#but that's not me. once i tune back into myself I get overwhelmed and mean

[poptartmochi]

the storm will pass

[madtotry]

thinking of you, with my head underwater one. — two. — three. — coming soon.

hiccup haddock x reader

a/n. featuring toothless. gn reader. reader's dragon is one i created/came up with myself, youre welcome to ask about it! i plan for this to be a series - and to reveal more soon (if you have any questions/confusions about the plot youre welcome to pop into my inbox with those too) let me know if you want to be added to a taglist for my writing/this series

it hadn't been easy to get you to simply let hiccup look at your dragon — elsa — from afar without panicking, let alone convince you to go on a short flight with him.

so now, as you glide just above the surface of the sea, your gaze remains ahead; keeping an eye on elsa beneath you, and hiccup to your side, in your peripheral vision.

he hasn't said too much, and he probably means it as some sort of polite courtesy in an attempt to not overwhelm you, but it only serves to heighten your nerves at the possibility of him just waiting for the right time to attack you and steal elsa.

"what's her firepower?" he finally asks, at a volume that you think might have been in an attempt not to scare you, but is almost so quiet it gets whipped away even in the calm breeze.

you query a, "what?" in confusion, but he reads it as you not hearing him properly.

"firepower," he repeats kindly, and leans down to mutter something to his dragon, "like this."

a moment later, toothless opens his mouth — causing elsa to twitch just an inch away anxiously — and shoots a blast out of his mouth that flies ahead and disperses in a purple burst a few seconds after.

you tense once you understand, having never seen elsa do anything like that, let alone even just the normal fire you've caught other dragons spurting.

hiccup however, notices your sudden — extra — uneasiness, and doesn't pick up on the real reason.

"you don't have to tell me," he tries to catch your eye with a comforting smile, "i'm just asking because i've never seen a dragon like yours before."

you try to cooperate, "neither have i."

hiccup's head already spins with new questions, but goes easy on you with a simple, "could you tell me about her?" that he hopes is open-ended enough that you don't feel pressured.

elsa lets out a low, quiet, murmur that only you catch that tells you she's just as uncertain as yourself.

you don't know how he keeps being so patient and perceptive, but hiccup notices both you and your dragons' hesitance yet again, and speaks.

with a smile, he says, "this is how he got his name," nodding to toothless, who turns to look in your direction with a grin, mouth wide as he retracts his teeth and extends them back out a moment later proudly.

you can't help but feel the slightest upturn of your lips at toothless's pure joy, and a small hum from elsa and a ruffle of her wings tells you she feels the same; though appears to be better at hiding it than yourself.

"cool, right?" hiccup smiles back at you.

"i can show you more, this guy's full of secrets," he scratches a little crook in toothless's neck, who purrs happily at the affection, "aren't you!"

it slips out in a moment of comfort that you don't entirely hate, when you finally say, "she floats."

it takes a second for you to realise what you've said, and another to notice how nonsensical it sounds. but hiccup's reaction doesn't reflect this, if anything the sparkle in his eyes is just that little bit brighter - like he knows he's making progress. and his smile has not once faltered, but it has grown just a bit softer, perhaps more genuine?

he leaves room for you to elaborate, so when you don't — whether that be from the high-tide of anxiety splashing at your chest, or inexplicable embarrassment — he says:

"could you show us?"

elsa's sudden jolt away is unmistakable, and it doesn't take even a breath for you to tune into her uneasiness, and to tense yourself.

your head shakes without you realising, and all you can muster is a quick mumbled, "sorry," before elsa flies the two of you away; hopefully to somewhere you two are familiar with, somewhere safe.

you don't catch the way both his and toothless's expressions fall as you exit, nor the way he still politely stays where he was an makes no effort to chase after you - lest he scare you or elsa any further. he simply watches with a hint of sadness, and hopes you will be around the next time he flies through here.

[zorosleftshoe]

Cherry Blossoms - (c.b)

Pairing: Colby Brock x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, hospitals

“I’ve always wanted to see the cherry blossom trees.” The confession rolled off my tongue like honey as I struggled to keep my breathing under control. “They,” a hard wheeze escapes my chapped lips and I feel two hands clasp onto my trembling frame with such purpose. “They’ve always been my favorite.” My lungs scream at me to stop speaking; to savor my breath as I struggle to keep my eyes open.

“Sh, you’re okay.” His voice sounds like a distant memory as he comforts me on death’s doorstep. It wasn’t meant to be like this.

“Promise?” I gasp out still attempting to steady my breathing. His free hand that isn’t clasped tightly around my own presses against my stomach and I know there should be pain at the contact but my body has since gone numb and all I can feel is coldness creeping in.

“Pinky.” He sputters out. Even through glossy eyes I can see the tears that stain his cheeks and I reach a shaky hand up to swipe them away. I force a smile onto my face as my thumb caresses the apple of cheekbone.

“No one as pretty as you should cry.” He laughs at this. A laugh that has an underlying sadness like he’s quietly saying goodbye. “I never got to tell you.” His head tilts up at my words and I’m met with icy blue eyes that could rival any ocean. “I’m in love with you.” The words sit heavily in the air between us and I can’t tell if he’s digesting the gravity of them or the situation that lies out before him. “I’m in love with you, Colby.” A dam breaks then. Sobs wrack his larger frame as he holds himself up to keep from collapsing on top of me.

“You,” he pauses. His eyes, now red rimmed and glossy, locking onto my own. “You love me?”

“Then, now, and forever.” The man in front of me crumbles like paper at the simple words but all I can focus on is the overwhelming smell of copper. His sniffles keep me distracted from the realization of what that means.

“Then stay with me.” He all but demands. “Stay here. Love me. Allow me to love you.” Now he’s using both hands to put pressure on what I can only assume is the wound that’s giving off the horrid smell.

“Promise to take me to see the cherry blossom trees.” My words are soft as I force them from my tongue. “Promise to be there with me as they dance in the wind.” Colby nods. He nods because I know if he speaks his voice will waver and he can no longer be strong for me.

The wind blows around us and the trees away to their own tune as sirens fill the once peaceful silence. The last thing I see if Colby’s fear filled eyes as I succumb to the darkness.

~~~

An incessant beeping fills my ears when I come to. Begrudgingly, my eyes flutter open and I hiss at the brightness of the room. My nose scrunches up at the smell of antiseptics and I force myself to breathe through my parted lips.

“You’re awake.” The words are hushed, timid. My eyes dart towards each corner of the room in attempt to find the culprit when they land on the exhausted brunette. His lips are chapped from the constant gnawing on them and his half lidded eyes are a good indicator he hasn’t had much sleep since arriving. “Let me get the nurse.” Before he can move too far my fingers wrap around his wrist and he slowly sits back down in the plastic chair.

“You look like shit.” My voice is hoarse from the lack of use and Colby chuckles in response.

“Polite as ever, darling.” His eyes wander towards the door and I lightly tug on his wrist to regain his attention. “I really should get the nurse.”

“I love you.” Colby fumbles with the drawstring of his XPLR hoodie but I notice how his face flushes in embarrassment. “I know it took me nearly dying to say this to you but I can’t just keep it tucked away in my back pocket anymore.” I use my free hand to trace the sharpness of his jaw and he nuzzles closer into my palm. “I dream of you. My heart calls to you, Colbs.”

“I have never felt for another person the way I feel for you. It scares me to my core what I would give to just have you rest your gaze on me.” Colby takes both of my hands in his and rests his forehead against my own as we lean into each other’s space.

In that moment, as we held one another in a warm embrace, I felt our hearts become one.

[ganondoodle]

i have seen people talk about how hard it is to draw anything if you have aphantasia (which is good to talk about and true and valid and also intersting to read and this post isnt to devalue that, two things can coexist etc etc)

i personally struggle with the opposite; i have incredible imagination, i'd say it's my best and only "inate talent", (this is not a brag ..) all stories i think about are movies, i can stop them, change camera angle and poses, rotate ever object however i want, place lighting sound and voices, even styles, i switch from ghibli to botw to fortiches style, even into the style of a comic i recently read which wasnt even animated, the only thing that only works half the time is music-

and that all might sound fantastic, but its a mess, it goes too fast and too quickly, things never play out one way, theres interruption, involuntarily sudden changes to other subjects, i feel like struggling to keep an angry horse on one path, it makes me waste HOURS each day just reversing and redoing a scene like im a movie director wizard in my head, theres no ONE finished version, it changes everytime yet i go back over and over again to make it better, i forget most of it within a few hours anyway; even IRL when someone tells me about a memory and they are not sure if i was with them during it once they start to explain trying to make me remember it instead i will imagine it, in the end i wont be sure if i actually remembered or if i just imagined it too real, it scares me how much i forget and cant remember only for my mind to make shit up, makign me doubt my own memory (its weird how it works, i have horrible geographical memory, when i drive somwhere i have known my entire life i need to remember the path to it by imagining driving it, i remember significant things but not the path to them or how they connect or in what order, i have to go through it in my head every single time)

by far the worst part though is that extreme disconnect between whats in my mind and what i can do, just because i can imagine things like that doesnt mean i can draw it (god i WISH), nothing i have ever drawn is how it was in my head, the few things you get to see are the ones i won the fight against myself with to keep going and say 'good enough' at some point the speed is a problem too, the things playing in my head, sometimes even multiple at the same time, play like, again, a movie, whatever im trying to draw is rarely ONE thing, its a whole scene that plays over and over, i want to draw it all but it wont work bc my mind is too fast and i am too slow, it makes me try to skip ahead and get things done as fast as possible, it NEVER works (also too much, theres so many things in my head, i have almost the entirety of the totk rewrite in my head already, novels worth of lore and story for my other projects, its overwhelming how much is in there that i cannot get out and on paper)

its why comics take me so long to make, why detailed paintings are so rare, its the rare times i can force myself to try and tune out my mind and just work on what is in front of me, usually works for a few hours .. if i can manage to reach that sort of focus at all, its why basic sketches of characters are so much easier to do bc i dont have to fight as hard to just draw a character doing nothing- as soon as i want to make it a sketch page of things and scenes the movies are back and are there to haunt me until i cry and give up after hours of trying to keep up with my mind that i will never be able to catch up to (and this is only about drawing .. )

i know skill and speed increase over time, but i wont ever get to where my mind is, its always ahead and trying to skip and jump towards it only makes me stumble and fall flat on my face- maybe its ADHD, maybe its the autism, maybe its the depression, maybe its just me, maybe its just all of that

what im trying to say is, head full, too much thought, too fast, never able to translate it into viewable things in the way and speed as my head works, i explode

[cozy-cinnamon-roll]

Lee!Alastor Headcanons Let's Gooooo

so sorry for the word wall... but I cannot be concise about the scary demon man 😅

Words cannot describe how much I love the idea of Alastor's accent slipping when he's tickled. It's hard for me to picture it in my mind because it never really slips on-screen (although his "WELL! Looks like I need a visit t' the TAY-ler!" line gets pretty close lol) but GAH the man was born and raised in Louisiana, he's gotta have at least a little southern drawl buried under that Transatlantic thing he's got going on.

{ helps that I grew up in the south, and I know how common it is for folks with very faint/non-existant accents to suddenly go FULL TWANG if something gets them riled up (or, ya know, ✨flustered✨) I don't even have a southern accent myself but I still start to drawl my vowels a little bit if I get wound up enough. }

I'm also a huge fan of the hc some people have suggested that Al loses his static filter when he's tickled, falling into genuine laughter. I have a bit of a hybrid version: I feel like as he resists and tries to suppress his giggles the radio filter gets thicker and thicker, the way it sounds when you're losing a radio station... but then once you REALLY get him good and he can't fight back the hysterics anymore, it'd just drop out completely, and all you can hear is his genuine laughter.

I expect there'd definitely be more and more of that crackling radio background static too (not the voice filter, but the lil buzzy crackle noise that happens when he's not speaking) the more flustered he gets, since that seems to happen pretty consistently when he's nervous.

Ya know that lil squeaky noise Al makes at the very end of "Stayed Gone" (literally the last sound you hear before Vox's "FAHAHAHAHACK!!")? I picture his voice doing a lil compressed version of that noise if somebody sneak-attacks him at juuuust the right moment. Basically his version of a squeal of surprise.

That said.... Alastor seems to have a pretty strong hold on his startle reflex. I mean, a fucking chandelier falls directly in front of him and his expression doesn't falter. So I have a theory that Al is able to keep such a tight hold on his startle reflex because his knee-jerk response to being startled isn't fight or flight, but freeze... a literal "deer-in-the-headlights" if you will 🦌

THEREFORE I feel like that deer-in-the-headlights instinct means that he'd be completely disoriented by tickling, anticipated or not. So few people touch him at all that the mere sensation of being tickled would likely overwhelm him very quickly. Add the tension between his panic and the equal and opposite reluctance to stop it (because, lee)... being tickled would just completely short-circuit the poor guy's brain.

I'm SURE there will be a part 2 to this in the future, so stay tuned! 😁

[pinemartenstudios]

"Bares, qué lugares tan gratos para conversar. No hay como el calor del amor en un bar"

I've been working on this one for very long. I've started this canvas on February 20th, but the first actual concept for this illustration goes back to 2021, to my extremely early fandom days.

When I read Hollyberry's loading screen fact I doodled her trying to beat her glass record in Sparkling's bar, while Herb and Vamp were cheering on her and Mint Choco was playing some sick violin tunes. I proposed myself to finish that sketch one day... and I never did xd. That didn't mean I didn't forget about that doodle. The game kept evolving.

More little facts were introduced. And the bar from that tiny illustration started growing. Herb was revealed to be able to play de piano in a First Anniversary illustration, and I didn't want Mint Choco to play his violin all alone, so no they're playing music together u.u. And Cocoa went to hear Mint Choco play, of course.

Wildberry became real, so he came cuz Hollyberry dragged him. He went to the corner all alone cuz he's a bit overwhelmed by the ambient. Rye usually hits bars and orders stuff, so I thought she would be here too, probably thinking about how could she get new hints on catching Chili Pepper.

Caviar and Candy Diver are celebrating another day of hard work, and finally we have Royal Margarine, singing. And what is he singing? The song that ended helping me develop the ambient for the scene: "Al calor del amor en un bar", of Gabinete Caligari. The lyrics of the song really suit his character :0.

I wanted to challenge myself with this one. I wanted to create a scene with a lot of different characters all at once, without overwhelming the space and making everyone perfectly noticeable. And I included 11. This was pretty enjoyable to draw, both the process and the final result have been worth the time. Hope you like this one!

BTW: Here's the song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUNVmH2ukwY&ab_channel=GabineteCaligari-Topic

[avocadofics]

Dealing with the executive function

Aizawa x autistic reader

This is for my fellow autistic. Not to romanticize asd but because we don’t have enough media design especially for us. And I want to write fanfic that I can be comforted by on days when my adhd and asd traits make it hard

Synopsis: the reader is having bad executive functions and feel shitty aizawa come home to comfort reader.

Content Warning: executive function problems, anxious thoughts, crying, mentions of forgetting to eat, self doubt. Stay safe friends

You laid on back to the floor. Giving off sighs and a few tears. You had things to do but they were the things you hated doing. You remember shota mentioned something about needing it done. So what did you do?

Spend the majority of the day fighting youself to get started doing anything. You wanted to cry.

You didn’t want to disappoint shota but you felt like you most definitely were. What time was it even? would shota be home soon to see you’ve done nothing.

Oh what about dinner. You haven’t made dinner. Each second of time just added more stress to your list. A tear or two fell from your eyes. While you were laying there crying The cat walked over and plopped himself on your chest. Choco your cat had alway been in tune with your emotions and the weight from the cat helped you breath even if just a little.

“Hey choco, you think shota is gonna be annoyed at me?”

“Mreow”

“Yeah probably not. Doent mean I can’t sit here and think that way” of course right as you started to feel slightly better was when you heard your front door open and the footsteps of you boyfriend walking.

“Why,” his voice spoke up “Are you on the floor?”

“Bad romantic partner with no emotional energy to deal with anything sit in floor. Floor make thing better” you tired looking boyfriend sat down next to you and started petting the cat.

“What’s the problem.” That one thing you appreciated about shota he was never one to beet around the bush. If he knew you were upset hed ask you once if you didn’t want to answer now he’ll ask you later.

“The Chores. All the thing you ask me to do. I spent all day fighting myself cause I hate doing them and I just did nothing today at all.” Your could feel your tears starting to get bigger in your eyes.

“When did you eat last,”

“Huh?”

“When did you eat last,”

“Breakfast I think I don’t remember if I ate lunch or not.” He gave me one of his gentle sighs and stands up.

“Okay up. I’m going to have you go lie down while I make food and do a few chores.”

“But you just got home from work and guy normally take a nap so you can feel decent enough for hero work tonight.” You say staring up at him as he stood above you.

“I’ll see if anyone can cover my zone tonight. You are overwhelmed and I’m not gonna let you deal with it alone. If I got to tired from work you would call up the school and make them give me a day off. I think me taking one night from hero work to support my partner is aloud.” He put his hand down waiting for you to grab it.

“Okay,” you grabbed his hand and he helped you up. You headed to the bedroom exhausted from fighting yourself mentally. You wrapped yourself in a blanket and opened you phone to watch something.

Shota walked in behind you where he switches his hero clothes and puts in some grey sweatpants and a t-shirt you had bought him.

After a few minutes  you smell the amazing sent of one of your safe foods. The one you’ve been talking about the last few days but just haven’t had the energy to make it. You were glad that he was taking the night off. Night where shota took time off meant cuddles and getting to rewatch shows while eating yummy food.

Shota walked in and handed you a plate. He moved his way into his side of the bed.

“Thank you shota,”

“Anytime.” You leaned into shota and he wrapped an arm around you.

[dxkk1104]

First kiss

Hot tea was cooling by the open window. In the background could be heard the quiet murmuring of Sakura, who was most likely singing a song under her breath. She often did this, Sasuke noted, but he never asked her what the tune was. He concluded that he still had time.

The vanilla scent reached his nostrils. He glanced at the teacup, its perfect rim, well-formed handle and beautiful hand-painted flowers. Such looking porcelain would not want to be spoiled. Every time he picked it up and put it to his lips, it could end up falling. Sasuke was aware of this, and still enjoyed taking it in his hands and observing it from all sides, drinking warm drinks from it and marveling at its beauty. It was a selfish act that he was ashamed of after so many attempts to become a better person. 

"Do you like it?" the melodious voice he already knew so well, since he heard it almost every day, snapped him out of his reverie. 

He had been notoriously drifting his thoughts elsewhere lately. 

"Yes. Where did you get it?"

He took a sip from it, not taking his eyes off Sakura. The woman smiled softly, then took a seat across from him. With a mug of steaming tea, she looked out at the sky full of stars that reflected in her pupils. Sasuke couldn't stop falling in love with her more and more every day. 

"I did it myself. I was at a pottery workshop three months ago with Ino and Naruto." she squatted a cup in front of him "We should go there too, if you want."

Sasuke nodded, keeping his eyes too long on her hand, causing Sakura to get tense and quickly take it from there. Could it be that through his two-year absence, she had stopped having the same feelings for him as before? Had Sasuke begun to misinterpret her hospitality? The fact that she allowed him to stay with her until he decided what to do with himself could only have been an act of friendly service, nothing more. But then it would mean that he should get out of her apartment at the earliest opportunity. Sakura had her own life, and Sasuke could be in her way. And that's exactly how he felt, as if he were an intruder. 

He rose abruptly, accidentally tipping his teacup over in his haste. The tea spilled on the table, but fortunately the china did not disintegrate. Instead, a scratch formed on it. A bloody scratch.

"Sorry."

Putting it aside, he didn't look at Sakura once. It made him feel stupid; /him/. 

"What's wrong, Sasuke?" 

She approached him, but he dodged her, as if in an amok walking toward the exit. His feelings overwhelmed him. He felt too much at once. He was not used to this. He had spent the last few months alone, traveling and rearranging everything in his mind so that he could come back stronger and a newer man, not to hurt her again by not controlling his emotions.

"Nothing, it is not important." he said rather quietly, grabbing the coat hanging next to the door.

""It is important." sounded her voice firmly, "Sasuke, don't do it again. Don't cut yourself off from me. I'm here to understand."

He stopped and swallowed his saliva with difficulty. 

"I can't tell you what happened, Sakura, I'm not able to."

"Then show me."

His legs betrayed him; his body did what it wanted; his mind thought only of her as the woman he loved. Sasuke found himself next to her and kissed her, confidently and greedily, as if he hadn't fought with his head and his conflicting thoughts at all a moment ago. And Sakura returned the kiss, capturing his face in her gentle hands. The scratch on the cup can be repaired. 

[tac-bat]

Reboot

Characters - Siffrin, Mirabelle, Loop (everyone else is mentioned)

Summary - Siffrin tries something new.

Word Count - 2,434k

Warnings - Graphic description of violence, Major Character Death (but that's to be expected)

Tags - Body Horror/Blood and Gore/POV Second Person/Temporary Character Death/Hurt No Comfort/Unconventional Formatting

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ACT 6 DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T DONE ACT 6! PLEASE DO ACT 6!

this work is posted on AO3 if you prefer it over Tumblr, I love this game a lot so I thought I'd try something new and also post my writing here, enjoy! :3

You wake, greeting the pale sky. Your eye feels heavy. The scent of burnt sugar rests deep in your sinuses, and the sunlight warms your skin. You close your eye, yet the sun denies you that familiar darkness. You take a deep breath.

In—

       One

             Two

                   Three 

                           Four

                                    Hold it, and out—

                           Five

                    Six

         Seven

Eight. 

You opened your eye again and smiled. A genuine smile for the first time in—stars, years you think.  

“-frin?” The housemaiden came into view, her smile soft as. “Good morning!” She looked away. “Well, more like, good afternoon, I guess…”

For once, you don’t have to force a smile. “Aftermorning to you too, Mira!” 

The housemaiden looked a little taken aback but gave a short laugh. “Yes, aftermorning works too.” 

"Awww, thank you!" You stood, feeling the grass on your gloved palms once more. “Coined that one myself!”  

She watches you; you know why. “You sound a lot more chipper than usual. Did you have a good dream?” She looks content with your change of behaviour yet curious. 

“Oh Mari,” You grinned, touching your chest. “I’m hurt.”

“Ah —no, I didn’t mean to imply you weren't.” She closed her hands nervously. “It’s just—well—“

“I don’t talk as much." You mused.

“Yes, that’s exactly it!” The housemaiden nodded. “You changed!” She concluded.

You laughed—a light, hardy laugh. Being here so long, you already went through the stages of grief, depression, and insanity as you tried and failed to break this. A piece of yourself was taken every time you wound back here. The numbness has faded, replaced with a mania you've grown to like. Who cares if your companions are taken aback by your change in personality? They get used to it soon. 

"Well, my dear Mari, change is encouraged here!” And oh, what a welcome change it is! You’ll take this over the crushing weight in your chest any day! You walked past her. 

“Might as well look on the bright side for what we have to do tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Frin—wait!”

You hummed, turning around on your heel to face her. 

“I was thinking, before we fight the king. Maybe we could make it special somehow—“

[Zone out.] 

"Oh, I’d love to, but I’d prefer my own room tonight! I’m sure there’s an inn somewhere.” You beamed, watching the Housemaiden blink, confused. It didn’t matter if you went off script; you disproved an old theory that nothing breaks if you do. You had a new one to test out at all angles now.

“Ah.” She’s disappointed; you couldn’t care less; she won’t remember this. But, in her usual fashion, she picked herself back up, trying to appear strong. “No worries! We can meet up at the edge of Dormont on our way to the house.”

You gave a short chuckle. “Of course, Mari. Want me to tell everyone to meet at the clock tower?”

“Oh, um��yes! But do you—” 

[Zone out.]

My my, catching her off guard again? Perhaps you should take it slow; you wouldn't want to overwhelm her.

“I always remember, Mirabelle.” You tuned back in, pointing at yourself.

The Housemaiden hummed. “Alright then… But I made a—“

[Zone out.]

You think about it for just a moment. Then you realize she won’t remember, and neither will anyone else. It’s better to see them as actors; it makes that annoying grief throb less. But how silly is it to grieve for someone alive—talking and acting as they’ve always had? Stupid. She soon takes her leave, and you’re left alone. Might as well churn through today to the part that matters. You’ve seen everything already. So, you—

[Zone out.]

You stood on the path to the Favor Tree. The sun is setting as dusk takes over the sky. The Fighter, Kid, and Researcher should be at the tower to meet with the Housemaiden. You caught glimpses of their confused faces, but that did it matter. Even if you get new dialogue, it won’t amount to anything. Not this time, at least. You can always listen back if you need to. However, you needed to be alone. Certain nobody would come to interrupt you. So, with nothing else to do, you approach the Favor Tree. It stood tall, a grand set piece. You can’t remember when you were this close to it; it looked the same; everything did. You might as well improvise a use for your max strength instead of killing a sadness, would be nice practice. So you climb, and up and up the light grew dimmer, but you liked the challenge. It was thrilling to go so off script; a new scene can happen! Even if it’s just you. But that was secondary to your new theory—your current obsession. You’ll bend this until it breaks, then find another one to conquer in your prison. The branches are thinning, you didn’t care, you weaved, you rose, and finally—you poke your head above the leaves.

And the stars danced. For a moment, your breath was stolen, and your permeating smile fell with it. You stared in awe. It’s been too long since you sat back and just admired this plane of existence. You’re so used to going to and from Dormont and the house that you rarely see them anymore. It was nice. You could see a faint outline of the House of Change; you flicked your gaze to the top floor, where the King awaits. Ah yes, waiting. The reason you’re doing all of this. It’s a simple theory: what happens if you don’t go ? Easy as pie. You glanced back to the sky—the stars, watching them glitter and shine, free to do as they please. A certain one catches your eye; brighter and bigger than the rest, all the other ones were one with the sky. This one, as stupid as you sound, feels like it’s looking at you. You pause, and a foreign feeling washes over you. What is it called? Your body felt calm and lax; there was no need to act, no need for a show; the curtain already closed. You focus on that star; it grows brighter. Your eyelid feels heavy; you could be lulled to sleep if you really wished for it. Your eye slipped shut—for but a moment. You breathed in, then out, and forced yourself to look back up.  

Safe. You felt safe. 

Memories flicker, short and sporadic, mixed. You remember telling a joke, eating a fish head with two adults, and running away—walking with your party—your friends to the next town. The sand stuck between your toes, the sweep of waves on the coast. You could hear bustling streets, children laughing, the wind howling, a kid crying, someone soothing them—no, that was you. These are all you.The star was near blinding, brilliant, and bright—it asked for something, but what did it need? Another memory appeared, more complete than the rest. You’re a toddler, looking at the stars as someone holds you. Her features are unreadable. A shooting star flew by, leaving a streak in the air. You gasped; joy brimmed through you as you clasped your hands, babbling a phrase under your breath, once, twice, thrice. You folded your hands to make sure it’s safe.

That your wish is safe...

Tears fell from your cheek; the star could be the sun now for how it shined. It waited patiently; it didn’t have a face, but you could sense its presence. If you focus enough, you can imagine it’s talking.

[What do you seek?]  Its voice was layered, echoing in your skull, yet it didn’t overwhelm you. 

“An end.”  You choked out, not caring how weak you sound.

[To this?]  The sky seemed to warp around you, tilting, curious. 

“I want this to be over!” A sob escaped you; everything that you pushed back, crashed over you all at once.“Let muh— me get out of here—stars! I beg of you—please, please let me out of here!” You heaved, grabbing your hair. “I can’t go on anymore. I can’t do this anymore! Please, please get me out—“

A long sush wrapped around you, soothing. You swallowed, wiping away tears.

[Do you recall your wish?] 

You blinked, confused for a moment—but as if on cue, the star’s presence seemed to lift the veil, you did. You nod. 

[Do you desire it still?”]

“Yes!” You spat. “ But I’ve been stuck here for so long—winding, replaying, trying to find anything new, but I can't, I just can’t!”  You’re crying again. “I barely recognize them anymore!”

It hummed. [This paradox precedes even us; as much as we desire to give you a trivial out, we cannot. There are some things you cannot begin until the previous one ends.]

You looked down, defeated; you should have expected this.

[However.]  

Your head snapped up, breath-catching. 

[We could give you a more unconventional means to achieve your new wish—]

“Anything .” You nearly sprung up, almost forgetting your place in the trees. “I’ll do anything; try anything just—please.” You tried not to break down again, sensing the stars' hesitance.

[It will hurt.]

“I don’t care!” You screamed. “I‘ve died hundreds— thousands of times!” Your throat hurts. “Pain is nothing!” Except it was, no matter how much time has passed, you feel the star knows it too. Slowly, yet surely, you watched as it dipped; the sky warped around the star as it travelled down, down, down towards you. It was surreal, if you dropped a marble in a thin, slack sheet of silk. The star floated before you. As if by a forgotten instinct, you cupped your hands, watching it land in your palms. It was warm and soft. You watched the pulled sky regain its shape.

[If you do this, you will no longer be yourself.] It warned 

“Forever changed?” You guessed. It didn’t answer, but the silence was all that was needed. You wanted to laugh, but nothing came out. Well—you held the star a little tighter; if you die, you know where you’ll be.

So you wished; squeezing your eye you repeated it over and over— once, twice, thrice, more times for good measure. You folded your hands over the star to keep it close, unable to conceal its glow. You brought your hands to your mouth. Hesitating, you breathed in and out, then swallowed it.

 ...O-Oh.

You trembled, lurching as needles travelled down your throat and your stomach. A heat so intense spread through you, making your skin blister, your clothes melted with you-- you're nerves should've burned off by now, but you still feel it, smell it. Oh stars, oh STARS! It writhes inside of you, clawing at you. Every inch of your body felt like it was being strung, stretched, and boiled. A gurgled screech erupted from you, blood sputtering through your teeth. A headache erupted, worse than you’ve ever felt; it blinded you like you were staring into the damn sun! your vision was bright, so so bright. You grasped your skull to no avail. Doubling over; blood, drool, sweat, and tears mixed into one. The weight from your cloak and hat, are gone. From reflex, you tried curling up, forgetting where you are. 

And

       lost

               your

                      balance.

You feel through the branches, feeling them scrape and peel at your skin. You couldn’t scream, could barely move, your lungs filled with blood—suddenly, you bounced, tipped backwards a little. As if you were…Ahhhhhhhh. A thick pointed branch impaled through your chest met your gaze. It glimmered in the moonlight thanks to your blood. Slowly, you began sliding off it, your weight making it bend. With a chrunch, you landed on the grass. Its blades stabbing into you're muscles. But the star didn't wait; you watched in frozen agony as light pooled out of your chest, spreading—warping, fusing. Your head—stars, your head! You curled up, feeling a pressure building inside of it. An awful, growing pressure! You wanted it—no, needed it to come out. Come out! Come out come out come out come out come out come out come out come out come out come out come out come out come out COME OUT COME OUT COME OUT OME OUT COME OUT COME OUTCOMEOUTCOMEOUTCOMEOUT—  

LET.

ME.

OUT!!!!

You wake, greeting the pale sky—no, leaves. Leaves of the Favor Tree. A gasp slipped out, echoing—followed by a gag as your mouth didn’t move, yet noise slid out. Shaking, you sat up, looking down at yourself in a growing horror. Your skin was like the night sky, tiny white flakes shimmering deep within you.  A four-pointed star shined brilliantly where you were impaled. Slowly, you brought your hands to your head, feeling the soft and warm texture.You freeze, and for a moment you’re paralyzed by what you’ve become, but soon, you laugh. A high, muffled laugh as waves of pain are still washing over you. Stars, it wasn’t kidding about changing you, oh stars, they weren’t kidding! You cry, yet you’re unsure if there’s even tears falling. You lay back down on the grass and take a deep breath.

Innnnnn—

                  One

                         Two

                                  Three 

                                             Four

                                                        Hold it, and ouuuuuut—

                                     Five

                            Six

              Seven

Eight.  

Wheeeeew . You stared up at the leaves, enjoying waking up to something new. It was only then that you felt it—not in your stomach but a presence around you—a person you thought lost and warped by time. You couldn’t see them, but you knew, you knew who it was. So that’s what it meant, about things not beginning until one ends. You sigh, long and hard. Well, you’re here now, with them; you might as well have fun with—hm, it feels weird to say their name. Should give them a new one; it’s the least you can do.You ponder, trying to think of one that fits them. Soon, your eyes creased upwards. Stardust sounds nice. And oh, it seems he just started their journey by getting that memory; if you’re this closely connected to them, it wouldn’t hurt to give a little exposition, right? You spoke, not physically but— mentally, somehow. It’s like you always knew how to do it. He’s taken aback, freaked out, but they’ll grow accustomed to it. You stand, legs shaking. You glanced up into the Favor Tree, its branches undisturbed. You don't know what you expected. By instinct, you grabbed for your— huh? Cool metal is pinched between your fingers, you bring it up to your face, staring at the coin. You giggle, not questioning how it survived your transformation. Hoisting it up, you give a toast to the sky.

Cheers.

[thegingerwrites]

It’s like tuning into a radio frequency. The dial spins without his control and suddenly the audio sharpens into something intelligible.

I bet your Master found you difficult at times.

He’s still new to this. Dying and then living on, they don’t come as naturally as one might think. He came to in Obi-Wan’s arms, filled with Light for the first time in years. The first thing he heard in his new sort-of life was his name, the one his mother gave him, and Obi-Wan’s voice. Anakin.

It was enough joy to nearly break him. The pendulum swung so hard as to nearly topple over before finding something like balance.

He likes the feeling of it, balance. He understands now why the masters at the temple harped on it so much. Obi-Wan says that he might be more balanced than any of them now, that he understands more intimately than anyone what lies in the dark and what it means to find the light.

There is so much and so little to do in this kind of existence. The whole of the universe has opened up to him and it’s overwhelming to say the least. Obi-Wan says it is natural to stay close to those one knew in life, guiding them when necessary but more often than not simply offering a comforting presence.

He never had much experience with Force ghosts in life. He didn’t have that kind of intimate connection with a Force user until later in life and then spent so many of his years denying it. He didn’t know that Obi-Wan sometimes sought guidance from Qui-Gon after he passed. He didn’t know how often he failed to receive it. The thought tears at him, a little. Even though it’s in the past.

Anakin never got to finish my training.

The sound of his name coming from her brings the scene rapidly into focus, like giving a holoprojector just the right thump, the image shifting from electric blue fuzz to life-like clarity in an instant. He sees Ahsoka, knows the conversation she is having and who she is speaking to. He knows what she is about to say even if he can’t quite make himself believe it just yet.

Before the end of the Clone Wars, I walked away from him. And the Jedi.

The memory doesn’t hurt him anymore. Once, it was a wound he was unsure he would survive.

She did the right thing then. She became stronger for it. He is so relentlessly proud of her even now.

Sometimes even the right reasons have the wrong consequences.

This is the part that makes him want to shake her, to appear physically and give her a piece of his mind. It takes him a second to process her meaning, but once he does, once he thinks he does, he wants to make her take it back.

“How could she say that?” Anakin says—shouts to Obi-Wan. “She thinks she’s responsible? For everything that happened? For me?”

He knows Obi-Wan wasn’t paying particular attention to this conversation, but he forces Obi-Wan to listen in. He suspects that his new presence in the Force keeps Obi-Wan more present as well. That without him, Obi-Wan might have already joined the great oneness that is the Force. He suspects Obi-Wan likes it this way instead.

“She doesn’t really think that, does she?”

Obi-Wan strokes his beard, a habit he developed in life and hasn’t given up in death. “She’s lived a long life. Plenty of time to come to terms with what happened.”

“But how could she blame herself? She was a child. She should blame me, blame Palpatine. Someone actually responsible.”

Obi-Wan smiles at him a little sadly. “I happen to know something of guilt myself and it isn’t always logical.”

Anakin scoffs. “I might not be able to tell her how I feel but I can knock some sense into you right now. You weren’t to blame either. I was an adult. I made my own choices.”

Obi-Wan holds up both hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, I accepted things as they are long ago. I only mean to suggest that knowing something to be true and feeling it are two entirely different things.”

A lesson Anakin has learned intimately.

“You’ll get your chance to set things right in due time,” Obi-Wan says, placing a gentle hand on Anakin’s shoulder. They aren’t exactly corporeal as they are but they both had bodies long enough to find the gesture comforting. “I know it.”

Anakin takes a deep breath—another unnecessary gesture but one that accomplished the goal of calming him down. He releases his outrage to the Force and finds the same understanding as Obi-Wan. The opportunity will come, he just has to be patient. He finds that patience comes easier to him now than it ever did before.

What do we do then?

We wait. We hope. We fight. And we do better the next time. We have to.

[hyperfixationstation128]

Chapter Six: Dinner and a Show

Rating: E (fluff/romance)

Summary: Gale treats Arcane to a much-needed meal and a private magic lesson, but the newfound connection they share feels far more powerful than any gift Mystra could bestow.

Word Count: 8,373

Once more, this is a longer chapter. I really appreciate y'alls patience with me as I worked. I think this chapter came out really nicely, so I hope you enjoy! Continue reading beneath the break!

There was a soft silence that surrounded Gale and Arcane as they made their way to his tower. The lights now snuffed out in the many shops and homes that lined their path, a few lone stragglers roaming about as they made their ways back home to rest for the night, awaiting the morrow’s ambling workday. Arcane fidgeted with the amulet in her hands as they ambled, her thumb gently stroking over the smooth-cut purple gemstone, fingers fumbling with the silver chain from which it hung.

She wasn’t quite sure why she needed it so badly. Sure, she wanted it because it was her grandfather’s and he had abandoned her with nary a note to remember him by, but whenever she thought about the boiling rage she felt at the prospect of never having it again, she was astounded by just how angry she had been. Something about getting his belongings back, the amulet especially, called to her; sang in her blood like some mighty need.

The sound of Gale’s voice beside her snapped her out of her thoughts. “I take it that stone means a great deal to you, yes? You mentioned it was your grandfather’s?”

Arcane glanced up at him, noting his inquisitive look. “Yes. He, uh, left rather suddenly, close to five years ago.” She felt her breath catch in her throat, the painful memories threatening to pull tears from her eyes. She shook her head slightly and sighed. “I haven’t heard from him in a long time, so when I heard my papa was sellin’ his things to make ends meet, I set out to find them. This is just one of his myriad of little trinkets.”

“Ah, I can see how you might think it’s just a trinket, but it is, in fact, imbued with magic.” He held up a finger to solidify his point. “You don’t feel that slight tingle in your hand? The dull pulse in your teeth? It’s faint, but powerful.” He drummed his fingers against his cheek.

Arcane’s teeth instinctively grinded against each other. “I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised that grandda owned several magical items. He was always fond of secrets.” Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “Nor should I be surprised that he kept all of them from me, even if I did think I was special in his eyes.” A distant bang followed by drunken roarous laughter made Arcane jump, a memory of the rowdy pirates seared her mind. She recalled the feeling of their filthy hands on her body, groping her as she passed.

“Such is the way of those who are in tune with Mystra’s gifts.” Gale chimed in,  offering her a kind smile, one which crinkled at his eyes. “You are quite the mystery, yourself. I must confess, since I saw you during the storm, I’ve had this near overwhelming need to learn more about you. There’s something… indecipherable about you.”

“‘Indecipherable’, eh?” She chuckled wryly, shaking her head to clear it of the flashback. “You certainly know how to charm a woman.” She pocketed the amulet, considering his words for a moment. “What do you mean you saw me in the storm?”

The rosy flush painted his cheeks once more. “Ahh, well, I was having a relaxed day in my tower; partaking in a particularly lovely cup of tea, when all of a sudden, I heard a jarring roar of thunder.” His hands gesticulated in the air as he spoke; she liked that about him. “But this was no ordinary thunder, I thought to myself. The sheer resonance with which it crashed simply had to be magical in nature. I looked out onto the horizon, aided by my enchanted spyglass, where I saw it: a conjured, localized storm, the biggest I’d seen in a while, making a victim of a pirate ship.”

“My, quite jarring, indeed…” She trailed off, the flash of swords, the roar of thunder, the scent of rain mixed with blood flashed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images were burned behind her eyelids, inescapable, even in darkness. The fighting, the shouting; gods, the blood…

He continued on, his eyes glittering with what Arcane assumed to be amazement as he did so. “As previously stated, I recognized this storm to be magical in nature, and thus, had to find the source.” His hands stopped moving, and he paused to look at her. His eyes made Arcane’s heart flutter. “And there I saw it. A woman - you - standing in the eye of this monumental storm, surrounded by pirates; fighting with such ferocity, such capability, it was a near devastating blow to my ego! I couldn’t just stand by and watch. I had to help.”

There were few things that set Arcane’s heart aflutter, few words spoken to her that had managed to bring a flush to her cheeks. But the things he said, the way in which he talked about how he viewed her magic, the way he used his hands to signify his points… It left a warm glow soaring across her skin and pulled her from the harrowing thoughts. She smiled at him, soft and flirtatious, taking a step closer to him, her fingers dancing on the lapels of his waistcoat. Hoping that if he continued to compliment her, it would wash away the feelings of being back there, back on that ship.

“Well? Don’t stop there, tell me more.” Her words trailed off into a breathy sigh, her eyes softening.

Gale only beamed at her, continuing on. “Happily! Thankfully, due to my keen eye, I identified this ship to not only be a pirate ship, but a slave ship! Knowing there’d be poor souls trapped below, I called forth a Knock spell. With a Weaving of words and a flick of my hand, I managed to successfully unlock their cells. Freeing the slaves, who rushed to your aid!” Once more, his hands waved in the air, demonstrating the movement he’d done. “And thus, the day was saved!”

Arcane’s smile fell and her brow furrowed. Was he… was he really trying to take credit for her efforts? Her hands released his waistcoat (perhaps pushing him back a little harder than she meant to) and she stepped away, continuing along the streets in silence, irritation biting at her burning ears.

The memories came back. The glint of Cutler’s blade raised high in the storm. The chorus of devilish shouts as she was swarmed by the crew. Her nerves stood on end, her eyes burned with unshed tears.

“Did I say something wrong? I promise you, I was merely recounting what I witnessed!” Gale caught up to her, his eyes wide and apologetic.

“Oh, no, not at all!” Arcane sneered, her arms folded over her chest. “I must’ve only imagined fighting through a wave of pirates, getting stabbed, and killing my first man. Far be it from me to think all those poor souls were rescued by my effort. I merely ‘conjured a storm’.”

The clap of thunder. The feeling of warm blood rushing through her fingers. The sting as a blade met her flesh.

Gale stepped in front of her, hands raised to halt her steps and eyes now darkened by his displeased frown. “If I said something impertinent, I’d rather you tell me outright. I’m not one for playing these childish games.”

The loss of breath as she was thrown against the mast. The soft splatter of blood on her face. Cutler’s words ringing in her ears. ‘The one thing a woman is good for, and you’re so bad at it!’ Her father’s words:

‘What a waste of magic’

‘What a waste of magic’

‘What a waste of magic!’

Arcane bristled, her fingers digging into her arms. “Childish?! You just took credit for almost everything I did. Blatantly ignoring the danger I was in and recounting it as if it were some childhood fairytale!” Her voice raised, but caught in her throat as the memories came flooding back. “It wasn’t some heroic deed. It was mortifying! And I wasn’t some valiant knight in shining armor. I was scared.”

She watched as Gale’s eyes softened, his brow unfurrowing and his mouth slightly gaping at her words. He paused a moment, his eyes now scouring the ground beneath them, as if the cobbled streets held his next words. His shoulders rose and fell as he sighed, offering her a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry. Really, I am. And you’re right, I wasn’t thinking about what it must have been like during the altercation.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid I was a tad… exuberant when I recalled it. I was safe in my tower, meanwhile, you… you were right in the thick of it! Fighting for your life, trying to control the storm around you. I hope you can forgive my unthoughtful words.”

She felt the tension in her shoulders ease at his touch. Gods, he was warm. Not quite like a roaring fire, but like the soft flicker of candlelight - bright and endearing - a welcome reprieve from the cold. Despite his apology and soft touch, Arcane gently shifted herself, letting his hand slip off her shoulder.

“I forgive you.” She muttered, averting his gaze lest she burst into flame, her fingers picking at her cuticles. “And I’m sorry for raising my voice. That was… unkind.”

“Ha! Believe it or not, that’s not the first time I’ve been shouted at for speaking without further thought. Though, I’m sorry to say, it probably will happen again.” He chuckled. “I remember this one time as a boy, I- Well, that’s probably a story best paired with a glass of wine. What say you to finally heading to my tower and cracking open a bottle, yes?”

A soft smile found its way back to Arcane’s lips, glancing back up at him. Wordlessly, she nodded, and wordlessly, they continued on.

It didn’t take long for the pair to make it back to his tower in the Docks Ward, only about 16 or so minutes. But when they did, Arcane could only stare up at it. The tower loomed over them, casting dark shadows onto the street below. She’d never seen a wizard’s tower before, at least, not one like this. With its stalwart stone foundation - built to withstand the crashing waves - and its aged, yet handsome wooden walls, it was quite the sight to behold! Not to mention, the grand foyer that greeted them. Paintings lined every wall, stacks of books littered the floor; it was cluttered with the kind of organized mess one would expect a young scholar living on his own to have.

To say Arcane was in awe would be an understatement; she was downright gobsmacked! Never before seeing such an incredible home in all her years!

“Ye, gods… You live here?” She gaped at the view before her, mindlessly working her coat off her shoulders. “It’s incredible! How can you live with so much space?”

Gale chuckled behind her, taking her coat and hanging it on the coat rack nearby before she could drop it to the floor, trying his best to not let his eyes linger on the tears in her shirt that revealed her tan skin. “Yes, I suppose it is rather generous in its size. A wizard can’t be expected to live in a hovel, after all.”

“Pfft, tell that to my grandda. He preferred smaller spaces.” Arcane snickered.

“Mr. Dekarios? Is that you?” A voice rang from up the stairs. Arcane turned to look back at Gale, trying not to giggle.

“Who was that, your housekeeper?”

Gale grinned in response, excitedly taking her by the hand and leading her up the stairs. “You’re going to love this. Follow me!”

Arcane followed suit, the two quickly bounding up the stairs and into a lovely seating room. Rows upon rows of books lined the far wall, their inlaid golden leaf spines illuminated by dozens of lit candelabras. On the floor, there lay an ornamental rug, upon which sat a plump cozy couch. There were no words to describe just how she felt, taking in the gorgeous sight before her.

“Now, this is something I could get used to!” Pangur chirped beside them, paws outstretched as he arched his back. “We’re definitely gonna have to get ourselves a home like this some day.”

“Aye, you could say that again…” Arcane’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in as much detail as she could, until a striking flash of orange, black, and white caught her eye. There, atop the back of the couch, green eyes stared at the group. A cat? No… surely it couldn’t be…

“Arcane, I’d like you to meet Tara. Who is decidedly not my housekeeper, but in fact, my friend.” Gale strode over to her, giving her a soft scratch behind her ears, into which she leaned, a wide pair of impressive wings spanning out from her shoulders. “Tara, this is Arcane and her companion, Pangur. They’ll be joining us for the evening.”

“By Greatshout's handlebar mustache! A Tressym?!” Arcane rushed over to get a closer look, kneeling down to be eye level with the creature. “Oh, Gale, she’s gorgeous! Tara, was it? By the gods, I’ve never seen such a beautiful creature in all my life!” She presented her hand to her, offering her scent.

Tara’s eyes widened at the sudden closeness and recoiled from her hand, giving Gale a pensive look. “Mr. Dekarios, you know I’ll always encourage you to make new friends, but to invite them over while the tower is in such disarray!” She ruffled her feathers before settling them back at her sides. “Without even a thought to send word ahead so I might make myself presentable.”

“Come now, Tara, you’re positively radiant!” Gale chuckled, continuing to pet her.

“Aye, and the prettiest wee birdie I ever did see...” Pangur made his way over to the group, his blue eyes staring unblinkingly at the Tressym.

Tara bristled, her wings fanning out to make her appear larger, and hissed. “Good heavens! What in Mystra’s name is that foul creature doing here?!”

Pangur stretched up on his hind legs, his forepaws resting on the couch as he leaned in closer. “Oh, there’s no need to be so ruffled, birdie.” He purred, licking his lips. “I may be half Cath Shee, but I’m no monster… unless the lady prefers it that way.”

Tara growled, swiping her claws at Pangur, striking him on the nose before retreating onto Gale’s shoulders, her fluffy tail lashing from side to side.

“Pangur! Don’t be vulgar!” Arcane chastised him, her arms scooping under his chest and lifting him into her arms, stepping away. “Miss Tara, I’m so sorry! Please, you’ll have to forgive my companion. He likes to pretend I never taught him any manners.” She glared pointedly at the cat-creature in her arms. He smiled haughtily as he dangled.

Gale stifled a chuckle, lifting Tara from his shoulders and placing her on the floor. “They’re our guests, Tara. And they’ve both traveled a long and hard road, so let’s try to avoid any further confrontation, shall we?”

“That depends entirely on the behavior of said guests. Oh, how you like to vex my nerves with your antics, Mr. Dekarios.” Her tail continued to swish back and forth. “But I shall endeavor to persevere. Now, let us not forget our manners. The poor girl is clearly in need of a bath!”

Arcane’s face flushed red. She hadn’t considered just how dirty she looked or how badly she must’ve smelled, but now that Tara had mentioned it, the grime that clung to her skin seemed weighed down on her.

The Tressym began to lead the pair across the room. “Come now, miss Arcane. Let’s see if we can’t wash away the toils of what clearly must have been a terrible ordeal.”

It didn’t take long for them to reach the washroom. It was unlike anything she’d seen before! A porcelain, clawfoot tub sat before them, with brass piping snaking up the wall. Arcane wondered for a moment just how well off this Gale character seemed to be. Perhaps a family fortune? She supposed it didn’t matter, all she wanted was a hot bath.

Tara shooed Pangur out the door before returning to hop onto the bathtub’s edge, explaining the concept of running water to her before hopping to the floor and sitting down, watching her. Arcane reached for the hem of her torn shirt, slowly peeling it from her skin, sucking in a sharp breath as it dragged across the nasty gash that hadn’t fully healed.

“Good gracious, child! How have you been walking around with such cuts and bruises?” Tara exclaimed, her tail flitting from side to side as she reached up to sniff at the wound, her lips curling in disgust. “Ugh, they’re positively rank!”

Arcane glanced at her wounds, shrugging slightly. “I had other things to take care of, I guess. They didn’t start hurting until I got to the tower.” She pulled at her skin, trying to get a better view of the damage, and dragged her finger lightly across the gash. “Ahh! But, I suppose they’ve grown tired of being ignored.” she winced, speaking through clenched teeth.

“Indeed! You’d better wash up quickly before an infection sets in.” She trotted off towards the door, which cracked open upon her approach. “You try and relax, miss Arcane. I’ll see if Mr. Dekarios has any healing potions amidst this disorderly tower of his.” The flickering of her multicolored tail was the last thing she saw before the door shut behind her.

Turning to the bathtub, she ran the water - as hot as she could stand it - and disrobed before stepping in. She hissed and panted as she tried to acclimate her body to the heat, finally sinking into the water with a deep, relieved sigh that left her dizzy. The warm water stung at her wounds as they were submerged, the stinging eventually dulling to a numb, throbbing pain. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

‘I thought I told you to undress completely, wench!’

The crack of the leather belt.

Arcane buried her face in her knees, the memory echoing in her mind.

‘Now what will your dear betrothed think of you? Now that you're spoiled goods!’

Her fingers found themselves pulling at her hair, pain coursing through her head as she yanked the knotted stands tightly against her scalp. As if doing so would block away all memory of the trauma.

His icy blue eyes, his hellish smile, his rough hands. Hands, her hands, covered in blood. Her blood, his blood. The wheezing gasps he took as he strangled on his last breath.

The memories continued to plague Arcane’s mind, pulling herself into a tighter ball, pulling at her hair harshly. She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid! She couldn't believe she had ever allowed such a despicable, rotten man to ever lay hands on her. Not to mention the disbelief at her ignorance to Cutler's deception. She was disgusted with herself. She should’ve seen it coming.

Arcane grabbed the sides of the tub, the water splashing over the sides as she did so, and began to lift herself out of the bathtub. She didn't deserve to be clean.

The door opened, Arcane slipped, falling back into the water. Her eyes shot to the door, wide with panic. To her relief, it was only Tara, returning with a small vial, a sponge, and a bar of soap trailing behind her in the air, suspended by her magic.

     “I certainly hope you're not leaving! You've barely even scrubbed the mud from your face!” She once again hopped on the edge of the tub, folding her tail over her paws. “Here you are, drink this. It won't stop your wounds from scarring, I’m afraid, but it should heal them.”

Arcane stared at Tara, tentatively taking the vial and inspecting it closely. Tiny remnants of rogue's morsel salts sloshed around in the red liquid. Good. She uncorked the bottle and downed the liquid, feeling the gashed skin of her wound tightening and contracting to form deep, scarlet scars.

     “Thank you, Miss Tara. I feel better already.” she sighed, taking the sponge and lathering herself in the soap.

Sandalwood, spiced, sweet, and creamy, with hints of coconut.

After her bath, she wrapped herself in a bathrobe and followed Tara to, quote, “Wear something more acceptable than tattered rags.”. She felt cleaner than she had in what felt like years. Her skin smelled delightfully sweet, finding herself rolling up her sleeves just to press her nose to her arm and get another whiff.

While Arcane took her time getting changed, Gale was at work in the kitchen. If he guessed correctly, she wouldn’t have had much to eat in the past few days save for the dried rations they handed out in the Castle’s prisons. Besides, his mother would be most dissatisfied with him if he neglected to feed his guest. He stood there, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to avoid staining them, slicing away at some limes while a pot of rice sat bubbling on the stove. A fragrant - and the had to admit, ambrosial - smell filled the air, combining into an amazing mixture of spiced fish, lime, and cilantro.

It was no secret to anyone that he loved cooking. It gave him something to focus his thoughts on, something he could control. When all the world seemed to drown in chaos, cooking a meal for either himself or loved ones was just one of the few things he could do to quiet the noise. But tonight… he found his mind wandering.

‘That poor girl.’ he thought to himself, ‘She must be petrified having gone through what she did. Surviving the wreck, getting locked away for a crime she didn’t commit… no wonder she’s so on edge.’ He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door to the kitchen open.

“Need some help?”

Gale turned his head, his fingers losing their grip on the knife, falling to the cutting board with a clatter. Arcane stood in the doorway, her fingers fumbling with the tasseled ties that held a sheer, floor-length robe to her form. The iridescent green silk complimented her sun-kissed skin and matched her eyes near perfectly, and it flowed behind her like water, exposing her lithe, bare legs, and over her ample hips as she meandered over to him. Her dark hair draped freely over her shoulders, finally clean of all the filth that dared to touch her, and framed her face perfectly.

She was a vision - a downright exquisite sight to behold. Gale blinked hard, as if doing so would pull illusion from reality, but yet there she still stood in front of him. The prettiest picture he’d ever seen.

“I, uhh, suppose it couldn’t hurt.” He shook his head, trying his best to ignore the unconscious tightening of his pants as excitement built within him. “I’m just about finished, but you could help me plate the fish.”

“It smells divine! A Waterdhavian dish?” She stood next to him, eyes scanning the food on the counter.

Gale could hardly breathe, lest he take in the succulent notes of sandalwood that blended perfectly with the scent of her skin. He nodded, silently averting his eyes to focus back on slicing the limes.

She chimed in once more, her sweet, velvety voice continued to send shivers down his spine. “This is incredible! Back in Daggerford, we mostly ate things like clam chowder or fried, breaded fish. Which, mind you, is good if you’ve the stomach for it, but the smell certainly doesn’t compare to what you’ve made here!”

He felt her eyes boring into him. Gods, how she made him burn. Gale mentally lectured himself over the sudden effect she had. She was simply a woman! An attractive woman, make no mistake, but just a woman nonetheless. He kept himself busy, eyes fixated on his work as he stirred the rice, squeezing the lime juice over it before topping it with roughly chopped cilantro leaves. He reached for the plates he’d set aside, handing them to Arcane so she could help. Her fingers brushed against his, lingering far too long and far too quickly before he swiftly moved out of her way.

Gale’s hands found themselves pushing back his hair, his eyes wandering unabashedly over her form as she arranged the food on the plates. He recognized this robe - a shameless gift left over from Merletta after a particularly regrettable drunken visit. It didn’t nearly suit her as much as it suited Arcane. She turned to him, plates in hand, and she smiled. The color had returned to her face, painting her freckled cheeks and full lips with a warm, peachy glow. He swallowed thickly, reaching for the plate, but she pulled away from him, smirking.

“Ah, ah!” She tutted, a playful twinkle in her eyes. “You’ve done far too much for me already. The least I can do is help bring dinner to the table.”

Gale couldn’t help the smile that mirrored hers, a stifled chuckle exhaling through his nose. “As you wish, my lady.” He gestured to the side, silently leading her into the dining room where she set the table - his plate on one end, hers on the other - and sat down.

He watched as she sat across from him, resting her elbows on the table as she folded her hands and bowed her head, muttering a hushed prayer. “I didn’t take you as the religious sort.” He fanned out his napkin before placing it in his lap.

“I’m not. I don’t hold enough faith in the gods to pray to them on a daily basis.” She matched his movement, placing her own napkin over her legs. “But tonight is a special occasion. I’m giving thanks for the stroke of luck I seem to have stumbled upon.” Soft fingers danced on the edges of her plate, hungrily eyeing the meal.

“Ah, all thanks to a certain handsome wizard who saw it fit to offer you shelter for the evening, no doubt?” Gale shot her a playful smirk.

She laughed, her smile scrunching her nose. “Well, I certainly didn’t add the ‘handsome’ part, but I’ll be sure to correct myself later if you wish.” Her fork lightly prodded at the fish. “Though, I have to admit, I don’t feel overall deserving of the kindness you’ve shown me thus far.”

Gale was taken aback by this, his first bite stopping short at his open lips. How could she say such a thing? He set his fork back on the plate. “Why not? Forgive me for bringing what must be a hard topic for you back to light, but was it not you who freed an entire vessel of slaves whilst simultaneously fighting off waves of pirates? They would have died - or worse - had it not been for your selfless actions!”

He watched as her eyes fell to the table, her brow knitting together. “I hardly did anything.” She mumbled, lifting her eyes back to him, soft and contrite. “I’ve had some time to think it over since being here and… you were right to take credit for their freedom. Had it not been for you, your well-timed spell, they’d have gone down with the ship! I’m… I’m so sorry for how I acted, Gale. You didn’t deserve that.”

The pair stared at each other, a silent exchange of sympathetic glances, before Gale smiled softly at her. “I forgive you, Arcane.” The forgiveness seemed to be enough, the two finally turning to their meals.

“Gods, this is amazing! You’ve a real talent!” She exclaimed, covering her chewing mouth as she spoke.

“I’m glad you’re impressed! Not to boast, but I do know my way around the kitchen.”

She eagerly took another bite. “Don’t be so humble. This is, without a doubt, the best supper I’ve had in a while!” She barely took the time to chew before swallowing, humming her enjoyment. “Whoever manages to lock you down in the future won’t go hungry, that’s for certain!”

Gale’s heart jumped at the mention of marriage, his cheeks warming at the thought. He cleared his throat. “I, ahem, I don’t necessarily think of myself as one for matrimony. Least of all with anyone I’ve met thus far. I’m… not particularly well-liked by my peers.”

Arcane halted to look up at him, her brow quirked in confusion. She looked him over, as if doing so would reveal just what exactly he was talking about. Given his action since their introduction, she found it rather strange that he wasn’t at the very least talking to someone special.

“So, no long-lost lovers? I shouldn’t expect to see an angry man or woman storming through the doors to catch their partner sharing a meal with a strange woman?” That delightful playful smirk returned to her lips.

“Ha! Certainly not.” He felt the soft pang of disappointment tug at his heart as he continued. “To be perfectly honest with you, I’m afraid I’m seen as something of a pretentious ass, if you’ll excuse my language. I have… a certain reputation that people tend to cling to, rather than who I am at heart.” It didn’t go without mentioning that he deeply craved affection. The only kind one would get from a lover, not the familial, motherly love he’d grown accustomed to from Tara and his mother.

Arcane hummed, considering his words for a moment before reaching across the table to get his attention, their eyes meeting as she smiled. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re lovely.”

“Truly?” His voice raised slightly in surprise at her confession.

“Truly,” She echoed. “Far lovelier than any of the horrid men I’ve had the misfortune of meeting, anyway. And I don’t think you’re an arse, I think you’re passionate.”

Her words struck him like an arrow to the heart and warmed him from head to toe. She was one to talk. It wasn’t difficult for him to admit to himself that he found her lovely, too. Quite lovely, in fact. She was audacious, ambitious, funny… soft. A far cry from the other men and women he’d had in his life, who only saw him for the status that came with his inherent talents, rather than who he was at his core. It was comforting to meet someone who claimed to enjoy his company.

His eyes fell back to his plate, finding it hard to focus clearly if he kept staring at her. His mind raced as he looked for another topic to speak of. “So, ahem, your name…” he trailed off.

Arcane chuckled. “Haha, I knew this would come up sooner or later. It always does.” She took a sip of the white wine in front of her. “Grandda named me. I used to beg him to tell the story over and over again as a girl.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she sighed.

“It must have been an enthralling experience, if it warrants a story. Would you care to share it?”

A wry snicker crinkled her nose once more, frowning slightly. “If you insist, though I assure you, it’s hardly the tall tale grandda made it out to be.” She straightened in her seat and cleared her throat, dotting the napkin at the corners of her mouth. “It was an especially rainy time. In the wee hours of the morning, on the second tenday of Kythorn, a baby girl was born. The thunder heralded her delivery, the waves cheered her arrival. Aloft in my arms, I held her to the heavens and thusly, I cried, ‘Arcane! Daughter of the Weave!’” Arcane imitated her grandfather’s voice as best she could.

Gale watched as she acted out the scene, listening intently, engrossed as she recounted the tale.

“Arcane, I called her. Blessed, she was. Consigned to be my apprentice. My light, my love, my darlin’ little dove.” Arcane’s voice waved slightly at the pet name. Her heart sank with the fond memory. She gripped the edge of the table, steadying her breath before she continued. “‘Little dove’. That’s what he called me. He’s the one to credit for my magic, teaching me all he knew. Before he disappeared…”

Gale’s heart ached for her. His abandonment clearly affected her deeply. He felt a sense of… well, he wasn’t quite sure what to call it. Compassion? No, he felt far too heated for that. Protectiveness? The thought baffled him! For only a few short hours, had he known her, and yet, he still felt the soft burn of a need to protect radiating in his arms. He knew the pain of abandonment from a father figure all too intimately. To see a similar experience reflected in someone who was most undeserving of it… well, it made him angry.

“I’m so sorry, Arcane.” Was all he could manage.

She shrugged slightly, dropping the napkin over her plate. “It was five years ago. I imagine the pain of losing his daughter to sickness clouded his judgment. Perhaps he left to seek out a cure for death. Maybe he grew tired of our quaint home on the waterfront.” A hand raised to wipe away a tear that damped her lashes before it fell. “It wasn’t uncommon for him to just up and leave out of nowhere. But his most recent departure seemed decidedly final and… sudden.”

“Your mother passed?” He caught himself grasping his chest. The mere thought of losing his own mother made his blood run cold. He would never be able to relate to such a devastating loss. Arcane merely nodded, silently sipping her wine as she averted her gaze.

Gale stood, taking their now empty plates and setting them in the sink. He wasn’t sure what to say in this situation; he only knew that he felt for the poor girl. A distraction, perhaps? Something to turn their thoughts away from the bleak conversation. He turned to face her, leaning against the counter and rubbing his hands together.

“You mentioned it’s been five years? That’s far too great a time to go without your grandfather’s guidance.” He ambled over to her, offering his hand. “What do you say to a private lesson from an accomplished Wizard?”

Arcane scrutinized his hand for a moment, gazing up at him with a cocked brow. Surely, he wasn’t being serious. But the look he held on his face, that soft smile, those warm eyes, that gentle tone. She bit down on her knuckle, hesitating before slipping her hand into his. He was soft, his fingers wrapping gently around her own as he guided her to her feet.

“I thought you were impressed by my magical prowess?” She spoke, finding herself quite breathless.

Gale let out another breathy chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Make no mistake, my lady. Seeing you in action was certainly extraordinary, but you lack a certain… discipline.”

The corners of Arcane’s lips fell and she slightly clenched her jaw, her eyes half-lidded as she made an unimpressed face. Gale held up a hand, sensing the impact his words had on her nerves.

“No, no, don’t mishear me! You’re rapturous! Invigorating, even! But you’re lacking in self-control. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it just needs correcting.” His eyes glanced to her hand in his, thumb mindlessly dragging across her knuckles. “I’d… be honored to teach you.”

He certainly had a knack for making someone feel both inadequate and flattered all at the once. If Arcane was in her right mind, she’d decline after some harsh words. But the way he held her hand, the way his honeyed, erudite tone warmed her heart… She found herself entranced, unable - no, unwilling - to say no. She hesitated for another beat, but finally relented and followed where he led.

The two of them eventually made their way to the impressive library Gale had previously mentioned. And impressive, it was! From wall-to-wall, the room was practically made of books! Small, marble statues were scattered about the floor, and a heavy wooden desk sat in the far corner upon which a multitude of magical items, crystals, and scribbled parchment littered its surface. Sextants, globes, maps, and tomes littered the floor in an organized mess, and along the left hand wall, was a roaring hearth; two comfortable armchairs lay before it, separated only by an ornate coffee table.

It was the perfect picture of comfort and safety. The perfect place for a Wizard to unwind after a long day of… whatever it is that they do. Arcane gaped at the room before her, eyes widened with wonder, her hands mindlessly tracing across the nearby bookshelf.

“You have got to be kidding me!” She gasped, turning to scan the multitude of books next to her. “Have you actually read all of these?”

Gale chuckled beside her, moving to stand by her side while he admired his collection. “Oh, yes. I have carefully curated quite the extensive collection.” His finger hooked over the spine of a book, pulling it free and running his hands along its cover. “I have found that when you lack a social circle, it’s nice to find companionship among written words.”

Arcane continued to browse the books, tucking her hair behind her ear, eyes scanning the multitude of titles before landing on a familiar sight. Etched into the black leather cover and inlaid with silver leaf was a rather crude depiction of a woman in the arms of a hulking man, his lips at her chest, her hands in his hair.

“Hey, I have this one!” She pulled it free from the shelf, a smile spreading across her lips. It was a romance novel; a badly written one, at that. She smirked at Gale, wondering to herself how such a well-spoken, gentlemanly scholar like himself could read such filth. “Gale! I never expected one such as yourself to own something so… dirty.”

Gale’s face flushed red and he reached for the book, but Arcane pulled back. “Ah! That’s, uhh, that’s just something a fellow classmate lent to me years ago. It’s nothing really, just a terribly written excuse of a romance novel.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around the room apprehensively. “I haven’t even-”

Arcane interrupted him, pressing her fingers to his lips and stepping closer. “Gale, you don’t need to explain yourself to me. I was only teasing you.” She saw him relax under her touch. “And you don’t need to tell me that this book is terrible. As I said before, I’ve read it. Actually, I quite enjoyed it!” Her hand moved to his shoulder.

Gale’s eyes widened in surprise. He never expected anyone to say they enjoyed such lascivious works. Arcane was turning out to be quite the surprise. His eyes softened, his hand reaching to cover hers. “That’s… quite a relief. To be perfectly honest with you, I have many more books that cover a wide range of topics pertaining to…” he shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. “Pleasures of the flesh.”

Arcane giggled, moving her hand from shoulder to his chest, where she gave him a placating pat, before turning to return the book to its place on the shelf. Gale tried his best to ignore the fire she ignited under her touch, but with the warmth of her touch heating through his clothes, he couldn’t deny the excitement she brought out in him. His mind wandered, imagining what she must feel like under that silk robe. Imagining how much sweeter his name on her tongue would sound if only he could touch her. A vision of her on top of him, eyes drunk with desire, her voice crying out his name, pert breasts heaving with every shaky pant that fell from those perfect lips flashed in his mind. It made his blood roar in his ears.

Catching himself staring at her for far longer than was appropriate, he blinked hard and shook his head, taking her hand in his once more and leading her to the balcony doors. “Well! Now that I’ve sufficiently embarrassed myself. Shall we proceed to your lesson?”

Arcane nodded and followed after him. Gale made a show of using his magic to open the doors, slowly revealing the world outside, the docks below them, the dark sea that glittered in the moonlight. He silently thanked the gods for making it so lovely tonight. He wanted to astound her. He watched as her eyes flew wide, her mouth hanging open, gaping in pure awe at the view that lay before them. She became a work of art in the night, the moonlight dancing across her skin, the stars sparkling in her seafoam eyes.

“Oh, Gale..” She whispered. Her amazement was like music to his ears. “It’s… it’s incredible! I-I don’t have the words!” She turned to him, a wide smile pulling at her lips.

He hummed in agreement, walking to stand beside her, gazing out at the gentle waves. “This is my favorite place in the world. I’ve spent many a night out here beneath the stars, captured by books, enthralled by my studies… or merely enjoying the view.” He side-eyed her, her eyes still taking in the sight, and he felt his hands clench at his sides. He swallowed, continuing. “Although, I must say, I’ve never had the pleasure of enjoying the sight with such… enchanting company.” His heart leapt to his throat, the sudden regret at admitting such a thing nearly choking him.

Arcane tensed slightly, her eyes trailing down to the floor and up into his own. That warm, peachy glow now burning ever brighter on her cheeks. She parted her lips to speak, but found herself speechless. Her hand raised to cup the side of her face and turned away from him, fearing she would burst if she continued to meet his gaze. Warm fingers traced her chin as he turned her head back to him, the subtle mixes of pensiveness and gentility pooling in his eyes.

Gale cleared his throat. “Now, I believe we came here for a lesson, yes? Shall we?” He straightened his back, squaring his shoulders. “Now, this is a rather complicated spell, but not to worry, I will be here with you every step of the way.”

Arcane silently mimicked his stance, squaring her shoulders and nodding curtly.

“Follow my movements.” His hands swam through the air, a soft purple light emanating from his fingertips as he gently formed a ball of light between his hands, repeating the motion before opening them as if he were setting a dove free.

Arcane watched him intently, taking in the fluidity of his movements, the way he grinned as he worked, the way the gentle hues illuminated his dark eyes. When he was done, he turned to her expectantly, gesturing for her to do the same. She shook out her arms, stretching and clenching her fingers, trying to steady the slight tremor in her hands and copied his movements, although lacking in his fluency. There was no unmistakable magical glow from her fingers.

“That was good! Your hands were a tad shaky, though. May I?” He gestured to her hands as if to ask if he could correct her maneuvers.

She nodded and he moved behind her, reaching around and taking her hands in his. He slowly, gently, helped to steady the shake as he moved with her, repeating the movement once more. Arcane resisted the urge to lean back against him, instead trying to calm her mind and focus. It took a minute, but in a bright flash of violet light, magic burst from her palms.

“Ha! That was marvelous!” His voice reverberated against her back, raising the hair along her arms. “You’re a natural. You just need to steady your hand.”

Arcane craned her neck back to look up at him. She felt him stiffen against her, his hands suddenly gripping hers tightly. “You’re a wonderful teacher.” She managed, swallowing thickly. A soft, warm feeling surging through her body. She wasn’t quite sure if it was the magic, or it was due to their pair’s close proximity. Either way, it was calming and gentle. A familiar, but long since lost feeling.

He pulled away, Arcane almost whining at the loss of his heat at her back, and moved to stand in front of her again. “Yes, well…” He didn’t continue his thought, his shoulders rising and falling with a sharp breath. “Ah, let’s get back to it shall we? Repeat after me verbatim.”

She nodded, determined to get it right this time, though her mind wondered if she were to fail again, how he might correct her twisted tongue. She shuddered slightly at the idea.

His voice echoed around them, soft but booming, like some far off roll of thunder. “Ah-Thran Mystra-ryl Kantrach-Ao” His words rolled off his tongue, sweet and dark.

Now words were easy for her; she repeated him, her own voice reverberating around them like his did before. The volume of her voice would have startled her, if it weren’t for the tranquility that enveloped her, the scent of rosewater in her nose, the sweetest taste on her tongue. The familiar memories flowed back to her.

‘I am Mystra’ She remembered the voice she heard so long ago, the calmness, the peace, the safety she felt in the void on that cold, dark day. Arcane closed her eyes, her head lulling back as she embraced the feelings. It tingled her scalp and radiated through her limbs. She smiled and couldn’t help but wiggle her fingers, the soft shivers of walking into Mystra’s presence was an unmistakable and nostalgic one.

“Wonderful! Now, keep your eyes closed and try to bring to mind the purest concept of harmony.”

That was an easy task. Her mother’s lullaby, ringing softly in the back of her mind, gently lilted from her lips. The memory of being held in her arms as she was steadily rocked to sleep. The softness of her hands as her fingers ran through her daughter’s hair. The clearest image of her mother as she was in life: Tall, lithe, beautiful. With her full, blue-black curly hair and her silver eyes. It occurred to Arcane that she had inherited her mother’s face, her long straight nose, her full pink lips, the curve of her wide almond eyes. The corners of Arcane’s lips couldn’t stop themselves from turning upward, her brows pulling together as the vision of her mother began to stream tears down her face.

It was indisputable. This was the presence of Mystra. A feeling she long since thought had been lost to time. “I never thought I’d feel her again.” Her voice was hoarse, breaking slightly from the tears. She lifted her hand to her face to wipe them away. She felt Gale shift, the warmth of his person fanning over her body.

“You did so well.” Gale’s voice was soft and laden with admiration.

She opened her eyes to peer up at him. It had been years since she had seen such pride, especially pointed in her direction, but the way he looked at her… it sent her heart racing. She wasn’t sure if it was the magic that surrounded them, or the honeyed tones of his words, but she felt the growing coils of desire pooling in her stomach. Their smiles slowly fell as they stared at one another. Not out of displeasure, but expectation. The anticipation to see what the other would do. She wanted him. He wanted her, too.

It was Gale who moved first, stepping closer, his eyes dark yet soft. He raised his hand to place his knuckle under her chin, tilting her head upward. All breath seemed to be pulled from Arcane’s lungs, her heart drummed against her chest, as she slowly raised herself onto her toes, inching ever closer to his lips. Their combined soft breaths met one another, their mouths parted, their eyes closed.

And they kissed.

It was tentative, light, and apprehensive. He tasted sweet, tangy, savory; he tasted like magic. Arcane’s hands raised from clenched fists at her sides and slid up his chest, gently clutching at his shirt. His hand hesitantly rested on her hip, experimenting with touch as he pulled her closer, their bodies now flush with one another. Blood rushed to Arcane’s head, the world tilting dizzyingly on its axis, stars blinking behind her closed eyes. He was so much sweeter than magic. He was divinity made flesh.

He parted his lips against hers, moving to deepen the kiss when abruptly, the magic around them dissipated. The sudden cold of the nighttime air on her skin forced a sharp gasp from Arcane’s lungs. She pulled away, eyes wide, face flushed. Gale was breathless, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady himself. His eyes were dark, intimately soft.

“I-I… I didn’t know it could feel like that.” Stars still spotted her eyesight, shaking her head to clear them. “I mean, um… th-the magic. I didn’t…” Her words were lost and her eyes fell to the floor, trying to find them.

Her mind whirled at what just happened. Of course, he wasn’t the first man she’d kissed without knowing too well, but he was certainly the first to ever kiss her so tenderly. Her fingers raised to press against her lips, an unconscious attempt to replicate the feeling of his kiss. To say she was flustered would be an understatement. Gale started to speak, but Arcane covered his mouth with her hand.

She pulled away from him, praying she had the strength to dismiss her arousal. She wanted nothing more than to pounce on him, to feel his tongue in her mouth, on her skin. But the memories of moving too quickly haunted her. No, she’d take her time with this one. She’d savor every soft moment, every gentle touch. Her hands lingered on his chest for another moment before dropping to her sides completely.

“Thank you, Gale.” She managed a smile. “This was a wonderful experience.”

[vimbry]

tagged by @uighean ! <3

tea, coffee, or soda? none I have a baby palate. but I actually haven't tried that many teas!

dogs or cats? both but.... I prefer dogs a little bit more, especially because I had one growing up. <3

can you play an instrument?  nooo but I do own a couple so. I Really should... I've had a little guitar in my bedroom since I was like 8, and it's really out of tune so I'd have to put it back again

what’s your sun sign? gemini, and astrology things are really mean to me about it

first song lyrics that came into your head?  bc I listened to it last night: as your body floats down third street, with the burn-smell factory closing uuuup. yes it's sad to say, you will romanticiiiise, all the things you've known beforeee

do you have any tattoos? nope they're cool & I love the idea of them, but I know I'd get bored easy

favourite place you’ve travelled? omg I dunno... I enjoyed the few times I went up to the hebrides to stay with cousins as a kid. I also really liked copenhagen, especially nyhavn! I know it's a real cliche picturesque place, but I had such a good evening there with friends once!

what’s the last movie you watched? rewatched "only yesterday" and please please everyone watch that, too. I know suggestions are off-putting but it's SUCH a wonderful, life-affirming story about discovering where you're loved and belong in adulthood. watch that and "kiki's delivery service" back to back like I did to feel something lmao.

what languages do you speak? ahh only english. I should learn something tho bc it's fascinating and helpful, but it just gets overwhelming and intimidating because I don't know what to start with lol. I was briefly learning german but I forgot it all by now.

do you have any hobbies? drawing and making comics sometimes, photography, gardening, video games!

you can hang out with one fictional character for an hour, who do you choose? uhhh uhh uhhh. I mean the first that came to mind was yotsuba's dad LMAO. like if I'm taking it really practically, that'd be the easiest one to chill with.

compliment yourself: ok. I think I've gotten a lot better at things than I give myself credit for :) and people have said I make them laugh so. I'm funny hehe

I think a lot of people got tagged on this one already, so please do take it if you want n don't be shy!! that means you! <3

[the-kneesbees]

this is the 1st half of my thoughts, i'm working my way through the back half now-

Tulsa '67 - wasn't expecting Ponyboy's voice to be so freaking strong, I like the softness to the background music, feels very floaty and story telling, gets very upbeat and jazzy sometimes, I kinda dig it, JOHNNY MY LORD, the ending was sooooooo good

Grease Got A Hold - why was the intro kinda sexy- I feel like Dallas would never ever do this, but I appreciate the voice he's got, the acronym and rapping??? hello????? okay cool kids- STOP AND SMELL THE MOTOR OIL, two is as always my baby boy, i feel like i'm being hunted down by a grease monster

Runs in the Family - ohhhhh the darry feels, loveeeee the beat on this one, very eldest child syndrome, i feel like i will definitely be learning the words and singing along to this one in the future, his voice is so damn smooth I just wanna sit on a wooden box and snap along to the tune

Great Expectations - the FEELS at the beginning, i'm very sad, ponyboy always assumes he's the main character and yet i will listen to whatever he sings because i'm floored by their voices, i like how it builds up at the end, it's very dramatic, very very very breaking the fourth wall vibes

Friday at the Drive-In - HOLY SHIT WE'RE GETTING INTO IT NOW, i was soooo into the beginning and it's very very vibey, great way to set the scene, I can practically see the whole set up in my mind

I Could Talk to You All Night - hate the love song vibe. hate it. cherry has a stellar voice (they all do) but i don't like the way i can feel the crush-y vibes bleeding from the song. maybe this dislike comes mainly from my dislike of cherry. who knows.

Runs In The Family (Reprise) - damnnnnn the beat at the beginning. down on my knees once more for darry's voice. am sat. love the banter between sodapop and dare, love that the whole song is darry snapping back. in love. one of my favorites, hands down easily, love the way the beat gets stronger as they fight and fight and fight. THE SLAP.

Far Away From Tulsa - once again, we are main character moment-ing but his voice is so damn silky i don't even mind. very floaty, i like how mellow it is. johnny sounds very kid-like here, but this feels odd to me, the whole song feels odd, and we of course bring back dickens, much drama. many feels.

Run Run Brother - oh my god- oh my god- this really makes pony's voice shines, i love the desperation, the quick pace would probably make it a nightmare, but i love the pacing, in LOVE with the way it brings in the other songs, the vibe is very rushed and spooky and swirling and overwhelmed and i dig it

WOOO

Tulsa '67- I KNOWWW his voice is so beautiful NOT what i was expecting for some reason - very good opening song

Grease Got a Hold- I def agree that dally wouldnt act like this- i feel like hes quite different in the musical than in the book and movie, but its not necessarily a BAD thing, and plus we all have different interpretations of the character etc etc. i do really love the actor though hes got a nice voice. ALSO about the acronym thing youre so real for that i love it so much. two is also a real cutie <3

Runs in the Family- I LOVE HIS VOICE SO FREAKING MUCH STOP- literally every word he sings is like holy gospel to me i dont even care im so okay with being entirely annoying about it. i also fully agree w you as an eldest child myself- felt this one in my soul fr

Great Expectations - real good song but not my fav actually? i do love the part where he talks about everyone else too yk. i do really appreciate he emotion the actor puts into it though i mean he really has me hanging on every word

I Could Talk to You All Night - yeah definitely a bit too lovey dovey- i do like it as a song though yk? like its a good song on its own. and i also thought it was a bit weird how cherry spoke to pony? like the whole 'i never thoight i see hope in your eyes' and the thing about assuming he didnt read? that was really strange to me and definitely NOT how i interpret cherrys character (love her sm though) and i totally agree they all have phenominal voices theyre a really amazing and talented group of actors/singers/whatever

Runs In The Family (Reprise)- literally just exactly what you said- this is probably my favorite in the whole album, and the slap is SO FUCKING FUNNY for some reason lmao

Far Away From Tulsa - yeah this one definitely captures pony in that scene- he was being kind of a drama queen in that bit where he was crying to johnny lol but we still love him. ALSO i dont even really ship pony and johnny (like ig i kind of do but its not something i really care about much) but WHAT were those boys on about in this one. with their feather bed and shit oml-

Run Run Brother - once again, you said my words exactly- this song is PERFECT for what its about and their VOICES ohmyGOD

[hannahsmusings]

Renee

*my heart flutters as he calls me ‘darling’, that being one of my favorite nicknames of his, humming happily as he pulled me closer, my hand gripping the fabric of his shirt as he gives me another kiss, always loving how he couldn’t get enough of me* *I tap his chest playfully, looking up at him with a frown* Hey! You’ve known about me being a dress gremlin! Can’t back out now, babe. *I smile against his lips, unable to stop myself from leaning into and into him, always wanting and needing more even after all these years together, it never got old or stale or boring, our chemistry just intensifying as the years went on* *my stomach swoops as he calls me his future wife, flushing a bit at his praise as he takes me in, shrugging nonchalantly as he says he was the luckiest man, doing a cute little spin, and giggling as he pulls me back in and kisses my cheek, my hands immediately going back to his chest and fisting into the fabric of his shirt* I’ve tried on so many dresses, I don’t know if I can put another on… do you like this one? Or should I change? *I look up at him through my lashes, a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing and wanting his genuine opinion, my fingers toying with a button on his shirt as I wait for his answer* Also, I’ve laid out a few outfits for you… *I nod my head back towards the bed, where underneath the pile of white dresses, there were a few of his own dress shirts and pants laid out* 

_______________________________________

*grins as you tease me right back, us always having been so in tune with each other and our humour being the same, chuckling a little* Wouldn’t want to. I can put up with your gremlin ways. *kisses you once more as I hold you, smiling warmly as you ask for my opinion, you always valuing what I thought and asking for my view, feeling heard in every way with you* No, don’t change. You look perfect. I love it. *heart flutters as you look up at me that way, it always making me weak in the knees as I cup your jaw and swipe my thumb across your cheek as I look down at you* I love you. You look perfect. *nudges my nose against yours before looking over at the bed as you gesture at the clothes there, chuckling a little* Of course you did, matching I assume? *grins, you loving to pick out my clothes for me and honestly I loved it too, I loved to look like we were a couple, it just being another of your quirks that I adored* *looks back down at you* I need to shower, today has been long. *chuckles a little* I’ll be out in a few yeah? Pick your favourite set and that’s what I’ll wear. *smiles, it meaning a lot to me to get your opinion also* *just looks down at you for a moment, still wrapped in my arms and my eyes catching on the engagement ring that sat on your finger, still not used to it there and just looking at it made my stomach knot* I can’t wait to marry you. *whispers softly, leaning in to give you another gentle kiss, just smiling into it* 

[rabbitechoes]

every month I'm gonna try to post reviews of three albums from years past!! this week i wrote about one of the most masterful fusions of soul and funk of all time: Hot Buttered Soul by Isaac Hayes!!! also feel free to follow me on rate your music and twitter <3

Hot Buttered Soul - Isaac Hayes

◇ release date: May 1969 ◇ genres: funk, deep soul, smooth soul

Years ago, I went to the record store with a friend of mine, and while flipping through that store’s soul section we stumbled across this album. Obviously, we giggled. The album art is a top-down shot of this dude’s big bald head and it was called Hot Buttered Soul, it seemed inherently goofy. The protective sleeve over it in the store noted that it was an “ORIGINAL 1969 PRESS,” and the store only made those kinds of distinctions for very “important” albums. Because of that, we were intrigued. My friend decided to take the leap and buy it, not having heard a single note of the music. The owner of the record store seemed so excited when he brought it up there, heaping loads of praise onto it. A few days pass and this friend texts me and says something to the extent of “Dude, you need to listen to this!” Not long after, I listened to it on streaming and then proceeded to track down a vinyl pressing for myself almost immediately after. 

Hot Buttered Soul is a masterpiece, plain and simple. It’s a deconstruction and a rebuilding of pop and soul music. He stretches these compositions to their absolute end. Exploring every twist and turn of these tunes, it’s entrancing. The only song Hayes has a writing credit on is the second track “Hyperbolicsyllabicsesquedalymistic,” (wow, that’s fun to type) other than that this album is completely comprised of pop and soul hits from some of the most prolific songwriters of the decade. 

Isaac Hayes

The most iconic song here is Hayes’ version of Burt Bacharach and Hal David’s hit song “Walk On By.” A number-one hit for Dionne Warwick a few years prior, the version here is significantly different. What once was an easy-going lounge track is now an intense, sharp, overwhelming odyssey. Extending the song to a lengthy 12 minutes, leaving no stone unturned. Weighty string arrangements, fuzzy warm guitar courtesy of Funkadelic’s Harold Beane, the horns, and Hayes’ psychedelic organs, there’s just so much to this arrangement. Too much to mention in writing, it’s one of those songs that’s better experienced than read about. As a vocalist, Hayes fits perfectly. He’s captivating in his own way, but it never distracts from how captivating the entire arrangement is. You just get … doubly captivated. Absolutely blown away. Hearing this for the first time was so eye-opening and all these years later I’m still in awe of it. This song’s legacy could be written about to no end. It’s become a sample staple in the hip hop world. Sampled by countless artists, the likes of the Wu-Tang Clan, MF DOOM, 2Pac, and Beyoncé just to name a few. It’s one of the greatest songs of all time.

So with as colossal of an opener as that, does the rest of the album hold up? Yes, it absolutely does. “Hyperbolicsyllabicsesquedalymistic” (full disclosure, I copied and pasted it this time) cranks up the funkiness present in the previous song tenfold. The arrangement here is deep funk. Some have interpreted the lyrics to be about heroin addiction, which I can understand especially when the song refers to a doctor warning the narrator that the subject is a danger to his heart. However, the lyrics here almost feel like a means to an end. Hayes’ delivery is nonchalant like he’s just saying what best fits the groove of the song. Either reading of the song fits, it’s pretty brilliant.  It’s also a good reminder that this album’s sound is heavily indebted to not just the intricate orchestration, but from The Bar-Kays work as a backing band as well. These songs are just so masterful on every level.

The second side consists of two more songs. One being his version of “One Woman” written by Charles Chalmers and Sandra Rhodes. This is the most restrained song here, it’s not as sprawling or adventurous, it’s just a damn fine smooth soul cut. Interestingly enough, a month prior, Al Green would do a version of the song for his sophomore album Green Is Blues. With all due respect to Green, I prefer Hayes’ version by a considerable margin. The other song, and the album’s closer, is an epic 18-minute version of the Jimmy Webb penned “By the Time I Get to Phoenix,” which was a big hit for Glenn Campbell in 1967. Campbell’s version is great, but the direction Hayes takes the song is infinitely more captivating. The song opens with a low organ, almost drone-like, and subtle contributions from the rhythm section. Hayes opens the song with a spoken word introduction, literally setting up the song. He tells the listener to “travel with [him]” as he tells this roughly 9-minute story. It’s a total subversion of your expectations and I love it. You hang onto every word and that moment when Hayes finally sings “By the time I get to Phoenix, she’ll be rising” is one of the most satisfying payoffs in music history. He takes this song and makes it his own. Completely reconstructing the song for him and him alone.

Isaac Hayes

Hot Buttered Soul still sounds ambitious and enthralling to this day. It’s one of the most intricate albums, not just in the genre, but of the entire 1960s. It is a complete renovation of pop and soul music that hasn’t been replicated to this day. Perhaps the closest anyone has gotten to prog-soul. Everything on this album packs an undeniable punch. It’s been years since I first listened to this record, but it’s still just as powerful, maybe more so, after all this time. You owe it to yourself to experience Hot Buttered Soul.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ thanks for reading :3

[eavanyhuang]

Paper as Ceremony, Hospice, and Abolition

All memes below are from the Instagram account @softcore_trauma by Margeaux Feldman, they have great trauma-informed political education content!

I’d like to think of the process of writing an academic paper as transcription for people who have difficulties seeing and witnessing what folks in the struggles have been trying to convey to them. It is a tedious thankless labor because I have to pay to get it presented in conferences, allow it to become property of the publishers who think they own the world, and risk being tuned out at anytime if anything I said make them feel “uncomfortable”. Their spiritual hell is contagious. Welp. It is really overwhelming and challenging sometimes, not intellectually, but psychologically. I often find myself experiencing stages of post-traumatic affects: flashbacks, impulses, rage, self-doubt, and/or the deep inability to grieve and let go of the lingering attachment to a genuine audience with relational maturity. No, this is a job that requires me to talk to epistemic abusers. And yes, it is fucking traumatic and traumatizing. And these are such identical feelings I have in engaging with academia writ large, UAW region 6, and cis male-led social movement spaces.

What does “activist scholarship” mean anyways? How are they conceptually two separate things? Is there a way to do research that doesn’t feel like a complete betrayal of who I am? Or is this whole academia thing just for the job? Where is my “pipeline”, if it’s neither academia nor the non-profit industrial complex? I found academic white anarchists or radicals’ advice unhelpful for thinking about these questions. And I don’t think, however much I might be willing to conform to the norms of academia or fraternity unionism, I would ever get a job in either places as an “alien” anyway. And once again I went back to Shawn Wilson’s book, Research Is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods, in which he notes:

“……Indigenous research is a ceremony and must be respected as such. A ceremony, according to Minnecunju Elder Lionel Kinunwa, is not just the period at the end of the sentence. It is the required process and preparation that happens long before the event. It is, in Atkinson’s translation, dadirri, the many ways and forms and levels of listening. It is, in Martin’s terminology, Ways of Knowing, Ways of Being, and Ways of Doing. It is the knowing and respectful reinforcement that all things are related and connected. It is the voices from our ancestors that tell us when it is right and when it is not. Indigenous research is a life changing ceremony.” (61)

But then parts of me seem to be asking, why is it that I feel so hesitant to write down what I think? Why is it so damn hard to write academically comparing to writing for the movement or for my personal journals? If it is just a ceremony it would clearly be easier? This leads me to think that maybe a ceremony of “what is” has to come after the hospice work for “what was”. It is when I imagine an academic audience sitting in front of me that the traumatic flashbacks happen. This audience does not have to be overly harsh at all, they can be resonating with whatever I present but still give me a deep sense of shame. Maybe they are just me, and maybe I am socialized into this overly critical view towards myself and my own works. And this might be the part where hospicing comes in. The individuality, the fear, the pride combined with low self-esteem, the unknown rules of the academic game, the willing player, the gatekeeping gazes. Clarity to the world I want to see is confusion to the world I will hospice, and that creates immense difficulty and even impossibility for the writer in me. I do think this feeling that I don’t know how to position myself and my own work plays a big part in my academic stagnation. After abandoning the position of a fearful and self-loathing graduate student, I have sunken into the liminal space of cynicism and disengagement for a long time. The lack of motivation is surely a tricky thing to navigate in life, especially when pragmatic reasons force you to do something. It at least seems like finishing the degree would be the most pragmatic thing to do, but then I should be cautious about rationalizing this pragmatic goal through creating some rationale for it. The impulse to refuse a purely instrumental view of academic writing is perhaps the source of my struggle. Maybe it is just for the job, for the degree, and for the visa. I mean, what kind of ultimate meaning would a worker find in her tedious repetitive labor? Should she? The fact that we think academic work is so much different from factory manual labor is kind of ridiculous. This momentarily reminds me of the poems by Xu Lizhi, extremely powerful and sad, punching a unmendable hole on the wall of hope. How is life livable if hope is lost?

Maybe even before hospice work, we need to think about academic work as traumatic and traumatizing. We are expected to create knowledge out of a vacuum, to allow the tokenization of our bodies, to be deprived of our souls so that we can be the zombies of publishing, to continuously be the supplier of words for the market, to divorce ourselves from communities so that we will be accepted by authorities, to be different, to stand out, to perform. To talk about healing is a betrayal to those getting a slap in the face every second by reality. I do not want to play this game called academia, maybe admitting this is the first step to write the paper, to hospice modernity. Academia itself is the drug, and our addiction looks like the constant oscillation between hyperarousal and hypoarousal. We are either high on the substance, along with all the fame, achievement, recognition, praises, rewards, congratulations, and adrenaline-driven work ethics, or in desperate need to use it, in a state of anxiety, fear, despair, emptiness, uncertainty, shame, self-doubt, self-blame, cynicism, and more. And maybe we relapse, or we quit in extreme distress. With this, perhaps the first thing to do to shift our view of academic research is to abolish academia as we know it.