#i want to them to hear the harmony only when its harming them

[fearcicada]

Geyser by mitski is suuuch an avatars to their entities song. Like. It can be viewed from the perspective of so many different avatars and how they view their relationship with their entity in different ways. Like literally could be about anybody's worship of a specific entity. But I sort of view it from a vast perspective the most. I think the ""worshipping a giant entity you cannot even fathom"" thing, while applying to all the TMA entities, does feel like it fits the most with the vast as an entity. Makes me think of Mike Crew and how he just seemed to loooove his fear God. Like

(the entity)

(Other entities)

when it comes to Mike Crew I mostly think of him being chased by the spiral for most of his life, and him searching for different Leitners like The Boneturners Tale until he finds the one that saves him, like. He chose the vast <3333 I mean applies to all avatars in that they chose their entities (directly or not) but ..I'm talking about Mike Crew rn I love him

AGHGH hear it call hear it call hear it call to me constantly .....(a lot of avatars having traits of that entity since childhood. Jon as a child wouldn't read books that feel like something he's already read before because he wants something NEW he wants new knowledge new information. I sort of simultaneously think that people with connections to the entities have been connected to them their whole lives even before entity related events happened to them. Just a matter of the continuous choices and patterns you make. But at the same time. Running into an entity (in one way or another) was just bad luck for most people and completely out of control. Both at the same time)

The way that by serving the entities, avatars aren't so much as being given power themselves as they are just becoming conduits through which the entities can act upon the world (like Leitners). And still can be hurt by their entities. If they don't feed their gods their gods will feed on them etc

""It's not real it's not real it's not real enough "" so I need to make a giant ritual to fundamentally change the fabric of our reality allowing you to enter our world 😊😊

Oh God the way avatars are transformed through their relationship with their fear gods as they choose to go down that route is so 💞💗💓

[saikisolosyourfav]

Baby Steps - Kusuo Saiki x Reader

Hi! I'm somewhat new to Tumblr. However, I wanted to announce that I just released the first chapter of my Wattpad story:

"Baby Steps - Kusuo Saiki x Reader"

I'm really proud of it and I would appreciate it if you checked it out!

From the moment I opened my eyes for the first time, I knew I was different. 

My earliest memories of childhood are not of colorful toys or the comforting warmth of my mother's arms, but of vivid, swirling visions that danced in front of my eyes. At first, they seemed like dreams—strange, incomprehensible images and sensations that faded as quickly as they came.

 But as I grew older, it became clear that these were not just figments of my imagination. I could see things others couldn’t. I could hear whispers from places far away and feel emotions that weren’t mine. 

A soft touch in my mind could tell me when my mother was sad or when my father was angry. At first, I thought everyone could do this—feel the emotions of others, almost taste their thoughts. But as I grew older, I realized that wasn't the case.

I could move objects with my mind, read people's thoughts, see glimpses of the future, and so much more. My parents found out rather quickly, and while my mother was fairly surprised, my dad seemed much more relaxed by the idea.

Surprisingly, my abilities didn't scare them. Rand, my father, was a brilliant scientist, as was my mother, Tamiko. Together, they were celebrated in their field, their minds a harmonious blend of genius and innovation. My father told my mother that my abilities were likely the result of 2 geniuses. 

While my parents were prestigious in their field, their brilliance masked a secret, one that I was too young to understand then.

The last thing I remember of my mother was the soft melody of her lullaby, a gentle hum that seemed to resonate with the very air around her. I was three years old when she died, leaving me with a father who was already starting to fray at the edges of his sanity.

My father had always been fascinated with the boundaries of human potential, but he took that curiosity to a place my mother would never have approved of. Before I was born, he altered my stem cells, mutating them to foster psychic abilities that were unheard of. Hence, he was never really shocked when he learned I had psychic abilities. I was his experiment, his creation, though my mother never knew of his little science experiment in her belly. 

From the moment they found out I had psychic abilities, they ran gentle tests to ensure I was safe and to make sure I wouldn’t harm myself or others.

Those early years were almost idyllic, filled with the love and warmth of my mother and the quiet intensity of my father. 

The how and why of my mother's death are still shrouded in mystery to me, but it was the catalyst that pushed my father over the edge. 

Grief-stricken and desperate, he abandoned all his ethical values. Our home, once a sanctuary, was sold off. In its place, Rand built a fortress—a psychic-proof laboratory with a single master bedroom for himself and a series of holding cells and testing labs for me.

I was no longer his daughter; I was his subject.

The first tests were simple, almost benign. He wanted to see what I could do. Moving objects with my mind, reading thoughts, and influencing small events are just a few examples. When he realized the extent of my powers, the tests grew more rigorous. 

I was placed in environments designed to stress my abilities to their limits. He would test my telekinesis by having me manipulate hundreds of objects at once, or he would push my mental endurance by forcing me to maintain force fields against relentless, simulated attacks. 

As the years went by, my powers only grew stronger. I learned to harness them and to manipulate anyone and anything at will. But with this power came isolation. The loneliness was suffocating, and I longed desperately to be normal. I hadn't stepped foot outside in ages. The most comforting thing I saw for 10 years was the clouds I saw through the skylight in one of my labs. 

As I got older, my powers grew stronger. I tried to hide them whenever I wasn't being tested to pretend that I was just like everyone else, but it was impossible. I felt like a freak.

One particularly grueling test involved my precognition. He would have me predict a series of random events, altering variables constantly to see how far into the future I could see and how accurately I could interpret those visions. The tests were relentless, and each failure was met with more work, each success with cold, clinical note-taking. My father’s face was a constant mask of stern resolve, and his eyes were devoid of the warmth I remembered from my early childhood.

By the time I was thirteen, the tests had escalated to physical extremes. One day, I was placed in a room with 100 armed guards. My task was to disarm them using only my psychic abilities. The guards were relentless, each attack more brutal than the last. I managed to fend them off, but I was exhausted. My body and mind pushed beyond their limits. 

As I lay there, panting and bruised, my father looked down at me with an expression that was a mix of pride and something far darker. He saw me not as his daughter, but as the ultimate realization of his life's work. I knew then that I had to escape. If I stayed, I would be nothing more than a tool, a means to an end.

He got the guards to escort me to my holding cell, and from there I went to lay on my bed.

My heart pounded in my chest, fear flooding my veins. I pressed my hands over my ears, trying to block out all the minuscule noises I heard throughout the building. 

The creaking of my bed, the scuff of the shoes of the guards standing outside my room, the thoughts of the scientist down the hall, and the shattering of my dad's beer bottle on the kitchen floor.

I heard him yell and start stomping his way down to my holding cell.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I curled up on my bed.

Suddenly, something inside me snapped. A surge of energy coursed through me, fierce and wild. I could feel the walls around me and sense the metal and nails that held the building together.

I didn't want to be studied, didn't want to be poked and prodded like some lab rat. 

The room seemed to twist and bend, as if reality itself was warping to protect me. The air crackled with energy, and a sudden gust of wind swept through the room, knocking over furniture and extinguishing the lights. In the chaos that followed...

CONTINUE READING ON WATTPAD

[garvalhaminho]

i've done "pjo characters as 'the land is inhospitable and so are we' lyrics" now it's "pjo characters as 'be the cowboy' lyrics"

annabeth: "i need someone to remember my name/after all that i could do for them is done/i need someone to remember me/i need something bigger than the sky/hold it in my arms and know it's mine"

thalia: "out there i'm a sharp knife/are you that blue light?"

nico: "nobody, nobody, nobody, nobody/nobody, nobody, nobody, nobody"

percy: "though i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below/hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly/and hear the harmony only when it's harming me/it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough/but i will be the one you need the way i can't be without you"

leo: "why am i lonely for lonesome love?/why am i lonely for lonesome love?/why am i lonely?"

silena: "venus, planet of love, was destroyed by global warming/did its people want to much too?/did its people want to much?"

jason: "i steal a few breaths from the world for a minute/and then i'll be nothing forever/and all of my memories/and all of the things i have seen will be gone/with my eyes, with my body with me"

here's part 1!

[lunadarkwoodx]

I dreamt I was a werewolf

prompt:

Far above the stone, you can hear Her call, she sounds wrong, somehow. The moon has been your friend since you were just a little girl, but now she’s calling your name like you’re a stranger. It’s quiet at first, but it grows louder; in the beginning, you couldn’t hear it over the sound of your sweet Mother’s melody. It was all for Mother. It was all for the Brood and you were all too happy to bring forth her beautiful sweetlings, to nurse them, dote on them, and snap when your hungry Brothers got too quick. 

But she grew louder. Too loud to be ignored. You knelt before your precious Mother when the moon’s call snapped at your spine. Horror bent you back upon yourself, twisted your shape as you tore at your flesh. Your human skin wasn’t good enough, you wanted a coat, nails would not do you wanted claws - and with a maw of razor-like teeth, you bore into your sweet Mother as her viscera melted across the tarmac of your tongue and her song - a harrowing cry for help, and a shriek of death, reverberated over the stones.

The moon had cast a faithful, eternal and ethereal light on Luna all of her life. The faint silver glow had lit the path through dark woods that she had traversed many times before, the trees stood as unique points to her and old friends so she could never lose her way no matter how thick the forest got or how dark the skies got. Disharmony had played its chords ever since Magi lit the skies with purple hues and caused a terrible destruction which made her father fall to never wake again.

Unexpected heartbreak and horrors had followed the troupe as they had sought sanctuary and safe land, a broken down tower was raided by creatures of the darkest blood and most vile intentions, the women had been packed into cages and carts that rattled over rotted land sick with blight. Still, Luna had turned her eyes towards the sky, if the stars kept their place within the sky then she wouldn't be alone until even the moon became a discontent stranger who no longer called to its daughter down below.

Luna's mind had become not her own, it happened slowly and began to pick up speed as she was brought to serve the broodmother as a mid-wife, to help nurse the children that came into the world, to swaddle them and protect them from harm as hungry jaws snapped to taste their flesh.

She could spend the rest of her days in sweet oblivion, finally had shed the pain that followed her from having death touch her family. She had a babe in her arms and she heard far from the cave, a yowl that was familiar and yet felt like a dream as her mind had retreated and gone elsewhere. It was a warning call from a cat that would follow her throughout great distances and yet was smart enough to stay away from hands that could attempt to reach for him.

The moon had finally blossomed in full and the low pulse that had beat through her body reached full volume as her spine snapped in place breaking skin and her bones shifted within skin that was not meant to hold it. A snout elongated ripping sinew and the beast was taking hold. A maw had emerged and a human face disappeared as long lines of sharp teeth took its place, a hunger for pain stepped in and the agony that she had lived through for too long had made her ravenous. Paws hit the dirt and a howl escaped from the werewolf's throat as Luna descended on the broodmother, ripping into folds of flesh as the sweet taste of iron and rot filled her mouth.

She was no longer the maiden, now she had become the terror in the night and she feasted with fever. Screams of pain and death echoed over the stones and yet it sounded like harmony and revenge for the foolish ones who dared to try to take her captor. Cage a beast and it will only grow more hungry. Pools of blood and torn through flesh was all that remained of the broodmother when Luna was done, paws became soaked with red and clots of blood dripped from Luna's maw. The werewolf had taken hold and would get them through this alive, it was witha snarl and wild eyes that the werewolf walked through the caves, willing and without fear to feast on whatever darkspawn that she would come across, searching for the light of the day and an escape from the nightmare.

[crushedsweets]

back w more of my song analysis bs cause im studying music performance and it’s all I think about 😍 sorry this is so long. i have so many Thoughts

the chain by fleetwood mac is such a brian song. no big beat drop, just constant driving bass - shows determination, relentlessness. specifically the line “if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again” which i take to mean “after i do what im about to do i will become unlovable, so you if you don’t love me now then you will never be able to because i’ll be such an irredeemable person”

geyser by mitski is a really good song to describe nina’s relationship with Jeff. the way that the song starts off so slow, so quiet and thin, but then swells to a grand and full sound like how nina’s obsession started off so small but then grew to control her entire life. love the line “and hear the harmony only when it’s harming me”

a pearl by mitski and LJ (another mitski song cause she’s my fav artist ever) about his abandonment mmm. plus the slightly sinister sounding chords showing his evilification(?? yk what i mean. when he turned emo) ugh “you’re growing tired of me” and “i fell in love with a war and nobody told me it ended” so him

tongues and teeth by the cranes wives and EJ. this is SO his song. ALL of the lyrics r so incredibly him,, “my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear” plus the slightly manic instrumental, highlighting the panic he feels at potentially harming people he loves HLGKFJJDS.

also, for ur consideration, miss nothing by the pretty reckless x nat.

- anon 🌙

anon im kicking my feet. AGGHHGHG. ohh my god. yhou are using musical word that i do not comprehendn in the same way you may but wow do i love the way you describe it. very poetic i think. ill talk abt these.. and then mention a liil extra smth abt toby i thought when driving yesterday

the chain is yes very brian.... ugh... yeyah. yeah. 'after i do what im about to do' is so real. like being so very aware and conscious of your awful decisions and still going through with them. quite brian-like even under the whole complexities with hoody persona etc etc....

AND YEAH GEYSER TOO . the start of the song feels very like... idk if scary is right but its just very deep and could be quite unsettling.... nina longs for love. "i've turned down every hand thats beckoned for me to come" very pretty, fun, easy-going girl that could have plenty of suitors and yet she's still crawling towards this fucking beast of a man who is nothing good for her. "i will be the one you need" constantly warping herself for this man that wouldn't do shit for her, and she doesn't mind because she loves him in every single which way he is, and she loves how awful it is . and FUCKKKKK SHE NEEDS TO GET BETTER SHE NEEDS TO GET AWAY. she gets away dont worry. she gets over him. lots of crying and sobbing and screaming but she gets over it. its very hard to get over something awful when you crave awful

im not a huge lj fan (SCARED OF CLOWNS IM SORRY GUYS IK I KEEP HARPING ON ABOUT IT) but i loooove a pearl. "i fell in love with a war / nobody told me it ended" wow. ok. yeah. wow. jesus. rolling the pearl around looking for anything and everything that could soothe the ache of literal fucking abandonment while all you can do is wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and then its all too much and damn . :( damn ok.

IVE GORWN A MOUTH SO SHARP AND CRUEL IS LITERALLY SO PERFFECTLY EJ. FUCK. "I am not a vessel for your good intents" oh but he is sure a vessel for something demonic .... "abonded all your stupid dreams / about the girl i couldve been" HE HAD SOOO MANY FUCKING DREAAAMSSSS he wants to be a doctor he wanted to save lives he wanted a family he wanted a dog he wanted to see his little siblings grow up he wanted to take care of his elderly parents. and now all he can do is sit and be miserable because he is a monster and there is only so much he can do about it. damn. wow.

also yeah to the nat thing wow.

wow. yeah. goddamn.

AND ALSOOOOO OK LAST NIGHT I WAS DRIVING AND THIS SONG CAME ON

shit show by peter mcpoland i just keep thinking about toby. tbh ill find a way to twist any song into toby cuz i like him but yea. this is leaning more into the found family thing after losing his own and just seeing the way different people reflect his past and its gut wrenching but you know how he is. just a guy of sorts. he spends a lot of his time angry and wanting to isolate and self destruct and ruin everything around him . but he also spends a lot of his time desperate for normalcy, for respect, to be seen as a human fucking being and ah fugugh. im just imagining brian pulling him out to meet the owner of the farm near slenders forest and making him stand straight and telling the farmer 'he's a good kid, hard worker, strong. keep him around" (the hardworking strong part is true, at least) and toby's about to die cuz he's so stressed (this is shortly after all the fucking murder) but brian lightly slaps him on the back and he stands up straight and the farmer just shakes his hand and says smth nice abt 'got a good grip there' and and and guyyyyssss..... and holidays..are so hard for hhim.. and "i swear i'd see your faces staring up at me" ohh my goddd.... "I don't wanna drink alone today" man................... guys...... man......

[aut-with-tism]

So…I wrote a thing

It takes seven weeks for the press to move on.

At first, it seemed it would never end. Relentless. Brutal. Owen likened them to the pterosaurs let loose on Main Street. She’d laughed at first - some foreign, high-pitched and breathy squawk - before she realised. They both fell silent.

Eventually, though, there’s a new story. A new disaster. New people whose lives have been turned upside down to hunt and prey on, tearing into them at the first sign of vulnerability.

She’s seen dinosaurs with more mercy.

It takes seven weeks before she can leave the hotel without being swarmed, seven weeks before she can finally breathe again.

The first few days are once, almost. She goes out, picks up groceries - hell, takes a fucking walk - without a leering crowd waiting for the right moment to go in for the kill. Owen, too, takes advantage of their newfound freedom; running a few miles every morning.

She gets it.

She wakes up to the memories of teeth, blood, screams. The crushing heaviness on her chest is the weight of all the lives lost because of her and all she wants to do is run. Run as far and as fast as she can. Run like she did at eighteen and never look back.

But look where that got her.

It takes eight weeks for the reality of the situation to hit her, full force.

It comes out of nowhere; an Indominus-Rex lurking in the forest, camouflaged and waiting. Only this isn’t over as quickly.

At first, she thinks she’s losing her mind. And maybe she is. Maybe she already has, because why else would she do the things she did? Why else would she so carelessly, stupidly, endanger the lives of thousands? Who even does that? Her. If she isn’t insane, she must be incredibly ignorant. Or both.

It’s little things, to start.

Like brushing her teeth in the morning and being so certain she can hear the heavy stomp of dinosaur footsteps in the distance.

Or falling asleep with Owen curled around her, waking up thinking the harsh breathing against her neck is that of a hybrid and not a human.

Then, she’s almost certain that she catches a glimpse of red eyes and bloodied teeth, taunting her in the dark.

The more time passes, the more it affects her. The worse it gets. She has to clamp her eyes shut to wash her hands, because if she opens them, she sees blood. It stains her skin. It tints the water. The blood on her hands is no longer a metaphor, it’s real; it’s real and the word ‘murderer’ echoes through the deafening silence in her mind. She’ll never be clean. But she can come clean.

That night, she releases a statement admitting fault in it all. Explaining her part in the events and how it was her who signed the paperwork authorising the creation of Indominus, how it was her who exploited the animals for money, how it was her who was to blame. She lists the names of every life lost that dreaded day, and in the days that followed. She lists the causes of their deaths.

Her. All because of her.

She deletes all her social media, after, shutting off her phone and throwing it hard off the balcony. It forms a pile of broken pieces on the ground below. For a moment, she contemplates joining it, doing the same to herself as she did her mobile.

It wouldn’t be punishment enough.

Instead, she steps silently back into the room, putting the leather notebook of deaths back into its place at the bottom of the nightstand. She made it a few weeks back, after the guilt started to be too much. Not that she needed it. By week five, she’d already memorised the names of everybody who had been killed. The names of those whose lives had been taken from them far too soon.

The names and faces will haunt her as long as she lives. She supposes, maybe that is her punishment. To never live a life free from them. To never live a life free from herself.

She slips back into bed, facing away from Owen. Staring at the wall in front of her and waiting for him to wake up, because sleep doesn’t come easy these days. Not that it did, before.

She doesn’t know how much time passes before he stirs. Truthfully. It could be minutes, it could be hours; it all feels the same these days.

The mattress dips behind her as he rolls towards her, pressing gentle kisses to her shoulder that have her stomach rolling and the nausea creeping up her throat. She doesn’t deserve this, him, his kindness. Doesn’t deserve anything.

By week twelve, the nausea has grown and the ability to keep meals down has gone. Though that’s nothing new, she supposes. She looks in the mirror after throwing up and sees her twelve year old self. Drained. Alone. It comes to little surprise; it was about time for the ghosts of her past to rear their ugly heads, again.

A part of her has missed this.

She’s mostly surprised that she’s made it this far without it. But, then again, she’d been relying on the routine of it all to get through. And Owen routinely made sure they had three meals a day, minimum.

Speaking of, he notices the change in her behaviour. Of course he does. He’s an animal behaviourist - it's his job to notice these sorts of things - and she’s lost all rights to humanity. He must notice her rushing off to the bathroom during or shortly after mealtimes. Must notice the sound of spittle and spew hitting the toilet bowl.

For a moment, she thinks he gets it. Until he catches her with her fingers jammed down her throat and loses his shit.

He holds her tightly, that night, whispers soft words and apologies into her ear that make her want to curl up into herself and cry. But she doesn’t. She can’t. She doesn’t deserve his kindness and she reminds herself of that by digging her nails into her thighs, leaving red scratches in their wake. Reminiscent of raptor claws. Perhaps that’s the only reason Owen loves her.

(She’s considered it, before. Contemplated the way he looks in her eyes as if she’s a scared animal that needs reassurance, or the surge of pride he gets when she seems to be doing well, before the sadness glosses over. She’s never been what everyone’s needed of her. Never been right.)

He drifts off, some point between midnight and the early hours of the morning. She peels his arms off of her waist and paces around the kitchen, until he wakes up and starts off his morning routine.

Breakfast is awkward. She doesn’t know what to do, but she thinks he doesn’t, either.

It’s the first time she realises it’s his first time experiencing all this, too.

The guilt swirls around her stomach, creeping its way up her throat and into her mouth. The bitterness lingers on her tongue. Thick, heavy, warm. Like the jungle air back on Isla Nublar - the air that still suffocates her fifteen weeks after.

It takes sixteen weeks for her to tell Owen this.

She’s tired. She’s so tired and the exhaustion is deep within her, settled in her core. Maybe it’s a part of her.

He comes home from his job interview at the zoo to find her pressed into the corner of the closet, hyperventilating and on the verge of passing out. There’s blood staining her skin and it’s on the walls, it’s on the floor, it’s everywhere. Teeth, blood, screams. Teeth, blood, screams. Teeth, blood, screams. All her fault. Her. Teeth, blood, screams. Stop. Make it stop. Teeth, blood, screams. Her.

She’s tired. Too tired to protest when they manage to even out her breathing, too tired to say anything when he makes the decision to scoop her up and carry her out of the closet. Too tired to think about the fact that she feels six, again, being cradled and comforted by her sister after their dad had too much to drink and lashed out. Too tired to tell Owen this.

She hasn’t told him anything about her dad, yet.

There’s parts of her he doesn’t understand. But there’s also parts of her she refuses to let him see.

They slept together, the first night. It was a spur of the moment sort of thing, but she doesn’t regret it. Knows he doesn’t, either. But still, he would never understand her need for control, for the lights to be off, for the chance to run away in the middle of the night.

He sees her every day, but he’s never seen her. Not the way that she sees herself.

It takes nineteen weeks for their first argument.

Well, not really. There’s been many before now; it’s just usually hot-headed and stubborn and snappy. Quick. Like the two of them.

But this is different.

This has been brewing for weeks - a hurricane building up and building up and ready to hit land. Katrina, all over again.

She’s lost weight. She’s lost too much weight and she can’t eat and she can’t sleep, but she can muster up the energy to scream at him for four hours. Maybe more. He’s worried and she pushes him away because she’s suffocating, and why can’t he just see that?

He goes out the next morning, earlier than usual. No morning kiss on her shoulder. No standing in the doorway, watching her sleep. (Not that she does - they both know better than to think that.)

She’s long gone by the time he gets back.

It’s week twenty by the time she returns.

Five days since their argument and four since she left, she knocks awkwardly on the door to their hotel room. He opens it quickly - too quickly, as though he was standing on the other side of the door - and she pushes that thought aside as he steps away to let her in.

They don’t even manage five minutes before his lips are on hers, her hands are pulling at his shirt and they’re stumbling in the direction of the bedroom.

She hears him moan and it makes her close her eyes.

Teeth, blood, screams. All over again.

Just like the first night, they fall asleep in the dark; a mess of tangled limbs and sweat. Too exhausted for the nightmares to reach them.

It takes everything within her not to cry when she wakes.

He sleeps longer than she does, heavier, the weight of her leaving pulling him down and running him to the ground. There’s bags under his eyes that liken her own. For a moment, she looks at him and sees herself.

But then she blinks and he’s there, breathing deeply as he stirs and reaches out for her. His hands are warm against her skin. It makes her flinch.

He asks how she slept and for once, she doesn’t have to lie. He breaks out into the biggest, brightest grin, and she has to try not to cry again at his purity. Her resolve crumbles. He’s warmth and light and rough but gentle hands guiding her away from the darkness pulling her down. For a second, she thinks he’s saving her. Until she realises that he can only save one of them, and she’s been pulling him down with her since the moment she showed up at his bungalow.

He doesn’t deserve this.

And she doesn’t deserve him.

They make an agreement to get the hell out of the hotel that afternoon, when he sees her curled up on the stool in front of the kitchen counter. Curled around herself. Protecting herself. Protecting him.

They don’t have to keep running, but maybe they should never have stopped.

So, run they do. All the way back to America. They start in California, where Owen purchases a beat-up van with their ‘severance pay’. Hush money, he calls it.

Blood money.

Stained by the lives lost at the park. She funded this. She funded them. Her.

They go on a road trip, of sorts, travelling from state to state with the rough plan of spending a few weeks in Wisconsin and seeing her sister and nephews. They have weekly phone calls now, but it’s been too long since she saw them last.

It’s only been four months since they spent the weekend around their house. The old Claire would’ve thought that to be days. The Claire that remains understands that you never know which day will be your last. (She always hopes for tomorrow.)

It takes twenty-three weeks for her to wrap her arms around her nephews and, for the first time in years, not comment on how much they’ve grown since she saw them last.

Still, Gray is very much almost as tall as her, especially without her heels on. (She briefly thinks about the fact she went twelve years wearing a pair every day, to simply…not.) He bounds up to her with too much excitement and it makes her heart pang. He’s always been a child. He was even younger than this at the park, when he could’ve died.

Because of her. Her.

It takes everything within her not to ask how he still has that childlike joy. She didn’t, at his age. But, then again, they aren’t anything alike. They grew up completely differently, which gives her hope for him; for them both.

Zach, on the other hand, is exactly the same as he was last. Quiet. Angry.

Disapproving.

Her sister tries her best to fill the time with various days out and family activities - Karen has always been a mother, in that sense - but it never seems right. It suffocates her, being in that house.

It takes twenty-four weeks until they’re on the road again.

Owen is quieter, too, now. It makes her worry. Worry that he’s finally had enough of her, worry that he’s finally starting to see through the haze and realise that all of this is her fault. She doesn’t sleep. Can’t sleep. Scared that she’ll close her eyes and he’ll disappear forever. Or maybe she will.

They stop in a motel on the outskirts of Augusta, Maine. He doesn’t know her dad lives here now and she doesn’t tell him.

She’s not sure what to think of it, anyway.

He falls asleep before his head hits the pillow and she paces the small room until she worries about the neighbours complaining to reception. She stops. But the thoughts don’t and the quiet of the night only seems to amplify them.

For the first time in years, she isn’t alone anymore. But god, she’s never been so lonely.

She lays next to Owen, flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She counts the number of stains and marks on the peeling, ivory paint. She mentally traces the outline of the areas the paint is missing. But then, she’s counting the number of people who died because of her, and she traces the outline of their lifeless bodies and the teeth of the Indominus. Teeth, blood, screams. Teeth, blood, screams.

They visit a nearby diner in the morning for breakfast and she gags at the sight of raspberry jelly smeared across a piece of toast. For a moment, the bite marks in the corner aren’t human. And, for another moment, the toast bitten into isn’t bread.

Teeth, blood, screams.

Owen squeezes her hand gently, pulling her attention back towards him. They only got seated moments before - he hasn’t had the time to order coffee, yet - but she looks up at him and begs to leave. They do.

He doesn’t ask anything in the car but he doesn’t have to. He already knows. He always does.

They carry on into the city and she spends most of the drive looking out of the window, wondering if any of the houses they pass are her father’s. Wondering if he looks out the window, too, in search of her. Wondering if he feels ashamed of all he did. Of all he didn’t do.

Would he even recognise her, now?

She doesn’t recognise herself.

Once they’ve reached the beach, it seems to hit her. Again. Everything, everywhere, all at once. The water laps around her ankles and she’s drowning, she can’t breathe; the world spins and her head feels all fuzzy and she’s gonna die. She deserves to die.

She’s fifteen again and the world is ending. She’s fifteen and she can’t find an escape, so she makes her own. She’s fifteen and she’s dying, and she’s never felt happier.

But then, there’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her and she’s not dying anymore. Someone speaks to her so softly that her head spins more, stomach lurching as she turns slightly to the side and coughs up the meagre contents inside.

“I’ve got you, Claire. I’ve got you.”

[bambi-kinos]

my impressions of Revolver (2022)

Re-posting from the McLennon Discord Server.

First listen through the remixed tracks reinforces my impression from when I was 9 years old. This album has its bright moments but it's very much a morbid album that is very obsessed with death and loss, it's borderline hateful without actually crossing into that territory. Now that I know what I know, I think this is also where you can hear John's mind slipping off the edge of that cliff, forget Janov, this is when his primal screaming started. Dude is ready to start hammering nails into his temples, he's vomiting blood all over these songs. Paul is trying to help but he just isn't strong enough. George wants them to push them along and Ringo is his background presence but you can feel John unraveling through out.

Revolver is a much more psychedelic album than Sgt. Pepper, it's actually vocalizing all the negative effects of LSD and other trippy drugs before John tried to throw that into reverse with Sgt. Pepper with the silly cellophane skies and marmalade flowers.

1) Taxman--

Lots of texture with the prominent bass and you can actually hear what Ringo is actually fucking doing. Want to have sex with this song. Don't have much to say about the actual message because I don't know much about that period of British politics, except that it's taking place close to the time that the Rolling Stones said "fuck this" and took off to France to record The Basement Tapes which is an indictment in of itself.

2) Eleanor Rigby--

Favorite trance since I was 8 and first saw Yellow Submarine. The melancholy and grimness + the movie visuals always sticks with me. I think I was listening to this on repeat in 5th grade when all of my physical and mental problems caught up with me in a big way.

"All the lonely people..." where do we come from? Where do we belong? This always troubled because I knew Paul was singing about me, even then. Something about the song is very grotesque. Paul observes lonely people like we are zoo exhibits and he's taking field notes on us. He doesn't know what to do with us but he can't look away. He doesn't feel bad for us, he's just fascinated by the display like an ME doing an autopsy.

Beautiful strings, can finally differentiate the cellos from the violins. (I dated a cellist, this is important to me.) Been wanting that for over 20 years. I didn't hear much vibrato on those strings!

3) I'm Only Sleeping--

Identified with this song when I heard it, still do. I didn't understand this song as a kid but I still heard the sadness behind it and it spoke to me.

Sick bassline, love you Paul.

4) Love You To--

Not much to say about this. Sitar sounds fantastic. I skipped this track as a kid a lot, still not feeling it.

5) Here, There And Everywhere

The backing vocals are so clear, love hearing their voices meld, it's a precursor to the beautiful vocal blending in And Your Bird Can Sing. THe counter harmony sounds wonderful for the few seconds they did it, I wish John had had a longer harmony.

6) Yellow Submarine--

SHRIEKS You can hear all four of them!!! It's so cute!!! And you can hear that Ringo put on an accent with the "cut the cable, cut the cable" bit!

7) She Said She Said--

This one drew me in as a kid and I couldn't explain why. I think this is a more interesting psychedelic song than Lucy. You can hear "never been born" which is nice because up until this moment I thought it was "never belonged."

When I was a kid I thought this song was about John planning how he was going to commit suicide. It's a very suicidal and self harming song to the point that listening to this makes me wonder if John felt the urge to hurt himself in more direct ways? This is the kind of song that you cut to during your ritualized self harm sessions. Not everyone plays Sarah McLachlan.

In addition to that shithead Fonda ruining George's trip (because the Fonda family are spoiled and self serving shits who can't think of anyone but themselves) I just hear a lot of self injury here, this is someone who regularly imagines killing himself and is always looking for new ways to hurt himself with the perpetual hope that this time will provide the offramp. I wonder if the acid gave John insight into his desire for his own death and hearing "I know what it's like to be dead" triggered something in him.

I just can't hear this as anything but a self harming manifesto. It's not the lyrics, it's the melody and the harmony and how John is singing.

8) Good Day Sunshine--

One of my favorites, a little punch of sunlight. Good thing sunshine fits into the [checks notes] black and white theme of the album!

9) And Your Bird Can Sing--

Supposedly this is loaded with symbolism from John but while I don't dispute it I also don't really get it.

This isn't loaded down like She Said She Said or the upcoming tracks or even Eleanor Rigby. It's a cute melancholic song in a major key with an upbeat tempo. I don't think it's that deep.

10) For No One--

Revolver is a sad album full of sad songs about loss and dying and this is one of them.

11) Doctor Robert--

Catchy song, no notes. I don't know enough about the lore behind this song to make a judgment.

12) I Want to Tell You--

"It's only me" oh John.

Lovely piano here, discordant but it's pleasing. 13) Got to Get You Into My Life--

Desperation personified but very honest singing from Paul. I think this one is an insight into how he actually feels the same way She Said She Said is for John. Paul is pouring a lot of emotion into the song but it's not easily recognizable like Oh, Darling is.

It actually reminds me of Every Breath You Take -- that song gets played at every single high school prom even though it's about a stalker but the musicality disguises the lyrics. IMO this song + She Said She Said have the opposite where the lyrics disguise the negative emotions behind the song.

14) Tomorrow Never Knows--

Revolver is a better psychedelic album than Sgt. Pepper because this is where John guts himself and pours his intestines out onto the table instead of Sgt. Pepper where they tried to backtrack on all the negative stuff here. I'm sorry for the imagery but this track is John gutting himself. There's no dumb crap about cellophane and marmalade trying to make it dreamier and cuter than it actually is. I always thought this was a deeply violent song and as a kid never understood why the singer was going on about love on such a creepy track especially since he starts yammering about death.

I still feel that but I think that's the point. The song is the sound of a man laughing at you while he slowly tears out the contents of his mouth and trying to tell you no this is love it's fine just turn your brain off there's nothing bad happening promise. When I was 9 I would sing along and found myself grabbing my own tongue without thinking about it.

And then the ragtime piano at the end? Bruh. I like it but it's whack.

Listening through the additional tracks of the work sessions, I like them but don't have any special insights about them. John and Paul are cute.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hello, this is a follow-up regarding to my relationship towards my father with my career choice as an Addiction Counselor. (INTJ)

I've tried and seek a mutual understanding between us our differences and I'm starting to see why we don't eye to eye apart from our mindset. He only sees himself as the prominent figure in the household and is inconsiderate of others despite staying with us for 6 years. (He was a deadbeat before then.)

He would explain his own troubles while dismissing the needs of my mother's physical ache. Whenever she has bottled up emotions, he would brush them aside and start ranting about his coworkers much to my mother's displeasure. He would push away from my (and mom's side) of the family because he deems 'too american' for him. We would share foods over visitation with my aunts and uncles which he says makes them lazy but when the same is done for him he gradually accepts them.

One last thing I want to touch on is his lack of self-reflection. He would constantly make false promises whenever he hurts my mother (emotionally) and berates me for being me. I've talked to my mother about this situation and need to stay by her side (because she's the one who raised and been there for me for all my life) my mother doesn't want any more arguments and would just remain passive to him even though it only makes it worse. She is selfless by default and would do it for maintaining harmony even if its unhealthy ones.

I know my life is mine, but I have a duty to protect my mother and only my 2 cousins and uncle know about this situation. When push comes to shove I will eventually have to take action, if he physically harms her I will have no problem fighting him back. I know I need to do something to help my family out while pursuing my degree. What's your input on this? Thanks in advance.

-----------------------

It sounds like there are many boundary issues in your family. You want to blame your father, but relationship problems are rarely one-sided. It takes two people to create a toxic relationship dynamic.

1) Yes, due to his lack of self-reflection, he is often violating other people's boundaries, which is a big problem. 2) However, your mother does not respect and honor her own personal boundaries, which leads her to accept mistreatment from others. These two kinds of people are complementary, but in an unhealthy, codependent way.

3) There is the issue of where you fit into this situation and what kind of boundaries you need to be setting. It's admirable of you to want to protect your mother, but that shouldn't be your job. The child should not be the one parenting the parent. I know it's hard to hear, but she has a responsibility to care for herself and she has a responsibility to care for you by keeping you out of her relationship troubles with your father. I'm not sure what you can do for her when she's unwilling to do for herself. As a general rule, you shouldn't tell people what to do, make decisions for them, or live their life for them, as that would be a violation of their boundaries.

I'm afraid I don't really know what you're asking me for. Asking for "input" is too vague. While you've described the relationship between your parents, you haven't given enough information about yourself and what options are available to you. Realistically, what can you do? Be the peacemaker? Threaten him? Break them up? Advise her to stand up for herself, which would only provoke him? Try to get them professional help, which they would most likely reject?

Are you away from home now, and that's why you're more worried about it? Perhaps the only thing you can do is keep close contact with the both of them, though it might be painful for you to interact with your father so much. By keeping tabs on them and hearing about what they're up to, you may have more opportunity to get in front of any escalation of their problems. Hopefully, you can keep the fires under control until you're in a better position to put them out. If your relatives are willing to help, you can also ask them to observe and report to you.

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

Today I am 35.

I have spent my entire life trying my best to choose love, because I wasn't shown it very often by the people who had the duty to teach me. I compromised, I rescued, I made so many mistakes, and each one I learned from helped me make choices out of dealt cards that were never in my favor. Just like this girl, staring up at the inner world she built full of magic and gold and silver linings.

That figure in red to me represents my innate desires and passions, which until now I kept in strict check. The religions that I was exposed to told me those natural ambitions and needs were wrong, selfish, ugly and painful. I never let them become a true form, or a true expression, I just fed them enough to keep them from starving, honored them just enough in secret to keep them from poisoning me from within.

Anger and rage were emotions I only let myself feel intentionally alone. I know people have helped to inspire them in me, and I also know that they have escaped me in times of extreme injustice and in the wounding of unconscious wounds. My anger and rage were feared by me, because so often people used their anger and rage to justify causing me deep harm on every level. I'm sure we all have a few stories like that.

I'm an adult now, and a woman with more power and agency in my common life than every single one of my ancestors.

I am clever, and my emotions are mastered but not tamed. I am not required to be the moral center for anyone. I am just a human being who gets to feel alive and do whatever the fuck I want as long as it doesn't cause harm to others.

I don't have to turn the other cheek when someone tries to harm me.

I don't have to rise above.

I don't have to adhere to any spiritual vision or framework that someone else came up with.

I know myself now.

I have written down what I value.

I know what I don't stand for.

I know what I am passionate about.

I know how to manipulate manipulators.

I know how to change my mind and accept new wisdom and knowledge.

I know how to bite that apple while grinning with mischief into the eyes of that snake.

Don't you know the snake is one of Scorpio's seven forms?

I am clever, kind, and know that harmony is my core value - but not my definition.

I am the girl with a heart full of magic, and the blood and flesh of nature and wisdom that has survived things people don't want to hear or imagine, much less talk about.

I have nothing to apologize for, and I have not lived a life I regret.

Every demon that life gave me has a name now, a story, and I have talked to each one and learned just what it was that I inherited. I have taken my own life in my hands, balanced it, and chosen to keep it.

The future is no longer overwhelming, or scary.

I know I won't lose myself again.

Well, at least not permanently.

It's like I am suddenly looking at my internal control panel and know what most of the buttons mean and do. Now I just need to figure out my most powerful combination moves.

I'm excited, because even if I face pain and all its companions, I'm not afraid to evolve anymore. I won't lose the best parts of me. I know myself now, and am pretty uninterested in the perceptions of others when it pertains to "me" or "my character".

Unless, of course, an outside perspective is positive or curious. As long as you approach me with respect, I will give you whatever I'm able to give with the joy of a heart that knows it is limitless.

Here's to the rest of this channel of time we've been given, and the creative rage I am delighted to begin cultivating to put my mark on the world.

I'm ready.

Are you?

(P.S. The bunnies I got for my birthday last year just had baby rabbits with no intentional planning on my part, so I've decided this year has been blessed with the luck of the lunar eclipse tomorrow morning (BLOOD MOON). )

(P.S.S.) Since it's a blood moon tomorrow, and my birthday, I full expect enemies I have already conquered to show up like I'm Link in Breath Of The Wild and MY SPIRIT HAS A FIRE SWORD OK.)

[anabsolutefreak]

Chapter 19: Songs of the Underdark

This is a canon adjacent full campaign based story involving my original TAV character, the full BG3 crew and, of course, our favorite undead high elf. I created this story to help me get through an exceptionally difficult time in my life and so, you might notice Tav's story is a little more atypical than some. Be advised that the story I have created has some mature themes including violence, kink, mental health and self harm. I will be placing warnings on each individual chapter when any of these themes are included so please be aware. I hope you enjoy. Summary: Embrae and her friends journey into the Underdark and meet the Myconids. Astarion tries to find something worthwhile to hunt in the new, dangerous environment. When he returns, he learns a little more about the odd half-elf. Embrae admits that she would like to be something more than friends with benefits but is the elf even capable of that kind of relationship? MATURE CONTENT: References to trauma. Attempted sexual assault.

Whenever Embrae had imagined the Underdark, she had thought of a dank, dark cave, full of stalactites and stalagmites, and of bats hiding on the ceiling waiting to swoop down upon unwary adventurers. The Underdark, as it turned out, defied all her expectations. Firstly it wasn’t, well, all that dark… Every surface of the subterranean caverns seemed to glow with internal lights of all colors: solemn blue, misty white, poison green, and even hot pink. And the size of it was awe-inspiring. Standing atop the gate of the temple where they had first found themselves, she could see strange, glowing mushrooms, the infrastructure of what she thought might be a settlement or a village, a lake, and even mountains in the distance. Mountains underground, she thought. As they explored, she also noticed chasms that dropped farther still and she shuddered. Just how far down could it go? Embrae realized that she could barely see the ceiling in places; it was so far above them, that she could see only darkness, interrupted here and there by massive spikes or soft iridescent glowing fungi. How far down were they? She looked down and saw a river trickling down and even farther into the darkness of a chasm and shivered. How far down does it go?

The music here is otherworldly. Unlike the surface, the subtle music she often heard was not so easily pushed to the background. It was a dissonant, whisper, a melody, a perfect harmony, and a funeral dirge, all at once, and yet, she couldn’t hope to compare it to any of those things. It was beautiful, haunting, and awful. She wanted it to stop and yet, she also wanted to lay still on the cold floor and drink it in. 

“You know, all my years as a creature of the night,” said Astarion conversationally, “and I’ve never once ventured into the Underdark… it's not exactly a luxurious setting but it definitely has its upsides for a vampire… still, I do miss the sun already.” 

“You’ve only just come to tolerate the sun and you’re already reminiscing?” snapped Lae’zel. 

“Nature’s beauty shines even deep beneath the surface,” rumbled Halsin. “But we must be wary. All manner of hungry creatures wait for us here.” 

“I think it’s beautiful,” breathed Shadowheart. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “Lady Shar guide me.”

Embrae pointed at the miniatures running headlong towards the gate where they still stood. “Halsin, are those by chance some of the hungry creatures you mentioned?” Even from where they were, Embrae could hear the ground rumble as they approached, calling out in a guttural shriek as they charged the gate… only to be felled immediately when a wicked beam of pale blue light shot from one of the many tall pillars surrounding the temple. Looking closer, she noticed that corpses of other minitaurs lined the path towards the gate… “I guess they’re not very bright…”

“Alas, some of nature's creatures have much in the way of hunger, and little in the way of brains,” the large druid sighed. 

“Well, I say, that’s at least one problem solved for us,” chimed in Gale. “But perhaps were should find a erm, less direct path, lest we join them.”

“There’s a ledge leading down that direction,” said Wyll, pointing to their left. We’ll have to be careful, but it should keep us out of the path of those beams.”

Embrae squinted. Even with her dark vision, she had trouble spotting the ledge the human pointed out. She looked thoughtfully at the one-eyes human.“Impressive eyesight Wyll.”

“Yeah, one of the few benefits of being dragged through all of the fires of Avernus… My last eye seems to work better than ever."

They were quiet as they eased their way down to the ledge towards the path below. The anxiety rippled through her and her companions was palpable, thought Embrae. Again, she wondered if they had made the right choice. How easy it would be to get lost down here! 

A voice stopped them all in their tracks as they finally reached level ground. We are here. Others are coming, always coming. 

“Please tell me you all heard that,” groaned Embrae. The music was becoming almost unbearable. She rubbed a palm to her forehead. 

“Oh yeah, we heard it.” Karlach cracked her knuckles nervously. “Halsin you sure about this Myconid Colony?”

“Hmm. They are our best option for gaining directions. It is their domain after all. They aren’t known to be aggressive… but that doesn’t mean they're safe, either. We could also seek help from the Duergar, however, they aren’t renowned for being friendly towards outsiders. 

“Hmph,” scoffed Astarion. “That’s an understatement. As I hear it, subterranean dwarves are even less friendly than my unpredictable cousins, the drow.”

“I’ve heard the same,” said Shadowheart. “Go to them and we might end up with our heads on a pike.”

“And that would be a pity,” said Astarion. “My head looks rather better attached to the rest of me.” 

Embrae sighed. She and Astarion had been ignoring each other for the better part of the day. In fact, the elf had been remarkably silent— now, it seemed nerves had gotten the better of him. She shot a brief glance his way and immediately regretted it. The subtle lights of the Underdark played across his pale skin, accentuating the angles of his cheekbones and heightening his already otherworldly beauty. His mouth was slightly open as he thought and his fangs seemed almost longer— sharper. Here, he looked as much like a creature of the night as she’d ever seen him. Her stomach turned and her heart did a little flip as she looked away. “Let’s go find the Myconids.” 

*** 

They continued down the path and found the bodies of Dreugar as well as the strange twisting shapes of what must have been the Myconids they sought, scattered about the path. “Clearly, they’re not overly fond of one another,” she muttered. 

The path split ahead. To the left, it led further down, towards the abandoned-looking village she had noted earlier. The other led straight towards a cluster of green mushrooms and beyond that an overlapping mass of shelf fungi that seemed to form something like a structure that seemed to exude a warm, comforting light. “Blibberbang,” observed Halsin. “Don’t get too close or they’ll— well— go bang.” 

“At a guess, I’d say the mushroom people are living over there,” said Embrae pointing past the blibberbang field. 

They made their way around the blibberbangs and, as they did, Embrae became sure that they were headed the right way. The music wasn’t just loud now, it was overwhelming. Her senses were so filled with it, that she could scarcely concentrate. And she could see— images, strange, barely humanoid shapes that jutted and curved in uncanny ways, their hands overstretched over the corpses of a small woman— a gnome, she realized. They were the source of the singing, she was sure of it. Surely the others could hear this! She looked over towards her companions but besides the mild worry covering all of their faces, they seemed normal. Gale caught her gaze and gave her a look of concern. 

“Are you alright, Embrae? You look— unwell.”

“I’m fine—” she wasn’t but she didn’t want to talk about it. Gale frowned. Behind him. Astarion raised an eyebrow. 

They approached the shelf fungi. Now that they were nearer, she realized that they formed a sort of staircase. And at the top of the staircase, a tall myconid that seemed to radiate every color of the Underdark stared down at them. They are here, as foretold. A deep voice in her head said. It extended an arm towards her and her head felt as though it might burst with the mournful music pounding inside her skull. She saw a vision then, of the myconid creatures weaving their fungal spores over her corpse. Was it threatening her? She shivered. She focused on the song, trying to understand its meaning. It was them, their way of communicating— and it spoke so loudly— of loss. She opened her eyes. They had suffered a recent tragedy, she realized, and they were afraid.  

“Something terrible has happened here, hasn’t it?”The Myconid, the Sovereign she realized, hummed in response, considering her with an eyeless gaze. 

“We seek shelter and knowledge of the paths through the Underdark. I promise we don’t mean you any harm. But perhaps we can help,”

The song changed, becoming lighter, almost hopeful as he stared at her. “Follow then, and be welcome, distant kin.” he sang. 

*** 

 Embrae's normally olive-toned skin looked pale, nearly gray and she’d had a perpetual grimace on her face since that had only deepened as they made their way further into the Underdark. I am not worrying about that. He scolded himself. 

“So, you want us to murder a group of Druegar for you?” asked Embrae skeptically.”

“It’s a touch genocidal as these things go but I’m game,” quipped Astarion. 

She shot him a look that might’ve killed him were he not already dead. Still angry, he realized. Well, to hells with her. 

the Myconid leader seemed to sigh in response. They butchered my people and killed our young. The rot must be cleansed… and you shall be rewarded.

“Why did they attack you?” Asked Embrae. 

We harbor a fugitive. A deep gnome. They search for her. He gestured towards the writhing form of a gnome woman. 

Embrae frowned and kneeled next to the woman. “What’s happened to you?” She asked. 

“Poisoned—” she gasped. “Drow—-”

Well, *** 

 Embrae’s normally olive-toned face looked pale, nearly gray and she’d had a perpetual grimace on her face since that had only deepened as they made their way further into the Underdark. I am not worrying about that. He scolded himself. 

“So, you want us to murder a group of Druegar for you?” asked Embrae skeptically.”

“It’s a touch genocidal as these things go but I’m game,” quipped Astarion. 

She shot him a look that might’ve killed him were he not already dead. Still angry, he realized. Well, to hells with her. 

the Myconid leader seemed to sigh in response. They butchered my people and killed our young. The rot must be cleansed… and you shall be rewarded.

“Why did they attack you?” Asked Embrae. 

We harbor a fugitive. A deep gnome. They search for her. He gestured towards the writhing form of a gnome woman. 

Embrae frowned and kneeled next to the woman. “What’s happened to you?” She asked. 

“Poisoned—” she gasped. “Drow—-”

Well, the Drow did love their poisons, thought Astarion… something he’d always admired about his dark cousins. 

The Drow leads the attack— we would have his head. The myconids eery voice sang. 

An image of a sour-faced drow with straight white hair flashed into Astarion’s head and Embrae’s grimace deepened. Astarion had heard the myconids singing when they spoke to them, that strange, mournful song, but she seemed to be much more affected by it than the rest of the party. he thought about what she had said in the woods when she was still talking to him. She could hear music everywhere, she had said. Perhaps this was a tad overwhelming to the strange half-elf. Not that he cared, he reminded himself again.

“Shadowheart,” she said nodding towards the small woman. 

The cleric kneeled beside the woman and held her hands over her. They glowed with restorative light and the gnome gasped, color returning to her small face. “The pain—” she said, “it’s gone.”

The Myconids seemed to hum in appreciation as they watched the small woman stand. 

“I’m Thulla,” said the woman. “You have my thanks. But he is right. The Druegar are a blight. They’ve taken my family, my friends as slaves at the Grymforge… Them and that damned drow, Nere.” She spat his name and Astarion’s skin prickled uncomfortably. he was familiar with that venom. 

Embrae scowled in disgust. “The Druegar keep slaves?” She asked. Oh, darling, he wanted to tell her. Slaves are a time-honored custom here in the Underdark. Besides, they are only gnomes. Still, he kept his eyes away from the small woman. The look in her eye and the whole situation was making him feel uncomfortable. 

“Bloody slavers,” growled Karlach, echoing his own thoughts. “Underdark’s full of them. Still, I don’t know how I feel about murdering the Druegar in cold blood— or as close to that as I get.”

“You’re seeking passage through the Underdark,” said Thulla. “No one knows it better than the deep gnomes— but you won’t make it to the Grymforge without a fight. The only way there is with one of their boats and they’ll kill you before they let you use them.”

Emrbrae sighed. “We need to rest and eat. It was a long climb down… thank you, for your hospitality. We will set up camp nearby. My companions and I need to think about your requests.” She looked earnestly at Tulla. “I want to help you,” she said. “But odds are even if I provoke a fight with your slavers, a lot of you are going to end up dead. Are you ready for that kind of fight?”

Tulla nodded, grimly. “We’re better off dead than enslaved to those vile beasts.

***

Hunting alone seemed a more dangerous prospect in the Underdark, however, several days without blood and even longer without the blood of a thinking creature had rendered the familiar ache in Astarion’s stomach almost agonizing. He had been so used to feeding regularly, he realized, that he found it more difficult to go without. 

Stalking out of the camp quietly, so as not to wake the others, he waited until he could no longer hear the beating hearts of his companions before beginning the hunt. The vampire tried to let his body tune to the uncanny vast darkness before him; he opened his senses to the sounds and scents, giving himself over to instinct. Unfamiliar whispers and movements in the dark came from everywhere. He had known the Underdark to be full of dangerous, predatory things; but he had never considered that it might be positively teeming with life. Of course, it was difficult to say whether his intended prey might end up tearing him to shreds instead of granting him a meal. 

At one point, Astarion paused when the ground beneath him quite literally trembled and quaked. He stood completely still, unbreathing. He wasn’t the only predator in search of sustenance tonight. He’d read stories of the Bulette, a subterranean beast that burrowed in the very floor beneath in search of unwary prey. That, he didn’t want to tangle with. If he didn’t move, it would hopefully move on. Eventually, the quaking passed and he continued his hunt. 

Several minutes later, he heard a low growl ahead of him. Gleaming yellow eyes stared at him from the darkness, assessing him. The creature was about as large as a bear, and in fact, it might have been a sort of bear; it stood on all fours and had thick fur that appeared greyish to him in the dim light. He crouched and the creature snarled. He should perhaps search for something more— bite-sized, thought the vampire. However, even as he thought it, his mind turned to Embrae and her sweet neck and his stomach clenched in wanton pain. No, he needed to eat, and soon. The strange animal began to back away from him. Despite their relative size, it seemed the thing had decided he was a danger… and it was correct. He leaped across the space between and followed the hunger, right to where he hoped the beast's throat was. 

***

He stumbled back to camp, bruised and scratched in several places, but giddy. The beast, whatever it had been, now lay drained and lifeless in the dark, and he was positively awash with the warmth of its blood. The fullness in his stomach and the coursing of blood in his undead veins made him feel almost drunk. Of course, it was nothing compared to her he mourned… but at least he wouldn’t accidentally drink anyone in their sleep tonight. 

He wasn’t ready to trance, so he sat near the low fire, looking at its smoldering embers and letting his blood-dazed mind wander. His eyes wandered to Embrae. The half-elf lay in her bedroll across from him, tossing and turning, her lovely face twisted in what might have been pain. 

They hadn’t spoken really since the night before after they had had sex. Her face full of concern hurt, and eventually fury appeared over and over again in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to banish it. He knew he had hurt her and, try as he might, he couldn’t stand it. He didn’t even know what had happened, he thought hazily. It had been fine, he thought— more than fine, at first, actually, he admitted to himself. He had enjoyed it. Usually engaged in intimate acts with his targets, he felt nothing but numb and detached. He’d had to. After all, he’d had a thousand lovers but none of them were truly his, only his master’s. But with her, he couldn’t help but feel, something. No that wasn’t right— he felt too many things. Emotions and sensations he had not thought himself capable of experiencing raced through him as he held her, as he moved inside her and each fought for dominion in his dead heart. But foremost amongst them when they were done had been disgust and fear. He could feel them, all of their hands over the last two hundred years clawing at him, yearning for him, accusing him as they bit, fucked, and dragged him back into the darkness. And when she’d tried to touch him— He put his head in his hands. What the hells was he doing? he wondered. 

Even now as he watched her, he wanted to touch her— to hold her and yet the very thought of doing so made him freeze with abject terror. This game he had been playing, for she was right— he had been playing with her, had fallen apart somewhere along the way. It was real, he realized. But he wasn’t capable of real… Was he? 

Embrae’s cry jerked him out of his thought, a low, drawn-out wail, that made his freshly-won blood run cold. Should he wake her? He made his way over to her, quiet, careful, much like the night he had tried and failed to feed on her without her knowledge. 

“Please stop,” she whispered in her sleep. She turned onto her side and curled into a defensive ball. 

He reached out a hand but hesitated, unsure. Then, without warning, his tadpole convulsed and he was in a familiar alleyway, pressed up against a wall by a tall, dark-haired man with reeking breath. 

“Please stop,” whimpered Embrae. 

“Come on little songbird,” chortled the man drunkenly. “Don’t be that way. I know what you want— a woman don’t spend all night teasing and singing in a place like that unless she’s looking for company.” He bent down and tried to kiss her. As his wet lips pressed against hers, she hit him hard. The man yelled out in surprise, pain, and anger and slapped her across the face, knocking her to the dirty stones beneath. “You little bitch,” he said. He got down onto the ground and climbed on top of her, pinning her against the ground. She couldn’t breathe, could hardly move as he began to tear at her clothing. Fear lanced through her as the man laughed, and then rage turned her vision red. She found the dagger in her boot and managed to plunge it into his side. She felt the warm blood flowing over her, turning cool as he rolled off her, cursing and spitting profanities at her as he pressed his hand to his bleeding side. She stood over him. The wound wasn’t fatal, but she could fix that. “You want to hear me sing, you bastard?” Her voice was soft now, melodic. The dream pulsed and faded then came back into clarity. When it did, the man lay on his side alive but still, looking ahead sightlessly as the blood from his wound pooled beside him. Embrae turned and ran. The music was too much. Sounds from the Underdark, the music of the myconids tore through her brain, consuming her. 

Astarion found himself kneeling next to her as the tadpole finally stilled. Embrae was still asleep but it clearly wasn’t over for her. Tears streamed down her face and her limbs fought against the confines of her bedroll. Decided, he reached out and shook her. “Embrae,” he said her name softly and prepared to jump backward just in case the dream traveled with her. “Wake up.” 

Her eyes fluttered open, darting around in confusion before they rested on his face. “Astarion. God, I’m sorry, it’s the fucking noise down here. It’s like it’s amplifying my nightmares.” Her chin quivered and she took a deep breath as though gathering herself. “Did I wake you?” She asked it calmly, as though this was just one of many such nightmares, and yet he saw tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. He resisted the ridiculous urge to reach out to her and sat back leaning against his hands. 

“No, I was awake. I erm—” He paused. Should he tell her what she saw? Perhaps she would see it as a huge breach of privacy, accidental though it was. 

She sat up and realization dawned in her hazel eyes as they locked onto his. “Oh— I see. I thought I felt less— alone.”

“It was completely involuntary. I promise.” He looked away. He didn’t want her to be angry at him— well angrier. Gods damn it! He wished he didn’t care as much as he did.

To her surprise, however, the half-elf snorted and a wry humor spread across her face. “I’m getting used to a certain lack of privacy in our little gang of freaks. I know I’ve had to make several concentrated efforts to avoid being pulled into your head.”

“Have you now?”

“Yes…” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “You know, I think it’s more so for us than the others. I had wondered— how common is it for a vampire or a spawn to feed regularly off of one person?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it. To my knowledge, it’s virtually unheard of. Vampires tend to either kill or turn you whilst spawn can only feed on what their master deems appropriate.” He shook his head to dislodge the image of a stinking rat. “Are you saying you think it’s created a link between us?”

“I’m not saying anything, really. It was only idle speculation.” As she said it, sadness and worry crept back into her expression. 

They sat silently, awkwardly. Unspoken tensions from the other night and still more unsayable truths hovered between them, leaving an uncomfortable charge in the air around them. 

“So,” said Astarion, conversationally. “Why do you so avoid my head then? Afraid of what you might find?” 

“Well, it’s true, I have nightmares enough of my own without 200 years worth of yours invading.” She chuckled grimly. “But really, I dislike invading someone else's mind.”

“Your dream,” he said as the realization hit him. She had possessed some sort of psychic ability long before the tadpoles, something her captor had forced her to use to their benefit. He felt a wave of pity. Well, they were more alike than he realized, it seemed. 

“Yes,” she admitted. “Lithishim, my boss— for lack of a better word—- liked to make deals, much like Raphael… She used me to make her targets more— pliable, I suppose. Generally, I could use music, singing, to that end— I would enter their minds subtly, determine what it is they wanted, and tailor a song just for them. When they were at their most vulnerable, Lithishim would swoop in and close on whatever deal it was.”

“Is Lithishim a Devil, then?” He asked.

I call her a devil. I thought, based on what little I knew that that’s what she was. But the more I learn about them, the more I don’t think that’s right… She’s cunning, to be sure but a bit too— chaotic, too impulsive… And she seems pretty disinterested in souls. Most of her deals seemed to gain her power of some sort or another but sometimes, I swear, she just liked to watch mortals squirm.

Astarion thought about that. It was true; Raphael seemed methodical and decidedly sane in his approach to domination in a way. 

“So— then what do you think she is?”

“I’m not sure. But she reminded me of— well— the hag.”

Astarion’s eyes widened in shock. “A Fae?” he breathed. If she was right, she might well prefer to have a devil on her back. By in large, the pure fae from which elves descended had retreated into another plane of chaotic existence… Those who chose to interact with mortals were decidedly more dangerous and unpredictable than a mere devil, by all accounts. 

“Maybe. I wasn’t privy to the details of most of her deals, so I don’t know if she ever got her hands on any firstborns but, I don’t know— she has a wildness about her, for sure.”

“It’s the reason you won’t sing,” isn’t it.

She nodded. “The real problem with the power is that it’s hard not to want to use.” She scowled. “And now this tadpole gives me more of the same, and here I am using it anyways.”

“And why shouldn’t you?” Asked Astarion. 

“What?”

 “Look, take it from someone who spent a very long time under someone else’s power; take advantage of whatever you have. Because if you don’t, you’ll end up as someone's game piece, just as you and I have already been.”

“I don’t know Astarion. Sometimes I think lust for power can imprison someone just as easily as free them.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. So naive, he thought. “That is ridiculous.”

“You might be right,” she laughed. “Well, whatever I choose to do with it, I guess I’m just glad it’s on my own terms now.” 

“That’s the spirit.” He grinned at her. Perhaps he could make her see reason yet. It wouldn’t do, alone in the wilderness, hunted by Absolute cultists, minions of his old master, and now Githyanki, to pull their punches. And besides, he thought to himself, at the end of their little journey, perhaps they would find what gave this so-called absolute its godlike power. Perhaps, they too would find use for it. 

“Astarion?” She asked.

He snapped out of his fantasizing. “Hmm?”

“What happened the other night?”

Gods, not this. He opened his mouth to lie, to manipulate her into thinking she had misread the whole situation, that she had overreacted. But what came out of his treacherous mouth was, “I’m— not sure.” 

“Alright,” she said. “Was it something I said, something I did?”

Gods below. “Darling, no.” Fine then, the truth, as he knew it at least. “I spent two centuries enslaved and tortured by a brutal vampire lord. I try not to think about it and yet—” He closed his eyes. He had assumed that freedom would be the balm to heal him from his time with his old master. Instead, freedom had pulled him out of his numbness and into an unfamiliar and terrifying reality. He could hear the same ringing in his words as he admitted. “I don’t feel that I’ve escaped him at all, sometimes… And it was that feeling the other night, after we—.” He groaned. Words, usually so easy for him when they were lies, stumbled and quaked when directed towards truth. “Look, I don’t know. Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

She didn’t reply for a minute. His eyes were still shut and he could hear only Embrae’s breathing and her beating heart. “Do we— mean anything to you?” She asked. 

His eyes snapped open and he stared at her. No, not this. Why did she have to ask him this? “What do you mean?” He asked, knowing damned well what she meant. 

“I do forgive you,” she said. “And I promise it’s OK if the answer is no. You were clear about it being just— fun.” Her voice was light but she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Look— I wanted to have fun too. And I thought that it could just be that— that we could just be friends with— well, you know. But now…” Her face was red and she looked away. 

“Now what?” He kept his voice teasing, although he felt anything but lighthearted. “Now you want to know if I’m ready to profess my, quite literally, undying love for you?”

“No!” she said flushing furiously. “Nothing like that!” She whirled around and fixed him with an accusing stare. “You know, you aren’t making this any easier.” 

He laughed, despite himself. She was utterly adorable when she was flustered. “I apologize. Please, continue.” 

“Look, I enjoy being around you… And while I enjoy— that— as well, I don’t think I want to continue our— late night escapades— not the way we have been, I mean.”

She had lost him. “Well, what other way is there?”

“As something— more— I guess… I’d like for us to try being something more.” She met his eyes. Hers were brimming with sincerity and fear. She was bearing her soul to him, he realized. His dead heart contracted as she continued hastily. “If you don’t want to— it’s fine. I don’t want to lose you as a friend, either, Astarion.”

If you don’t want to. As always, she gave him a choice. He appreciated that more than he’d ever been able to express and yet, he didn’t know what to do with the choices sometimes. What did he want? He felt lost, as though he were drowning in those hazel irises. Did he want to surface? Was he capable of more? 

“I— I would think that maybe you had other candidates for um, more.” He felt a wave of misery just saying it and another of regret as he watched her face fall. “I’m not saying no,” he said quickly. “I just thought perhaps, you might want to try someone— someone else.” Less broken, less weak, he finished in his head. 

Her eyes turned warm and her face broke into a sweet grin. “Nah,” she laughed. “Of all the freaks in this camp, you’re the only one I’m interested in more with.”

“What, why?” he blurted out. He backpedaled. He needed to regain control— control of himself, the situation, the conversation. “Well, naturally, I could see why. We have had a lot of fun together…” 

She stayed quiet, waiting for his answer. And to his surprise, amid his chaotic thoughts, he did have an answer for her. 

“I— we could try I suppose.” He smiled at her. “Very well, darling. If you’re sure about this, then consider yourself well and truly taken.” 

Well, this has turned out to be a surprisingly delightful conversation. His delight shifted to misgiving though as he considered the implications. Would she expect something tonight? “Well, darling, did you want to celebrate our um, declaration?”

She flushed again and laughed. “Tempting— but I was thinking, what if we do it right this time? Actually, take some time to get to know one another for a bit before we throw ourselves at each other again?”

What an odd creature, she was. His whole body relaxed at the very idea of ‘taking things slow.’ What a novel concept. Still, Astarion affected a disappointed pout. 

“Well, I suppose if you must. There is something to be said for delayed gratification— or so I’m told.” 

[ramensauce2pointoh-blog]

So, hear me out.

When are we getting the sequel to the hit Disney movie Ratatouille? It can be called Rata"two"ille (Rata"two"ey maybe if you want it to look less weird I guess?)

After a year of success at whatever the heck the ratatouille restaurant is called (it's called Gusteau). Construction begins across the street. Word spreads that it's going to be a new restaurant that will compete with (insert Ratatouille restaurant name here). Upon further investigation by Remy the Rat, he discovers a crew of cats planning to open the restaurant to compete with his. These cats also have their own humans that they control as well via cuteness overloads or hypno eyes or something.

Since there should be plot reasons, the cats will not actually harm Remy outright. However, they intend to beat him by developing a superior menu to top his own and show that cats are truly the better species, with a bet that the loser has to close down shop after the next reviews come out.

Cue traitor cat called, "Cathy" (Cathieu or something to make it French) with a long history with top chef villian cat at culinary cat school in London (Villain cat should be English by the way and be based off of Gordon Ramsey from Hells Kitchen with a name like Piers or something). Cathieu joins Remy in his attempts to purrfect new dishes while becoming friends with Linguini and the rat crew. This is brilliant because it also sets up your puss-in-boots like spin off "Catatouille".

After culinary montages, trickery, maybe a cameo from an old character or two, drama, and conflict between Linguini and his future mother-in-law (there was a proposal earlier). Anton Ego's (the critic) replacement enters the scene for the first time and has maybe been alluded to at some point in a spinning newspaper closeup earlier in the film. He sits down and gets ready to appraise each dish. He is also a stone cold grump.

The critic experiences each dish in its own right and ha some out of body experience into his past with flashbacks to his first love who he met at a Spanish art school (things didn't work out). The next is a flash FORWARD where he's embraced by his first love in a "what if" scenario where they live a whole life happily ever after. The flash forward is Remy and Linguini's dish. This is chosen in a heartfelt tear jerker moment where the critic describes each choice vividly while crying but the visions of "what if" in a love long gone bring out new unique flavors and is a modern twist on a classic style.

Cue celebrations and cheering while the cats shake their heads and mewl in disgust at their inability to outperform a bunch of rats. Remy approaches the cat with their cat traitor and fellow rats and offers them an opportunity to collaborate and have 2 great restaurants working in harmony. The cats agree, happy ending, and cue some new music by The Weeknd.

Post credits we see a shadow lurking in a dimly lit kitchen. The only illumination is a small fire with a sizzling and crackling coming a pan over the flame itself. Sparks from the flames fly illuminating what appear to be a bat.

Batatouille coming September 2027. In this movie the bats control humans using high pitched screeching.

Post post credits: Simply a shimmering logo

The Ratatouille Cinematic Universe (RCU)

[radiant-elsecaller]

I thoroughly enjoyed reading BoM and am preparing for the lore dump of my life which I am assuming I will find in Secret History. For now here are my thoughts on the book. Spoilers for Mistborn up to BoM and also minor spoilers for Oathbringer and Elantris.

So I thought the prologue established a nice contrast between Wax as a teenager and the Wax we know today. Though he isn’t powerful or skilled at first, he is able to use his ingenuity to save that child (which by the way that whole event must have been so traumatizing). Then in the first chapter Wax is much more confident, hardly thinking about using his metals, just burning them naturally and not being alone this time. And on the day of his wedding no less. I adore the fact that Steris left in time for him on her schedule, AND planned a second date for the wedding. I’m looking forward to seeing their relationship more in TLM because they honestly work so well together in multiple ways.

I got so excited as I always do, when Investiture is mentioned. Also “tapping mental speed tends to make one hungry” is like Lift! It’s cool to see the parallels between different branches of Investiture.

Wax mentions the Red Rip twice in this book, is this the same nebula thing as Taln’s scar?

So we got Hoid giving Wax a medallion and I am pretty sure that woman was Khriss in the span of a few pages. It sounded like her and idk I’m pretty sure it was her?? Bc she was asking him about how his powers worked and stuff.

Hotel scene = iconic. Enough said.

AIRPLANES! And Telsin! I was a little suspicious of Telsin because she wasn’t being helpful at all and was saying weird things. So it wasn’t too surprising when it was revealed she was part of the Set.

Anyway it was so cool when Marasi stopped the bullets from hitting Wax and they kept passing the cube to each other and using it to help each other so seamlessly. I love seeing teamwork like that between members of a group and it’s so cool when they know each other so well that they can do it all largely without even actually speaking.

Also the language medallions being attached to location, like how Aons rely on the physical geography of a place. A lot of implications about Investiture and Allomancy and also apparently there are all these other people who have never been mentioned before and I think they’re talking about Kelsier?? Bc there was that whole memory in the epilogue. I’m a little confused lol

Steris Harms has my whole heart and I’ll probably make a separate post talking about her. But she is just. So amazing and I love her so much. I found her more entertaining than anything in the first two books, but I just have such an appreciation for her, as someone with no powers on this grand adventure, doing all she can to help the people whom she loves. And that often ends up saving people’s lives.

The whole scene when Wax had the Bands was such a Vin moment. And I love the trope (this happens with Dalinar too) where the antagonist can no longer manipulate the protagonist because they’ve undergone character development and/or a change of mindset.

So the epilogue was a thing. I guessed that it was Kelsier’s memory but there are so many other things I’m confused about, like did this take place after the Catacendre? What is even going on with Kelsier? Why are we only hearing about this whole other civilization in the third installment of the second series?

And there is an evil force (another shard?) who is using its own kandra? Does Harmony know about this? I’m wondering if it’s some kind of shard or smth bc of the red shadow surrounding the planet. So maybe that’s what is in charge of these Faceless Immortals. We still don’t know who or what Trell is, so he might be connected to all this.

This is random and probably insignificant but I want to know how that temple was lit. What was that blue light. Was it stormlight or a Scadrian equivalent. Powered by some metal,, or what. Also what metal powers the airplanes.

Now I just have to read secret history, row, and then the lost metal. And then tress and other short stories. I didn’t dive super deep into the implications of various cosmere and character developments, etc bc I’m trying to just get all of the main parts of the novel down. Actually I just realized I didn’t even talk about Wax’s death lol. And there is the ever growing technology on Scadrial. But there’s a lot to unpack here that I’ll probably write more about at a later date.

[the-hem]

"States of Waking." From the Varaha Upanishad, "The Exploration of the Mysteries of the Wild Boar."

OM is object/witness/measurement, the summation of all that God makes up to and including intelligence.

The stages of engagement with intelligence are explained as follows:

Their Avasthas “states” are four: waking, dreaming, dreamless sleeping and Turya (fourth).

the Essence of Creation.

He who is in (or the entity that identifies itself with) the waking state in the gross Amsa (essence) of Akara is named Vishva “the creation”;

In the subtle essence, he is termed Taijasa “passionate” ;

In the Bija “the seed” essence, he is termed Prajna “wise” ; and in the Sakshi essence “witness”, he is termed Turya “tuned up”.

During the awakened state is when one's passions, experiences, judgements and self-realization come together to create a harmonious contiguous union with reality. It is a state of that is undeniably free of delusion by its very essence.

We like pretend the opposite- that if this book says reality is thus, not that, but this never works. What is perceived during the waking state, that's how she blows.

2. The Essence of Dreaming.

He who is in the dreaming state (or the entity which identifies itself with the dreaming state) in the gross essence of Ukara is Vishva;

in the subtle essence, he is termed Taijasa;

in the Bija essence, is termed Prajna;

And in the Sakshi essence, he is termed Turya.

Without an embodied soul, dreaming and imaginings are not possible, and we need them to live. Harmful delusions we do not need.

Apprehension of how the mind dreams and behaves when reality is absent is the hallmark of success at yoga.

Affixed to reality, one who is fully aware of what is real and what is not is still able to try on different clothes, relationships, jobs, what to eat next, how to spend one's time given the choice and take the risks willingly without hysteria.

3. The Essence of Deep Sleep.

He who is in the Sushupti “deep sleep” state in the gross essence of Makara is termed Vishva;

In the subtle essence, Taijasa; in the Bija essence,

he is termed Prajna; and in the Sakshi essence, he is termed Turya.

During meditation one searches inner space for the same blank stage upon which the mind will instantly sprawl once the senses are unleashed upon creation. If this cannot be achieved one must sit and sit until a complete understanding of what is taking place in this stage is achieved. This is a must.

4. The Finely Tuned State.

He who is in Turya State in the gross essence of Ardha-Matra "half-measured" is termed Turya-Vishva "full power of creation."

In the subtle, He is termed Taijasa; "passionate".

In the Bija essence "seed", He is termed Prajna; "knowing".

and in the Sakshi "witness" essence, he is termed Turya-Turya "all powerful".

God is "amatra" without measure. He can be only "half-measured" during a human lifetime. If one meditates, screens the mind of all hysteria, has complete appreciation for the gift of a soul, a body, and a world such as this upon which to play, then even this "half a dose" comes to seem like quite a lot.

The term vishva referred to above means "fullness". To have such an experience of fullness during a life lived within an hourglass that is emptying out is the goal of all intelligent persons.

I hear about this every day here in Washington, DC where I live from all the Latin and African Americans that live around me- how they want to juice life like an orange. But all we get in response to this from the government reflects of the whining and pining of the fuckin' Mormons and Evangelicals who want the right to tell us all we have to turn the lights and the sound down.

This is not the essence of waking life on the planet earth it is not a way of life we can appreciate or fall in love with, no one ever has.

[midnightlover89]

Don’t Fall In Love With Me (Fred Weasley/Reader)

Word Count: 1.3K

Author’s Note: I'm about to break your heart, and I'm sorry. Reblogs are very much appreciated. Spotify Playlist (inspired the fic)

Warning(s): canonical character death (not graphic or anything, just ✨feelings✨)

Remember how we met? I had felt lightheaded ever since I boarded the train to the school because I knew no one there, not until I met you. You invited me to join you and your twin brother at the table when I was uncertain of where to sit. You not only made me feel welcomed but also not as terrified anymore.

I have always loved spending time with you. I thought you were thoughtful and humorous. You carried a mesmerizing charisma that dazzled everyone around you. I loved how your brown eyes radiate even in the dark and how the corner of your lips quirk up whenever you see me and curve into a wide grin. You ruffled your hair to make yourself look “charming,” but you never had to impress me because you had already won me over on the very first day.

You asked me to go on a trip to the village outside the school with you. Of course, I said yes. I have always admired your courage and determination to do whatever comes to mind. Just as we were about to leave the school, you slipped your hand through my fingers as if it were the most casual gesture in the world. My heart skipped a beat. I gave your hand a little squeeze before you winked at me.

Throughout the whole trip,  Our friends kept looking at us as if they found you holding a girl’s hand unbelievable, but you squeezed it tighter as if you would lose me to other guys if you accidentally let go. I found you staring at me, and I joked, “Am I not the luckiest person alive now?” I saw your gorgeous eyes filled with much sincerity, and you replied, “No, I am.”

The pouring rain did not stop our fun. We stepped out of the shop earlier than our friends did, and you pulled me onto the street to feel the freezing rain. “Stop it! We’re gonna get wet!” I chuckled. “Come on, live a little.” One of your eyebrows shot up like it was a challenge for me to stay in the rain. I rolled my eyes. Just then, I felt your tight embrace and your lips on mine. You kissed me long and hard and with the gentleness I always knew you had. We were completely soaked in the rain, but it did not drown out the warmth that I felt around you.

We fell in love that day in October, exactly two years after hearing your cheerful, energetic “Hey! Do you want to sit with us?” Deep in our minds, we both knew it was love at first sight. We had been in love ever since we laid our eyes on each other but had never realized the feeling until now.

You kept your promise to do something special on my birthday. I thought you had forgotten since you did not acknowledge it until late afternoon. You rushed past me to get to a class before you turned and shouted, “Meet me in the hallway at seven.”

You took me stargazing on the rooftop of the school. The warm breeze blowing on our faces seemed to bless our time together. The crickets chirped, and the owls hooted, creating our soundtrack for the night. I can feel your warm, gentle hand wrapping around my fingers, trying to protect me from all harm. Looking up at the sky, I was in awe of its magnificence and the endless mysteries it holds, “How much longer do you think the sky and the stars would stay in harmony like this? It’s breathtaking,” I murmured. “Forever and ever,” you kissed my hand softly and whispered in my ear, “You are a dream that I never want to wake up from.”

God knows how long we stayed there, but we definitely lingered past the curfew. Hand in hand, we ran as fast as we could to avoid getting caught by the teachers. Our suppressed giggles did not help, but we had the time of our lives, and that was enough.

You knew I was quiet and reserved, not at all like you, but you would wrap your arms around my waist whenever we were hanging out with friends, and you would say, “Tell them the jokes you told me yesterday.” You always laughed the hardest among the group, regardless of how dull the jokes actually were.

I loved cuddling by the fireplace, leaning my head on your shoulder. Despite being in the crowded common room, I could not hear any noise except your quiet voice. I loved doing homework by your side, even if you ended up distracting me and we never got anything done. I loved how often you would quote your favorite book, “If anything ever happened to me, just know that I will always love you.” You reserved your tenderness only for me, and it was nothing like the class clown that everyone else had known you for.

We were so deeply in love. Our friends would tease us, “I can’t wait to attend your wedding,” or “Don’t forget to invite me to your wedding.” I had absolutely no doubt that we would get married after graduation. You promised to make sure that it would be the most unforgettable wedding ever; we would laugh and cry at the same time until we could not anymore. I could picture the celebration going on for days vividly. You, wearing a black suit and a burgundy tie that complement your brown eyes, and I, wearing a simple yet elegant white gown that I could only imagine in my wildest dreams.

But the wedding never happened.

You left the world forever, right before our fifth anniversary, right before our graduation. The future was right in front of us.

You rushed in front of me. Before the fatal wound hit, you had just enough time to turn back and say, “I will always love you.” You left the world to sacrifice yourself for me.

Your action shocked me. I could not believe how you just left like this.

I suppose I should be grateful, and I am. I truly am grateful for how you so selflessly protected me, so I could live fearlessly and unapologetically like I always said I wanted to.

I am grateful for all the memories we have made together. I know you wanted to make the time on the rooftop the most remarkable night ever, but you alone are the best thing that has ever happened to me.

On the other hand, looking back at our time together is so bittersweet. I am convinced that only love can hurt like this. Knowing that I will never hear your voice nor feel your embrace again, my heart is broken into two. One half is shattered into a million little pieces, and the other half will never heal to find its lost part again.

I thought we had a lifetime to make countless memories, but you will never get to grow older. Now I cannot sit by the fireplace without hearing your hearty laughter; I cannot walk the street where we had our first kiss without feeling your warm breath. I cannot stargaze without being reminded of that night on the rooftop and your promise. I could hear your whisper in my head, so soft as if it was a secret between us, “I love you.”

You will forever be a part of me. Maybe you are my soulmate who was not meant to be, and I could never replace you, but I will pass on our story. When I find a love that can hold my fragile heart and my memory of you, I will tell my children our story. It would be a real-life fairytale.

In another life, please do not fall in love with me because I could never lose you again. I will be madly in love with you, but I will never let you know. That way, maybe you would have a chance to grow older.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 8

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language? Warnings: None? I think? Please let me know if I missed something Notes: Bit of fluff with some anxiety/update on primary conflict. Next chapter will be a cute date with Dani, the one after that will be maximum h*rny, and then what will likely be the finale. Music for this chapter here. PS this one is a bit on the shorter side, but I hope y'all still enjoy it. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony

Chapter 8: Obbligato

(Obbligato: An instrumental part which is essential in a piece of music)

“Okay, okay, serious this time, please? I’ll give you a kiss if you try hard enough,” you promised, grinning up at Daniela as you did. A week had passed since your talk in the library, with the two of you spending most days together, and you were progressing nicely with the musical lessons. Still, your girlfriend (you would never get tired of saying that word) was prone to getting a tad ‘distracted’. By you, usually. Not that it was intentional by any means. There was only so much you could do to keep her focused when the two of you were this close together.

“I could just kiss you anyway,” Daniela teased, leaning in with familiar intent. Right before your lips touch, however, she pulls back and smirks. “But if you insist, I can handle the challenge.” Then she’s turning back towards the piano, carefully finding the starting position. Even with her prior experience, you were impressed with how much she had already learned, and couldn’t help but be immensely proud of her. If anyone could meet Lady Dimitrescu’s expectations within a three month timeframe, it was the two of you. Except, of course, you still had to double-check just what her expectations were.

In the meantime, you were excited to hear your girlfriend play through the sheet music you had written up. Most of what you were working with had come from the family’s storage room, but you had also found some blank sheets, and figured it couldn’t hurt to create songs of your own. This particular one was relatively simple. It had been based on a song from a game you had played years ago, and only posed a moderate challenge due to its interesting rhythm. Daniela had seemed to enjoy playing it, with you even hearing her practice the song outside of your lessons, but had so far today refused to play it seriously.

Finally that was going to change. Once she found the starting notes, she nodded to herself, then started playing. For the first time today her expression is stern, focused. Seeing her like this was nice. She was always cute, you just thought that she was extra cute like this. But you tried not to let yourself get too distracted, knowing that you couldn’t give her feedback if you didn’t pay attention. In your head you “play along”, fingers miming the movements, knowing that it would help you catch any possible mistakes. Throughout the piece there are only a couple that you catch, none of them being severe enough to ruin the experience. Finishing with a little flourish, Daniela returns her gaze to you, grinning expectantly.

“Well? I seem to recall you promising me a reward,” she said, perking a brow. Laughing a little, you roll your eyes, before moving in to give her exactly what she wanted. Both of you are smiling into the kiss, enjoying every moment of it. Soon enough Daniela is running a hand through your hair, and pressing against you more, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss. You’re blushing hard now, thoughts going everywhere other than music. It’s not until you pull back for air that you remember what you’re supposed to be doing right now.

“As wonderful as this is… we still have a few more songs to go over,” you murmured, despite how much you wanted to keep kissing Daniela. By the way she groaned in frustration, you figured she felt the same way, more or less. “Hey, don’t fret too much. Think of this as an opportunity to earn a few more rewards,” you teased, gently patting her on the shoulder. For a moment she simply pouts, but eventually she sighs and gets ready to play another song…

------------------------------------

Rushing up the steps, practically two at a time, you desperately hoped that you wouldn’t be late. This was your third “update meeting” with Lady Dimitrescu, which by itself was enough to make you a nervous wreck. Add in the fact that this was the first time you’d be meeting alone? And in her personal study, no less? Well, it was safe to say that you were terrified. You hadn’t even been told why things were different this time. No, you were about as clueless as could be, given the circumstances.

By the time you make it your Lady’s study, you cannot tell whether your heart is racing due to stress or physical exertion. Regardless, you make it there in short time, arriving precisely at the scheduled hour. After taking a moment to settle your nerves, you briefly knock on the chamber door. There’s the sound of movement from inside before the way opens. Lady Dimitrescu has to bend a little to see out, but quickly smiles when she meets your gaze. Which was rather unexpected. The last time you had met with her she had been distanced, although still polite. Then again, Daniela had also been with you, and the focus was, as always, on her.

“Lady Dimitrescu,” you greeted, giving a short bow per customs. Then you were being waved in, brought over to a small sitting area, where you waited for permission to sit down. Once it was given, you relaxed a little. Maybe I don’t have as much reason to be nervous as I thought, you muse.

“Please, make yourself comfortable. There are no reasons for you to be unsettled, as far as I am aware,” Lady Dimitrescu said, smile disappearing for a moment at the end. But it’s back as quickly as it had vanished. Did she suspect something? Perhaps she had seen the way Daniela looked at you, or even overheard the whisperings of your roommates. Both thoughts do little other than renew your anxiety. Noticing this, Alcina frowns and shakes her head. “I was merely joking. Now, let us get to the reason for our meeting: How are Daniela’s lessons fairing? There is only so much I can glean from listening.” Glad to have something to think about other than your secret relationship with your boss’ daughter, you nodded and began explaining.

“Lady Daniela is making outstanding progress, in my opinion. Even with her occasional… lapses in attention, once she puts her mind to something, she’s quick to master it. At this point she can sight read nearly as fast and accurately as myself. However, we’re still going over vocabulary, as well as keys and their corresponding chords,” you answered, barely able to maintain eye contact with your employer. Thankfully, she seems to have accepted the inevitability of your nervousness. You were especially thankful now that you prepared to ask her a question. “My Lady, may I inquire about what specifically you expect from my teachings? If there are certain genres you wish for Daniela to be familiar with, or techniques-... I must admit I am unsure as to how to best meet your requirements.”

Slowly reclining in her chair, Alcina appears to ponder your question. In the meantime she sips at her beverage, holding the cup as if it were a fragile heirloom (which it could very well be), eyes looking into the middle distance. Then she gives a soft hum, setting her cup down and returning her attention to you.

“I suppose I can understand your concern. In some ways you have already exceeded my expectations,” she said, expression oddly plain in comparison to her positive phrasing. “My daughter has rarely invested herself in anything as much as she has in your lessons. For this, I am left wondering what she finds so captivating- the music, or the one who pulls the strings?... But that is not the answer to your inquiry, is it?” In that moment, you are incredibly still, willing yourself to keep a straight face, despite the racing of your heart. At your silence, Alcina perks a brow, expecting you to respond. You can’t, your mouth suddenly dry. “What I expect is a passion to educate, a drive to see my daughter flourish. I expect you to teach her exactly as much as she wants you to, focusing on whatever brings her the most joy. But I expect professionalism. Your duties come first, above your health, happiness, and all other desires. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my Lady. Of course, my Lady,” you replied, stuttering, eyes wide. Did she know? Or merely suspect?... There’s another thought, one you try desperately not to voice, only to hear the words fill the room before you can stop yourself. “May I ask where Lady Daniela’s desires fit into this?” Silence hangs heavy over the room for several seconds. Your employer has narrowed her eyes, lips curled downwards into a sharp scowl, watching you with thinly-veiled anger. All you can do is gulp and wait for her response. When it comes, you are surprised by the stability of her tone. It was almost as if she respected your gall.

“She is young still, with the mind of a lovesick maiden. Daniela does not know what she wants, not really, nor does she understand what she needs. If her… flirtatious nature begins to interrupt your instruction, then your response must be swift, and uninterested. Regardless of how unkindly she takes your rejection, I will ensure that she does not harm you,” Lady Dimitrescu said, giving a stern nod at the end. Though her tone was reassuring, you hardly felt better, considering you were far past the point of turning Daniela down (if anything, you had only turned her on). “Now, with that settled, I believe I should let you return to your duties. Oh, and do tell Cynthia that the tea she brewed was perfect, should you happen to see her.”

Then she looked away, practically ignoring your continued existence. So you rose to your feet, gave another bow, and left before your panic could devolve into a breakdown. Daniela is not going to be happy about this.

[thelokiway]

(Far away from) Home

The One Who Remains’ golden eyes overlooked the great hall of the TVA. Not the time keepers, not even fake ones.  “Look man, calm down. I know all this is crazy.” Mobius’ voice behind Loki didn’t do anything to actually calm him down. In fact, it only fueled his panic and his definite wish to run. Now. As far away as possible. 

Loki turned back around, unable to wipe shock and confusion from his face. There was no time to explain, no time to get to know this version of his friend. A friend who didn’t even know his face. What did that mean? That here there wasn’t even a Loki that looked like him? That here... there wasn’t even a Loki? 

Loki felt the tension in his body rise, flight or fight? In the distance he saw three TVA soldiers approach them. Flight!  The Asgardian turned around and ran. He ran all the way back through the library, through the entrance hall that was filled with people who looked at least as confused and scared as he was. He ran back through the corridors until he reached the room where he had arrived in. The one Sylvie had sent him to. 

Sylvie...  Panting Loki looked around for a tempad. Well, there wasn’t one lying around here. And why should it? Why did he come back here anyway? She wouldn’t help him. That much was clear now. She never trusted him. But that wasn’t the worst: She also didn’t trust herself. In all her anger and pain she didn’t trust her tears and she didn’t trust her own need for company and friendship. She had pushed him away. Literally and figuratively. Was she ok? Was she alive?

“No!” Loki brushed his fingers through his hair and forced himself to stop running in circles. “Stop!” He told himself the exact same thing he had just told her. “Stop. Breathe. Get out. Escape.” It helped. Giving himself orders did indeed help. Maybe because he was the only person he would ever accept orders from. He had to get his hands on a tempad. That much was clear. With it he could go wherever he wanted to… In a newly forming multiverse that he didn’t even know how to navigate. The TVA’s technology was made to navigate one timeline. Not billions. “Breathe…” If there were billions of timelines and each with an equally large number of possible versions of those particular timelines, oh no, there was no way whatsoever that he could find his own again. His Earth. His Mobius. His Sylvie. His… Sylvie. “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t. No. Just get out. Go…” But where to? Infinite possibilities. And for once that was not a figure of speech. The sheer size of this new multiverse made even a god tremble in awe.

And so Loki ran. He ran to one of the supply rooms where the agency kept weapons and tempads. There, waiting just around the corner he overpowered an older male soldier and stole his tempad. Again he ran. This time while trying to figure out where to go. WHEN to go.

“There he is! Freeze!” Mobius. And a handful of agents, one with that dreaded collar in his hand. Oh no… absolutely not. Loki’s fingers flew over the controls of the tempad. He typed in the first coordinates he could think of and could just hear Mobius’ frustrated cry when he disappeared through the white portal.

“Breathe…” Now he could. And he did. Loki stood on the shore of the great city in the center of Asgard and looked out over the ocean. There was Heimdall’s Hall where he guarded the rainbow bridge. Yes. It was right there. It was beautiful, actually. Behind him the towers of the city climbed into the sky as if no one and nothing could ever harm them, proud confidence. Unshakable hubris. This Asgard was in its bloom. The Asgardians here seemed to live in peace, more concerned with the harmony of the nine realms than with their own survival.

Loki blinked into the sun and thought of all the people he had known here. Loved here. Betrayed here. Odin, of course. Much hated King of Asgard. Thor who with his friends the Avengers had just handed Loki a royal asswhooping. His mother who had always loved him just the way he was. Of course Loki had no idea whether these people even existed here, or whether they felt about him just like the ones he remembered.  It didn’t matter. Not right now.  Because he DID remember what the Asgardian sun felt like. He DID remember the smell of the ocean mixed with a myrad of exotic plants. He DID remember the sheer MIGHT of this place. 

He was home.