#it is SO TEMPTING to share a spoiler but I’m holding on bravely

[malachitezmeyka]

Working on a piece of art with the most Grinch-like grin imaginable because I am genuinely being So Evil by drawing this… I can already hear how much this is going to get me yelled at… I WILL make the target audience cry and if I don’t then what’s the point of anything

[10moonymhrivertam]

Hey this is a wild mishmash of comic!Sandman, TV!Sandman, and TV!Lucifer but I Had To (have fun spotting what is poorly meshing canon and what is just me not having read the comics in 8 years djdjdj)

Also, unedited straight from my phone notes because I Need To Share

Comics spoilers ahead!!

Lucifer-typical violence, discussions of familial death

~~

Dream felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin. He’d just been trying to be nice - he had no idea how things usually worked on his sister’s days off, but clearly most souls found their own way to the Sunless Lands. He’d only wanted to sit with the girl until she felt brave enough to make the journey.

He hadn’t accounted for the assumptions the police would make, nor the fact that trying to watch his nephew made it much less of an option to simply slip into the Dreaming at the first sign of trouble. When he’d realized his sand was to be taken from him, he had been - well, not as rational as he would’ve liked, and had compounded his trouble by fighting the officer for it. Being surrounded by his own reflection since had not helped, although as long as he didn’t meet his own eyes, it was - easier than it might’ve been if he hadn’t lost Morpheus.

He fixed his gaze on his hands on the tabletop, just to be safe, picking at his sleeves. He was tempted to slip into the dreamscape of someone who had fallen asleep at their desk, but he knew Jed was still in another of these rooms or at the front desk, and his own comfort wasn’t a good enough reason to leave him behind. He looked up as the door opened to admit who must have been a detective and -

Dream’s hands curled into fists. Morpheus may have been on his path for a good while, but Dream had found in the time since that he resented being cornered into the choice, and there was an argument to be made that being given the key had been the point of no return. (Perhaps the real point of no return had been Jessamy’s death; perhaps he’d always had the option of turning back until Orpheus had asked his help. But to hold a grudge in Lucifer and Desire’s directions for a few centuries was oh-so-easy.)

“I’m Detective Chloe Decker. This is my partner, Lucifer.” She took a seat across from him. “Could you tell me why you chose to sit down in the middle of a crime scene like that? Especially with how upset you were making that kid?” There was a slight edge to the last question, but she seemed willing enough to listen. Still, he’d seen enough nightmares to know how the tide could change. And it would be so easy to do what Morpheus had done when faced with a situation where there *was* no right answer. But - silence would only guarantee his continued separation from Jed, and the boy had been through more than enough.

“I only meant it to be a vigil, of a sort. I don’t quite have the temperament to make it work like my big sister.” He found it in himself to flash a smile. “My nephew doesn’t know either of us very well, yet, and I’m afraid I didn’t stop to explain to him.”

“If you don’t know your nephew very well, why is he with you?” Detective Decker folded her hands on the table.

“My niece was insistent she get to know us outside the context of a wake.” This smile was thinner, but it took on a mean edge when he saw Lucifer shift in his seat. “She’s his guardian.”

“Where is she?”

“There are a few places she might be,” Dream remarked, sitting back. “Jed was the one who chose Hollywood for the trip, but Rose did most of the research. I was taking Jed back to the hotel because the next thing on the itinerary was Lux.” Dream leveled a look at Lucifer. Chloe’s eyebrows shot up and she turned to him.

“Do you two know each other?”

“Well, he didn’t exactly volunteer it, either,” Lucifer protested. “Is it just you and your elder sister in town?”

Dream nearly rolled his eyes. “She met us *all* at the wake, Morningstar. It’s everyone but your good friend.” That was a bit more contempt than he thought he had in him, which might be something he needed to look into.

“My, my, what did Desire ever do to you?”

“I hope you’re trying to be funny.”

“Hey.” Detective Decker held up a hand. “How long ago did you and your siblings split up?”

“We split up after a film; I wasn’t interested in getting near Lux. We were all walking. I wasn’t tracking the time.”

“So, no good for an alibi, then?” Lucifer asked cheerfully.

“Not unless Destiny’s word would do, no. Morningstar, you’d do well not to mistake me for a better person than I was a year ago.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Before Dream could bristle, Lucifer had leaned forward. “What do you desire, Daniel Hall?”

Lucifer jumped back as Dream lunged. Detective Decker yelled.

“I have broken no rules, Lucifer Morningstar. My sibling’s powers, my sibling’s borrowed powers, hold no sway over me.” The stars in his eyes burned and burst. “But since you are so desperate to know, I will tell you. I would like to tear you both to pieces for putting everyone around Morpheus through that. I would like to send Linda Martin a nightmare to remind you what I am capable of.” Lucifer’s eyes burned and he snarled. “I would like to get Jed home, I would like my pouch returned, and I would like to return to Matthew. Does that satisfy you, Morningstar?”

“Sit down!” Detective Decker barked, standing between them and holding up her hands. “Shut up, and sit down!”

Dream sank back into his chair, bowing his head. He should’ve kept his temper better. He might have to do something complicated, now, to get his sand and his nephew back. He heard Lucifer sit down, too.

“What the hell was that?” The detective asked, steel in her voice. Dream glanced up to see she was glaring at Lucifer. That was good, because he couldn’t excuse the threat he had made against her friend.

“That was…both of us being out of line.” Dream looked up to glare, but he went unnoticed.

“What happened with the mojo?”

“One of his siblings can do the same, I’m afraid the whole family is immune.”

“What did you do to his friend?”

“Stuck him with the key to Hell when I left.” Chloe Decker rolled her eyes, which was interesting but not necessarily a surprise. Her dreams were alternately entertaining the truth, or Lucifer’s ‘lies’ finally crumbling around him and revealing whoever he really was. “It worked itself out.”

“As I recall, Amenadiel wasn’t happy about ending up with it, either.”

“It’s the key to Hell, no one’s going to be happy with it. If you didn’t want it, perhaps you should’ve played the game more carefully.”

Really? Really? All because he had won the challenge that had arguably been in Lucifer’s favor? “Perhaps you should’ve changed the circumstances of the game.”

“There were rules to be followed, Dream.”

“I am not the one who summoned the audience,” he said pointedly.

“Well, you’ve summoned this audience; care to tell us a little about Roderick Burgess?” Lucifer shot back. Dream was tempted to leap across the table again. On the other hand, he could take the point - every demon present would’ve known his remark about Hell’s power was directed just as much at its first resident as its human ones. He swallowed back his reaction, his eyes flickering toward the mirror and then quickly away.

“You.” Dream glanced up to find the Detective was now addressing him. “You know Dr. Martin?”

“I know she knows Lucifer.” He knew she feared light and divinity, feared an unscrupulous past come to catch up to her when she received Death’s gift.

Detective Decker gave him a narrow-eyed look, but apparently decided to set that train of thought aside.

“What’s so special about this pouch?”

He was, unfortunately, saved from choosing between the vulnerable answer (that he was uncomfortable having it taken from him) and the unwise answer (that he wanted to keep them all safe from what had happened to Rachel Moodie).

“The pouch he punched Detective Douche over? The one he let be taken from him again, that pouch?”

“Shall I ask my sister if Uriel left any messages for you?” This time Dream was the one who had to leap back, and the Detective began shouting once more. She tried to hold Lucifer back, and Dream suspected he would normally allow it, but they were each fighting below the belt. The room was small, and there were only so many places he could go without slipping into the Dreaming. It was not exactly pleasant to be slammed into the wall, an arm against his throat, but he had nothing to be wary of, at the moment.

“Have you named them? Those new flowers?” Lucifer snarled, his eyes burning.

“It was what he asked of me,” Dream rasped. His true failure was millennia old, and it still ached, but he’d had more distance than Lucifer, and he would damn well use that.

“Lucifer - Lucifer!” They both became aware of the Detective tugging at Lucifer’s arm. “Let him go. Now!”

Dream caught himself on the wall to avoid completely crumpling. He tugged at his turtle neck, pulling it down and away. He wished it was only a show for sympathy, but this aspect seemed to carry this sort of thing with more reality than Morpheus - likely due to the fact that Morpheus hadn’t exactly had time to truly resolve his issues after Burgess, and the nagging flicker of humanity now at his core.

The Detective had pulled Lucifer across the room. He was standing with his head bowed and his hands shaking. He didn’t seem to hear whatever she was hissing to him.

[voiceless-terror]

Interlude (The Magnus Archives)

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Mikaele Salesa, Annabelle Cane

CW: Mental Deterioration/Memory Loss, Some Fluff but Mostly Angst, Spoilers for 181

This is not a home.

Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it’s the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. He likes it.

_______

Jon wakes up to a smile.

It is Martin, looking peaceful and well-rested for once. It cuts through the hazy fog of his mind and lands somewhere near his heart. He deserves a break, doesn’t he? He can see the grime etched into the lines on his face- lines that shouldn’t be there, lines that he caused. Outside the birds chirp and a breeze rustles the trees. This is not a home, but maybe they can play at it. An interlude.

The rooms are luxurious. Martin stretches and pours tea from an elaborate set provided by Annabelle. Jon is thirsty and hungry but he’s not going to take anything from a spider unless he absolutely needs to. Martin disagrees, and Jon doesn’t stop him. It’s probably fine.

There’s a lovely clawfoot tub, barely big enough for two but they make it work. Martin lovingly works through his hair, sorting out tangles and scratching lightly at his scalp. Jon aches with nostalgia, remembering the days of the cabin when Martin had first tentatively touched him after months of the Lonely. They were always touching after that- holding a hand here and leaning against a shoulder there. When Jon ruined everything the touches turned desperate, like clinging to a buoy in a storm. Martin pours tea but the tea isn’t tea it’s spiders-

“Jon?” 

He blinks. Martin has a hand on his shoulder. He’s relaxed, utterly at ease. They’re in Upton House. “You went away for a moment there. Still tired, eh? Me too.”

This is not a home.

When they’re clean and dressed in freshly-laundered clothes, Annabelle arrives. Creeping in the doorway, pointing them to a pantry and telling them to “make themselves at home.” They wait until she leaves to check it out. Jon follows Martin. He has already forgotten the way.

“Look at all of this, Jon! It’s like they raided a gourmet,” Martin scans the stacks, picking things up at random. He’s smiling so wide. Jon thinks it is the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. “What should we have?”

“Hmm.”

“Enlightening,” Martin rolls his eyes but is good-natured as ever. “How about some fruit?” He picks up an apple and holds it out enticingly. “Looks good!” he tempts with a sing-song voice. Jon doesn’t take it and Martin sighs. “Look, it’s only polite.”

“You can have some,” Jon replies. “I’d rather not.”

“You’ll have to eat sometime,” Martin says, taking a bite. “Time works differently here, I think.”

“Hm.”

There is opera playing somewhere in the distance. The house is so big the sound only reaches them in echoes. How long have they been here? His grandmother used to play opera while she cooked. She had a nice voice, humming along with the radio. Jon liked to watch her. It was their ritual in the evenings. She was trying. Jon played along. It was almost like a home, but not quite. Jon wishes for it dearly.

This is not a home.

Martin is already following the sound of the music, eager to talk to their host. Mikaele. Jon is eager too; the temptation of his story is almost too much to bear. He matches his pace and they reach a parlor. Martin knocks before Jon can stop him.

Mr. Spider has a guest! But Jon didn’t bring him a cake. Mikaele smiles and they enter. He’s not a spider, but he’s housing one. Isn’t that the same?

They’ve slept for 71 hours. Jon did not dream. He wonders if Martin did. Mikaele offers them a drink though it is far too early. Jon itches for one, strangely. But he shouldn’t, and he won’t. Their host is coy, leisurely pouring himself a drink and smiling like he has a secret. He does. Jon wants it. There is a tape recorder here and Jon wants to take take take but Mikaele just gives it a delighted smirk, as if the suspicious activity is an exciting turn of events. Jon asks. Mikaele refuses.

No? Jon is confused. He’s not used to being denied, not anymore. Mikaele and Martin laugh but he does not find it particularly funny. But Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it’s the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. He likes it.

Mikaele asks how it is out there in Jon’s world. Jon doesn’t remember. How to put it into words? Does he even have the words to do so? Jon doesn’t think so. He only knows that he is hungry in a way he hasn’t been in a long time, and out there he was not. 

Martin is talking. Martin is telling Mikaele about a quest to turn the world back to how it was. “Martin,” he admonishes. He doesn’t know why he is arguing with him. Martin sees the good, sees the potential and holds onto that desperate hope. It is infuriating but it is also what Jon loves about him. He is human and it is so, so beautiful. But Salesa is no salvation. He has carved out his corner of the world and he plans to stay.

Martin wants to stay too, for a bit. Jon knows this will not last- he would be too guilty, living in paradise while others suffer. And Jon can’t protect them here. Not from Annabelle. Doesn’t Martin know they need to be on their guard? Spiders only look for their next meal. Annabelle will devour them whole.

“Alright, I guess we can stay. Just for a bit.” Why does he say that? Jon is so tired. Martin is tired too. They deserve a rest in this nice big house. Jon has always wanted Martin to have nice things. For the first time he can offer something. 

Mikaele is talking but Jon isn’t interested in small talk. He wants to know. 

Look at him! Not three days without his master spooning knowledge into his head and he can’t bear it!

Mikaele is laughing but Jon is not. Martin asks again and the man indulges. It’s nice when Martin wants to know too. He knows he shouldn’t subject him to the statements when he doesn’t like it. But Jon wants to share his knowledge. He wants Martin to want it too.

Martin tells Mikaele he’ll behave. It’s impolite to badger your host, after all.

And Salesa is smart. Salesa prepared, Salesa survived. He is quick-witted and an excellent storyteller. Jon is entranced and he tries to drink it in but it is like empty calories, sweet and fleeting. 

I can die. 

… but still, if it means a comfort...anyway, no more stories I think.

You can’t trust comfort. But Jon tries, for the next few days. For Martin. Martin is at peace here and so is Jon, in a way. He’s never felt a hazy unknowing like this. Annabelle comes and goes but is never seen for long and Jon partakes in her gifts when the hunger gets to be too much. Martin tells him about the flowers and the trees. The sun hits their skin as they stroll the grounds. Jon can’t walk for long but he tries, because Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it’s the first time he’s seen him smile in a while. He likes it.

They see Salesa come and go. Sometimes they talk but Jon can’t remember what it’s about. The tape recorder hasn’t shown up again.

Martin curls around him in bed. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” he whispers.

“I think we need to leave.” Jon whispers back. It is the first real opinion he’s offered in days.

Martin pauses and then squeezes Jon a little tighter. “I know.”

This is not a home.

They pack and there it is. A tape recorder. Jon hasn’t seen one in days. He figures their peace wasn’t worth listening to, not for whatever is haunting them.

Martin asks one more time. But Jon can’t stay. He can’t remember how they got here. He is scared but the fear is gentle here. And that scares him more. He knows Martin will tire of this place eventually. But not in time for Jon.

Martin is worried about the implications of this. What happens if we actually do manage to- we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Jon doesn’t like to think about it. So he doesn’t.

Annabelle comes and Martin is angry. Martin wants answers. 

The sun felt nice, didn’t it? Jon can’t remember what the sun felt like. Martin pours tea but the tea isn’t tea it’s spiders-

“Jon?”

Someone is talking. Someone is asking questions. Is the knowledge even worth it? Annabelle is answering something.

Elias once said that Jon chose this. Every step of the way, he pressed on. 

Our world is made of choices, Jon, and very rarely do we truly know what any of them mean, but we make them nonetheless.

But did he choose this? Jon doesn’t remember. For some reason, he wants a cigarette. He toys with the lighter in his pocket. 

Annabelle demurs. She is a spider, that’s what they do. Always behind the scenes, always underestimated. 

“I can handle myself.” Martin always has. Martin is strong. Martin doesn’t need him. But Jon needs Martin. And Martin chooses him. It’s a blessing he doesn’t deserve.

“...I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re leaving.”

Martin takes his hand and they move towards the door. Annabelle speaks again but Jon isn’t listening.

“That’s the trouble with old houses. Full of spiders.”

This is not a home.

Annabelle shows them out. It’s fine. Salesa comes to say goodbye, but Jon has to...has to...has to…

Leave, right.

There is opera playing somewhere in the distance. The house is so big the sound only reaches them in echoes. How long have they been here? His grandmother used to play opera while she cooked. She had a nice voice, humming along with the radio. Jon liked to watch her. It was their ritual in the evenings. She was trying. Jon played along. It was almost like a home, but not quite. Jon wishes for it dearly.

“Jon, let’s go.” Right, yes. They were leaving. Martin leads the way.

____

Jon feels better in the howling winds. He knows Martin does not, but Martin is brave. Martin is a kind soul. Martin couldn’t bear to watch others suffer when he thinks he can do something about it. And Martin chooses Jon, every time. Martin would never leave him and Jon is so, so afraid.

That might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

For the first time, Martin knows something he doesn’t. Jon is as delighted by this as he is saddened. The time slips from his mind like a dream he forgot to write down. 

It was nice. It was really nice.

Martin is smiling. Jon thinks it is the last time he will see it for a while. 

[poemsforpersephone]

REVIEW FOR THE HANGED MAN BY K.D. EDWARDS

I received an arc of this book in exchange for an honest review (but i also have it pre-ordered like, twice, so you can really honestly believe me when i tell you i love this freaking book).

PSA: if you haven’t read The Last Sun yet, don’t read this because there are minor spoilers kind of for the first book. There are also minor spoilers for The Hanged Man too.

Once every so often there comes a moment when something enters your life and takes you on a path you never could have imagined. One day in January last year I listened to The Last Sun on a whim, because it looked cool, it had good reviews and a talented narrator. I had no way of knowing that a year later i'd be taking part in a street team quest dedicated to promoting it. I didn't know all the cool people I'd meet, all the art we'd produce as a team, as a fandom on the whole. I've been in a lot of fandoms in my life, and created a lot of content, but i have never been as enthralled and caught by a book series as i have this one. I won't talk more about the street team, as tempting as it is, but if you want to learn more check out KD's twitter, it's full of great things!

On with the show.

The Hanged Man is a revelation. There is so much world building going on, so much detail added to an already detail rich world, that I know i'm going to have to read it a few times (which, hey, works out! I will have like four copies by the end of this haha). The additional information we got about the sun court, about the companion bond, about the other Arcanas... I can't even put into words. There are things that happen in this book that I kind of assumed would happen but like, four books down the line, and they were done so well too, so smoothly that even though I didn't expect them, I didn't question them, but i'm not going to spoil anything within this review because this book is a book you have to experience yourself. Trust me.

The action and fight scenes are some of the most well written, fast paced, heart pounding action scenes I’ve ever read. Ever time a fight came up or a chase occurred I was absolutely glued to the page. This was present in The Last Sun as well and it’s one of my favourite aspects of the series as a whole. As with The Last Sun though, despite the action scenes trying to steal the show, it’s the relationships and the characters in The Hanged Man that are a major driving force and the central reason as to why it shines so brightly.

Rune and Brand will always have a major share holder place in my heart, but there is an entire cast now vying for positions. Quinn and Max continue to be so freaking adorable and brave and smart that I could cry. Quinn's character arc in this book especially is so so good? Addam is just?? Such a pure soul? Such a kind person? I cannot get over how he's a real character that we get to enjoy and treasure. Lord Tower is. Well. You guys know how he is but he has some moments in this book that made me a lot less suspicious of him and a lot MORE suspicious of him at the same time. He is a conundrum but i love him. Mayan got more of a role too, and I loved every part of it! Queenie is still in the background a little and I'm convinced she has secrets!!!! If she does, I can't wait to see what they are. I loved Lady Death!! I hope she's sticking around she is super cool and almost exactly what I was hoping her to be.

Also, the introduction of Anna, Corbie and Layne was so well done! I won't say much here for fear of spoilers bc there are some BIG ones but I can't wait to see how things in that area progress.

But talking of Rune and Brand... oh my god. I will never get over their bond. Never. It's impossible. They're?? Everything?? There were moments in this book when they made me laugh and moments when they made me cry and moments where I wanted to scream. I still ship it to high heavens. Friends to lovers trope is like, the best invention ever, and I'm holding out for some lovely polyamory because i've long believed that the best way to end a love triangle is to involve everyone! More people more fun amiright??? (can u tell its 1:15am dear lord) but whether or not anything will come of that only time will tell. Either way, romantic or platonic, nothing will rival their love for each other and that is the foundation of this series. The most solid, well built foundation ever.  

Rune is just. So powerful. And so wonderful. His progression through two books alone is awe inspiring, i can't even think about where we're going to be another three or four books down the line. I love how powerful and confident he is, I love that he knows his strength, that he knows when to play certain trump cards. KD knows how to do character development, he's shown this time and time again, and oh my god I cannot wait to see what Rune becomes.

So, where do we stand. Sometimes you read a book and you don't worry about the characters because you know they'll be fine, but i am constantly worrying about everyone, because the writing feels like it's real, like you're living it, like you're watching people you care about face off against such high odds. I have my theories about where aspects of this series will go but I also very much doubt whether any of them are correct, because KD is playing the long game and I am but a lowly sleep deprived reader, but i am so so excited to go on this journey. I can't wait to see where it takes us. I could prattle on for another five hundred paragraphs about how much i loved this book, but i think i've said all that needed saying, so i'll leave it at this. Read this book, folks, you won't regret it.

[pacificwanderer]

I’m starting to feel very nervous that there will be no romance between Ben and Rey. What if it’s just them reconciling and that’s it. Their relationship just evolves to them being friends at the end of IX or their relationship is so subtle and is left ambiguous...

Hey Nonnie,

Romance has always been an overt part of SW as a whole, so there’s no reason to believe that any romance between Rey and Ben would be subtle or ambiguous.

I’m going to be frank, but they were not so subtly eye-fucking each other on that elevator (my non-shipping spouse thought they were going to kiss, which is exactly what they wanted the audience to think).

She saw his tits.

They touched hands in a symbolic union across space and time.

And then there’s the whole throne room scene. I just, you know it’s not only the Reylos that see this shit, right?

Here’s a fun article from Vanity Fair: How The Last Jedi Became the Sexiest Star Wars Movie Yet that features such gems as: 

But having seen the film with a full audience three times, I can say no moment draws more audible gasps and applause than when Adam Driver’s Kylo Ren and Daisy Ridley’s Rey whirl around in brief slow-motion, stand back-to-back, and take on a room of their shared enemies together. It’s the sexiest moment in a franchise that already featured a young Han Solo answering Leia’s earnest “I love you” with a smoldering “I know.”

But I hate to break it to you: the Tumblr fans were right. With Rey’s non-Skywalker lineage confirmed, she and Kylo burn up the screen in the franchise’s most intense relationship we can’t help but root for—even though we know we shouldn’t.

It’s tempting, at first, to deny the existence of any sexual tones in The Last Jedi. This is, after all, a franchise for kids. But sex, love, and bad or off-limits romances have always been written into the D.N.A. of Star Wars—albeit a little less lustily.

And like this entire paragraph:

But for all the romantic picnics between Padmé and Anakin and passionate stolen kisses of Han and Leia, nothing in the Star Wars franchise has ever had quite the dangerous spark as the late-night Force Skype sessions between lonely, misunderstood misfits Rey and Kylo. “You’re not alone,” they urgently confess to each other as the movie pushes them closer. Nothing is sexier than a forbidden romance—and, like any overprotective father figure, Luke should have known that busting up their call would only drive Rey directly into Kylo’s arms. (Note the precise moment in the film where she switches from calling him Kylo to calling him “Ben.”) The fact that Kylo is unwittingly being used as some kind of sexy emo honeypot so Snoke can lure Rey into his clutches is beside the point. These kids think the connection they have is special because they are special. 

Okay, so read the entire article because it’s gold.

And then this article is just lol:

1. Kylo Ren takes his shirt offLike I wasn’t going to start with this? Adam Driver as Kylo Ren gamely serves up the most Star Wars beefcake since Luke went sleeveless on Dagobah, and even Rey is rattled. She forgot to force-knock before barging in on the dude, and here’s Kylo Ren alone in his room, stripped to the waist, boasting sweaty pecs that look like he sliced Alderaan in half and glued the remainders to his chest. It’s a lot! Finally, even people who don’t subscribe to HBO can wonder, “Shit, am I attracted to Adam Driver?”

2. Kylo and Rey’s whole thingMany weirdos shipped these two characters after The Force Awakens, and now I kinda get it. Kylo and Rey never make out, but they still share The Last Jedi’s sexiest scenes as well as a telepathic connection fostered by sinister voyeur Snoke, the galaxy’s mightiest cuck. And how about that moment where Kylo kills his mentor — it’s always hot when a space goth murders a lazy magician — and then flips sides with Rey to kill off a straggling crew of ruby-red stormtroopers? If watching seven seasons of Buffy has taught me anything, it’s that there is no sex sign more unequivocal than teaming up with your sworn enemy to throw stage punches.

And like, this is going to get a little ranty (not directed at you, nonnie, just in general because I have a lot of feelings about SW and Reylo lol), but I don’t know if I can properly convey just how big of a fucking deal it is that Ben killed Snoke for Rey. He killed his master for someone he’s known for, what? Three days? A girl who tried to kill him twice? And he’s not even mad about it! I think he’s impressed, and more than just a little bit in love with her.

But he killed off what everyone thought was going to be the big bad, because he wanted to keep her safe. He was thinking of this plan from when she arrived on Snoke’s Supremacy. He knew what he had to do, but he wasn’t sure until that lightsaber fell in front of him and everything clicked because there was no way he was going to let Snoke have her.

After everything he’s been through and everything that Snoke has done to him, he wasn’t willing to give her up.

He killed someone who has had a hold on him since BIRTH, basically an evil wizard that had a powerful spell over him for his entire life, and he killed him for her. I don’t know if people realize just how significant that is for Ben. Unless you’ve grown up in an extremely oppressive environment (think fundamentalist religions or even cults), it’s hard to properly convey just how much of a big fucking deal it is to turn on everything you’ve come to know.

Snoke isolated Ben so completely that they weren’t even allowed to utter his birth name in the FO. He tried to fashion him into a weapon that could be used to bring down Luke. But furthermore than that, the relationship was insidious and predatory in nature, but as is the case with those kinds of relationships, people are brainwashed into believing certain things. They condition people to have certain reactions (so, when Han questions Snoke’s loyalty to Ben and tells him that Snoke will use him and destroy him, Kylo basically replies with a ready response, “No, the supreme leader is wise.” LIKE FUCK ME SIDEWAYS. That’s a learned reaction, something that gets triggered by specific circumstances/conditioning and, in this case, that circumstance is someone questioning Snoke’s power).

So turning away from something that you’ve been indoctrinated into is hard and, in some cases, impossible because of the kind of conditioning that is used to control people accounts for that kind of thing (which also makes Fi//nn turning against the FO a huge fucking deal too, btw). But Ben overcomes that for her. This isn’t something you do for like some rando on the street. He did this because he wanted to keep her, and she wanted to keep him, but not as they are at that point. Both of them need to figure out some shit on their own before they’re able to come together and resolve their problems and get a HEA.

He made his first step towards the light for her, but now he has to find his own reasons for coming around. He has to want to change for himself, and not because Rey or anyone else wants him to, in order for there to be any kind of lasting change in his life (and of course it’s fine if he needs help to do that, but the main motivating factor has to be that he wants to change).

And I’m not so convinced that Rey is sold on the idea of the Resistance. Like it was always her intention to go back to Jakku until Kylo got her to see the truth about that. She’s been fighting to survive her entire life, like she doesn’t owe them anything. I think her story is going to be more Force driven than anything else (with the eventual resolution for it all at the end), but we’ll have to see.

Also. ALSO. She shipped herself to him, right smack into fucking enemy territory, risking torture and death, to get him back. She did that. SHE DID THAT. RIGHT IN THERE. Like how impulsive and awesome. She saw the good in him, saw that they shared something yet to come, and BOOM she’s in there to get him back. I admire that about her. It’s brave and such a fucking hero thing to do, and for the villain. MY GOD. FOR KYLO FUCKING REN. THE DUDE SHE JUST TRIED TO KILL TWICE. I JUST. *FLAILING*

BE STILL MY VILLAIN FUCKER HEART.

Anyfuckingways. Basically, LF knows how thirsty everyone is for more Reylo content, JJ knows how thirsty we all are for more Reylo content (his director’s commentary, what does he say when the story shifts back to Rey and Kylo? “Back to the story that everyone cares about?”). 

Just don’t worry. Honestly, it’s not worth it. And, honestly, this shit already isn’t subtle or subtext or any of it. It’s right the fuck out there. Obvious enough that other media comments on it and fanboys get riled up about it.

It’s real. And I have faith that they cast Adam Fucking Driver because they know what a god damn fabulous kisser he is, like they’re not going to let those “plush lips” go to waste. WHAT A CRIME THAT WOULD BE.

WHAT A WASTE.

Anyways, there’s a shitton of awesome Reylo meta out there that pretty much lays out why people thing it’s going to happen and if you’re still worried about it, maybe take a break from spoilers/the fandom for a bit because, at the end of it all, it’s supposed to be fun and not stressful.

Cheers and chin up, Nonnie!

[kizardofkoz]

The Eternal Pursuit of Emptiness

There I stood on top of the butte, with the closest of my people, and we humbly looked out over the sprawling desert. The landscape was like pieces of thrown pottery in fantastic and misshapen forms - rich shades of terra cotta, crimson and rust, and obviously, tears couldn’t help but fall, blazing small trails through the dust on my face. I couldn’t believe how fortunate I was. 

I was able to see this fraction of the kaleidoscope of nature. 

To be away with some of my favorite humans while I got to safely leave my absolute dearest ones at home with their grandparents. 

And I soaked in that dry west wind, whipping around us in warm gusts like ocean waves, leaves, and racing thoughts. 

My favorite three: 

1.) I call him my favorite. The man whose ring I wear, the father of my children, he yins my yang, tickles my brain and sometimes, when the timing is just right and we aren’t too tired, it isn’t too late or there isn’t something competing for our time on Netflix, we’ll occasionally play a round of some Chesterfield Rugby (PS - I just did a bit of a dive on some innuendos and my goodness. That is a really fun use of time. I can’t even write some of these but I am literally laughing right now. My mom reads this, you guys. And while I’ve [maybe?] worn her down a little on the curse words, I can’t go all in with the crass. 

Okay, fine. Just one: Harpooning the salty longshoreman. 

Fine, two: Nurtling. (I have no idea.) 

But I also feel it is unfair to not share Taking Grandma to Applebee’s? 

I’ve gotten off topic.

My other two loves on this trip are 

2.) My best girlfriend who I have had the honor of watching go through some of the best and absolute saddest experiences that I have humbly witnessed a human endure. And she navigated it all, and continues to go through life with a steadiness, focus, and motivation that is inspiring, still and sparkling. She has helped me move apartments, paint new walls when we moved into our first house, and paint the baseboards of those same walls on her morning off when we were selling that same house. She is fiercely dependable, loyal, she is the best damn person to travel with as she is equal parts responsible, adventurous and is a Type-A likes to research and plan things kind of gal where I’m more of the Type-B, let’s just dive in and see how we land type. We once held hands and jumped off the neighbors high dive on their dock on a girls lake trip very late one night. We’ve been to countless shows together. Gotten tattoos together. She’s one of the first people to hold my babies after they have been born and I can always count on her to order dessert. Her closet is the kind people pine after and she makes the best damn chocolate chip cookie you’ve ever eaten. She’s also married to my third person. 

3.) He is silly and kind and we have a podcast that we will some day launch, divulging our joint fascination with spooky things that make us light up and nervous laugh and open another beer as he tries to convince me that Yeti’s exist while I try to convince him to sing in church. We once started the idea of a band called “The Huggers and the Cryers” after drinking too much brandy on one of the very few New Years Eve’s that I was neither pregnant nor nursing a baby. Because he and I hug easily and love to cry. 

And don’t worry, I was back at babying the following year. Did you think I was going to go over 2 years and not have another boy? (Spoiler alert - NOT ANY MORE!!! And like, really for real, real. Grateful for IUD’s (and Steve’s eventual vasectomy) and for the four hilarious, adorable, wild, curious, loving and messy pups that we have now. 

But we have to stop. 

It’s like animal print. 

You have to find that fine balance between tasteful and too much. And unfortunately, a lot of times, a person doesn’t realize it is too much animal print, but everyone else does. This is my way of inviting an intervention if you see me starting to itch in the next few months. This is usually when we start Playing with the Box the Kid Came In (you guys, there are so damn many) so, you all have a responsibility, okay? Okay!

I have 100% gotten off topic.

Anyways.

The four of us did a smaller, summit hike on our last morning in Sedona this past month. (All of the couples of our closest tribe were invited to [crash] another couple’s 10-year anniversary trip. Three of us couples were able to swing it. And it was glorious. And very, very dry. And responsibly alcoholy.) 

So I was sitting near the edge of this butte and allowed myself to absorb the moment and then a vision came to me. (Yes, God gives me visions at times. And I also hear God at others. And I know how this makes me sound, and I have also quit caring because I believe if you are blessed enough to experience gifts like these, then you should be brave enough to admit it.) And in my minds’ eye, I saw a big teardrop shape, that was beautifully empty. 

Clear. Serene. Vacant.

And I exhaled and prayed and breathed deeply. I knew what God was telling me. That empty teardrop was empty of all worldly possessions and distractions, and in their absence, full and content. It was God in me. And I saw how I try to fill this tear drop with *all the things*; New siding, new shirts, new speakers and shoes, and magazines and schedules and technology and sports teams and equipment for sports teams and how these things pile on each other - at times inadvertently and other times compulsively and intentionally - and they become the main focus of my mind and my heart until they fill up and pile into this precious teardrop and the only part of the emptiness left is the space between all of the things.

The only part that is open and available for God, for contentment, or peace, is the space between.

The remainder.

And it is jagged and small and inconsistent.

Ironically, I try to complete my life with the things that I think make me happy, fulfilled and satisfied. Yet they are the exact things that end up taking away time, space and energy from the peace and contentment that is only truly felt when there is the empty space and quiet to focus on God.

So I exhaled and released it all. 

And I felt these earthly desires disappear and dissipate as I reclaimed that space, my sacred emptiness, that is so important to me. That is so important to God. And it was so easy, there on top of the warm rocks, accompanied by cactuses and bushes and my people and vortexes.

It is not easy, however, to empty myself in real life.

I tend to equate emptiness with negativity. 

Void of love, experience, calories, energy, connection.

But this spiritual cleansing is what I have needed for so long, and I forget to prioritize it. To protect it. 

This is the emptiness that allows space for *just being*. Breathing. For feeling God’s presence and consequently, the lack of desire for all of the other things that I constantly seek to fill that emptiness. 

A hollow holiness.

An exhale.

In church on Sunday our pastor spoke of spiritual vulnerability and the importance of confession. 

Ho.ly. Shit.

Where does one start?

Selfishness - in my marriage, in my relationships, with my time, with my children, with our money, with friendships, with my food and drink even. 

Materialism - wanting and focusing on all of the tangible, unimportant *things* of the world like new light fixtures, workout clothing, wall paper, throw pillows, hats, patio furniture, the perfect summer jean, the perfect front door mat, more peel and stick wallpaper, vacuums, planters, kids clothing, kids shoes, running shoes, house shoes, *let’s get some shoes*, drapes, ceiling fans, office chairs, boujee hand soaps, expensive skin care, swim suits & pianos. 

Gossip - Why is this so tempting??? I really try not to. I don’t really think I do. Much. And gossip isn’t like what it was when we were in middle or high school. But how tempting is it when there is a conversation about the neighborhood happening and you have hot insider information on why there isn’t a sidewalk on the neighboring street? How does one just go about their day and not share this with the person ringing up their fro-yo? I did not. Yet. Likely.

Lack of faith - Why does God keep expecting me to use faith if we both know I have it and used it last year?

Hypocrisy - Vomit. Where do we begin? Ughhkckhgh.

I would rather listen to podcasts about murder than the bible or deepening my faith. 

I focus way too much on my body and physical appearance.

I focus too much on how I want everybody to like me and if I feel like someone isn’t a Kiley-person, I obsess over it and get weird and needy and in my head and I shouldn’t really care if this person four rings out of my circle really cares about me and finds me kind, selfless and charming. But hopefully she thinks I’m a good dresser? *I AM ROLLING MY OWN EYES SO HARD RIGHT NOW*

I focus way too much on money and how we don’t have *enough-ish* even though we absolutely, 100% do have enough (non-ish) and will I ever be content and secure in this area?

I focus on what other people are doing with their time, money, lives and am left feeling jealous, angry and exhausted.

I focus on all of the things that take up residency in my teardrop, and I pray for God to take them away. For God to please forgive me for putting so much energy toward the unimportant instead of focusing the things God really wants for me:

Love. 

Self Acceptance.

Peace. 

Creativity. 

Meaningful relationships.

Connection with the divine.

Connection with my children.

More God.

Less stuff.

Less stress.

Emptiness. 

Contentment.

Enlightenment.

*Someone spent some time in the desert, can you tell?*

So I confess all of these things, yet again, to God, and to you all. And I pray that God will help me remember my desire for emptiness. To remember the importance, the value and treasure of emptying myself so I can fill it up with God’s love. With contentment. With peace.

So I can have extra time and energy to focus on the important things.

Like the eternal pursuit of emptiness.

Or for my husband and I to get to know each other better. In the biblical sense.

A terrifying and beautiful hike that sealed friendships in gold and red rock dust. We followed this 3-4 hour hike with breakfast and beers at a local, hole in the wall diner and it was my favorite meal of the entire weekend. And cheapest. I JUST REMEMBERED I HAVEN’T UNPACKED MY CRYSTALS YET!!!

Here’s my people. The hubs, and best friends Nicole & Brian. I don’t care if they don’t want their names shared. We have a constant google calendar invite to go to visit Big Sur every fall. We just keep putting it off but it makes me smile when I have to go to October in my calendar and book something.:) Some day.

I did yoga on the top of this thing like a gosh damn stereotypical basic B. But it was wonderful. But I also felt if I looked up during any balancing poses I would fall over, roll off the top and die. So I decided to look down a live. I’m a mom now so I make different decisions than I used to. 

This is just an awesome photo of summer. This was a couple weekends ago. We live down the street from the guy who used to be our entertainment lawyer for our old band. Now we have playdates on Friday nights and order pizza and drink craft beefs and our kids play together. And it’s awesome.

And this is just Keps eating pizza while getting wet from the general mist of the hose and water fights going on around him. I love this photo so much.

Surfs up, friends.

[quinzelade]

By No Constraint (chpt 67)

SS x Danse

Chapter List

Thanks to my amazing beta, waiting4morning, for her wonderful work! Thanks to Musashi1596 for the title.

Major Brotherhood/Danse spoilers.

Want update alerts? Follow this story on FFnet or Ao3.

--

On Ederachillis' Shore

 --

Danse paused, staring at Marguerie’s journal. He could feel MacCready’s eyes on him as he stood frozen on the spot, still holding her body.

After a few seconds, he let her go, though he didn't look away from the book. Marguerie had owned it for as long as he’d known her, but he’d only seen her with it on a few occasions. Each time he’d spotted her writing, Marguerie snapped it shut and put it away. Danse had never asked what she’d been writing about.

MacCready came walking back into the yard, pulling Danse from his train of thought. He’d been so wrapped up in the journal, he hadn’t noticed MacCready leaving in the first place. Or maybe his head was still causing issues. Despite the stimpak dealing with the concussion, there was a lingering dull ache in his skull.

Preston and Nick followed MacCready, all of them walking at a brisk pace, all of them carrying shovels. Nick was holding two.

None of them commented on Marguerie’s body, though an angry look flashed across Nick’s face. Still, he held his tongue, and instead passed Danse the spare shovel as he said, “This where we’re burying her?”

Danse blinked with surprise. It took him a moment to find his words, and when he did, all he could say was, “Yes.”

The three of them immediately began to dig, while Danse stood there stupidly. They were helping him without being asked, and without any personal ties to the deceased. Like real friends. Like Cutler. His gratitude was almost overwhelming.

Shaking himself free of his bewilderment, Danse limped over, the blade of his shovel trailing behind him with a metal skittering. He tried to speak again, before Preston looked up at him and smiled. They knew. He didn’t need to say it.

The hours passed, Danse becoming more of a hindrance with his leg the deeper the pit grew. Eventually, he stepped back and let the others finish in his place. When it was done, Preston checked over Danse’s wounds to make sure they hadn’t reopened, while MacCready and Nick lowered Marguerie gently into the grave. Then they picked up their shovels again.

“Leave it,” said Danse.

Preston, Nick, and MacCready looked at each other. Nick leaned on his shovel. “You sure, kid?”

“Yes.” Trying not to wince in front of them, Danse lowered himself to the ground next to the items that had fallen from Marguerie’s pocket. “I just need a minute. Want to...say some goodbyes.”

“Don’t exert yourself too hard,” Preston said. “I didn’t do all those stitches for you to bust them again.”

MacCready said nothing, staring at the open grave for a few seconds, before walking off with the shovel over his shoulder. The rest of them watched him go.

“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Nick said, picking up his own shovel. “And listen to Preston. Don’t overdo it. If you need any help, give us a holler.”

Danse breathed a sigh of relief when they’d gone. They didn’t understand. He knew they didn’t understand. Why would they? All they saw was the Brotherhood trying to kill him. He didn’t blame them for that. Maybe MacCready was the only one who felt different, for whatever reason, but he’d barely known Marguerie. Not like him.

Danse leaned against the picket fence and stared down at the last of Marguerie’s possessions. Her treasured lighter, three cigars...and the journal. He reached out, but then stopped. He’d never so much as touched it before. Now he was trying to pick through like some sort of vulture.

Instead, Danse turned his attention to the cigars, an old, tired memory surfacing. He thought of the first time he’d left the Prydwen without Quinn, smoking a cigar with Marguerie on the decks. It had been uncomfortable on his lungs, making him cough, much to her amusement. He could hear her laughing now, loud and low, a halo of smoke lazily unfurling around her head.

Danse looked back at the pit.

Finally, it all hit him. He bent forward, his head in his knees, trying to control his breathing. He’d killed his friend. He’d killed his friend.

He glanced up, glaring at the grave. “What the hell were you thinking, Marguerie? Were you that blinded?”

A sharp pain flared through his leg, and he realised he was half to his feet. The wounded leg gave way, and he crashed forward onto his hands and knees with a grunt. Sweat dripped from him, his shoulders heaving with anger.

He’d been that blinded. For years and years, following Brotherhood doctrine without question. Ghouls are the enemy? Fine, of course. It never affected him. Even after Marguerie’s family, he hadn’t found the compassion to change—but neither had she, choosing to twist it into something that ate her from the inside out. Synths were next on the list, and Danse decried them without hesitation. Only when it involved him personally, only when his own life had been on the line, did his perception shift.

“At least you were consistent,” Danse said to the grave. He sat back on the floor, panting and clutching at his leg. “At least you stuck to what you believed in, no matter what.”

Marguerie stayed loyal at the cost of everything. Would it have ever got this far if not for the Brotherhood? Danse didn’t know. He didn’t want to think about it. The knowledge his friend lived a miserable existence wouldn’t change, regardless whether it was her fault, the Brotherhood’s, or somewhere in-between.

“You should have gone with George,” Danse said, picking up her Zippo lighter and turning it over to look at the Brotherhood logo scratched in the metal. “You should have left us behind. You would have made it.” He set it down and cast his eyes back to the pit. “You would have been fine.”

The cigars lay at his feet.

Marguerie was leaning on the railings of the Prydwen, looking back at him. “We’ve had each other’s backs when it mattered most. I think that warrants sharing a smoke together every now and then, don’t you?”

Danse picked up a cigar, and after a slight pause, lit it. The unfamiliar sensation of hot ash filled his lungs, and he immediately spluttered. Marguerie’s laughter filled his head, and he grabbed one of the other cigars, pushing himself to the edge of her grave. Leaving his own cigar jutting out of his mouth, Danse lit the second, let it burn for a moment, and then dropped it down for Marguerie. It landed silently next to her stiffened body in the dirt, and slowly smouldered. Danse dragged himself back to the picket fence and leaned against it, working his way through the stolen cigar.

“I’m sorry I never helped you with Sarah,” he said aloud, smoke escaping his lips as he spoke. He looked at the grave. “I’m sorry I never asked how she was doing, or whether there was any way I could help. I know you told me you were fine, but...I should have pushed harder. I was too wrapped up in my position, too...too afraid to talk about what had happened to them. They were your dirty secret...or at least that’s how I saw it.”

Danse dragged on his cigar. “I think I met Sarah. Didn’t recognise her. Thought she’d stay six forever. Never imagined ghouls could grow. She seemed like a good kid. Brave...no, reckless really. She went after a pack of attacking super mutants with nothing but an armful of rocks.” He laughed. “I think you would have been proud of her.”

The air was heavy as he basked in the echo of that old encounter. Danse went to take another drag of his cigar, and stopped, the smoke halfway to his mouth. “If she’s really yours, I’ll find her, and I’ll look after her. Bring her back here, if that’s what she wants. Or build up The Slog if she decides to stay, so that she’s well defended. And tell her about you. All the good things, like...how dedicated you were to your cause. That you were fearless and hardworking, and you gave everything for her, no matter what stood in your way.”

He finished his cigar in silence, stubbing it out on the ground. “She’s not going to be alone, I promise.”

Slowly, Danse’s attention was drawn back to the journal. Tempting. Unguarded.

Danse glanced over to the grave, his stomach tight as he searched for a sign of permission. Her most precious possession. Normally he would never dare, but something inside was telling him to look. If anything, maybe it would give him some answers. Answers to what, though, he didn’t know.

Finally, he laid his hand on the worn brown leather cover, toying with the dirty string that kept it all held together. His fingers gripped at the string and gradually, painfully, pulled the journal towards him. He felt like he was committing the highest betrayal as he worked the binding loose and put it to one side. Still, he hesitated. He wanted to, but…

Danse opened the book on a random page, and was greeted with a startling sight. Lined across the yellowed pages was a beautiful cursive handwriting, looping gracefully from one letter to the next. His eyes fell to part of the last stanza.

‘Thus every grave we dug,

The hungry wolf uptore.’

Danse blinked. This wasn’t a poem that he recognised. It wasn’t something he’d thought Marguerie would ever write. Was it her own creation, or something she found? He flicked to the beginning, looking for an explanation, and found George Marguerie staring back.

It was the George Danse remembered from the Citadel, when he’d been living with Marguerie. Thin faced and pale, with a shock of jet-black hair, the image could have been a photograph. But it wasn’t. It had been carefully sketched, every line placed with aching precision. In George’s arms was a tiny baby, a pudgy hand reaching up to grasp at his collar.

Danse’s stomach tightened, his voice cracking as he said, “I never knew you were an artist, Rach.”

Artist was an insufficient word. He’d never seen such detailed illustrations. The love and care for each subject glowed from the pages—various drawings of a child, toddler to little girl. Her hair was long and black, tied in cute bunches with tattered ribbons. She had her mother’s nose and eyes. Her father’s face and build.

Danse reached to touch her face, but hesitated. He didn’t want to damage the drawing of Sarah Marguerie.

The next sets of pages were filled with sketches of the Capital Wasteland, mostly of a settlement, with Sarah and George often in the scene. This must have been Marguerie’s home before the Enclave burned it to the ground.

Suddenly, the sketches stopped. There were a few attempts, shaky and unfinished, the lines smudged heavily by long-dried drops of water. Then, the poem that Danse had first found when he’d opened the book. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where this had happened in Marguerie’s life.

After a few more tremulous starts, the drawings returned—stronger in style, almost angry. The lines were bolder, darker, the pictures stark and stylised. Gone were the drawings of home, replaced by endless angles of the Citadel, the building of the Prydwen, and various members of the old team. Danse saw himself, Cutler, and the Coopers immortalised in several scenes. One in particular made his whole body tense—a picture of Danse crouched over a large, misshapen body, his shoulders bowed with grief.

More scenery. Smeared outlines of Cutler, ‘sorry’ scrawled repeatedly from margin to corner. A mutant, unfinished, its face relaxed, eyes blank and unseeing.

An intricate portrait broke the macabre trend—a little ghoul girl, her bubbly personality shining through the darkness like a beacon. Danse paused, closing his eyes. He knew this girl. He had met her in what felt like a lifetime ago. This, if nothing else, was the evidence to make him finally accept the truth: Sarah from The Slog was Marguerie’s daughter.

Danse pushed on. He needed to see it all, to reach the end. Pictures of the Commonwealth followed, woven in with detailed sketches of the ship and sweeping views from the decks. And, to his greatest surprise, his face returned...with Quinn. The first was at the power armour station in the Prydwen’s workshop, Quinn sitting on a set of crates while he pointed at a nearby suit. Question marks surrounded the two of them, littering the page.

The next showed him bickering with Quinn. The word ‘Idiot’ had been written over his head, ‘Idiot 2’ over Quinn’s. Danse had to laugh.

He choked, mid-chuckle, as he turned the page. They were together again, asleep on the floor, holding hands. The scene was titled, ‘The Two Stupids.’

Danse remembered Marguerie’s glee when she’d woke him up the following morning. She’d used this moment afterwards with great enthusiasm to try and convince him to tell Quinn how he felt. Had Marguerie been sketching them that night in the hospital?

There was one more picture of Danse. It was unfinished, and showed him smoking a cigar in the workshop where they built the actuators. The drawing had been scribbled over so fiercely there were holes in the paper. The word ‘SYNTH’ was scrawled across in thick, black letters.

Danse sighed. He knew why she could never see him as a person. Danse even understood it. But that didn’t make it sting any less.

He went cold as he reached the next undamaged page. The sketch of him had been carefully reconstructed, drawn to intense detail, like the ones at the beginning of the book. Every line of concentration was visible, his serious expression suiting him as well as his uniform. Danse stared at it, his throat tight, until he couldn’t bear to look any more, and hurriedly moved on.

The following picture was slightly hard to see, because it had also been scribbled out violently. After a few seconds of squinting, though, Danse realised it was MacCready, fast asleep under his coat. He was without his hat, revealing ruffled hair, and his shoulders were bare. He was reaching out, loosely holding someone’s fingers. More squinting revealed the scene had been drawn to show MacCready holding the artist’s hand. Danse blinked, his cheeks going hot. Not that he’d ever kept up with Marguerie’s love life, but…

She’d be laughing at his discomfort now. Marguerie loved embarrassing him. She would have thought the invasion of her privacy almost worth it just to see him squirm. At least this explained MacCready’s reaction to her death. He probably should have picked up on it, but with his head...

The opposite page made his heart sink. Another portrait of a man, the lines badly smudged. Danse thought he might be George, but he looked vastly different to the earlier versions. He guessed Marguerie hadn’t looked back for a reference. Or maybe she couldn’t bear to look back at all. Underneath, in small, shaky writing:

‘I can’t remember his face.’

Most of the remaining parts of the book were filled with incomplete, water-stained drawings - so erratic they were impossible to decipher. Then the sketches cleared, becoming controlled again as a final collection of memories surfaced. The Coopers were arm in arm, Viv’s fire captured perfectly, along with Stephen’s kind smile. Beside them, more tiny writing.

‘Out out, brief candle.’

Quinn, lying in a bed that Danse thought might be on the Prydwen. She looked ill, dark shadows under her eyes, her stomach and chest swathed in bandages.

The last drawing was raw.

Marguerie’s dark gaze burned. The journal disappeared in Danse’s hands as he stared into those eyes, jagged lines and fierce pen strokes betraying more misery than words ever could. Her face was hollow, savage, the neglect screaming through her brutal self portrait.

Monster.

After that, there was nothing.

Danse shut the book and let it lie in his lap. His head hurt, but this time it had nothing to do with the blow he’d received. Conflicting thoughts whirled around, nipping at his fingers every time he tried to catch them. He hoped the journal would give him some form of closure, but instead he’d been dragged through Marguerie’s destructive downward spiral.

Danse got to his feet, letting the book fall carelessly the ground. He knew he’d regret his disrespect later, but right now he was suffocating. The pain that tore through his leg was cleansing fire, ripping him back from the edge. He seized his shovel and thrust it into the pile of dirt, spilling it everywhere as he tossed it into the pit.

Marguerie was dead. Nothing could change that.

Danse grunted, cleaving into the earth as he drove the thoughts away. Push on. Do better. He’d been careless, leaving his weapon inside the truck stop. Quinn and Charlie could have died.

And Rachel…

Danse stopped, swaying on the spot before flinging the shovel away. It hit something with a clang, but he paid it no attention, staring down at the contorted figure in the grave. The earth contrasted against her chalky skin, scattered across her closed eyes. He watched, waiting for her to blink, to move, to do something.

She lay still.

“God damn it,” Danse hissed, turning away from her. Where the hell was his shovel?

He found it wedged into the panelling of the house, the blade bent out of shape. When he tried to pull it free, the handle snapped off, leaving the metal stuck in the building. Danse swore and dropped it to the ground. The others had left with their shovels, and he didn’t want to face them again tonight. Not until this was done.

Muttering to himself, Danse limped back over and fell to his knees, earning himself a fresh wave of agony. He took in a few deep breaths, and then dug his hands into the piled dirt. Danse clawed his way through, first shovelling handfuls, and then armfuls of soil down onto Marguerie.

Sweat poured off him as he worked, his muscles aching, his leg screaming. Danse ignored his body, toiling away, aiming for the next load, and the next load, and the next. He needed to bury her. Bury Rachel. Bury his sins.

Hours passed, and as he reached the hard ground, his fingers scrabbled at every loose piece of dirt he could reach, desperate to return it to the pit. The mound grew, and Danse patted and leaned on it, packing it into place.

Finally, it was done, and he fell on the grave, drained. His body spurned him for his negligence, rejecting every command he gave to move. So Danse lay there, head spinning as he stared out into nothing.

“Do you ever listen to anything we tell you?”

Nick’s voice grated against him, but he didn’t have the energy to voice his contempt. Not at the old detective’s presence, but that anyone would see him in such a state.

Two sets of hands took hold of him, sitting him up, and Danse found himself looking at Nick and Preston. They tried to move him, but he resisted, gesturing to Marguerie's possessions.

Finally, Preston took the hint and picked them up. Once he was sure the items were secure, Danse let them pull him to his feet and guide him back to his house.

The going was slow. Burying Marguerie hadn’t helped matters and now his leg could barely support him. Quinn was nowhere in sight, but he could see Hancock standing under a porch, smoking with MacCready. He clapped MacCready on the shoulder as he flicked his cigarette away, sloping off towards Weathers’ brahmin, where the caravan guards were skulking.

As Danse drew near, he saw Hancock press a bag into one of the guard's hands. The guard lost his grip slightly and a few caps fell out. The other guard picked the caps up and pocketed them. Hancock smirked, lit up another cigarette, and walked away, giving Danse a wink as he passed.

What the hell was that all about?

Thinking made his head hurt, so Danse decided to forget about it for the time being.

Preston's reprimand washed over him as they made it into the house—something about not taking care of his new stitches. Danse mumbled the appropriate response and they deposited him onto the sofa. Preston tutted at the state of Danse’s bandages, which were now riddled with dirt, and left the house. He returned a few minutes later, hands clean and holding fresh bandages.

“Nothing seems to be out of place, at least,” Preston said, when he’d finished redressing Danse’s injuries. He raised an eyebrow at Danse. “Just try not to mess these ones up. We’re not made of bandages and we’re going to need them for your leg until it heals.”

Danse nodded slowly. “You've gotten better at first aid.”

Preston pinked a little, trying to hide his pleased expression. “Um...thanks.”

The room fell silent. Preston took out Marguerie's things and laid them on the sofa next to Danse. “Here.”

Danse couldn't bring himself to look at them again, let alone utter a thank you. After a few minutes, Nick and Preston took their leave, but not before Nick threw a parting shot of, “Don't do anything to worsen your leg.”

Once again, he was left alone, but not for long. Before he could wallow, he heard light footsteps and a familiar frantic voice mixed in with loud barking.

“Master Sh—I mean—Master Charlie, your mother said—”

“I want to see Mr. Danse!”

Charlie burst into the house, comics spilling from his arms. Dogmeat and Codsworth followed closely behind. Danse winced as Dogmeat bounded around the room, still barking, and then ran circles around Codsworth.

Charlie, however, took one look at Danse and dropped all his comics as he burst into tears.

The ache in his head suddenly seemed insignificant. Danse sat up straight and held his arms out to Charlie. Dogmeat took this as his cue and launched himself into Danse’s lap. White hot pain exploded through his leg.

“God damn—”

Danse’s yell was immediately cut short by the dog excitedly licking his face. He managed to bite back any more curses, shoving Dogmeat away and clutching at his thigh. Then he felt small, warm hands on his arm, and turned to see Charlie standing next to him. Charlie didn't move any closer, chewing nervously on his lip. Danse patted on his good leg, and Charlie gingerly climbed onto Danse knee, trying not to look at his face.

“Are you going to die?” Charlie whispered.

“No. Preston patched me up pretty good.”

Charlie nodded, but didn't look convinced. Danse decided to change the subject. “What comics do you have there?”

“Mr. MacCready gave me them.” Charlie shifted, but didn't move. Danse threw Codsworth a pointed look and he took the hint, scooping up the comics with his clawed hand and depositing them in Danse's lap. Dogmeat padded over and lay down at his feet.

“Let's see then,” Danse said, selecting one at random. “Read this one?” When Charlie shook his head, Danse smiled and opened it. “The Silver Shroud’s most daring venture yet: The Case of the Boston Blue Lights…”

--

“I've done everything I can,” Doc Weathers said, setting down his equipment and dabbing at his forehead with a scrap of cloth. “Now it's just a case of waiting.”

Quinn didn't reply, staring down at Carson. His breathing was steady, which was an improvement from before, and some of his colour had returned. But he still hadn't woken. Not surprising, really, with the amount of med-x in his system, and yet Quinn worried. The knowledge Cade bestowed to her during her confinement on the Prydwen allowed Quinn to assist Doc Weathers with Carson, but it was little help now. All she could do was hope.

Carson had to live. Quinn needed to know who else was involved. And, if she was really honest with herself, she simply didn't want him to die. Had Deacon felt this way before he shot her?

Probably not. You didn't turn against your own side to save him.

“Hey, kid.” Nick was standing behind her. He smiled. “I'll keep an eye on him tonight. Go get some sleep.”

She went to argue that he had to get some shuteye as well, before remembering Nick didn't need to. “Alright.”

If Nick was surprised by her lack of arguing, he didn’t show it. He patted her gently on the shoulder as she passed, and when Quinn looked back, he’d settled into the chair next to Sturges’ bed, where Carson lay motionless. Sturges would have to find another place to stay for the time being, but if his date with Preston went well the previous night, that wouldn’t be much of an issue.

The air was cool and balmy as Quinn stepped out onto the street, a soothing contrast from the enclosed heat of Sturges’ house. She took a deep breath through her nose, savouring the smell of outside. Different than pre-war—trees and cut grass and the faintest scent of car exhaust—this world smelled plainer. Bare, but with a tinge of metal and damp earth.

In the distance, Doc Weathers was packing up his brahmin again, and Quinn found herself not caring if he left. He’d done the majority of the work on Carson. Now all that was required was monitoring him.

Quinn noticed Weathers’ guards glaring at the doctor, blatantly not helping. They were wearing a look similar to Hancock, when he’d learned who Weathers used to work for. Quinn had sat with him during her second brief reprieve in Carson’s treatment, after Weathers flapped his hands at her and told her to leave him in peace for a while. The first had been during a particularly gruesome part of the procedure, where she excused herself before she could throw up.

Quinn had debated not spilling Weathers’ secret briefly, before remembering that such a man could—and likely would—fall in line with similar organisations again. Better to be prepared. Better for Hancock to know. And so she’d told him.

Hancock hadn’t said much, merely shrugging and digging through his pockets for his chem of choice. Not the reaction Quinn expected, but good enough. He wasn’t disrupting Carson’s recovery, at least.

She saw Hancock as she walked back up towards her house. He looked surprisingly more cheerful than earlier, and gave her a little wave.

“Tin can’s holed up in his place with Charlie.” Hancock offered her some mentats, and rolled his eyes when she declined. “You need to loosen up. You look like shit.”

“I’ll manage,” Quinn replied, and then—because she wanted to say it out loud to someone—added, “We’ve finished with Carson for the night. With any luck, he’ll pull through.”

“I’ll take care of it when you’ve asked all your questions.”

“I’m not killing him.”

“Oh?” Hancock raised his non-existent eyebrows at her. “And what you gonna do if it turns out he was here to murder you all along? Let him skip on back to the Brotherhood so he can tell them Danse is still alive?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“Uh-huh.” Hancock popped a few mentats in his mouth. “Well, let me know how that goes. I’ll be here to dispose of the trash when you’re ready.”

Quinn couldn’t think of a good response, so she marched away, trying to ignore the squirming sensation in her stomach. Sure, Carson had stepped in at the last second, but what was she going to do if there was a chance he’d sell out Danse?

“Fuck,” she hissed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Why am I always stuck in these shit situations?”

“Welcome home, mum!”

Quinn looked up, to see Codsworth at the door, a mug in his hand.

“I took the liberty of preparing you a hot beverage, just the way you liked it in the old days!” He paused. “Granted, the quality has deteriorated over the centuries, but I can assure you that you won’t find finer coffee anywhere else, mum!”

She laughed and accepted the cup, wrapping her hands around it so she could feel its comfortable warmth. When she stepped inside, Danse and Charlie looked up from their spot on the sofa. Danse looked haggard, but the haunted echo in his eyes slipped away as they met hers, and he smiled.

“Hi, mom!” Charlie said, snug in Danse’s lap, though still careful not to lean on his bad leg. “I’ve been showing Mr. Danse my comics. He didn’t even know who the Silver Shroud was!”

Comics were everywhere, but Quinn didn’t mind the mess. She made her way across the room in silence, stepping over the snoring Dogmeat, who was lying flat on his back in the middle of the floor, and sat down in a nearby armchair. Her body ached from today’s fight, and yet it suddenly seemed so far away in the sanctity of Danse’s house.

“Do you want me to take over for a bit?” she said.

Danse looked exhausted, but he shook his head. “You’re still teaching me about the Silver Shroud, right, Charlie?”

Charlie grinned. “You remembered his name!”

“Barely,” Danse mouthed to Quinn, and she snorted into her coffee, just as she was about to take a sip. Dogmeat stirred, twitched his head in her direction, and then half rolled, half dragged himself over to Quinn’s feet, curling up against her.

She cradled her drink in her hands and listened to Danse read to Charlie, letting the evening drift by. Eventually, her coffee was cold and Charlie was asleep. Danse didn’t move, but let the comic book slide to the floor as he stared up at the ceiling.

“I buried her,” he said after a minute of silence.

Quinn nodded, setting her cup down on a small table next to her, without looking away from Danse. She’d seen MacCready, Nick, and Preston digging earlier, the first time she’d left Weathers’ makeshift operating room. “How do you feel?”

“Better. And worse.” He indicated to a small journal on the sofa, half buried under comics. “I...found her journal.”

Quinn blinked, suddenly remembering its existence. “Did you read it?” She couldn’t keep the accusatory note out of her tone. Danse flushed in response, answering her question. She paused, and then smiled. “I think...if anyone had the right to read it—”

“No one had the right to read it,” Danse snapped.

Charlie mumbled in his sleep and wriggled in Danse’s lap. Both adults watched him for a second, before continuing the conversation in considerably lowered voices.

“Your guilt is doing the talking for you.” Quinn folded her arms. “Even after everything that happened, I don’t think she’d mind—”

“She was a very unhappy, very isolated woman,” Danse interrupted, staring at the floor with a scowl. “She never spoke about the things that were tearing her apart, never let anyone help her. Never...left the Brotherhood behind to take a chance with her family.” His expression softened. “But I have let people help me. I have the family and the friends she couldn’t bring herself to keep. And I know I could lose it all in an instant.” He glanced at Charlie, then back at Quinn. “So I should cherish it now, while it lasts.”

“I don’t think she’d mind,” Quinn repeated. She got to her feet and joined him on the sofa, snuggling up to his other side.

“Maybe.” Danse kissed her on the head. “Who’s keeping an eye out for…?”

“Nick’s watching Carson, and the night patrol is taking care of everything else. Rose Crowcroft is in charge of that, and if Preston says she’s good, then I’ll trust his word. He also put out a radio signal for a few extra Minutemen to join us from the Castle. Risky, but I don’t think the Brotherhood are monitoring that signal...and if they are…” Quinn shrugged. “Not much we can do about it.”

“I don’t believe the Brotherhood is aware I’m alive.”

Quinn looked at him. “You don’t?”

Danse shook his head and then winced. “No. If they were, they wouldn’t have sent two lone soldiers to scout the situation out. You heard Carson—‘here to check on you, not murder people.’ They don’t send soldiers blind into a situation, especially if there are only two of them. And they certainly don’t send friends, either. Or...they’re not supposed to.”

He paused, wearing a dark expression. Quinn knew he was thinking of Maxson, and how he’d sent her to execute Danse.

“And even if they did send friends,” Danse continued, “then they wouldn’t send Carson without telling him exactly what they were in for. Too much chance for things to go wrong—emotions running high. They might let the target go, or even turn on their comrades. As we saw today.”

Quinn felt dizzy with hope. “So do you think Carson was in on it?”

He shrugged. “Maybe he’s just a very good actor and wanted to save his own skin, but...my gut instinct says no. No other explanation makes sense. Marguerie had the upper hand, and he attacked her anyway.” Danse turned to her. “What are you going to do with him if he finds my existence abhorrent?”

Quinn didn’t reply, and after a few seconds, he gave her a small squeeze.

--

Danse wasn’t sure exactly when he drifted off to sleep, but he suddenly found himself being woken by a loud knock at the door. He snapped to attention, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there, while Quinn wriggled free and stood up. Charlie gripped tight onto Danse’s ruined shirt as the two of them squinted at the person silhouetted by sunlight streaming through the open door.

“Hey,” came Hancock’s voice. “That Brotherhood prick is awake and willing to talk. Thought you should know.”

Willing. Danse wondered whether ‘willing’ was a state coerced out of Carson with the help of Hancock’s knife.

“Thanks.” Quinn walked over to Charlie and crouched down. “I want you to stay with Codsworth, okay? Do everything he says.” She placed a kissed on Charlie’s head, got back to her feet, and then strode from the room without a backwards glance.

Danse didn’t mind. Carson being awake didn’t mean he was going to live. Right now, urgency was everything. Still, he appreciated that Hancock hadn’t followed her, waiting patiently for him instead.

“I’m going to help your mother,” Danse said, ruffling Charlie’s hair. He took the cue and carefully slid off Danse’s lap, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Can I look through your toolbox?”

“You can look, but you can’t touch. I don’t want you messing with guns unsupervised.”

Charlie pouted. “Fine.”

Danse tried to stand, but his leg was stiff and uncooperative, the pain somehow worse for the rest it had been granted. After a few futile attempts, Hancock’s hand appeared in front of his face.

He grinned. “Come on, tin can.”

Danse grinned back, accepting his hand. Hancock was no Nick, though, and it took a good deal of effort to get Danse to his feet.

“Fuck,” Hancock wheezed, before lighting a cigarette.

“Yes, that’ll help,” Danse said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, I can push you back onto that sofa just as quick as I got you off it.” Hancock paused. “Well, okay, a lot quicker.”

Danse chuckled, and Hancock smirked, jamming his cigarette between his teeth and letting Danse put some of his weight on him as they left the house. Danse tried not to cough as the smoke wafted into his face, making his eyes sting and his nose twitch. At once, Marguerie’s face flashed through his mind, and he felt nausea grip at his stomach. It took everything he had not to look into Quinn’s yard as they passed, the newest mound of earth in the corner of his vision.

When they cleared the growing graveyard, Danse let out a great, whooshing breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. His leg trembled, and Hancock glanced up at him, alarmed.

“If you’re gonna go, a warning would be nice,” he rasped, the cigarette bobbing up and down as he spoke. “This is all for show, tin can. One stumble and you’ll flatten me.”

“Good to know,” Danse said, his own words also forced between clenched teeth. Don’t think of her. Think of Quinn and Carson. Think of what needs to be done.

Odd that things were quiet, though. Normally Quinn would make such a heated conversation clearly heard all across the settlement. Maybe, in the face of such horrific events, she was holding back until—

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”

Ah.

Quinn’s yell ripped through the morning silence, making other residents stop in their tracks and turn to stare at Sturges’ house. Two seconds later, Nick Valentine sidled outside, cigarette pack in hand, apparently deciding now was the perfect time for a smoke.

Danse let out a long, heavy sigh, carefully making his way through the front door.

--

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews!

I wanted to give Rachel a good send off. I also wanted to show the vulnerable, hurting side of her that she wouldn't openly let anyone see. This has probably been one of my favourite chapters to write so far.

EDIT: I just realised I didn’t give credit where it was due. The idea for Rachel’s journal came from @synthbutts, who originally came up with a headcanon for Danse, in which he kept a sketchbook with him and drew pictures of the Commonwealth. I loved the idea, but as I’d already gotten about 30-40 chapters in by this point, it was too late to attached the concept to him. So I decided to give the trait to Rachel instead, and this is the result. :)

[drink-n-watch]

Hi Crow, how has your week been? Mine has been busy but generally all right. Did you read Karandi’s post on Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba? I think I’m generally more indulgent on anime but she brings up some fair points. It also made me realize that I may be approaching Demon Slayer from a slightly different angle than a lot of fans. And that angle is camp. When I was a kid The Lost Boys was one of my favourite movies, and it’s this same type of atmosphere and experience that I get from Demon Slayer.

Hi, Irina! Week’s been fine — insanely busy, but that’s par for the course! Yep, I read Karandi’s post, and I agree she brought up some fair points. I wouldn’t say we’re more indulgent in the approach we’ve taken. I’d say we’re so into the characters and the plot that the pieces that would other not work fade into the background.

So you see Demon Slayer as camp? I can see that. There are definitely times Tanjiro reminds me of Asta from Black Clover. Tanjiro has a little less of the over-the-topness I associate with camp, but the elements are there.

Oh, I’m bold this week — and you should watch out for spoilers!

why do I feel like I forgot something…

So far Demon Slayer has stuck to a tightly linear narrative. Each episode picks up the second the previous one ended, and sometimes a few seconds earlier for context. As such, we got thrown right back out on that crowded street with the unknown man turning into a demon while Kibutsuji was slowly walking away with his family. Were you as surprised as I was by how quick that transformation was?

Yes, I was. I started to wonder why he doesn’t just turn everyone into a demon. Then I realized he be creating competitors for his food supply, and he wouldn’t want to do that. That was a chilling scene…

Sort of makes you wonder what Nezuko’s transformation was like. Well, that’s a horrible thought.

let’s just not think about it

As I predicted the police did get called in but Tanjiro managed to stay out of trouble by being a kid and a little help from an unexpected source. Still, it was pretty lucky that Tanjiro didn’t get hauled off to jail, it’s not as if anyone could make bail for him and poor Nezuko would have been left all alone by the stand.

Yes, you did predict that! You aren’t reading the scripts in advance, are you? If you are, could you share? Tanjiro definitely needs to keep his responsibilities in mind. This city is a completely new world to him, and he’s not going to be able to recognize some forms of danger at all!

Hahaha … of course…what’s that over there?

you didn’t see nothing!

Both the freshly transformed demon man and his wounded wife got scooped up by a mysterious demon claiming to be a doctor, and her young companion. She has some hallucinogenic blood scent power that I didn’t quite get and that seemed a bit tacked on to me. Their appearance seemed a bit too convenient so I was suspicious. What did you think of Tamayo and Yushiro?

I don’t recall ever seeing a blood-based pheromone power before. Ants and other creatures use pheromones to communicate, even over distances, so I think that makes it plausible.

As for the coincidence of them happening to be there? Part of me wants to blame Karandi (jokingly, of course) for making us more sensitive to that kind of thing! Part of me wonders: Given what we learn about her motives later, was she shadowing Eviler Michael Jackson (err, Kibutsuiji)? If so, she’s awfully brave. That’s an astonishingly dangerous thing to do.

how am I supposed to feel about this? oh right: terrified!

This was just the opening scene folks. In the meantime, Kibutsuji just calmly walked away. I’m probably going to repeat this every episode but I really adore his voice and the delivery, as a matter of fact. I looked it up and he’s played by Toshihiko Seki. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen him in much except as Senketsu in Kill la Kill and I don’t remember the performance that well. Well, he’s certainly killing in here….Ha!

I see what you did there!

We have this almost instinctive tendency to equate a good father and husband with a good man. From the little, we see Kibutsuji is doting and caring to both his human wife and daughter. Careful to keep them out of danger and gentle. And yet he’s also the type of man who would brutally murder a group of drunk strangers over a stray word. He certainly does not like comments on his appearance.

Can we talk about his encounter with the drunks for a moment? When the drunk staggered into him and got irate, Kibutsuji tried to stay calm and even apologized! But the drunk pushed his luck, and the demon back-handed him so hard the impact against the wall killed him. He killed the other man, who turned out to be the dead man’s older brother, in an even more brutal way.

this is a reasonable reaction

But the poor girl? The way he killed her? I watched the episode a few hours ago, and I’m struggling to remember as brutal and horrific killing in any of the anime I’ve watched. Kibutsuji killed the first two out of anger. He was stone-cold when he killed the poor girl. For me, that was one of those “Welp, guess we’re not in Kansas anymore!”

Kibutsuji is one of the most dangerous types of evil characters: He can tightly control his emotions.

I think we may be staggering into the “unknowable” evil category. To him, killing is just an ordinary response and doing it so cruelly, simply a way to spice it up a bit. Like getting a breakfast sandwich instead of just a pastry for breakfast. But something triggered him.

I didn’t realize how present he was in the episode until I looked over my screencaps

Also, it seems that he has now decided to go after Tanjiro. Not directly, of course, but he sent a couple of hench demons. Is it just me or does Kibutsuji seem a bit flustered by Tanjrou’s presence? Why? From his perspective, he shouldn’t have much to fear…

Not from Tanjiro, maybe, but do you remember the flashback with the other demon hunter? The one with the same earrings as Tanjiro? Looks like his flash earrings are for more than just decoration!

I just thought that was the eyecatch….good thing you’re here.

Tanjirou goes back to pick up Nezuko and I am very glad to see they addressed the udon issue. Having families ripped apart, with loved ones brutally murdered is one thing, but wasting perfectly delicious looking udon….

I know, right? The poor stand owner was beside himself! I was very glad that Tanjiro ate two helpings. And both looked as good as the first!

yes, they did!

This is when the siblings meet up with Yushiro again who has come to lead them to Tamayo’s home and clinic(?). I really liked how Tanjirou just jumped to defend his sister’s pride! Well, Yushiro had no right disrespecting Nezujo. I mean, come on! Yushiro actually makes a pretty good foil for the rather one-note Tanjirou. I like their little frenemy dynamic and I think it brings out a much more fun aspect of our protagonist. What did you think?

Agreed. Though I’m still going to hold a grudge for how he spoke of Nezuko. <grumbling> “Eyesore?” What an idiot… </grumbling>

Crow wrote a scene for this episode

We finally get some good old exposition courtesy of Tamayo. It seems she, like just about every demon, was turned by Kibutsuji over two decades ago. In that time, she’s managed to modify her body to survive on nothing but small amounts of donated human blood. She also turned Yushiro into a demon to save his life but has never managed to turn anyone else. As a result, the boy is fanatical….let’s say “devoted” to her.

Tamayo is desperately trying to find a way to break the demon curse. Which is great news for Tanjiro. However, she needs to study a variety of demon blood to devise a cure, and that may be a bit tricky to come by. What do you think of this plan Crow?

I think we just saw a quest-type plot be born right before our eyes! Seriously, I think it’s a great way to focus on his journey. Not sure how it’ll interact with the missions delivered by his Kasugai Crow. And if his mission in Tokyo was to destroy Kibutsuji, then I don’t see how he’s going to succeed. Still, I think it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.

And do you have any idea why Tanjiro didn’t jump all over the idea of modifying Nezuko’s body so she wouldn’t be tempted to kill humans? To make her more like Tamayo? I think he should jump at the chance to let her speak again, at least!

Or am I missing something?

no, nothing

You know, the more demons we see, the more I realize there’s no reason for Nezuko to not be able to speak. She can easily take that bite out of her mouth just when she needs to say something.

When Tamayo mentioned that “something” must have happened to her during the to years she was hibernating, I couldn’t help but worry that it was brain damage. That’s why she’s acting like a child or small animal when she was a perfectly coherent girl before.

That’d be terrible, wouldn’t it? Something’s going on, because the way she reacted to Tanjiro stroking her cheek was adorable — but it bordered on puppy or kitten-type adorable. It wasn’t the reaction of a human sister. And the way she just laid on the floor with her legs in the air? I don’t think a young lady like Nezuko would do that. And the writers are too good for that to be an accident. Something’s up.

undeniably adorable

This scene also solidified the analogy between demons and vampires. We seem to be mixing and matching monster traits for an ultimate nightmare. I’m not against it.

The Lost Boys meet The Howling? Or maybe The Werewolf of London?

This episode was relatively calm, with none of the signature high action scenes demon slayer has been mesmerizing us with. Of course, that is all going to change next episode, as in the final moments, Kibutsuji’s lackeys find them all at Tamayo’s place and get ready to exterminate some earring wearing slayers.

We finally get a good look at these two and once again, I’m diggin’ the design. The garish shock of colours and blunt lines really works well to create unnerving yet very unusual looking bad guys. Did you like their first appearance?

The girl reminded me of Claire from Claymore — in a good way. They looked evil, and they looked like the enjoyed being evil. The tension of expectations between the pretty bouncy balls and their devastating impact on the house (and presumably on anyone they hit) was another nice touch!

I really like the colourful bouncy ball

Last thoughts? Predictions? Fears…..

My fear is that our guess about Nezujo’s mental state is correct. That would be an interesting for the plot, but yet another cruel stroke of fate for Nezuko!

Well, this is grim but there’s hope. Tanjiro finally has some powerful allies by his side and even a chance at a cure. That is if he can survive the next episode.

Want to read our past reviews?

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 01: Cruelty

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 02: Crow will Protect Me

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 03: Sabito and Makomo

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 04: Final Selection

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 05: My Own Steel

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 06: A Friend fo All Humans

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 7 – Not A Boy’s Hands And The Happy Family

that’s not how it’s spelled…

As usul I took a completely unreasonable amount of screenshots an I’ll share a few here. I’ve decided to upload them all to imgur because I think it will be easier for you guys to see the higher quality images there. If you are interested the gallery is HERE.

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba Episode 8 – Vindictively of course Hi Crow, how has your week been? Mine has been busy but generally all right. Did you read…