something I have wanted to see in years (I even made up my own fan-names for some baby animals that didn’t get a name, though one of them is rendered non-canon in the ep.)

In fact, the modern seasons of the show do this pretty damn well, what with the return of Aviva’s rollerblades in the S6 finale, the tellurium crystal cameo in the raven episode, giving Paisley Paver a solo role in this season, and this episode, where we get a lot of cool callbacks to the earlier seasons when the crew travels around the world to name the unnamed. I think the reason they do this is because they know that after 10 years, people are going to get nostalgic - That and because PBS Kids’ horrible scheduling that forces viewers at home to wait months or even years for new episodes to come out, makes the show runners try and work their way around it through the episode’s quality, so that if it’s great, or hell, even if it’s good, that would compensate for the episode’s wait. It’s one of the many things that gives me hope for Season 7.

I kid you not, there is one scene in this episode that made me scream at my iPad when I first watched it. It’s clearly fanservice, but in the best degree. I’m not going to give ANY hints because it’s too spoilery, but let’s just say, as someone who is a longtime viewer of the show since S1, and has been begging for years for untapped stuff in the earlier episodes to make a comeback, this certain scene in this episode felt like an extremely detailed love-letter to my childhood, if not a very clever witty response to my brainrotting on the blog. This scene is kinda why I’m very adamant about the “no spoilers” thing; The majority of the fandom needs to see this scene televised.

The baby animal’s names vary. Some are cringe, (I guess,) some are okay, and then some are actually alright. Also, cute baby animals!!!!!

Ranking: 8/10

Fish Out of Water - Predictions/Thoughts:

Again, almost 13 years to give us a mudskipper episode? If it wasn’t for that one episode of Octonaughts, I wouldn’t have even known what a mudskipper was if you showed it to me. Side-note, mudskippers are cool.

Ok but a Creature Power Disc mishap? Even after getting disc-holders, these mf still loose these damn discs 😭

Going back to the “WK magazines show Creature Powers of future episodes,” there was a page of a mudskipper shown in a magazine from 2019 that I cannot for the life of me find.

Mudskippers live in Borneo. I hope this implies that we’ll see more animals/Creature Powers of that location since we haven’t gotten it since S4 (more than 5 years ago).

Here’s a Wow Fact about Mudskippers: Their eyes bulge out of their heads unlike other fish and can move independently from each other (not unlike chameleons). They can also live on land apparently and, well… they skip pretty well. I’m expecting the name of a mudskipper to be something like “Skippy” or “Skipper” or something along those lines.

Oh, these motherfuckers can also CLIMB.

Our Blue and Green Earth - Predictions/Thoughts:

This episode was hyped during the premiere marathon week of S7, where Martin originally called the special “Blue and Green: The Living Earth” and listed the animals we’d be seeing in the new special.

Honestly, am I the only one who’s kinda bummed that this is the 8th/9th episode of the season? I mean, didn’t the article that first disclosed this special say that S7 would be breaking the 200 episode milestone? I feel like a huge one-hour special with an aesthetic title like that would be a good contender for Episode 200. Unless this was 200th episode of the show to be produced, but the network fucked up and broadcasted this special early and had another one in its place… it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done that though.

I’ve gone on about a Paisley/Donita team up, but Zach and Paisley also fit too. Both have a grey aesthetic, have alliterative names, are executive CEOs who are both implied to get away from the law via nepotism/capitalism. And both villains have engaged in logging and habitat destruction. Whilst Donita and Paisley have an “opposites attract” thing going on with them when you put them together (which is one of the million reasons why I hardcore ship them), Zach and Paisley are like two peas in a pod.

I guess this is another “disagree” episode, like in Fireflies, Bass Class, or Wolf Hawks. Don’t know how they can drag it out for 40 minutes but let’s see how they do it.

I think they may be planning this as an Earth Day special. Blue and Green, whilst associated with the Kratt Bros, are also associated with the Planet Earth, so it makes sense to air this on Earth Day. Additionally, the 100th episode, Animals Who Live to Be 100 Years Old, had aired as an Earth Day special, as part of a week-long Earth Day marathon of S4 episodes (including Spirit Bear, Paisley’s debut episode). So I think it would be thematically appropriate to air this episode on Earth Day.

I think it’d be like, really funny if the double-episode had the “blue” as one part, written by Martin, and the “green” as another part, written by Chris.

I predict that the climax of the episode will involve the brothers having to defend the opposite climate of their preference. Like, Chris using Blue Whale Powers to defend the ocean animals from the Zachbots, and Martin using Indri Powers to rescue the forests from the Pavers. This is what brings them back in synch after realizing that blue and green are equally important and can rightfully co-exist… just like them (awww).

If there is not a Blue Whale Suit, I might actually cry.

Let’s hope that these episodes air on TV at the end of the year because this hiatus is killing me.

#wild kratts #pbs kids #kratt brothers #martin kratt #chris kratt #2d kratt brothers #2d martin kratt #2d Chris kratt #wild kratts season 7 #wk season 7 #Wild kratts new episodes #Youtube #vpn #spoiler free review #Seeing 2 of these 4 (5?) episodes is kind of further cementing my opinion that S7 is slowly living up to its hype #Despite the hiatus and horrible distribution #Backpack the Camel and No Name Dream are supposed to come out in 2023 since the video titles said that #So we can expect them by the end of the year #Fish Out of Water idk but maybe it’s batched with the other 2 eps #I’m literally turning 18 in half a year and currently obsessing over a children’s show that I’ve been following since I was 5 what is my li #pbs kids go #Between S7 of WK and S4 of Odd Squad PBS Kids really seems to be writing love-letters to my childhood atp

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Aww, now I want to see more stuff with HC Wind and Four! 🥰

- 🛵

Four bit his lip as his confused patient yet again tried to climb out of the bed. Thankfully he had soft restraints to help him stay put, as he was so confused he had already torn all his clothes off and woke up in a frenzy at nearly five minute intervals at this point (thank heaven the shift was almost over). The man had meningitis, had no idea what the heck was happening, and was on blood thinners, so the instant he got out of bed, he would probably stumble a few steps and then immediately fall and get a head bleed.

So it was fairly important to ensure he didn't leave the bed.

"Hey Toru," he called loudly, as the elderly patient was partly deaf, placing a calming hand on the man's shoulder.

"Geuh buhb huh??" the patient slurred and grumbled, staring at him with wide, bewildered eyes.

"You're safe," Four explained, feeling his chest rumble in warning as he continued loudly, "You're in the hospital. You're in the ICU. I'm your nurse. You're very sick, so it's important that you stay in the bed, okay?"

The patient settled with another disjointed garbled set of words, allowing Four a moment to sniffle back some phlegm and stifle another cough. He only had the remains of a bad cold, and he was wearing a mask to ensure he didn't share the germs with anyone, but he was long overdue for a coughing fit and a box of tissues.

If he could leave the room long enough to do that.

The patient started to climb out of bed once more, and Four sighed, immediately walking back to him and trying to soothe him. "Toru. You're in the hospital. You're safe. I'm your nurse, I'm here to take care of you. You're very sick--"

His words choked off with a violent urge to cough, and he managed to step back enough to hack into his mask a few times.

Then he had to laugh. Yeah, he's sick and so am I. Feels like the blind leading the blind in here.

"Uh, Four? You good?"

Glancing back, Four saw Wind staring at him hesitantly in the doorway. When he looked back at his patient with a sigh, he saw that the man had once more stripped off his gown and blankets, and his legs were half over the side rail as he laid there in confusion.

"Yeah. You wanna help me get him resituated?"

Wind bit back a snort. "Sure. Maybe you should just hop in with him, you sound kind of rough."

"I'm not that bad," Four grumbled as the pair helped the man get back in bed. Four started to talk him through the steps before he had to step away to cough again.

Wind took pity on him, taking over and explaining to the patient. The younger man's louder voice helped, and within a few minutes the patient was appropriately dressed and covered and resting.

Four thanked Wind, who smiled cheerily. "No problem! Hey, do you work again tonight?"

"No, I'm off."

"Oh thank goodness," Wind sighed in relief. "I was about to say there's an open bed next door if you need it."

"Ha ha ha," Four deadpanned. "Guess that means we can't get together tonight with your telescope."

Wind gasped. "Hey, now! You're not that sick, and you promised to do some star charting with me when we were both off!"

Four laughed. "See? Even you're saying I'm not that sick."

Wind opened his mouth to protest and realized his mistake. Then he grumbled, "That was a trap."

"And you fell right into it."

Rolling his eyes, the respiratory therapist nodded towards Four's patient. "Well enjoy it for now, because he's crawling out of the bed again."

Four sighed heavily. Thirty more minutes to day shift.

#you ask skye answers #lovely scooter anon #lu in healthcare #lu wind #lu four #I feel like Four likes collecting and learning and tallying things #Wind likes sea charts and the like because of his game #so they could bond over stargazing and charting things #also I had to laugh at my situation when I would tell my patient he's sick and then step away to cough up a lung #very glad I'm not on Confused Patient Babysitting Duty tonight #writing

[wisteriadaydreams]

Hello! I'm new to tumblr and hopefully me trying to contact you and my request is appropriate. I found your blog amazing and even relatable in a lot of ways and i'm honestly very grateful I've found you! (Side note, this request is dedicated towards Tanjiro!)

I had an idea evolving around gaining consciousness in a dream and a form of bond between the two. I'm a lucid dreamer and a fan of concept where dreaming space is perfect for unique and pure interactions, a lot of mutual reassurance and a need to put in effort to go lucid, for the two to recognize eachother. I'm leaving particular ways of interactions to the creator, all i wanted to mention is the aspect of rapidly passing time and the two dreamers being aware of the coming unpredictable waking point. I believe it makes the scenario tense and sensual in a way, since nothing you experience in a dream should be taken for granted! Maybe it's worth working on a concept where the dreaming space is the only one that brings them together.

What i've brought up is probably very generous but I wanted to take a little step and maybe find a possible ally. Where my dream buddies at? 🪴

ONLY AWAKE WHEN I'M DREAMING

pairing: Kamado Tanjirō x gn!reader

genre: fluff, a dash of angst

words: 3.9k

a/n: anon, ur mind is sth i'm envious of, this is such a big brain idea

You know this place, but you have never been here before.

It's like you've stepped into a childhood memory that you have no recollection of, the sides of the fragmented pieces so blunt that you have no idea how to put them all back together. You look around and everything is hazy, like you're in one of those paintings where the background are but languid and dreamy strokes.

You think you feel the sun on your skin, the grass beneath your feet, and the air tastes heady and sweet like a summer night. You blink and the world remains streaks of color smeared on canvas, but a splash of emerald green and red catches your eyes.

You move (or you think you moved) and the last thing you expected to find is a boy.

His wine-dark gaze falls to you and everything at once becomes foreign.

"-ho...ar...ou?" You open your mouth and your voice sounds like a melody played on a broken record.

He doesn't reply to you, or at least, when you focus, it seems that he's trying to. When you squint your eyes you think you see his lips move, but everything is disjointed.

"...do...T...ji...ō."

You feel like you're in one of those social events where you're introduced to a friend of a friend of a friend and you know their name will slip out of your mind, but this is on another level entirely. Though there's definitely some guilt there, you figured that it would be rude not to introduce yourself back.

"I'm (Y/–"

You wake up, the last syllable dissolving like cotton candy in your mouth, and the threads of the dream slips through your fingers.

───── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────

This place is familiar to you, but you're certain you've never set foot here.

The wind tousles your hair and you think it carries with it a light scent of the flowers surrounding your feet. Nothing is concrete, save for the boy before you.

There's nothing like the relieving sense of recognition that washes over you, followed immediately by the gripping flash of panic that you didn't manage to catch his name. Would it be rude to ask again? Or can you nod and bluff your way through this?

"Hi," you offer tentatively.

"Hi," he responds with a polite smile. "Have we met before?"

"Yeah, briefly." You shuffle your feet. "Do you know where we are?"

"I'm not sure. It's familiar to me, but I don't know where this is."

So maybe you're not crazy after all. "I feel that way, too! This could be any place from my memories, but I can't pinpoint which one it is. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do." His eyes dart around the empty landscape before settling on you once more, and if your mind didn't deceive you, you think you see his eyebrows knitting together a little bit. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you've told me this before and this is very rude of me, but I don't remember your name." He then begins to apologize and bow to you profusely.

Your shoulders sag in relief. "No it's okay! To be honest, I didn't quite catch your name either."

"...Tan...ji...rō." You're able to hear him better this time, but whatever he said earlier still eluded your mind.

"(Y...N)," you say and hold out your hand. You lean your head to one side when he looks at it like he doesn't know what to do. Maybe he's just one of those people who doesn't like handshakes?

Now that you think about it, he's not dressed in a way that you're familiar with. No offense to his fashion style, but it's not every day that you see someone wear a long kimono-like jacket with black and dark green checker patterns.

You're starting to feel awkward when he finally grasps your hand uncertainly.

"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too Tan—"

The last of those syllables burn on your tongue until not even ash is left as you rise with the morning sun.

───── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────

"We have to stop meeting like this."

The boy smiles at you in greeting, and a fraction of a second later his name flows like spring water into your mind.

"I agree. No-not that there's anything wrong with meeting you like this. It's just...a little strange."

"I get it." You sit down on the grass beside him, the blades so velvety smooth that you feel like they're not even there. "It's still weird to me. Like I'm half here and half not."

"Like you're in a dream."

"Yeah." You pause, the notion itching in your brain. "Something like that. I'm still not even sure how I got here. This feels a little too far away from home."

"Which is where, exactly?"

You tell him, but seeing his blank stare makes the nagging feeling in your gut become more intense. You explain where it is, and the way he almost jumps out of his skin makes you flinch in turn. All of your muscles seem to tense up as you ask him the same question.

"I used to live on a remote mountain in the countryside, but now I travel all around Tokyo and beyond for my job."

You blink several times, as if this would make the words make more sense in your mind. "No wonder you're dressed like that. But, um, can I ask what year it is for you?"

"It's the 10th year of the Taisho era," he says like that's the most obvious thing in the world, but you have no idea what that means. "Uh, what about you?"

You answer him, and his reaction is all you needed to know that there's no way that your time period lines up with his.

You slap yourself in the face, ignoring the worried cries of your companion. You don't feel a single thing, not even a featherlight touch.

"Holy crap, we're in a dream, aren't we?"

The realization settles like a dew drop that slowly falls from a leaf, and the moment it hits the ground the mist around you is washed away by the hands of early dawn.

───── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────

"You're pulling my leg," you exclaim.

Tanjirō's brows knit together. "I'm...doing what?"

"Sorry, figure of speech. But demons? Really?"

After mutually establishing that the landscape they find themselves in is in fact a dream, and realizing that the other person (maybe?) isn't simply a figment of their imagination, both you and Tanjirō have been able to settle down enough to understand the situation.

It appears that this type of dream doesn't occur every single night, but they have no way to determine that for sure when their memories of their encounters are scrubbed clean every single morning. But as soon as you laid eyes on each other, those snatched memories are returned to you like a worn blanket that you once thought you lost.

Every time you get to know him a little better, hearing snippets of his life with his sister and friends. You offer stories of your own about your daily life and trying desperately to explain the leaps and bounds technology has made to him.

Soon enough, you both found out that though this might be your dream, or his, you don't have total control. He would be in the middle of telling you the story of how he got his scar when he would be thrown out of the dream, or you would wake up while passionately ranting about your day, leaving you to show up the next night huffing because you realized you've lost all train of thoughts.

You and Tanjirō make it work, somehow. Even when you're from different cultures and hell, completely different time periods (even though you're still not sure he's some illusion your mind came up with), you get along well with him. Despite of all the differences, Tanjirō is one of the most open-minded person you've ever known. He listens attentively and is genuinely interested in anything you have to say, and it makes you breathe easier knowing that he's the one with you in this weird dimension.

"I had the same reaction as you," he says to your previous sentence. "I couldn't believe at first, but then..."

He turns away from you, but you catch the flicker of pain nonetheless. Though Tanjirō has been all smiles, though he is so good at hiding it that it makes your heart twist, you still notice it a couple of times, especially when he talks about his sister and the life he used to have — rife with hard work and financial worries, but oh so blissful.

"They sound scary." You curse yourself for not being able to find better things to say.

"It was, it is still. But that's why I chose to do what I do, so that no one have to go through what I went through." He tugs at the fabric of his dark uniform. "You know, when I first met you, I felt a little afraid because I didn't have my sword with me. For the first time in a while, I was vulnerable. I kept reaching for something that wasn't there." He looks down at the empty space by his side. "But now, I'm glad. I feel safe here, I don't have to watch for every movement or be wary about anything. I can breathe easier here." He turns to you, and you idly wonder how the sun can hope to compare with such a smile. "And I'm glad I'm able to do it with you."

───── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────

"If this is a dream, what do you think we can control in it?" You ponder, the grass disappearing through your fingers every time you wave your hands over them.

"I've never thought about it." Tanjirō is lying on his back, staring at the formless clouds. "You mean like changing our location?"

"Maybe. This place is cool and all, but it gets boring after a while. I think I heard somewhere that there's people who can control what they dream about. I'm pretty sure it's called lucid dreaming. I wonder how they do it though. Like do they just think very hard about it?"

"Well, wanna give it a try?" He sits up. "How about we take turns thinking about a particular place and see what happens?"

"Okay." You can't help but grin at how easily he is to get on board. "I'll try to go first."

You close your eyes, a funny notion now that you think about it, and begin to pull at the strands of your memories, searching for something that calls to you. You find it, its soft weight as familiar as a hug. You smell something in the breeze, hear the muffled voices calling your name, and when you open your eyes you're delighted to see the place you're envisioning being painted right before you. The verdant landscape give way to something much more nostalgic and corporeal, a thought given life.

You feel time lost being flown back into your veins, emotions that were once distant and foregone rise to the surface like a stream of fizzy bubbles, bursting into pockets of sweet sugar inside your mouth. Everything that once was is so within of reach.

But all too soon, the illusion breaks. You find yourself knees on the ground, heaving an imaginary breath as if you just ran a marathon. You feel Tanjirō's hands laid gently on your back, rubbing it in a soothing motion.

"Are you okay?" He asks, concern clear in his voice as he takes a hold of your shoulder.

You nod slowly. "Yeah, I'm fine. I didn't expect that to take so much out of me. But it felt so satisfying, like I just stepped back into the past. Did you see it, too?"

"I did. It was brief, but it was a beautiful place. I felt warm and giddy, like I was a child again. It was so familiar, even though I'm sure I've never been there before. Will you tell me about it?"

"Maybe after you try. I wanna see what you come up with."

Tanjirō's fairs a little better than you. For a moment, the sky begins to turn dark, twilight shades splash against the blue canvas. The nebulous sun is replaced by a dazzling moon, shining its silvery light onto the canopy of trees that are emerging from the grassy expanse.

You think you see something golden twinkling in the forest, filling you with a sensation so wistful that it almost brings tears to your eyes. But just like you, the image fizzles and dies out. Tanjirō has his palms on his knees, his chest going up and down as he takes in breath after breath.

"I get what you're saying now," he pants.

You pat his shoulder. "That was better than me. But I also get what you were saying. When I saw that, I felt something. We have a term to describe that kind of feeling. Déjà vu, it's called. It's for when you think you've seen or been somewhere you've never been before."

"Déjà vu," he repeats, his accent melting over the words like butter. "That's beautiful."

───── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────

You didn't think it would be possible to be tired while sleeping, but that's exactly what you felt when you stepped into the dream.

The heavy weight of the day bears down on you, further intensified by the stress that has been accumulating since god knows when. You rub your shoulders, tilting your head in an effort to get rid of the crick that has been bothering you for the whole day.

You wave at Tanjirō half-heartedly, your demeanor telling him all he needs to know.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"Not really. Just tired."

"Long day?"

"Mmhmm." You hum and sit down beside him, scooching closer until your head rest gently on his shoulder. "I just wanna close my eyes and lie down, which is funny because I'm technically already lying down."

He adjusts your position so that you would be more comfortable, his hand rubbing your head up and down, the rhythmic motion setting you at ease.

"Hey," he speaks up after a while. "You wanna see something?"

"What is it?"

"Close your eyes."

You do as he says, anticipating swirling in your stomach. Pinpricks travel up your arms, shooting sparks of warmth down your body like you just sipped a hot drink your parents made for you on a cold day.

"Open your eyes," Tanjirō whispers softly.

You slowly do so, your jaw slightly dropping your open as you take in the scenery before you. You're in a forest drenched in argent moonlight, the branches swaying with the song of stars. A golden stream of light weaves through your vision, and before you know it, you're being surrounded by hundreds of fireflies that forms and unravels like mini galaxies.

You reach your hand out, your eyes wide with wonder as a group of fireflies twist through your fingers, bathing you in their luminescence, spreading sunshine through your body.

"This is amazing, Tanjirō." You say. "How did you manage to do this?"

"I practiced before you came." His attention is solely on you, spellbound by the way your features are illuminated by the glowing bugs. "I figured this might cheer you up since it did for my siblings. Whenever summer comes, we would go to the forest and try to catch them. But we would always release them, because we never have the heart to keep them in a jar. Hanako said that a beautiful sight like this is better shared with other people rather than keep it for your own."

"Wise words for someone so young." You turn to him, resisting the urge to run your fingers through his gold-tinted burgundy hair. "Thank you, Tanjirō."

You go back to admiring the fireflies, quietly talking with him at some points and chuckling when a bug gently boops his nose. In the spaces of the silence, you got to thinking.

It's almost worrying how comfortable you are here, how free and alive you are when you know you're only dreaming. It's a siren song that pours saccharine honey into your ears and blinds you until all you see is a vast, stagnant peace. It would be so easy to succumb, to stay in this place forever. But you have a life to live.

Nevertheless, you would be lying if you say the temptation isn't there. Especially when you have Tanjirō with you. Sweet, caring, amazing Tanjirō, who can brighten up your day with nothing but his smile.

But when you turn around, he's no longer there.

───── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────

There have been times when you arrive at the dream before him.

The first time it happened, you wander around the area with a slowly sinking feeling in your gut that burrows deeper the longer you wait. It led your mind to think about all of the implications that you've never thought about before. What if all of this was coming to an end? What if you have to face the reality that you'll never see him again? Could you dream any longer knowing that he isn't here by your side?

Then he appeared, like he always did, and you couldn't help but run into his arms.

So this time, when your consciousness falls into this hazy place and you don't see that familiar shade of red that stands out like a guiding light, you choose to simply sit down. You just hope that he comes soon, for the last time this happened, you were only able to call his name before you were ripped away.

The air shifts, and you know that he's here. The smile that was on your face died out like a candle when you see him slumped on the ground, shaking furiously. His hands roam frantically over his hips, as if searching for something, and he mutters something under his breath too rapidly for you to catch.

You run over to him, just as he has his hands on his throat, scratching madly and digging his fingers into the skin. Your eyes are wide with panic, never having seen him act this way before, and you crouch down and snatch his hands into yours in one motion to prevent him from hurting himself.

"Tanjirō!" You yell as he struggles in your hold. "Tanjirō! What's wrong?! Tanjirō, look at me!"

He's strong, but you're steadfast and refuse to let him go, not when he's in this state. You continuously call and speak to him until he raises his head, and the haunted look in his ember eyes makes your heart instantly drop into your stomach.

He looks trapped, terrified, eyes constantly flitting around as if what makes him this scared is right around the corner. He looks like he hasn't had a decent night of sleep in a while.

You stare at him, imploring him to recognize you and know that he's in a safe place with you. Finally, a glimmer of light dawns on him, and his shaking becomes less intense, though in no way does that mean that it stopped entirely.

He croaks your name, and the way he says it makes your heart breaks into pieces and your stomach to twist into a tight knot. He says it timidly, brokenly, like it's a fragile thing that he's so afraid of disappearing.

You nod again and again until he is convinced. Your panic heightens when tears well up in his eyes, and before you could react, Tanjiro had thrown himself into your arms.

Even when you're caught off guard, you don't hesitate at all to wrap your arms around him, a hand sinking into his hair. He holds you tight and firm, his fingers curling around the fabric of your clothes as he buries into the crook of your neck, his tears streaming down to your collarbone.

You don't know what to do. You don't know what to do when he's clearly in distress. You don't know what happened to make him this way.

You know what he has been through. He told you of his struggles, all his pain and cracked bone in his body and every time you do, you have an urge to swaddle him and protect him from a world so cruel. How could someone as young as him have gone through so much, how is it fair that his hands are already callused with scars and roughened from training at such an age? He deserves better, he deserves so much better than anything the world can ever offer.

But maybe right now, the only thing you can do is rock him back and forth in your arms, speaking to him in quiet and gentle tones, reminding him that whatever happens, this place is safe for him.

This place is safe for him.

───── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────

"Tanjirō, have you ever thought why us?"

"Hm?" He answers you from his position where he's cuddling with you, his arms circling around your waist and his legs tangled with yours. Ever since what happened last time, he always has to have a point of contact with you, whether it's holding your hand or hugging you. "Why what?"

"Why us in this dream? Why two people from completely different places and time?"

You have no idea why you've been chosen, why this dreamscape continues to pull your unconsciousness into it. An even more upsetting question for you is what happens when it ends?

Perhaps it's a mercy that you don't remember anything when you wake up, because if you do, you just know that you'll be searching endlessly for Tanjiro. You think you already unconsciously do, constantly searching for that spark amongst the strangers in the crowds.

But if one day this all ends and you never see him again, would your life ever be the same? Knowing that in the back of your mind, in some fuzzy corner, there will always be that nagging feeling that you're missing something?

"I don't know," he replies, snuggling more into your warmth. "But whatever the reason, I'm glad it's you."

You nuzzle your nose into the top of his head, breathing the sun from him. "I'm glad it's you, too."

───── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────

The sun sinks lazily, but the last of the daylight still cling stubbornly to the azure sky. Tanjirō stands among a row of houses, staring down at the piece of cloth in his hands, wondering who could've dropped it.

The fabric soaks in the sunset, and as the sky turns orange, he hears rhythmic footsteps against the dirt path running towards him.

He turns his head towards the sound, his nose picking up a scent that he could almost name. From afar, he sees that it's a person, the breeze running its gentle fingers through their hair.

The wind suddenly picks up, causing him to inadvertently close his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, it's right at the moment the person is running past him. But when their eyes lock, the world seems to slow down. Everything falls away and clicks into place at the same time.

His wine-dark eyes become wider as recognition shocks him like lightning. Their name rises from the deepest part of his soul like the tides, coating his tongue like winter snow.

It spills from his mouth in foamy waves—

Tanjirō wakes up.

He doesn't know what he dreamt about. He never seems to remember his dreams.

©️ wisteriadaydreams

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