#that fucking reference to the apprentice though

[how-the-feathers-have-fallen]

U LIKE RANGERS APPRENTICE?? :0 (saw u reblog that post about sex in the middle ages)

*imagine me frantically scrolling back to the post I reblogged for context*

No (major question mark)

Tbh I was interested in the historical clarification on the “sexual purity” mindset of the middle/medieval era and though itd go more in-depth

Then half way through i kinda got hooked by the character vagueing ( at least. vague to me idk who these ppl r) but i was in a broken down car omw home for the airport so I just frantically reblogged it hoping I remembered to scroll back and investigate.

I did Not 💀. But now that you’re here!!! Please tell me more!!!! Info dump pls i’m looking for more books to distract me from my huge ass TBR!!!!!*insert stupid ass grabby hands here*

Also i was debating wether i had the balls to show up in ur ask box and ask for a car lol

[thewertsearch]

A fifth exile, sleeping for centuries in the belly of the ruins, far beneath the desecrated idol once sharing its visage with the legendary SPEAKER OF THE VAST CROAK.

We’ve got another Vast Thing, to accompany Gl'bgolyb’s Glub and Aradia's Joke.

I'm a little nervous about the parallel being drawn here between Gl'bgolyb and Bilious Slick. If Sburb's Frog God turns out to have been a Horrorterror all along, it would certainly be fitting, but it definitely wouldn't be good.

Soon the WRIT KEEPER will awaken and serve his new queen.

Fair enough. It makes sense that the Queen would want to save her husband if the opportunity were to present itself.

It is a little fucked that he's the only one who was preserved, though. He shared space with Dave’s beta, so the device can clearly accommodate multiple payloads. For all we know, they could have evacuated half of Prospit through here!

The King has become the Writ Keeper, which makes me think that Complacency might be more than just a teen's first novel.

I think it’s time to take another look at Rose's magnum opus.

COTL is a story about twelve wizards, who suspect that their twelve apprentices are responsible for murder.

In contrast, Homestuck is a story about twelve rather murderous trolls, who are following in the footsteps of their twelve ancestors. So, you see, it's different.

Nah, but seriously, I'm fairly confident that these wizards are supposed to represent the ancestors and Players of the troll session. Zazzerpan even refers to the apprentices as the Complacency's 'grand descendence', which is almost comically on the nose.

But what does it mean? I doubt Rose is intentionally weaving these parallels - it's probably just a manifestation of her latent Seer powers.

In the story, Zazzerpan's cohort are horrified by the possibility that their apprentices are killers. Does this imply that the troll ancestors are less violent and dangerous than the modern Alternians? But if the ancestors were peaceful, I don't think Eridan would respect them the way he does. Hmm.

She would like clarification on the nature of the work, which you are happy to provide. You explain that it is very simple. As the new queen, she will be charged with bringing the slayer to justice, and rebuilding her kingdom in a new land.

The latter is standard practice for Sburban Exiles, and should be well within their capabilities. That said, it would be just as achievable if they were being led by WQ, so I’m not sure why PM needs to bear the crown instead.

If PM is 'bringing the Slayer to justice', she'll probably be confronting Jack directly. This means she's going to be travelling back into sessionspace, presumably quipped with the one weapon capable of matching Noir’s.

[killerpancakeburger]

The wizard is dead

Pairing: Rolan x f!Reader/Tav ("She" is used to refer to the Reader twice)

Summary: You didn’t expect to end the party celebrating Ketheric's final death at the Last Light Inn making out with a certain wizard. And least of all you certainly weren't expecting to meet him again in Baldur's Gate...

Tags: Enemies to lovers speedrun, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, protective! Tav, insecure! Tav, Astarion ships it and never stfu.

Warnings: swearing, alcohol mention, canon violence and death, spoilers for Acts 2 and 3 obvsly.

A/N: Making Rolan blush as much as possible. If you too felt murderous upon seeing his bruises, this is the fic for you!

“...up. Get up. Urgh. Get the fuck up.”

An exasperated, familiar voice pierced progressively the depths of your sleep. Didn’t mean you wanted to wake up, though. You felt deliciously drowsy and ready to plunge right back into the pit of slumber.

You grumbled in protest in response to the voice and submerged your head with your pillow.

The voice emitted a grunt of aggravation following your shenanigans. 

“I can’t believe Karlack put up with this every morning…”

Something suddenly started to shove you repeatedly at waist level, and you identified the something as a foot.

You rolled over to escape, in vain.

“Go away, Astarion”, you whined, muffled by your pillow.

“Oh! She talks!” commented the vampire sarcastically. “Maybe now she will deign to join us for breakfast!”

“Why are you even here?”, you lamented. “Where’s Karlach? I want Karlach.”

It was your morning ritual since your hellish friend recovered her ability to touch without burning. She’d wake you up with a bones-crushing hug, some physical affection welcomed by both of you. In comparison to her, Astarion was cold and sharp, bodily and verbally. 

“I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, darling.”

He wasn’t making any effort to conceal the enjoyment in his voice, and a bad feeling arose within you, wondering what could amuse him so early in the morning. Suffice to say, Astarion was not a morning person. 

Thankfully, he kept talking without needing to ask him to.

“So congratulations for shagging the wizard last night! It was the most entertaining spectacle of the party, no doubt.”

“Gale…?” You asked, filled with confusion. You enjoyed his company but neither of you ever showed interest of the romantic… or sexual… sort in the other.

“Ugh”, sighed exaggeratedly Astarion, like it was the dumbest thing he’s ever heard in two hundred years, “no, not Gale.” The name sounded like an insult. You could hear the spawn roll his eyes.

“The stuck-up tiefling! The wannabe apprentice! What was his name again…?”

All torpor is abruptly ejected from your body with the power of a cannonball. You sit up brutally, wound up like a bowstring. 

“Rolan!?” The name erupted from your mouth way louder than you intended. Luckily, Astarion didn’t pay attention as he slammed his fist against his palm in satisfaction. 

“Yes! That haughty little… Anyway! You two gave the Inn one hell of a show, making out in front of everybody. I have to thank you for that, really, it was getting sooo boring.”

He was looking at you with the content smile of a cat who caught the mouse. You stared back with incredulity, dumbfounded. 

“You’re lying.”

“Why, darling, I would never”, he retorted smugly, putting a hand on his chest with pretended affliction, like he was wounded by your accusation. 

You wanted to stand your ground and believe that he was lying, but something in his smugness, more assured than when he was deceiving people, told you that he wasn’t.

“The whole Inn saw you, so you could ask anyone for confirmation, really. They all cheered by the way. Obviously his siblings were the loudest of the bunch…”

You covered your ears in denial. Never again you would drink that much.

“You even managed to make him dance. Well, dragged him there, really. Details. He had two left feet, so that was… endearing.”

He pronounced “endearing” the same way he called you naive that one time, and you knew that he held himself back from using a more… colorful adjective.

“Shut up”, you pleaded with Astarion. “I don’t want to hear anything more.”

He chuckled with derision. 

“Me shutting up won’t change reality, dear.”

“What are you guys doing?”

Karlach’s booming voice startled you. Astarion, on the contrary, greeted her appearance with a mischievous smile, seeing another occasion to poke fun at you.

“We were just remembering yesterday night and the boldness of our heartbreaker of a leader. It was fun, wasn’t it Karlach?”

“Oh yeah!” immediately agreed the tiefling, completely missing the horror on your face and your silent plea to not add to Astarion’s pestering. “You guys were really going at it. Didn’t see it coming but what matters is that you’re happy.”

A radiant and sincere smile was adorning her lips. You covered your blushing face in embarrassment, grunting in shame and frustration with yourself.

“Karlach, if I ever drink this much again, just knock me out.”

“I mean, if you’re sure… but there’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Everyone is very supportive of you both.” she added, unsure of why you looked so down. 

“You don’t understand”, you whined.

As she was about to ask for explanations, the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted your conversation. All three of you turned your gaze to Wyll, who had a tense smile - or grimace, you weren’t sure - on his face, and seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Ahrem. Lae’zel wanted me to let you know that if you don’t show up in the next three seconds, she would add you to the menu.”

Suddenly all thoughts of yesterday evening were forgotten as you three scrambled towards the campfire.

⚡⚡⚡

As your little band resumed their journey towards Baldur’s Gate, you resolved to use that time to put order in your memories from last evening and in your relationship with Rolan. 

Your memories were gradually resurfacing, hand in hand with a pounding headache. 

Despite Astarion and Karlach’s statements, you still couldn’t believe that you kissed Rolan. Not that the idea repulsed you - far from it, actually. The man was pretty, and he was even prettier when he wasn’t busy yelling at you. However, the idea that he let you put your lips anywhere on him was laughable. 

You proceeded to rewind all your memories with the self-assured wizard, trying to find the key to decipher what was an enigma to you. 

Truth be told, you didn’t remember much from your first meeting in the Grove. Except for his shooting match with Lia, which was impossible to miss once inside the shelter, you remembered him vaguely as a pompous character whose every statement dripped with snobbishness and bravado, so much that it felt like he was trying to convince himself rather than his audience. Despite the airs he was giving himself, you caught him later during the tiefling party putting on a magic show simply to please his siblings, and the heartwarming display disconcerted you as much as it amused you. 

The moment when you met him again in the Last Light Inn, on the other hand, was burned into your memory. He had once again caught your attention by his yelling. However, as you approached out of concern for the kids tending to the bar, the yelling quickly turned on you. You were ready to let it go - after all, if you weren’t in such a hurry to get rid of the parasite inside your head, you too would have drowned your sorrows in alcohol and lashed out at well-meaning strangers - until he accused you of being responsible for his siblings’ kidnapping by the cultists. 

All your restraint snapped at those words, like a rubber band too stretched. 

How did he dare? After everything you’ve done, after all the shit you’ve been through - and were still going through. You weren’t even expecting any thanks, you just wanted to be left alone. As if you malevolently sneaked inside Cal and Lia’s mind to trick them into doing your bidding. As if they weren’t both adults capable of making their own decisions.

A little voice in the back of your head whispered that he was blaming you because he was blaming himself, that rejecting the fault on someone else was the only way he found to contain the pain and guilt that were threatening to engulf him, but you ignored it. Understanding his reasons didn’t make you a doormat.

Karlach had to bodily restrain you as you were about to punch him in the face.

“Then stop whining and do something about it yourself, since I only make things worse.” you spat with as much venom you muster, leaving the Inn to find a training dummy to take out your vexation on. His shouts still reached you though.

“Oh, I will! I don’t need your help, and I don’t need your pity!”

You had almost forgotten the incident until you stumbled upon Rolan on your way to Moonrise, in the middle of the shadows. He was largely outnumbered and doomed to a certain death if your group didn’t happen to pass this way completely randomly. 

Once the shadows were taken care of, you pinched the bridge of your nose in bewilderment. Did he have a deathwish or something?

“Gods damn it all. I can do nothing right - not a damn thing.”

His shoulders were shaking in frustration and anger. However, something in the tone of his voice made you feel quite different from the last time you met him. You weren’t irritated, no. You felt… sorrow. For him. Thankfully, he wasn’t aware of your emotions, keeping his eyes on the ground, stubbornly refusing to meet your gaze.

He was more furious at himself than at you this time. There was also a dose of embarrassment in the mix, after failing to rescue his siblings on his own. This display of vulnerability was the antipodes of his usual self-assured behavior, to such an extent that you wondered if the shadows were making you hear things. 

“Please tell me you weren’t looking for Moonrise”, escaped your mouth before you could stop it, realizing that he very probably wouldn’t be any happier to see you now than last time.

He snapped back immediately - of course he did.

“So what if I was? Cal and Lia could be there!”

You were about to retort that getting himself killed on the way there would help no one, Cal and Lia least of all, before the last thing you told him suddenly came back to you. A cold shiver ran down your back, as you wondered with horror if he was here because of your words. You never expected him to take your remark seriously. In the heat of the moment, you had wanted to hurt him, but you had never intended to send him to die alone in those cursed lands. Unease pooled in your stomach and a sharp pang of guilt twisted your heart. You gritted your teeth in frustration. Rolan kept ranting, oblivious to your inner turmoil, which was probably for the best.

“Instead I found myself cornered by shadow-fiends and in need of rescue. From you, of all bloody people.”

That last remark was meant as a jab at you, however it failed at riling you up. How could it have, when his voice trembled like he was about to shed tears? He was finally looking at you, and the heartfelt dejection painted on his features made you want to hold him in your arms more than anything else. You quickly pushed that urge aside, though - there was no doubt in your mind that your attempt at comfort would be unwelcome, to say the least. You probably wouldn’t like it either if the roles were reversed. You two weren’t close enough for this.

Nonetheless, you tried to bring him solace through your words, keeping your tone as neutral as possible:

“You were trying to help your family - you’re too hard on yourself.”

But your efforts seemed to have the opposite effect, as he retorted in an uncharastically acerbic tone:

“Or not hard enough.”

Both his words and his timber made a shiver of dread run through you. There was something terribly final in them, that made you reconsider your thoughts about him having a death wish.

But you were nothing to him, except an hindrance, and as he bid you farewell and walked away, you simply watched him, feeling bitterly powerless, wishing that he at least made it back safely to the Last Light Inn.

Following the defeat of Ketheric Thorm and the eradication of the shadow curse, Jaheira and the Harpers had organized a celebration at the Last Light Inn the night before your departure for Baldur’s Gate. The respite was welcome for your whole party. You really needed a break before taking up the arms against two more gods. Alcohol flew freely. Former prisoners were reuniting with their loved ones. Fighters numbed their wounds and the deceased’s sacrifice was honored. 

As part of the acclaimed saviors, you were making your mandatory runs around the inn before you could slip away to a quiet and peaceful corner. It was during that errand that, once again, you walked in on Rolan and his siblings screaming at each other. You sighed, passing a hand over your tired face, somehow knowing that it would be up to you, once again, to play mediator. 

You downed your drink and approached, waiting for your opportunity to interfere into the conversation. Noticing an opening, you slipped innocently, nose in your tankard:

“Rolan was in a bad state without the two of you.”

The swiftness at which the situation defused itself would have almost made you chuckle if it hadn’t been that serious. Hearing Rolan state that his struggle didn’t matter made you frown but you bit your tongue. Truly that man had serious insecurity issues under all that boasting. But just like in the shadows, it was none of your business.

Having played your role, you mumbled a “don’t mention it” to Cal who was thanking you, and took your leave. Or at least you had started to, until Rolan’s voice interrupted you.

“Wait.”

You turned around out of curiosity, an inquisitive eyebrow raised, not sure if you were the one being addressed. Rolan was staring at you right into your eyes, erasing your previous doubt. Gods, had his yellow gaze always been that hard to hold? 

As soon as he saw he had your attention, he started talking. And what he had to say took you completely aback.

“I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway.”

You held back from clarifying that you saved him from the shadows because he happened to be in the way. And that you saved Cal and Lia because… they were in the way too. You were gonna release the Moontower’s prisoners anyway, that Rolan’s siblings had been part of them was just a coincidence. However this little speech seemed to cost Rolan, which was understandable, so you kept your mouth shut.

“You didn’t deserve that - I’m sorry. And thank you.”

You opened your eyes wide - receiving an apology wasn’t on your todo list today. Least of all from someone as proud as Rolan. Even more mind-bending, he gave you a genuine smile. You were so focused on his face that it didn’t occur to you to refuse the money he offered.

Later in the night, as you were still processing his unhoped for change of demeanor, and were a fair bit tipsy, you ended up passing him a new bottle of Arabellan Dry - who gave it to you? Who told you it was Rolan’s favorite’s wine? And that you should give it to him? You had no idea. Not noticing the wine at first, he teased you:

“I’ve thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.”

Between his taunting words, his open smile, his beautiful eyes sparkling with mirth, and the realization that he was laughing with you, something inside you snapped. Suddenly you had butterflies in your stomach, weakness in your knees, and he looked like the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. You laughed heartily, before smiling frankly, noting that he looked - pleasantly? - surprised at your reaction, not expecting an audience that easy to entertain. 

You remembered talking back to him, settling yourself in a spot nearby, sharing that bottle… But for the life of you, you couldn’t remember that pretended kiss. Did you actually manage to make him blush during the night or was it just the wine?

After reflecting over everything, you still felt as much - if not more - mortified. There was no way Rolan felt happy about making a spectacle of himself in front of so many people - and in front of his siblings, least of all. Those two must have had a field day deriding their eldest. As for the kiss, it must have been a result of the alcohol and the proximity. You didn’t get a lot of opportunities for… physical affection since the beginning of your tadpole adventure, and you could easily imagine that Rolan must not have been getting a lot of action either, between fleeing the Grove, dealing with the cultists, losing his siblings and enduring the shadow curse. 

You could only imagine that after such a disaster, Rolan must be back to hating you. 

You sighed deeply, to the point of attracting the questioning looks of some of your companions walking by your side, before shaking your head in resolve. It was just one, regrettable evening. As long as you didn’t run into Rolan again, you could put it behind you. And what were the chances of coming across him in Baldur’s Gate anyway? 

⚡⚡⚡

High, apparently. Or at least high enough to make you eat your words.

Your merry band had just crossed the doors of some fancy magic shop that took up residence in a lavish tower. You were originally there to confront the man who had put a price on Aylin’s head. Whatever his intentions were with her, they couldn’t be good. Adding wizards’ characteristic hubris and what Ketheric Thorn previously inflicted to the Aasimar together, you quickly came to the conclusion that he sought to cage her and thereby attain immortality. Your purpose was therefore simple: explain in no uncertain terms to Ramazith’s tower’s new owner that he could - should -  kiss goodbye his delusions of eternal life, and, if he proved to be too stubborn to be reasoned with, deal with him in such a way that he wouldn’t be an issue anymore for your winged friend. 

However all Selune’s daughter-related considerations went out the window when you laid eyes upon the shopkeeper at the counter. Somehow the tiefling who had haunted your thoughts for weeks and made you recoil in embarrassment at night, when you were left alone with yourself, forced to cope with the memories of your last meeting, was standing right in front of you. Worse, he noticed you, and the natural blush of his infernal skin miserably failed to hide the vivid flush of his cheeks. Like his reflection in a mirror, you could distinctly feel your own face blaze fiercely. 

It lasted a minute or an eternity, you had no idea, until you were brutally ejected from your trance at the view of the bruises covering his face. Rolan had been so severely pummeled that purple had become the prevailing color on his visage. Ice-cold, overpowering fury spread across your veins and possessed you to swiftly close the gap between the two of you. 

Consumed by anger, you raised a hand to graze his tumefied skin. 

“Who did this to you? I’ll fucking kill them.”

You felt a slight pang of remorse upon seeing him struggle to not back away from you after you charged at him like a ram. His tail had started to sway wildly at your approach. 

However Rolan rapidly proceeded to regain his composure, as he always did. Coughing in his fist - maybe a desperate attempt to hide his still glowingly red cheeks, or simply a way to offer himself a moment to get a grip -, he answered you, way too nonchalantly for your taste. 

“Nothing- ahrem… nothing for you to worry about.”

His reply stinged. Bitterly. After all that you’ve been through together, he still didn’t trust you. Or he was still resolutely convinced that he had to endure every tribulation alone - you sincerely doubted that Lia and Cal wouldn’t have thrown a fit upon his appearance. 

You didn’t know which of those two possibilities hurt more. 

The righteous wrath inside you disappeared, like extinguished by a bucket of icy water, replaced by a chilling insight - it was utterly useless to fight for him when he wouldn’t stand up for himself. And, more importantly, if he didn’t consider you close enough to him to ask your help, then it was time for you to move on. 

“You suck at lying, you know that?” You felt obligated to point out.

As he was about to object, you continued.

“But you’re right. If you still don’t need my sanctimonious help, I’ll just go about my day. Sorry for the trouble.”

Immediately after spatting those words, you found your outburst childish, but you couldn’t take it back. You began to storm off, determined to fully focus on the wannabe-immortal wizard problem, but a clawed hand grabbing your forearm ended your departure.

“Wait-” 

You whirled around, losing more and more patience. 

“What.”

Rolan sighed, but not in a way that sounded like this was a chore to him. He sighed like one does to give themselves courage before overcoming adversity. The words had left his lips before he could even think them; before he could contemplate their effect on you. Being self-reliant and showing no weaknesses had become an automatic reflex forged by a life of survival. He couldn’t shrug it off overnight - but you were the first person who made him want to try.  

He then compelled himself to look you straight in the eye.

“Don’t lea- I mean, I didn’t mean to…Urgh… Gods damn it… it’s Lorroakan.”

You stared back at him, split between the newfound joy of him confiding in you, and the confusion of hearing his confession.

“Lorrowho?” You asked, slightly tilting your head in puzzlement.

 The name didn’t ring a bell for you, but according to your companions’ exasperated grunts in your back, it certainly did for them.

“The tower’s newest owner”, helpfully prompted Gale behind you. “So-called greatest wizard of the Sword Coast, aspiring to subjugate Dame Aylin, took our friend here as his apprentice?”

“Oooh! That guy!”, you exclaimed. “Well that’s perfect! We were going to kick his ass anyway!”

You could have announced to Rolan that you were planning to fight a dragon with your bare hands, he probably would have gazed at you the same way.

“By the way, Rolan, you can let go now”, you added with a pointed look towards his hand still squeezing your arm.

He let go like he got burned, cheeks reddening again, swore in hellish and apologized. You assured him it was fine. 

“Can you share anything that would help us take down Lorra… Larro… whatever-his-name-his?”

The tiefling straightened up, clearly in his element. 

“Mast- Lorroakan has four Myrmidons.”

He seemed about to carry on on the subject, but stopped in front of your confounded expression.

“Myrmiwhat?”

The apprentice wizard opened his mouth to start an informed lecture about the properties of Myrmidons, before closing it and pinching the bridge of his nose, frustrated by your ignorance.

“Nevermind, I can make this simple for you.”

Feeling insulted, you proceeded to join your hands and excessively flutter your eyelashes to mimic a swooning admirer. 

“Why, thank you Master Rolan! You are ever so generous to us simpletons!”

The aforenamed choked a bit at that, but you were not sure if it was in reaction to your ridiculous antics or to being called “master”.

“As I was saying, Myrmidons are very powerful elementals. You shouldn’t underestimate them.”

You acquiesced with a nod of your head before turning to your Party.

“Let’s get going then.”

“Should we not fetch the Asimaar?” inquired Astarion, observing his nails with detachment. “Not that I particularly care, but with how strongly this concerns her, she may come after us if we keep her out of this.”

You replied without missing a beat, having already pondered the question. 

“No, I want to spare her that.”

The Vampire Spawn let out one of those unhinged little laughs he had a knack for, blending contempt and incredulity. 

“I must have misheard you - spare her? The cutthroat demigod who mercilessly crushes her enemies under her boot? That’s who you want to spare?”

You had expected that kind of reaction, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

“That’s not what I meant” you grunted, aggravated by the elf’s taunting. “Of course she can take care of herself. But just because she can, doesn’t mean she has to. Dealing with relentless creeps who get off on the idea of breaking you, body and spirit, it’s exhausting, speaking from experience. I couldn’t imagine doing it for centuries. We can provide her a brief respite. If she takes it the wrong way, I’ll deal with the fallout.”

Astarion shrugged, satisfied with your answer since it sheltered him from consequences. The others agreed with nods of the head.

Rolan gave you the directions to reach Lorroakan before adding, frowning:

“Be careful. He has a beastly temper.”

The recommendation made you snicker. Before the tiefling could take offense, you brought your face closer to his, lifting his chin with your index, a wolfish smile stretching your lips. 

“I highly doubt that sorry excuse for a wizard is in any way a beast. But fear not, pretty boy, I’ll show you what beastly really means.”

Whistles and sniggers could be heard from behind you, demonstrating the maturity of your traveling companions. Meanwhile Rolan’s face somehow managed to turn even redder than when you both met again moments ago, and his attempts to come up with a rebuttal resulted only in stuttering. 

Benevolently, you did not comment, careful to not overstep his boundaries too much, and changed the subject, rising an inquisitive eyebrow:

“Are you not coming with us?”

He cleared his throat to give himself a semblance of composure.

“I guess I should, if only to make sure you lot do not ravage the tower on your rampage.”

You smirked a little at his efforts to appear indifferent, but refrained from making any remark, content with his participation.

As you made your way towards your target, Astarion sneaked by your side, a mocking smile adorning his lips. You mentally braced yourself for the jibe that wouldn’t fail to come.

“I figured out why you didn’t want to bring Aylin on our little excursion, darling.”

“Oh really.” you replied with the most blasé tone you could muster.

Unfortunately, your lack of concern didn’t seem to deter your vampiric ally at all.

“You want to keep your prey for yourself. To be the one to slaughter the Master Wizard. You should have seen your face earlier when you threw a fit over Rolan’s bruises, I thought you were going to bite.”

“So what? Is that a problem?”

“Quite the opposite, really. I’m planning to revel in the show. Let’s hope for you that the little wizard is of the same mind, uh?” 

You told him to mind his own business and he just laughed. 

Your group crossed the magic portal, entering Lorroakan’s lavish office only to stumble upon the deplorable spectacle that was the supposed great wizard sadistically torturing his servant for his questionable experimentations. Thankfully, your noteworthy arrival put an end to the loathsome display as the red-haired wizard dismissed his domestic and his mechanical construction.

“I see no Nightsong. Surely you wouldn’t have entered my tower without the Nightsong in hand. Surely my worthless apprentice wouldn’t have allowed you to waste my time.”

That last remark made your blood boil as surely as it did earlier when you laid eyes upon Rolan’s contused face. You gritted your teeth, plastering on a fake smile, before giving the man a taste of his own scorn by ignoring him completely and ostensibly turning towards Rolan.

“Is that the pathetic excuse that serves as your mentor?”

The apprentice wizard spared a glance at Lorroakan who was suffocating with indignation before focusing on you.

“... Yes, he is.”

“Great! Would have been so awkward to kill the wrong guy!”

Bestowing your most bloodthirsty smile on your foe, you made a point to talk over his outraged diatribe.

“There’s only two things you should know, really. First : you will never get your hands on the Nightsong. Second : I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to enjoy it.” 

Having said your piece, you unsheathed your weapon as the wizard invoked his Myrmidons, and the battle began.

⚡⚡⚡

Standing over Lorroakan’s battered body, you made sure that he was in too much pain to ramble again. Rolan came to stand beside you, the shock on his face telling you that he had a hard time believing what he was seeing.

You looked at him inquisitively.

“Wanna do the honors?”, you suggested, referring to the final blow. 

As he remained motionless and speechless, you started to worry you had said the wrong thing, but suddenly his expression turned resolute and he nodded. 

You distanced yourself from the two wizards, not fancying getting caught in a spell’s blast. Rolan uttered his incantation with force - detono.

With a mixture of astonishment and awe, you watched Lorroakan’s body get hurled across the room and through the nearest window in a cacophony of shattering glass. You leaned through the destroyed window to glimpse at the mangled corpse before turning to Rolan with a low whistle.

“So much for not ravaging the tower, uh-”

You found yourself unable to finish your clever quip as your favorite tiefling grabbed you by the collar and crushed his lips against yours. The motion was brutal and clumsy, to the point that you briefly wondered if he was trying to kiss you or punch you in the lips… with his lips.

Barely leaving you enough time to reciprocate the gesture, Rolan withdrew, a wild look in eyes, panting slightly. Did he forget to breathe during…?

“You-”

“This is all your fault!”

You gaped at him in uncomfortable silence, immobile, truly at a loss for words. What in the nine hells did you do this time, again?

One hand released your clothing as Rolan covered half his face with it in consternation. 

“And to think I promised myself I wouldn’t lash out at you again… Do you see how I lose my composure in your presence? Every. Bloody. Time. It’s infuriating.” He sighed.

You crossed your arms, staring at his piercing yellow eyes.

“Riiight.” 

He had at least the tact to appear marginally embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

“Not a day has passed since Last Light Inn where you weren’t on my mind.” he admitted, albeit begrudgingly, rubbing his neck in bashfulness, and unable to meet your eyes.

Your eyes widened at the confession. This was a surprise, although a pleasant one.

“You… you don’t hate me for it?”

It was his turn to stare in astonishment.

“For what…?”

“You made a spectacle of yourself in front of the whole Inn because of me…”

“Please, I’m not tone-deaf enough to not acknowledge my own responsibility in this. We both had… a lot… to drink.”

“Oh… Well, in that case… I’ve been thinking about you too. Since the Inn.”

It was only fair to come clean too after he made the first move, which must have definitely cost him and his pride.

“Oh.”

There you were, two blushing idiots staring at their own feet in embarrassment, not knowing what to do with yourselves. That is, until you remembered what started all of this, and you raised your head so suddenly Rolan got startled.

“We need to heal your face.”

He chuckled openly at that, but instead of taking offense, seeing him happy spread warmth in your chest.

“You should heal yourself first, ô mighty hero. You’re in way worse shape than I am.”

You frowned and grabbed his face to inspect his bruises closer.

“Being injured is second-nature for me. I don’t think you can say the same. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He took hold of your hips in response. A derisive smile stretched his lips.

“What a poorly concealed way to get me to undress.”

“How dare you”, you protested, scandalized. “imply that my benevolence is anything but proper?”

“Maybe I wish it wasn’t.”

Before you could ask for clarification, he kissed you.

“Rolan…”

“Mmh…”

Again.

“I was serious about healing you…”

“Mh.”

And again.

You grabbed his robes and shoved him against the closest bookshelf in a drastic attempt to put some space between your bodies. The action didn’t seem to deter him at all, if anything it added fuel to the fire, as you could feel his claws even through your clothes. To make matters worse, you quickly realized that getting away was impossible with how tight his tail was coiled around your thigh. 

All your worries disappeared however as a very familiar voice could be heard from somewhere on the floor underneath. Rolan definitely heard it too as he looked in its direction with a mixture of dread and annoyance. 

You couldn’t discern entirely what Lia was saying, but the words “Rolan” and “Lorroakan” were definitely part of it.

You looked at Rolan with an unequivocal expression.

“We should go to them… and reassure them that you’re not dead or something.”

The new master of the tower threw his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, fine!”

“Also, we’re going to fall to our deaths in the stairs if you don’t keep your tail to yourself, Mister…”

Rolan dashed off in the direction of the stairs, grumbling about siblings and lack of privacy, not without grabbing your hand in passing. 

[tommysversion]

Beastly: Raider Era Joel Miller x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: you live in a small commune protected by a strong force of raiders. Every season, your people pay tribute for their protection. After lapsing in payment, your abusive father offers you as a human sacrifice. What you don't expect is for the leader of the gang, Joel, to not be as much of a beastly man as first thought.

A Raider Era Joel fic, loosely inspired by Beauty & The Beast.

CWs: references to abuse (physical), implied fear of SA, canon typical violence, implied age gap, sexual references, coarse language, smut for later chapters. (List will update with chapters)

Chapter Word Count: 3k

Thanks to @gab-thelamb-onthemoon & @joelsgirl for being beta readers & allowing me to infodump about this idea, ILY

Index: Part 2

It’s amazing, how long it took society to peak, in comparison to how easily it fell apart. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it sure burned in one. In a short fifteen years, since Cordyceps first spread globally, society has all but collapsed. 

Oh, sure, there are the QZs, where FEDRA rules with an iron fist. There are smaller settlements where people try to strive for a semblance of ‘normality’. 

But mostly? The world outside the military strict QZs has become lawless. It’s kill or be killed, serve or rule, protect or intimidate. 

Whereas some people have banded together for the greater good of humanity, for the continued survival of the species? Others have taken advantage of the new order of things, are only out for themselves and those they hold dear. 

Joel Miller falls into the latter category. 

Maybe once, before the outbreak, he had been a good man. Had had a strong moral compass, a good ethic. He’d been a family man, loved his daughter and his brother more than anything or anyone in the world. 

Then the world had gone to hell, taken his daughter from him, and something inside him had broken. It was as though a light had gone out inside him, turning his humanity off. 

Gone was the man who had made jokes and smiled easily. In his place was a man scarred and traumatised, who was capable of enormous acts of violence and brutality, who would survive at any and all cost, not for his sake, not really, but for his brother. The only family he had left. 

Joel had always been a natural leader, if somewhat reluctant. It had come easily to him, before the outbreak. He was always the damn union rep on site. Always the one people came to for advice, looked to for leadership. Not just Tommy, or colleagues he’d known for years either. He always ended up with an apprentice following him round like a chained puppy, asking questions, looking for guidance. 

Maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise at all that he had ended up the leader of this band of people, either. Some were misfits, those who were too anxious to try and venture to the nearest QZ and survive under FEDRA. Some were miscreants who preferred the more lawless lifestyle, who needed a leader so they didn’t venture into abject cruelty. Then there were those like him, who just wanted to survive. Keep going for whatever or whoever they had left. 

Joel didn’t necessarily want to live, but he was fucking good at it. 

Without his humanity, it made him a damn good leader. His group protected several small settlements, in exchange for supplies. Weapons. Whatever the fuck they wanted. 

It was a good deal… for his people. The infected didn’t venture this far out anymore, but the good people in those settlements didn’t need to know that, did they? Their living in fear was his bonus. It kept them in line, and it kept his people alive. 

Recently, one of the settlements fell to disease. Leaving just the one small community under his group’s thumb. The occupants aren’t particularly tough, or particularly smart, just ordinary people who have had the luck to survive behind moderately well constructed walls, the wits to bow to those stronger than them for protection. 

Only, their resources are running out, spread thin with the approaching winter…

Which is where you come in. 

--

You’re old enough to remember the world before. Maybe you hadn’t been an adult, so you hadn’t had to deal with things the older folks in your community grumble on occasion about missing - work, taxes (mostly something called a tax return), good liquor, supermarkets… 

But you do remember. 

You remember the world changing overnight. Remember years of struggling, clawing for survival, until this commune had finally put its walls up and hoped for the best. 

Then the infected had come, and you’d lost half your numbers. The raiders had taken advantage of the weakness in your people, taken out the infected… for a price. 

Now each quarter, your people paid ‘tribute’ to the group of men and women who kept the infected at bay. Really, it was a bribe to keep them from taking over your settlement. Every three months the same half dozen men would show up, fill their truck with supplies and weapons your people had gathered, desperately needed, and promise another three months protection for it. 

Nobody’s been attacked since the deal was struck. You guess that’s a good thing. Or there’s something they aren’t telling you. 

Your father is the closest thing to a mayor your community has. There aren’t enough of you to need a proper governing body beyond a handful of people, but somehow the task of leadership has fallen to him. Perhaps because nobody else wants to be labeled as the one who bows to the raiders. Or maybe it’s because the last mayor your town had was beaten to death by said raiders for non-compliance, and your father was the only one brave (stupid) enough to volunteer for the job after.

You aren’t stupid. You know a bribe for what it is. Only this quarter, you aren’t sure what the plan is. 

The crop yield has been relatively scarce this season. With winter approaching, the settlement doesn’t have much to offer. You’re not stupid, but you know it won’t be enough. 

Usually, you stay home when the raiders come for their tribute. Stay inside with the few children of the commune. 

This time is different. Your father is lacing his boots, throwing on his threadbare coat, when he springs it on you. 

“You’re coming too, this time. We need to show our numbers.” 

It doesn’t occur to you until you’re halfway to what passes as the town square that that’s the precise opposite of what your father usually says. That a show of strength is what got his predecessor killed. But you know better than to question him; he won’t shout at you, he’ll just be condescending, or more likely, won’t answer you at all.

You suppose your curiosity will have to wait, and hope he doesn’t get you all killed.

--

Joel usually sends half a dozen of his people to collect the tribute from the settlement they ‘protect’. It’s a thinly veiled intimidation, closer to extortion than anything else, but it keeps his people fed and lets them bully others, which some of his people need. 

But the last two seasons, their offerings have been slim at best, pissing the most restless of his people off. Joel has no issue with violence. No issue with killing people, or intimidation. But he also knows that starting a bloodbath in their supply settlement is a stupid idea, even if some of his men don’t. 

Which has led him to here. Two men sit in the truck, shoulder to shoulder. One sits in the tray, gripping the roof bar with one hand, a rifle dangling lazily from the other. 

Two others ride beside him, a little behind, in an arrow formation. It didn’t bother Owen to stay behind with the rest of the group. There’s better things he could be doing. If anyone was surprised at Joel deciding to go with them on this run? He hasn’t heard a word of it. 

If anything, they probably think it means he’s planning some sort of punishment for their friends in the settlement. Hell, if they don’t pay up? He’s not against it. 

It never ceases to amaze him just how pathetic these people are. He hasn’t visited the settlement personally in a year or so, but the occupants are still just as miserable. Just as downtrodden and fearful, hiding behind their shitty tin walls and the hope that his folks will protect them. It’s that fear that keeps his people fed, keeps these townspeople in line.

They don’t need to know that there are so few infected out here now, that Joel and his group are probably the biggest - if not only – threat remaining to them. Fear keeps them in line, and if they step out of line? Well, he and his gang aren’t above beating a reminder into them. It’s happened before.

The truck rolls to a stop behind him as they make their way to the centre of the settlement. He dismounts his horse, steps forward to greet the leader of the place. He’s met this man once before, the season after he took out the old mayor for trying to defy him. Beating a man to death isn’t pleasant to witness, but Joel had no problem with committing the act.

His replacement is a small, round man who always wears the same threadbare overcoat, the same twitchy air of nervousness around him, the same oily obedience.

How a man like that became what passes for mayor, Joel has no idea. He’s just as spineless as the rest, just as cowardly, eager to snivel and beg for protection, offering up whatever it takes to save his own skin. It’s a way to live, Joel supposes, but he would never stoop so low.

“Morris.” Joel greets the other man with a cold nod of his head, reaches out a gloved hand for him to shake. All formality. All pleasantries. As if the six men he’s brought with him aren’t capable of gunning down this entire settlement, if he so chooses. Hell, he could probably do it by himself. 

“I’m surprised to see you.” Morris admits as he steps forward from the small group of townsfolk. Joel’s gaze sweeps over them all; a few new faces, his eyes boring into each unfamiliar one. One bears a resemblance to the mayor. Interesting.

His gaze leaves the crowd, returns to the man in front of him.

“We need to have a little chat.”

--

“You don’t say a word. Nobody will benefit from your attempts at being a diplomat.” Your father cautions you as you reach the centre of town. It’s not a long walk. The settlement is barely big enough to call a commune, but still.

You don’t dignify him with an answer, just nod. There’s no point in trying to argue with him, try and prove that you’re an asset. He’s too set in his ways, too firm in the belief that women – especially young ones- should be seen and not heard.

So instead you keep your mouth shut, take your place. Watch the convoy come in. It’s different, being out on the street rather than peeking out a window when they roll in.

The usual truck, two men in the cab, one in the tray, slapping the roof to signal to stop. You’re not familiar enough with their faces, but you assume they’re the same men who come every quarter. Two men on horses, flanking a third.

It’s the third man who interests you, only slightly. Mostly because of the way your father tenses, the way some of the others shift nervously. You vaguely recognise this man; the leader of the group of raiders. The one who had no problem with violence, with getting rid of the old mayor when he didn’t want to play ball.

He’s older, maybe late forties, broad shouldered and has a sort of deadened glint to his dark eyes. Vaguely, you catch yourself wondering what he did, or what happened to him, to put that look in his gaze.

Those cold dark eyes take stock of the place, sweep across each member of your community. His gaze pauses on you, very briefly, flickers to your father then back, recognition. Then he looks away, back to your father.

“We need to have a little chat,” the unknown man says, “your quota has been low, Morris.”

Even in the cold, you can see your father start to sweat. He’s no great hero; his leadership perches precariously on his willingness to bow to whatever this gang of raiders wants. There’s no way of fighting them, and quite frankly? There are worse things out there.

“We’ve had a hard few seasons… Maybe we can make it up in spring?” Your father suggests, trying to sound complacent, apologetic. Mostly, it just sounds desperate.

You wonder if the leader of the gang thinks so, too.

“Now, Morris, you’re already short. Have been for the last two seasons. Maybe if we’d had this little chat earlier, I’d be more inclined to accept the request, but, well… winter’s on its way. It’s hard out there, and these walls you have are so flimsy… anything could happen.”

Your father’s face blanches, clearly aware he’s stepping on toes that shouldn’t be stepped on.

“We have… some supplies in reserve. You can take from there.”

It shouldn’t even surprise you, that he offers up the town’s emergency stockpile to save his own skin, probably thinking of his predecessor. It bothers you, though, makes your skin crawl to see the men from the gang open the barn where the supplies are kept, start hauling them into the back of the truck. Those supplies are for emergencies. For the children, the elderly, the sick. Maybe that’s why you open your mouth.

“Those supplies are for our elderly. Our children.”

The look your father gives you is piercing, promising violence, a sharp retribution later, but you don’t care.

“Excuse my daughter, Joel. She doesn’t understand the way things work, likes to talk when the men are talking.”

You expect the gang leader – Joel – to agree, to ignore you. Instead, he turns that depthless gaze onto you.

“What would you have me do, hm? We have a deal, you know that.” It’s unspoken what he’s implying – he has people relying on him, too.

You’re smart enough to know that it’s a rhetorical question.

“Besides.” Joel turns his attention to the truck, shakes his head. “Even with your stockpile, you’re short. Considerably so. Maybe we should stick around. See why your productivity is so low.”

The threat is implicit. Maybe it’s the threat. Maybe it’s anger at you for speaking out. Or maybe it’s the simple fact that your father is a piece of shit. Still, you don’t expect what happens next.

--

Joel doesn’t want to stick around this small town, with its cowed population and snivelling misogynist of a mayor. He’d rather take what they are owed and go, but they’re up short once again. Not by much, but it’s the principle of the matter. Of making sure Morris knows his place, knows that he and Joel are in no way equals.

He projects the very image of an alpha male, broad and cocky, one hand resting on the pistol at his hip. Casually threatening, and he knows Morris is thinking of the idiot before him. Maybe he should just shoot him, see whether someone smarter replaces him. Smarter and less irritating.

Maybe the other man can see how easily he’s contemplating his death.

“Wait. Wait. I have another offer.”

Joel raises an eyebrow.

“And what could you possibly have, Morris? As you’ve said, you’ve had a difficult harvest, you’ve had to break into your emergency supplies. What do you possibly have to trade to save your own skin?” He makes zero effort to hide his disgust.

“Her.” Morris jerks a shaky thumb to the younger woman beside him, the one who’s clearly his daughter, the one who spoke up.

Joel is so startled by the suggestion that he almost outright refuses.

“What?” It comes out blunter than he planned, as if he’s misheard. Because there’s no way that this idiot is offering up his own daughter as some sort of human sacrifice.

“Take her. I don’t care what you do with her, she’s a complete disappointment. Maybe you can teach her some manners, beat her into submission, God knows I’ve tried. Take her and give us immunity until next fall. Let us rebuild our crops.”

Joel looks past Morris to you, small and nondescript. Then again, everyone is small to him. You look like someone’s just pulled the ground out from under you. Shocked. Horrified. He knows then what you’re thinking, what you’re assuming will happen to you. But he also knows now what happens to you if he leaves you here.

Joel Miller may have lost his humanity, but he was a father once. And he can’t imagine ever, ever offering his own child up as a human sacrifice to save his own skin.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter about making a quota. What matters is getting you as far away from this place as possible. Away from sharp words and balled fists. Because somewhere, somewhere, buried deep down, a portion of the man he once was is stirring.

“The end of next fall. A year.” Joel agrees, tries not to watch the way Morris shoves you forward to what could well be your doom.

You’re shaking. Can’t even form a protest, for all the good it would do.

Sacrifice. Tribute. Offering. As if you’re no more than another object to be traded. Your father doesn’t even flinch as Joel seizes your wrist, pulls you towards his horse.

“Get on.” His voice is low, but not menacing. If anything he sounds almost sorry. It has to be some sort of trap; you’re certain that when you’re back at their base camp, he’ll have no problem with cruelty, with putting his hands on you. Forcing you, if the mood takes him. Maybe it’s better to just do as he demands.

Shakily, you climb up onto the horse, sit awkward and uncomfortable, tensing when he swings himself up behind you, broad arms keeping you in place as he seizes the reins, gives a nod to his men, who finish loading up and pile back into the truck, onto their own horses.

He throws a final derisive look to your father. The man who sold you.

“One year, Morris. Better get your shit together.” Then he nudges the horse, and rides you both out of the only home you’ve known for years.

[vaguely-concerned]

I’m on a Star Wars books roll so here we go with my — unhinged thanks for asking! — thoughts on Dooku: Jedi Lost, specifically the audio play. Short version: I fucking loved this one! For maximum emotional devastation, pair with Master and Apprentice and Padawan the way my stupid ass did and then be sad about it forever I guess that's what I’m going to have to do.

 Long (LONG oopsie) version:

- So. First of all, let’s get the most important thing out of the way on this here old man yaoi website. We all agree dooku and sifo dyas explored each other’s bodies right. Or at least definitely would have if not for the laws of this order etc., potentially. That’s not just me. Good. Thank you. We can now move on 

- Secondly. Well. Guess I’m just going to be inconsolable about Sifo-Dyas forever now. I miss the days in which he was just a throwaway line in AotC spawned by a random misspelling to me, rather than an eternal raw aching wound in my heart

- poor poor ventress just reading through all the proof that dooku absolutely does have it in him to be a good dad I mean master and just — idk got tired of that and went the force lightning route with her. I love the move of having her dead master hang out with her all that time as well (having her slip up and refer to ‘us’ did something to me, god this is so sad. Is he actually there in spirit or is it just her grief dreaming him up because dooku is awful and cold as a cliff  wall and she needs some kind of attachment figure even if she’ll have to reinvent him herself, rebuild him word for word, gesture by gesture. Pain. sorry about your terrible track record with father figures asajj) 

- Lene: (About Averross): He hasn’t changed. 

Dooku: (In the warmest fondest voice you ever heard) And I hope he never does

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MYSELF? MUST I SET MYSELF ON FIRE TO ESCAPE THE PAIN???

Another strong showing for Rael in general, btw. He’s so warm and charming as a presence even though he’s also a little chaos gremlin. (He’s quite similar to how Sifo-Dyas was when he was young in some ways, I can definitely start to see what Dooku responds warmly to in terms of character traits.) 

- the fact that good ol’ sheev showed an interest in rael, dooku and anakin… interesting huh! He’s just got a soft spot for the disaster lineage I suppose, maybe there’s an element there of luring yoda’s most direct lineage into the dirt with him without yoda even noticing for the longest time. Also cackling at the idea that he looked at qui-gon ‘too fucking stubborn and insufferable to fall to the dark side out of sheer spite’ jinn and went ‘...not that one tho’ fhdskjfa. And obi-wan is more like ‘that one blorbo all my little guys seem wild about but I just don’t get it guys’ 

IF rael’s refusal to join dooku at the end of ‘master and apprentice’ is the last word (which I am not convinced of ;___; be safe cowboy jedi we never see in mainline canon so far), then he’s the only one who has dodged palpatine’s attentions. Wonderful if true love that for him

ALSO rael is one of the few people we know to be on (or at least to consider himself on despite what palps might think lol) first name basis with palpatine. Hilarious. I concur with dooku never change rael 

- Sifo-Dyas: That’s insane. 

Dooku, deadpan: Yes.

Sifo-Dyas: The worst plan I’ve ever heard.

Dooku, somehow even more deadpan: Most probably. 

Sifo-Dyas: I’m in. 

Crying… weeping and dying………… what if someone could have helped sifo with his unfortunate prophecy propensity and they hadn’t drifted apart. Clone Wars averted methinks if dooku still ended up leaving the order he would have been too busy having tender gay sex with the love of his life (and only person who can call him out on his shit and have him actually listen) to be a war criminal (I am being extremely facetious of course this is very much a ‘time traveler killing baby hitler’ situation where the underlying forces causing this point in history are way too powerful to avert the catastrophe in one move. but at least palps would probably have had to pick someone else to wreck the galaxy through and sifo-dyas would be kissed & held instead of going slowly mad. A net plus some (I, me) would say) 

- I just wanted to applaud both the writing and the voice acting for the characterization of Dooku in this, from his young self trying so hard to be haughty and self-possessed but also being like, y’know, twelve and a dweeb and easy for Sifo-Dyas to pull into trouble, to the dry wit and warmth he shows with Rael and Qui-Gon or his sister later. It took me a little while to get into the voice acting specifically (the actor makes no attempt at going the full Christopher Lee, which in hindsight was probably wise), but now I love it. It gets a bit goofy in places but you know what, I am a long time lover of audio plays, that’s part of the charm 

- “Master, have I done something wrong?”

My heart is clenching… do you think… that master yoda’s deal with leaving his student to try fucking everything to have some kind of relationship with him until he just breaks down in tears of despair… is the kind of thing that maybe started a little bit of a generational trauma cartwheel through the ages. The point that bb!dooku is arrogant isn’t without merit and he strikes out incredibly ungracefully about it (in fact I would be a lot more worried than yoda seems to be that he decides to try to kill a tree about it, ‘I felt like destroying something beautiful’-style)  but I just don’t think a… fourteen year old? A teen anyway, Is going to learn what you think he learns from this. I simply don’t believe that silent treatmenting kids will teach them emotional intelligence I guess especially if they already struggle with that naturally lol 

(It is exactly the same mistake (in my opinion) that Qui-Gon makes with Obi-Wan, too, just leaving the kid completely alone and forcing them to come to you every which way for comfort or guidance instead of meeting them or reaching out to them. Especially once you see that really Dooku’s prime emotion/big core wound right from the beginning is loneliness. And that doesn’t only come from a feeling of superiority (which to be sure is also a big factor), because he has no idea where he comes from until he meets his sister. I don’t think the jedi as a whole were unsalvageable by any stretch of the imagination, but Yoda specifically… you are on such very thin ice with me at this point you little green fuck. You’re very funny and moving in yoda dark rendezvous and that’s all that’s keeping you in my somewhat good graces.)

- Okay, coming back a bit later I think I’ve found the right words to say this. more precisely dooku has two big issues which you can later see haunting all the way down his lineage — loneliness and control. (and not incidentally the intersecting elements of the two haha.) We see from his relationship to sifo-dyas that he’s not incapable of having close mutual relationships with an equal, but that kind of crashed and burned for reasons neither of them could really help and after that it seems quite telling that he has the easiest time with deeper connection in a teacher-student sort of form. I think his affection is unconditional and real, but you can’t get away from the fact that he also has the most control in that relationship structure by default, he gets to dictate what form it takes to a big extent. He doesn’t trust other people — the underlying idea ‘Only I can do this’ that eventually leads him down the Separatist path is there the whole way. It speaks both to a sense of superiority and an utter lack of faith that other people can or will help him. And then that echoes down through the master-padawan line: 

Qui-Gon with his self-righteousness and utter refusal to compromise leaving him isolated among the jedi (only he is right. Yeah the Force told him so. Don’t worry I’ve got a permit *insert parks and rec I can do whatever I want meme here*), Obi-Wan with his anxiety and perfectionism and incredible sense of shame and responsibility that he should be able to carry the whole world on his shoulders alone and beating himself up for failing, all feeding into not knowing what to do with Anakin and his complete lack of control of himself and his desperation to gain and maintain connection and love (which earns him the title of ‘Dooku’s least favorite family member’ fhdsa his immediate disdain for him is so funny and so in character. Repress and go slowly mad like a normal person anakin the way you’re carrying on is just undignified and that is much worse than being evil)… 

- Rael gently telling Dooku to take on another padawan soon… so sweet, so sad, local cowboy jedi looking out for his dad. Also highlights something about Dooku I think is true: that he does much better and seems to have an easier time holding to the light when he’s responsible for someone else. Again, I do feel like Dooku’s core problem is loneliness, but it seems like raising kids is the one point where that relaxes somewhat. Maybe if Sifo-Dyas had stayed in a better mental place and they kept in touch it could have been different.

- Lene Kostana is SUCH a character! Charismatic and deeply fucked up, when it’s revealed how her and Sifo-Dyas’ relationship remains long after his padawan stage is done I felt a little bit sick, to my surprise. Because that could just be kindness on her part, of course, it’s good that he has someone he trusts to look after him when he can’t himself, but also there’s something… queasy about the way it keeps him continually young, in a way. (Notably he still calls her ‘master’ even as an adult, when they’re working together. Not uncommon in Star Wars, of course, but together with everything else going on vibes-wise… hm.) The inherent unreliable narration of this story really worked for me in this regard especially — do we know that young Dooku was entirely wrong when he sensed the dark side in her? She certainly is willing to go to lengths that are… worrying! in her fascination with sith shit, she tempted children into a dangerous place they didn’t understand and couldn’t know the consequences of and she continually puts sifo-dyas in situations that are implied to be a risk to worsening his condition. Run of the mill incredibly irresponsible at best, sincerely sinister at worst. Did she choose Sifo over Dooku because he’s more vulnerable and shapeable? There is an undercurrent of something icky and emotionally incest-y going on with how she relates to Dooku and Sifo-Dyas in general (right down to the ‘NO, no one can know about this’ intensity after the… evil moss cave. I can’t believe I’m this emotional about a book with an evil moss cave). I don’t think she’s a proper sith in any way and I also believe there is real affection there on all sides, but idk something about the whole thing makes me deeply uneasy. Yoda where the fuck are you your son is out there with his irresponsible mom again they’re looking for dirty needles in haystacks and they’re not even wearing any gloves

- dooku telling sifo-dyas he can come back to haunt him if he likes as a joke… well well well I’m sure that doesn’t ring with some dramatic irony at some point down the line lmao

- honestly looking back at master and apprentice after reading jedi lost makes qui-gon's apparent lack of reaction to dooku leaving seem — let's call it highly suspect haha. rael asks him if he's spoken to dooku after and qui-gon is like 'no. why would I. it's literally fine. anyway this topic is done now'. (and rael seems to just go ‘*older brotherly knowing* uh-huh’) meanwhile he's thinking about dooku *all the time* trying to figure out his role as master to obi-wan, thinking about being a padawan himself, the parts of his life he shared with both dooku and rael. The jedi doth protest too much methinks  

ALSO how much of qui-gon thinking the council was too lenient with rael after he had to kill his padawan is about that actual situation, and how much is a ‘our family still likes my older brother more than me even though he Fucked Up so bad and breaks just as many rules as I do’ sort of deal mixed with his own neuroses about how he’s failing obi-wan (to which rael’s situation symbolizes the worst possible outcome, i.e. the kid dies and it’s basically your fault). Many thoughts. 

- moment of silence for jenza of house serenno. Girl your only sin was being surrounded by asshole male family members and I’m so sorry I think you did all you could with what you had to work with here.

Not… entirely sure how dooku’s claim to the title supersedes hers — is he a year older than her? (she’s eleven when they first meet, he might be twelve or older at that point I don’t remember haha) Does she just give up her place in the inheritance order? Are primogeniture and male heir preference factors in Serenno inheritance law? Not the most important thing honestly it works anyway thematically but could have been clarified quickly!

- interesting to see that the council’s restrictive policy against engaging with prophecies had a surprisingly big impact on how things went down. Kostana has a lot of responsibility in Sifo’s fate for insisting he keep it secret, but there is genuine fear for what might become of him if the rest of the order finds out he’s got 24/7 futurevision hovering over him threateningly… listen it’s not like the poor guy can help getting the future constantly pumped into his brain at nightmare resolutions, I think maybe if there had been more willingness to at least engage curiously with the concept of prophecy and how it works, even if you don’t put your faith in the particulars of what the prophecies say, this wouldn’t have had to be such a shitty isolated secretive life for him. hearing him slowly fall apart over the years considering how bright and lovely he started out... oof is all I can say 

- when dooku was a good jedi he was such a good jedi!!! The scene where they’re saving the kids from the collapsing hospital, every time he teaches his students anything…the impulse of someone has to do something about this! that made him so good at saving lives turning dark with the tarnish of frustration and rage over the years… nooooooooo problematic grandpa why did it have to be like this :(

- …do you think infant jedi can sense what’s going on around them in the Force. Because it makes a very sad kind of sense if dooku on some level remembers bodily or in the Force that he was not only abandoned but rejected in disgust as one of the first things he discovered in the world. Oh boy. With all the ways attachment relationships can go wonky in the first few years in real life I don’t even want to consider how much more wrong it can go when the baby is fucking psychic lol

- vaguely related: the way dooku seems to find the very idea of being truly reliant on anyone, emotionally or otherwise, personally offensive, terrifying and humiliating lol. Yoda saves him from being crushed by rubble and he is outraged because that means he can’t save himself (and his newfound sister) without anyone’s help like he thought for one glorious moment he could. The fantasy of perfect emotional self-sufficiency, doing away with all the messiness and risk of interpersonal relationships and cutting off the possibility of really being abandoned again. It’ll get ya every time. This is also a thing you see reflected in his lineage — they’re all quite inward-turning that way until you get to anakin, to different extents and with varying presentations but it is there I think. Qui-Gon turns to the Force, Obi-Wan to perfectionism and shame and rumination, Rael to the bottle and depression and hedonistic apathy, but they all struggle hugely with letting anyone in to help them. Dooku’s line are all much more comfortable being the helpers rather than the helpees, as it were.  

- “Thank you for everything, Lene. Tell Rael and Qui-Gon — tell them… tell them the Force will be with them, always”

Emotional terrorism against me specifically and personally. You asshole you just excused yourself from the non-attachment rules there’s literally nothing in the world except you to stop you from reaching out and telling your children you love them yOURSELF why are you like this

- the recurring theme of dooku seeing something beautiful (the tree in the temple, the tirra’taka as a child and an adult) and ending up lashing out to destroy it… but the tree was old and mighty and he was young and new and couldn’t truly harm it, so he was saved from his own impulsivity. And then when he sees the tirra’taka as an adult he loves it immediately. And in the end he still mangles and destroys it. He didn’t mean to, but he did. He woke it up and hurt it just by existing as a child and then he had to kill it as a mercy because he was too powerful at that point for anything to buffer his mistakes. The parallel with the bird he loved that he also couldn’t protect. He starts out with an aching loneliness somewhere at the core of him through no real fault of his own but by the end it is entirely his own fault that it’s worse, because he starts wrecking everything he loves in an almost absent-minded but definitely intentional way, like it’s a nightmare he’s listening to through the door as it happens in the next room over. He really IS the ‘I just felt like destroying something beautiful’ central of the jedi.

at the end qui-gon is dead and through dooku’s own influence, however indirectly. Rael has had to turn away from him. Sifo-Dyas is dead on Dooku’s own orders and so is his sister, he might as well have done it with his own hands. (though I think it’s very interesting that in each case he didn’t do it with his own hands, he consistently uses a middleman.) He lives within the coldness of his sterile empty castle and horrifically mistreats the one person he might have found something like connection with the way he did with his students before (Ventress), deliberately trapping her in a similar state of utter desolate isolation and telling her, essentially, ‘We’re like this as people and nothing can be done to change it. We can’t escape, we’re already doomed, stop trying, it’s too late. You are just like me (and if you aren't already I'll make you like me)’. And that’s the closest thing he gets to love anymore. When he accused Ky of using her ‘as a salve for his own loneliness’ and you’re like well well well mr projection man how’s that working out for you. He is completely, shatteringly alone and he is so entirely as a consequence of his own actions and he's too far gone to understand or care. I’m howling you useless fucking FOOL dooku  

- dooku 🤝 john gaius

“Hm. I have observed that there are in fact many flaws in our society and the government is deeply corrupt. So if I kill a few billion people here and there in order to fix it, is that not basically okay when you really think about it” 

Dooku making salient points about the political and ethical failures of the Republic and then, just when you think he’s onto something, he goes and makes The wildest fucking decisions about what to do about it. Sure. dark magic and genocide are probably the only ways out of this you’re so right bro. If we make enough minuses to add together surely we’ll end up in plus sooner or later

- *head in my hands once more* I can’t believe I am genuinely emotionally invested in someone called Count Dooku with the looks of a knockoff dracula and ultimate moral character to match right now this is terrible. hey. hey dooks. what you have to go and fuck everything up so bad for huh I’m so incredibly sad now

there is something to be said about how getting to see glimpses of what dooku looked like in the light makes it so much more heartwrenching that he never came back. he could have, a thousand times. and every time he chose not to.

[sfehvn]

the apprentice

Description: AU- An ambitious criminal justice major undertakes an internship at, arguably, the most noteworthy law firm in the country. Things don't go as she plans, as the title of intern to Astarion Ancunin is synonymous with personal assistant, apparently.

A/N: I've been so all over the place with what I'm working on writing-wise, but this has been deep in my drafts and I figured I'd set it loose. I was reading '30 Days' by Astarionhq on A03 and really took inspiration for my own modern twist on an Astarion/Tav love story. I linked their story above; please check it out! Also my obsession with the whole 'enemies to lovers' trope is totally not apparent, psh. There will be a lot of pining and eventual smut. I'll include content warnings in individual chapters if any apply. Enjoy!

Rating: M (18+ minors DNI)

Word count: 4,595 Characters: au!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

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Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The shrill sound prompted you to pull the heavy comforter over your head, willing away the sunbeams shining obnoxiously through your window. You groan as your hand smacks the wood of the nightstand haphazardly in a desperate attempt to stop the godawful noise coming from the alarm clock. Relief floods your senses as it finally ceases. You close your eyes and are on the precipice of sleep until realization dawns on you. 

Fuck.

You had already snoozed the alarm three times prior. Meaning you were going to be royally late. With adrenaline pumping through your veins, you toss the warm blankets off you and bolt from the bed, barely glancing at the clock's LED. You could make out the emboldened numbers through your sleep-recovering eyes. 

9:54

“Fuck. Fuck.” It was all that you managed as you darted around the room. In a flurry, you pull a black dress from your wardrobe. Making quick work of pulling off your pajamas, you slip it on hastily and step into your bathroom, carelessly sliding toothpaste over the bristles of your toothbrush before brushing your teeth. You pause, clamping down on the toothbrush with your teeth, bracing it as you lean down to secure the black heels to your feet that had been unceremoniously tossed aside on the bathroom floor the night before. Not typically the type to be late, of course the one time you were just so happened to be on the day that could make or break your professional career.

You push aside the self-berating for the time being as you rinse the paste from your mouth. Not having the time to shower now, you pull your long strands of hair into a high pony, carefully leaving out a few whisps of hair to frame your face. You had managed to make it out of your apartment before the clock struck ten, and hope bubbled in your chest at the thought that you may make this interview after all.

The bus you would have caught was long gone, so you jog the entire way. Juggling your purse, papers that included a resume, pages of references, and your phone to observe the time. You’re well aware of the disorganized mess you must look like as you stand in front of the receptionist’s desk. Chest heaving from the jog there, papers in disarray in your hands, the blonde woman behind the desk eyes you with a passing look of judgment, and the need to crawl into a hole and hide flits through your deflated ego. You give the woman your name, and she types it quickly and efficiently into the computer.

“I’m sorry, miss Tav.” The woman starts, “Mr. Ancunin has an eleven o’clock meeting. Your interview was scheduled for ten thirty. You’re nearly fifteen minutes late.” She looks up at you from her screen, and though she tries to appear sympathetic, the emotion is missing from her eyes. You glance at the clock above her head, stomach sinking to your toes.

10:43

“Right, yes. I completely understand. I had car troubles this morning and had to walk here; you know how crowded these sidewalks are.” You let out an awkward laugh, attempting to gain some level of relatability with the woman. She laughs wryly along with you, causing your face to visibly drop. “Listen, I-I really need this interview.” New approach: honesty. “Is there a later slot? I’d be happy to wait here all day if needed.” 

“A lot of people need this interview, miss Tav.” The woman is unfazed by your pleading tone. “Unfortunately, there will be no more slots for this particular internship. The final interviews will occur later today, and Mr. Ancunin is completely booked for six months. It’s safe to say he will have come to a decision by then.” 

Your shoulders drop. The sleepless nights of preparing, the references you had compiled from professors and other dignitaries alike, it didn’t matter. While, yes, you could always strive for another internship, Ancunin Associates was an elite law firm. In any case, you would have been guaranteed a job at any firm post-graduation had you completed this apprenticeship.

The woman is eyeing you expectantly, waiting rather impatiently for you to make your retreat. “Miss Tav, I will have to ask you to leave. Mr. Ancunin-“ 

You can barely hear her anymore as you make out the man passing through the large office. Walking with purpose past the tall, windowed walls overlooking the bustling city many floors below. His unnaturally silver hair is brushed back purposefully, leaving a few curls to swoop and fall over his forehead. Eyes that could only be described as honey pierced forward as if looking right through anyone who stood in his walking path. The finest of tailored suits adorned his figure, a figure you had no doubt was toned to the gods underneath. You recognized him from various news articles; he had been considered one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, after all.

You brush aside your musings, and adrenaline pumps through your veins. “Mr. Ancunin, my name is Tav. I had a ten-thirty interview for the open internship. I recognize I’m severely late, and I apologize, but I swear it is entirely out of character for me. Is there any possible chance I can fit into your schedule later today?” 

He halts, staring at you with an indistinguishable look from across the office. You nearly regret speaking up to 

him as he scrutinizes you. You can feel those golden eyes of his scanning over you, and you fight the urge to falter under it. You remain unmoving, trying to appear like you belong. His eyes are fixed on your chest for a passing moment, and the need to cover your frame burns through you.

“A bold one, hm?” His tone is teasing, though his face still holds firm. “Late and less than presentable. Does all of your clothing have those stains on them?” He gestures towards your chest, where he had previously been staring. You finally glance down and are met with a small white stain in the center of your chest. You’re sure your cheeks are flushed at this point, but instead of backing down, you shift the papers you held against your bosom, hiding the marred fabric from his eyes. You made a mental note that the next time you found yourself late to an important meeting, perhaps you should ensure toothpaste wasn’t all over you before leaving home.

“Mr. Ancunin, ten minutes of your time is all I need. Please.” He didn’t visibly react to your pleading, and his face remained stone-cold.  The silence was deafening. The only sound you could make out was the thudding of your heart against your ribcage.

“Clear my eleven o’clock.” He says simply without addressing you, looking at the blonde woman you had just spoken to. “Come.” His words were firm. He turns on his heel towards the office he had just emerged from, silently expecting you to follow. You quietly breathe a sigh of relief as you oblige. A sleek black desk with an expensive-looking chair sat behind it in the center of the room. He holds out a hand, gesturing to one of the two armchairs in front of the desk, overlooking the large windows behind his chair. You silently obey his command, crossing your legs over one another as you wait for him to speak once more.

There’s a deafening silence as he eyes you, hands folded and resting in his lap once he’s sat down across from you. Mouth opening to speak, you close it when he holds his hand out in a quiet bid for the papers you had been holding. You wordlessly hand over your resume and references, and he scans the pages with an unreadable expression. The quiet stretches, and you fidget nervously in your seat, wishing you knew what was happening in his mind.

Finally, he looks up, those golden eyes locking onto yours. "Tav, is it?" he asks, his tone revealing nothing.

"Yes, sir. And I apologize again for my tardiness. It's not a reflection of my usual professionalism." You reply, trying to maintain a professional composure.

"Hm." He murmurs, leaning back in his chair. "Your credentials are impressive, Tav. Top of your class, stellar recommendations. But I'm curious—what makes you think you can manage this apprenticeship?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding. "Mr. Ancunin, I understand punctuality is crucial, and I take full responsibility for my tardiness today. However, my dedication, work ethic, and ability to adapt under pressure make me a valuable candidate for this position. I've faced challenges in the past and have consistently proven my commitment to overcoming them. I'm not one to let a setback define my capabilities."

A white eyebrow quirks in response, a smug look on his features. “Clearly. The tired university student you are, I presume you know how to make one hell of a cup of coffee?”

“I-” You start, feeling yourself shrink under his gaze. “Yes.” You murmur, brows pulling together in confusion.

He leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving yours. There’s a hint of amusement in his honey-pooled eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “How about laundry?”

“Mr. Ancunin, no disrespect intended at all, sir-” You start.

“Astarion.” He says flatly.

“What?” Your voice catches in your throat, causing the word to shake as it leaves your lips.

“Call me Astarion.”

“Right, uh, Astarion,” You corrected. “I was hoping for an internship that would assist my legal career in flourishing. I didn’t anticipate I would be a personal assistant.” Your words trail.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “What a shame. I suppose there are many less desirable internships for you to pick from.”

Your mind races as you process the unexpected turn of events. Astarion's gaze remains fixed on you, a challenging glint in his eyes. You weigh your options, considering the potential impact on your career aspirations.

Taking a deep breath, you respond with a measured tone, "Astarion, I appreciate the opportunity to interview for this internship, and I am genuinely passionate about pursuing a legal career. However, I believe my skills and dedication would be best utilized in a legal capacity rather than as a personal assistant. I've worked diligently to excel in my academic pursuits and gain valuable experience in the legal field, and I'm eager to contribute those skills."

He tilts his head, the smirk on his face deepening. "Ambition, I like that. But you see, Tav, I value versatility. A good legal mind is undoubtedly crucial, but navigating the intricacies of the legal world often requires more than just legal acumen. It requires adaptability, resourcefulness, and an understanding of the broader aspects of the business. Consider this a test of your ability to handle the unexpected."

You take a moment to absorb his words, recognizing the challenge he's presenting. The internal debate intensifies within you — compromise for the sake of opportunity or stand firm on your premise. After a brief pause, you choose your words carefully, "I'm eager to prove my versatility and dedication to this role. If this is the path you believe will showcase my abilities, I am open to embracing the challenges it presents."

Astarion's eyes narrow slightly as if assessing the sincerity of your response. "Very well, Tav. We'll start with a trial period. Consider today's events as part of your initiation. Now, as for the legal matters, we'll get to those as the internship progresses. But for now, let's see how you handle some of the more... practical aspects of the job.” 

You nod numbly, and you’re confident you look silly sitting there with your mouth slightly ajar from the whiplash of the situation at hand. 

Astarion leans back, seemingly satisfied with your response. He gestures for you to follow him once again as he stands, leading you through a maze of offices and hallways in the prestigious law firm. As you walk beside him, you can't help but feel a mixture of anxiety and determination. This internship might not be unfolding as you envisioned, but you're determined to prove yourself in whatever capacity necessary.

The two of you eventually arrive at what appears to be a spacious lounge area, complete with an elegant coffee machine. It's clear that Astarion's definition of versatility extends beyond legal matters.

"Now, Tav," he begins, "We'll start with a simple task. Make me a cup of coffee."

You nod, moving towards the coffee machine. While you might be more accustomed to preparing legal briefs, you're not one to shy away from a challenge. As you navigate the machine's buttons, you glance over at Astarion, who has taken a seat in the lounge area.

The machine whirs to life, and you focus on measuring the coffee grounds and water precisely. A sense of determination fuels your movements. Astarion watches you intently, his unreadable expression giving away little.

Once the cup is filled with the scorching liquid, you reach for the creamer and halt your movements as he speaks again. “Black.” You turn to hand him the mug, seemingly awaiting his approval as he sips from the cup. You fidget with your hands in front of you, eyeing him with the same scrutiny he had watched you with earlier in your encounter.

He does not note on the coffee you had readied for him; instead, he is fishing into his pocket. He pulls out a set of keys, handing them to you. “You are aware of the apartments on Oleander, correct?”

Taking the keys into your hands, you gaze down at them in confusion. Of course, you knew that only the most affluent resided in them. There was a sinking suspicion of where this was going deep in your gut.

“Mine is the penthouse at the very top. You will do my laundry and clean it until it is sparkling. Understood?”

There was a new feeling sated into your bones. Anger. Not to mention the fact that he expected you to go into his home when he was not present. “I don’t feel this arrangement would be very professional.” You fire back, trying to hide the malice dripping in your tone. He was toying with you.

Astarion’s eyes still held that teasing gleam as he spoke. “That’s undoubtedly alright. We have many other candidates coming in later today. I’m sure one of them would be up to the task.”

You close your eyes briefly, taking in a large breath of air in order to keep yourself calm. You open them once more, smiling wryly down at him. “I’d be happy to.” You mutter through gritted teeth.

“Brilliant.” Astarion states, standing from his seated position. He sets the mug down on an end table. “Oh, and do try to improve on your coffee-making abilities. That was rather lackluster.” 

How the fuck do you mess up black coffee?

There was no doubt left in your mind about what he was doing. You needed this internship, though, and you were prepared to go to questionable lengths to secure it. “Of course.” You deadpanned, no amusement left on your face. What an arrogant bastard.

“You can keep that set.” Astarion gestured to the keys in your hand. “I expect you’ll be done before I return home. I’ll see you back here tomorrow morning.” The smirk never left his smug face as he spoke. He departs the room, surely to whatever big meeting is next on his agenda. Perhaps to terrorize someone else. You’re left standing there, dumbfounded at how wrong this entire day seemed to be going. 

As Astarion strides away, leaving you with the keys and the absurd task ahead, a maelstrom of thoughts swirls through your mind. You glance down at the keys in your hand, a symbolic link to the penthouse on Oleander that you are now responsible for. The weight of the situation settles on your shoulders, mixing with the frustration and determination that courses through your veins.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your composure. This might not be the internship you envisioned, but it's an opportunity nonetheless. You remind yourself of the stakes, the prestige of Ancunin Associates, and the potential doors this internship could open. Swallowing your pride, you decide to tackle the tasks ahead with a professional mindset. Even if he was not.

–

You hadn’t anticipated spending your day cleaning some corporate asshole’s million-dollar penthouse, yet here you were. No doubt, he had to have staff for this. So why was it being made your problem? The penthouse wasn’t anything that you weren’t expecting. It looked like it had been taken straight out of a catalog, and it seemed to be missing any warmth. There was nothing hung on the stark white walls, aside from small discreet security cameras tucked into the corners. You wondered briefly if he was watching you and decided he had to be. You were a complete stranger he had sent into his home by yourself. You mutter an expletive quietly, toeing off your heels by the front door. A few dishes are in the sink, and you figure that to be the best place to start.

As you tackle the dishes, the silence of the penthouse is only broken by the occasional distant hum of city life far below. The gleaming surfaces and pristine environment reflect the meticulous nature of the man who owns this place. You can't shake the feeling that every move you make is being observed by Astarion himself or by the unassuming security cameras.

While you scrub away at the plates, your mind replays the unusual turn of events. How did a promising legal internship morph into a personal assistant role with a side of housekeeping duties? The anger you felt towards the man came back in full force. You were well aware that you were being taken advantage of, but the need to prove yourself to Astarion gnawed at you either way. 

Think of the years of schooling, Tav. Of who you plan to be after graduation. You silently reminded yourself. 

As you navigate the unfamiliar kitchen, you spot a sleek tablet on the countertop. It seems to control various aspects of the penthouse – lights, temperature, and security. You make a mental note to familiarize yourself with it, realizing that understanding the intricacies of Astarion's living space might become essential.

The pristine silence is suddenly interrupted by the chime of an incoming message on the tablet. You approach it cautiously, noting Astarion's name on the notification. With a sense of trepidation, you open the message.

"Ensure you clean the living room thoroughly. I'll be hosting a small gathering there tonight. Impress me."

His words are concise, leaving you with a sense of urgency. The mundane task of washing dishes has evolved into preparing a high-profile space for an event you weren't aware of until now. A twinge of frustration simmers beneath the surface, but you push it aside, noting that you had only a few hours before the sun began to set.

You move from the kitchen to the living room, carefully dusting surfaces and arranging furniture to meet an unspoken standard of perfection. The penthouse, already immaculate, undergoes another level of scrutiny under your watchful eyes. You can't help but feel a sense of absurdity, thinking that a legal intern's day would involve ensuring the alignment of decorative pillows and the spotless shine of a glass coffee table.

As the day progresses, you are caught between bouts of irritation and determination. The controlled environment of Ancunin Associates has given way to the uncharted territory of Astarion's penthouse. The duality of your responsibilities — legal intern and personal assistant — blurs lines, leaving you grappling with the unexpected.

Stumbling into Astarion’s bedroom, you narrow your eyes at the scene before you. It was a change from who you had come to anticipate him as. Clothes were tossed carelessly to the ground, and upon further inspection, you were under the impression that one of these shirts could pay two months of your rent. You huff, gathering the misplaced clothes into your arms and setting them aside to be washed. You made quick work of putting his bed together, fluffing pillows, and tidying the sheets and blankets. 

Stepping into the bathroom adjoined to the bedroom, you prepare to toss out the small trash bin. Your eyes narrow, and you make a sound of disgust at the sight. Two used condoms were the only contents.

There’s no way in hell I’m touching that.

You grumble as you step back out of the bathroom, flicking the light off in your wake. You would settle on simply putting Astarion’s clothes in the washer and heading out. Surely he wouldn’t expect anything more of you? You had already spent hours here.

However, as you return to the living room, the notification chime on the tablet draws your attention again. Another message from Astarion, and the words cut through your plans this time.

"Make sure you check the bedroom and bathroom. Attention to detail is crucial. I trust you won't disappoint."

Your frustration spikes, but you suppress it, realizing that your choices in this matter are limited. Taking a deep breath, you return to the bathroom. You need this apprenticeship, Tav.

You gather the courage to dispose of the used condoms, not allowing yourself to dwell on the

contents of them. The situation's absurdity is not lost on you – an intern scrubbing someone else's bathroom, particularly a man of Astarion's means. You felt as if you were living in a movie.

The sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow through the expansive windows of the penthouse. Your eyes sweep the living room, confirming that it meets the standards Astarion expects for his gathering. Despite the challenging nature of the day, a slight sense of accomplishment settles within you. You may not have expected to play the role of a personal assistant, but you've embraced the challenge and proven your ability to adapt.

As you prepare to leave, the tablet chimes again, signaling a final message from Astarion.

"Lock up behind yourself. Be ready for a full day tomorrow. We have much to discuss."

The weight of the day lingers as you walk home. The anger festers in your chest, though you try not to indulge it. This couldn’t have been the first time Astarion has taken advantage of having a desperate college student under his thumb. You can’t help but think the people who had deemed this to be one of the best internships for criminal justice are full of shit. You grumble in distaste, your feet feeling as if they’re on fire from the miles you were walking back to your shithole apartment on the south side of town, ten miles from Astarion’s penthouse. At this rate, you had been walking for an hour and a half, yet you were only halfway there.

You lean down, slipping the high heels off of your burning feet and cradle them in your arms.

The cool night air hits your face as you continue your journey, heels in hand. The events of the day play over and over in your mind, and the determination to prove yourself mingles with the frustration of the unconventional tasks assigned to you. As you approach your apartment building, a mix of exhaustion and frustration boils deep in your chest. 

Opening the door to your modest apartment, you let out a heavy sigh. The contrast between Astarion's penthouse and your own space is stark, but a sense of resilience fuels your spirit. You toss the heels you had been holding aside and head straight to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Disheveled hair, tired eyes, but an unmistakable fire within them.

“Finally home?” A voice rings out, and you see Shadowheart leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, dangling two empty glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “I figured we could celebrate.” You sigh, leaning against the bathroom sink and turning to face her. She raises her eyebrows, wiggling the bottle in a way that wordlessly says, ‘you know you want to’. You did, but your knees felt weak under your weight and your calves burned to the hells. 

“I’m not even sure if there is anything to celebrate.” You snort in response, shooting her an apologetic look. She finally takes note of just how tired you truly looked, and her shoulders slumped. 

“You didn’t get it? I just assumed since you were gone all day.” Shadowheart furrows her brows. “What happened?”

“No, I did get it. I think.” You huff, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Though it’s not at all what I expected.”

Shadowheart sits on the edge of your bed, listening as you fill her in on the day's events. The arrogance of the one and only Astarion Ancunin. “So he has you cleaning his house? I mean, truthfully, the coffee thing isn’t totally unheard of. But his used condoms?” She makes a sound of distaste deep in her throat, screwing her face up to match her tone of disgust. 

“I’m a mess, Shadow.” You mutter, retreating from the bathroom in a fresh change of pajamas. The thought of spending a second more cleaning up his messes filled you with dread and, after knowing Astarion for only a day, you knew with full certainty that your distaste for the man would only grow.

“Was he as hot as the tabloids make him look?” She asks teasingly.

“Really?” You mutter, accepting the now-filled glass as you sit back into the pillows on your bed.

“What?” Shadowheart chuckles. “I’m just saying it may be more manageable if you’ve got eye candy to look at while you spend your days doing his laundry.” Her tone was teasing, though you knew there was a hint of truth in her tone.

The groan that left your lips was exasperated, bringing the wine glass to your lips and accepting the bitterly sweet liquid as it rolled over your tongue.

As you sip the wine, a mix of exhaustion and frustration settles within you. Shadowheart's attempt to lighten the mood brings a small smile to your face, but the reality of the situation looms large. The taste of the wine is a welcome reprieve, a momentary escape from the days to come with Astarion Ancunin ordering you about.

Nevertheless, the conversation with Shadowheart provides a brief respite. “He looks like a god if I’m being honest.” You finally admit with a slight chuckle. “Like he’s been cut straight from stone. He just so happens to be the biggest asshole I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing.” 

You finish your glass and return it to her, smiling gratefully as she takes it. “You just so happen to be the toughest girl I know. It’s, what, a six-month internship? Just keep your eyes on the prize, Tav.” She reassures before letting out a yawn of her own. “That being said, I’ve got to be up early myself. I’ll make sure you’re actually awake before I leave.” Shadowheart says pointedly.

Once she leaves, you relax into your duvet, eyes closing as relaxation settles into your bones for the first time since you’d sprung out of bed that morning. No, nothing had gone particularly how you had hoped. Shadowheart’s words stoked the burning fire of ambition inside of you, and you felt eternally grateful to call her your friend.

Just keep your eyes on the prize, Tav.

[soullessseraphim]

For those who asked :D

LORE DUMP ABOUT ARCANA OCS🎉

Liam (my mc)-°-o-°-o-°-o-°-o-°-o.

Liam is my mc, meaning he's Asra's apprentice, and so, a magician. While he's been following Asra's teachings faithfully, he's found a liking in forbidden practices, and therefore necromancy. The practice of necromancy is actually forbidden amongst magicians, mainly because it is a type of dark magic that feeds on the magician's life essence to be more effective (meaning it has been deemed highly dangerous), and so he has to practice in secret. Hence why his left arm is bandaged : due to his frequent practice, necrosis has started to spread onto him. However, it isn't organic necrosis, but magical necrosis, meaning it doesn't smell nearly as foul, doesn't deal as much damage as if it were organic, but also cannot be cured by amputation or by removing the source of the infection or the necrotic tissues. It also means that bugs and maggots are not something to worry about. However, Liam can manage to keep the progression of the necrosis relatively slow by regularly changing his bandages and dipping them in a potion ; in addition, he wraps talismans around his arm, to give himself more time. Because yes, if he continues practicing or lets the necrosis spread too much, he will be gone as fast as in five weeks (without the bandages or talismans).

But why does he practice then ? Well, Liam has not felt a call / wasn't drawn towards any other type of more conventional (and authorized) magic. While he isn't incompetent, he was lacking that intimate link necessary to specialize in certain fields of magic. However, with necromancy, he feels as if he has to furnish much less efforts ; everything just flows more naturally, and it just feels... right, somehow.

In the context of the game, during the various books, the love interest (Julian) once they learn about Liam's practices will try their best to persuade him to quit (to keep him from fucking dying, obviously), however the outcome of that persuasion will variate depending on the endings :

Upright ending : Liam will eventually give up necromancy, and actually find another field of magic he is drawn towards (that is actually not forbidden or dangerous) : Conjuring magic (I've played Skyrim, can you tell?), although he will as well dip into Voodoo practices (and other types of 'pagan' magic), though safely since he's going to be watched closely by the love interest and Asra (he's got friends on the other side now too- ok I promise I'll stop my references there) ; and so he lives happily ever after with the love interest.

Reversed ending : (now, I've not finished any route yet, and so I don't exactly know how accurate to lore this is, so it's very possible that all this might be... impossible. But I bend reality to my will and I do whatever the fuck I want, I'm an artist) Liam, devastated by having lost his love interest in some way, will fully give in to his forbidden practices, but to survive and save them, he will actually find a way to become the new patron arcana of Death (or at least a second one) and wage war on the Devil with his undead troupes, in order to free his beloved from their deal and set them free, and hopefully keep everyone out of danger in the process by making the Devil busy fighting skeletons. He will find a way to save (Julian) them.

Delicatessen-°-o-°-o-°-o-°-o-°-o.

Victim of the Red Plague, Delicatessen's original name is unknown. If he's being honest with himself, he's forgotten it. He was simply another patient with a number attached to him. Patient n°056. He was "lucky" being in the first few batch of the victims, because in his final moments, doctors still had the patience and strength to accompany him. However, he did not want this to be the end. He may not have a cure, but he had something much more unique and morally ambiguous means to survive : if he was dying, then he'd be reborn.

Long ago, his father had saved a noble's life. In return, he'd gotten this gift, and intricately carved golden needle, with a sort of tiny vial at the tip of it, which contained a crimson liquid similar to blood. It was quite obvious that once poked with the needle, the blood would be transferred to whatever was poked... There was a letter as well, with the needle, inside the neatly decorated wooden box :

"in your last hour, after the sun has set, stare at your reflection, for it is the last time you will see it ; let go of who you were, for you will wither away ; place the needle to your neck, and rejoice in the sacrifice, for you know it will allow you to be reborn"

He remembered his father telling him he refused to ever use the gift, for he thought it was more of a curse. Delicatessen doesn't want to live forever either. But he certainly doesn't want the Plague to be his end. And so, Delicatessen poked his neck with the needle, and opened his eyes again as the moon rose high into the sky. He then left the room he'd been left to die in, and went into the streets of Vesuvia, leaving behind him an impossible to solve mystery for the doctors : "the vanished corpse of patient n°056"

After the end of the Plague, a new, more discreet disease hit the darkest streets of Vesuvia : people who'd passed out drunk during the night would wake up with missing limbs, only to find them later all dried of their blood in the streets. Naturally, it frightened absolutely everybody. Taverns were forbidden to open at night and the civilians were highly encouraged to stay inside no matter what. It went on for months, and the culprit had been nicknamed Delicatessen, because of how it looked like they were considering people as meat markets. Patient n°056, now a vampire, actually stuck with the name, finding it quite funny and fitting.

But as violently as those horrendous amputation started, they stopped. Delicatessen had disappeared, remaining a mystery to Vesuvia. Deli (yes you can nickname him that) had actually entered a sort of slumber, hidden away, and he wakes up around the same time mc arrives to the Palace for the first time. But he didn't go back to his life of crime. oddly enough, he'd found a new passion (which he suspects he always had, but his transition to un-death and his time as a sick patient might have broken what was holding him back from actually doing it (moral compass)) : in his hideout, he experiments, stitching animal parts together to make chimeras. His first successful experiment is Eve, a cat to which he attached great bat wings. She's his most precious creation.

Baron Vultur-°-o-°-o-°-o-°-o-°-o.

Cursed to eat human flesh to survive, Baron Vultur is a relatively new face in Vesuvia. As a new courtier, he raises a few suspicions amongst the others : who the fuck is this guy and what the hell is he doing here? (he's just a lil guy) Hailing from abroad, Vultur had to flee his unfortunately crumbling kingdom, and so his previous Court. Nadia was kind enough to welcome him to the court, despite the initial disapproval of the other courtiers (how dare this guy bother our devilish schemes hrhrhrggrrhg) ; however, they quickly realized that Vultur might not be too much of a bothersome asset. As a demon himself, he actually has a few things in common with them. Like being kinda funky in the brain. Or having sharp teeth. But he's a lil fucked up, like all of 'em. Initially not very talkative and simply letting his new environment sink in, Baron Vultur eventually warms up to the other courtiers, having a few more affinities with Valdemar and Vulgora, with whom he hangs around more from then on.

As they grew more friendly, Vultur actually mentioned the lung surgery he went through, months back. His old kingdom now crumbled, it's only natural he has no doctor to have routine checkups with. And so he asked Valdemar who, to his surprise, accepted. However, the Quaestor did NOT expect Vultur's stitches to be so... uhm... it wasn't in a good state. They'd even commented "I don't know who was your doctor before, but this is butcher work", before proceeding to schedule an appointment with the Baron where they'd fixed the previous intervention's damage. And so, Vultur now has frequent checkups with them. It is also during one of those checkups that he was forced to explain his peculiar diet, since he'd gotten a rib stuck in his throat, and had asked Valdemar for help. He'd went outside that night, finding fresh corpses to scavenge on, and his demonic form for some reason had not thrown up the full skeleton. This is how it was brought to the Quaestor's attention that Vultur needs to consume human flesh to survive.

That does explain his carnivore like teeth. But what- who does he feed from? Baron Vulture actually attends weekly public executions, and once the crowd has cleared out, steals the criminal's body to feed off of it (whether it's during the daytime or the evening) ; sometimes he saves it for later, when he wants the meat cooked in a particular way, or just feels like eating a fancy dish. This is why servants have seen him in the kitchen a few times, making his own meals for dinners, instead of taking those already prepared. But he does like it raw at times ; Vulgora had surprised him devouring a piece of meat (which they didn't know was human, it was impossible to guess) ravenously, drenching his chin, neck and the collar of his clothes in blood once. That did stir unknown feelings in them.

But what about his demon form, then ? Baron Vultur actually turns into a sort of chimera : easily the most massive and imposing of the demon courtiers, he has a humanoid face, though he still has carnivore like teeth (just like in his humanoid form) ; he has panthera front paws ; vulture wings, hind legs, and tail, and a long feathery neck as well, like one of a vulture (because... because his name is Vultur haha get it ? Ok I shut up). He can actually fly, though due to his size, it would most likely get the attention of more than one fellow, so he doesn't do it often. (I actually plan on drawing it later jehehehejjehej)

___________________S_m_a_l_l___B_o_n_u_s___________________

Do they all know each other ?

Liam and Delicatessen actually came to know each other in one stupidly on time coincidence : they had both sneaked into Valdemar's dungeons. Liam needed a corpse for his necromancy practices, and Delicatessen needed blood to feed as well as surgical equipment. And Valdemar found the both of them. Stupidly on time coincidence I was saying. That means there are actually only two people that know of Delicatessen (and honestly maybe it's better like that). Baron Vultur does know of Liam, but isn't exactly invested in getting to know him too much, unless it's absolutely necessary.

Tag for those who asked🧡@lunumochi ; @mosssummoner Disclaimer ! : I haven't finished the first route yet, so if there are lore inaccurate infos, it's not on purpose and I apologize

[eoieopda]

Hello lovely lady :) I’m here to pretty please request a JK drabble because I miss him terribly and if you have the time because I very much am in love with your writing 🥹🥹 Tattoo artist JK who gets a crazy stupid adult crush on a customer who comes to him to do a very meaningful tattoo for her and they spend all night eating and talking afterwards and it’s all giggly and cute because he will find any reason to touch her 😭😭 and now I’m going to jump off a cliff bc I miss him so much LOL

sorry for the wait, sweet bean!

cw: mention of needles, general reference to trauma (not described); description of a bad tattoo i've seen in real life; reader gets one of my actual tattoos because fuck it, we ball.

Jeon Jungkook considered himself an artist. This wasn't based on his literal job title, but on the immeasurable time and effort he spent studying, practicing, and working as an apprentice. On the sheer number of oranges that went off to rot in dumpsters with shakily tattooed skin.

For years, he placed permanent art on the bodies of strangers for tips only — if clients bothered with the courtesy, that is. Little designs off the flash sheet, last-minute friendship tattoos for university students who'd fall out of touch upon graduating. It was grueling work, but it was worth it.

When he finished his apprenticeship and was promoted to resident artist, Jungkook figured that he'd spend his days seriously — on serious shit that took hours to design and even longer to translate onto a living, breathing, squirming canvas. That was the hope, anyway.

In reality, Jungkook had spent the entirety of his day doing unspeakably stupid shit. He'd just finished tattooing "Seoul" in hiragana for a tourist who didn't seem to know which side of the Strait he was on — and then you walked in.

You shouldn't have been the only person he'd seen all day that already had tattoos, but you were. You clearly knew how this was supposed to go; and Jungkook almost started floating when the crushing weight of his exasperation finally fell off his shoulders.

Finally.

He didn't mean to audibly sigh with relief when you stepped up to the counter. He did, though, and he was well past the point of giving a shit if that should have embarrassed him.

"Rough day?" You tilted your head to the side when you asked and you looked genuinely concerned, even with that tiny, sideways smile.

Jungkook was torn. Yours was a face worth staring at, but the gallery spreading over both of your exposed arms was one he wanted to get lost in. He knew more than anyone how fucking it weird it was when strangers gave themselves permission to run their hands over his skin — but he might finally understand the urge.

Swallowing down that intrusive desire, Jungkook gripped his Red Bull can even tighter in his left hand — twenty ounces, reserved exclusively for the most severe instances of brain rot — and balled his right hand into a fist. He rapped his knuckles against the countertop and shot you a grin, "Nah, it's golden."

Jungkook had been right about two things. The first was that you weren't a fainter, a flincher, or a cry-baby.

If he hadn't stolen so many glances at you throughout the session; and if your quiet laughter wasn't the pacemaker preventing his swooning heart from stopping; he might've thought that you were meditating. Sleeping, even, or hit with a freeze ray. You were still, entirely unfazed like you weren't being stabbed thousands of times per second with a bouquet of needles.

Jungkook was also dead-on that this day, despite its frustrating start, was golden. Better yet, it didn't end when your session did. When he'd blurted out an invitation to dinner, you said yes.

Sitting down across the table from him with your forearm dutifully covered in cling-wrap, you shot him an adorably sheepish smile. "Could you, um —?" You gestured to the perilla leaves on your plate with the chopsticks in your non-dominant hand. "I'm not as dexterous as I was two hours ago."

"I'm on it, boss."

He didn't have time to cringe over that statement or the wink that accompanied it because your knuckles brushed his when you slid your plate to him and — Are you a child? Why are you blushing? For fuck's sake, get a grip, Jeon.

You sipped your beer as you watched him; and it had Jungkook fumbling as if he was using chopsticks for the first time in his life and not the thousandth. Thankfully, instead of laughing at him, you asked, "So, what's the dumbest tattoo you've had to do for someone?"

"Cartoon corn-on-the-cob," Jungkook responded without hesitation. The memory was burned into his brain, a tattoo in its own right. "But that alone isn't the worst part, and neither is the fact that its face looked like it was moaning with a pat of butter sliding down its front."

You groaned, but you were grinning, "Jesus. Do I even want to know the worst part?"

"Butter me up, daddy."

Automatically, you raised your freshly-tattooed arm and slapped your hand over your mouth to keep your drink inside it. You winced at the sting on your skin and, no doubt, the burn in your chest as you coughed, "Come again?"

Jungkook slid your plate back over to you with pursed lips. Then, he took a deep breath. "That was the script they wanted to go with it," He sighed, "I spent a decade of my life on my craft and that is what I do with it."

"I'm sure the linework on the horny corn was beautiful, though." Your eyes sparkled when your tone softened. The sight of you stopped him from laughing at the words you chose.

He gestured down to the vintage floor lamp he'd etched in fine black ink on your forearm. "Looks better when the person I'm tattooing sits still," He smiled, "And you can correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you put thought into that, rather than thirst. Otherwise, I will have follow-up questions about whatever kink that might be."

Ugh, that giggle.

"Have you heard of ghost lights before?" You asked between bites of your kimchi.

When Jungkook shook his head, you cleared your throat to explain. "When you close up a theater after a show, you have to put a lamp on the stage. It's primarily a safety thing — keeps people from falling over set pieces or into the orchestra pit — but it helps out with ghosts, too."

Jungkook shifted in his chair and leaned in a little closer to more clearly hear what came next. He was riveted, and there was no hiding it.

"There are a couple of different superstitions about why it's done, but the one I grew up with was that it keeps ghosts from messing with your props and technical equipment while you're gone."

You quieted before you tacked on the amendment, corner of your mouth momentarily twitching up into a sad smile, "Figured this tattoo might help me ward off some of my own."

Your hand was close enough to his on the table that he could've pretended it was an accident. He didn't, though. The microscopic movement until his little finger touched yours was intentional; and he wanted you to know it.

Not daring to move that hand away, Jungkook grabbed his drink with the other and raised it. He waited for you to raise yours, too, before cheering, "To ghosts that mind their own fucking business!"

[barrenclan]

YESSSS NEW ISSUEEE

WHO MADE THIS CHILD GROW UP?!?!?? give him BACK his silly!!!!! his YIPPEE!!

HOLY SHIT ASPHODEL MOMENT!! YEAH YOU RIP AWAY FROM YOUR NEEDS TO BE PRAISED BY A TOXIC INDIVIDUAL!! she’s so…. human.. well, cat, but yaknow!! HOLY SHIT SHE’S APOLOGIZING?!?!,

WAIR THERE WERE OTHEE KITS BWFORE THEM??? THEY DIE??? HOLY FUCK

GRRR PLUMSTRIPE!!!!! yes i’m happy we’re going into it!!!! but another one of beeface’s and plumstripe’s rivalries being hooking up their apprentices with the stranger is!!! so gross!! putting both of them in the blender!!

YESSSS AUNTY EGRETTAIL!!! the local therapy!!! love her <333 also it being ‘mateless’ instead of ‘aromantic’ is so cool to me?? idk

ASPHODELPAW WITH HER LEGS UP AND WITH SUNGLASSES?? HOLY FUCK I MANIFESTED THIS….. also cormorantpine sillies

NOOO WHY DID IT HAVE TO END WITH PINE FEARRRRR !!!!! LET HIM RESSSST

wiggles around. i enjoy this issue :3

Pinepaw has lost his silly forever... :(

Asphodelpaw is growin she's gettin better!! The kits are just hypothetical though, she's imagining the kittens her Clan would be pressuring her into.

I didn't start this comic intending to make Plumstripe and Beeface such trash piles, but that's kind of how it ended up. The brat sisters!

Throughout the whole comic, I wanted to keep it consistent that the cats don't have words for sexuality and gender like we do, so no one is called "gay" or "bisexual" or "asexual". Mateless is the only real word I came up with, though, usually the cats refer to something like "tom who likes toms and she-cats".

Asphodelpaw is chillin and nothing is wrong haha :)

Don't even worry about it.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What kind of shenanigans can happen if Eru Lee and Minato happen to accidentally fall into twilight world and couldn’t directly go back (they’re stuck for now)?

Will they even interact with anyone?

Or like Maybe in the start of the battle in BD? Will that change the outcome of the “battle” somehow?

Anon's referring to Minato Namikaze and the Destroyer of Worlds.

The thing is, when it comes to crossover, I have to default to Lee and Obito. They're just more susceptible to shenanigans and interesting plotlines/things happening. And it's tradition. I'm sorry, anon, I have no choice.

Well, per the laws of interesting things happening, part of the problem of why the pair can't go back is Obito somehow immediately gets eaten by a vampire. Perhaps they're drawn in by the taste of his sweet sweet Uchiha blood only to realize "oh no, this is inedible alien gunk and what the fuck even is this" as Obito is both descended from alien gunk and uh had misadventures where he's more alien than he would have been otherwise thanks to a terrible time in a cave.

Three days later, after one hell of a fever, Lee realizes her beloved apprentice has turned into a crystal cannibalistic demon who, per how gifts in Twilight seem to work, is even more powerful than he was as Obito Uchiha with an uncontrollable thirst to eat people.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck" says Lee.

The rest of the time is spent on a quest to turn Obito back into a not cannibalistic crystal alien demon and Obito can you stop eating people for two seconds? (Obito has been living on a diet of clones/unfortunate humans who got too close).

It quickly becomes apparant that even if they could go home... if they do... this thing seems to be infectuous and the village will try to turn everyone into overpowered cannibal shinobi which is a very bad idea. Even if they just sacrifice a few to become berserker blood gods... that's bad.

"Maybe we shouldn't go home" Lee slowly realizes as she can't exactly leave Obito here/she was having issues at home anyway, and she can't seem to turn Obito back.

It then becomes a quest of "how do recovering shinobi do in a world where there's no feudal Japan" and "where do we put recovering crystal cannibalistic ghoul demon" and "why are other cannibalistic ghoul demons after us???" when they're a little too obvious with "we are alien shinobi, please hire us to murder bandits!"

I imagine they're propositioned by the Volturi and there's a lot of :/ "working for non-Konoha hidden village is bad".

If/when they come into contact with the Cullens I imagine there's a lot of "these people are weird" as the Cullens would appear extra weird to Lee and Obito. Though they might join to get Obito off of the clone juice. You know. That would be nice.

Sorry, anon, it's one of those questions best answered by writing a fic but I'm probably not going to do that.

[apprenticestanheight]

you put the idea out there and now i cant stop thinking about it, any headcannons on how poly!chainshipping would go down?

Poly! Chainshipping headcanons

Hi!! I have had this idea on my brain for a while now and I posted the poll referencing it more than two weeks ago! If my memory serves right this came in around the time that the poll was posted, so I apologize for the wait--a lot of personal stuff has been going on as has planning for NaNoWriMo this month hasn't been the best in terms of my writing frequency lol.

Fic type- this is fluff mostly! Mentions of the bathroom trap, though

Warnings- mentions of smokes/smoking--the reader gets put into the trap due to a nicotine addiction in part so it's discussed a lot

Okay, so

the way that the three of you meet is through the bathroom trap--Lawrence is put there due to a lack of empathy and for cheating on his wife, Adam is put there because of his spying on people via photography, and you're there because of an innate sense of cynicism and hopelessness that's reflected through your personality and the way that you move through life coupled with a minor nicotine addiction.

Adam takes the cigarette when you all find them but you refuse despite the craving because all that Jigsaw had said in your regard was to let go of former vices and trust those around you--let yourself have hope and be optimistic.

Letting go of former vices was obviously in reference to your nicotine use, and you fought the cravings you were dealing with despite the fact that fending them away made you want to bite off your own hand.

in the end, as the story goes, Lawrence cut his own foot off. He told you and Adam that he would be back with help, and you had no choice but to trust him.

The following days were pretty bad--you and Adam would talk through the darkness, telling each other about your lives and reminding one another of Lawrences promise.

Eventually, John Kramer came around with one of his apprentices. They knocked you out with the top of the toilet, which Adam had used to kill Zep Hindle, and you were taken to separate hospitals in the Jersey area.

You give a statement to the police and book a hotel for a week--you were taken from your apartment and going back kind of stings, so you prolong the fact that you'll have to do so anyway.

In the week you stay at the hotel, your manager at work gives you paid time off rather than unpaid because you're traumatized and they feel guilty.

It's not a dampener on your paycheck, either, as they did something that's probably a little illegal and wrote off the shifts you missed in a way that still lets you get paid for those days.

You start going for walks and eventually wind up at the Jigsaw support group. You know Adam would find it stupid but Lawrence would probably appreciate it, and you know that a support system is what you need

even if the support system is made up of strangers, even if your trap is a hell of a lot more tame than some of theirs, it's still nice.

Lawrence ends up at the support group, and when you see him it's like your world completely flips over.

Adam also shows up that day and you're startled to realize your world has flipped over twice in under twenty minutes.

Your conversation goes something like this:

"Lawrence! I didn't expect to see you here--I've missed you lately, how've you been?" and then you look at Adam and you're like "You are the last person I thought I would see at a support group. I've missed you, though. A lot."

Lawrences response is "things aren't so great. Heard about this in the paper, figured I'd see what it's all about."

Adams response is: "Heard about it on the news. Thought I'd come around for some half decent free food, but seeing you guys again is a nice bonus."

And things just kind of...develop from there?? Afterwards Lawrence is like "let's grab a coffee--my treat!" and you and Adam both agree because you never thought you'd see him or each other again but holy fuck is it nice.

Things are a little stilted for a few weeks as you all develop feelings for one another. You're all distracted because you're deeply in love but haven't told one another yet and so the conversation comes and goes, but like--it's obvious from the get-go that you support each other and are consistent in that support.

After the trap, you decided to quit cigarettes cold turkey. A bit of a rash decision in hindsight, but Adam and Lawrence devise a system where they learn what your tells are when the cravings kick in and they do something to distract you instead.

Lawrences mode of distraction is to tell you about his day or, when the weather is cold, offer to go on walks.

You end up adopting a cat that you leash train. Adam finds that HILARIOUS because you genuinely take the cat outside on leash for a solid half hour once every few days. Lawrence even laughs a little to himself when he suggests a walk while the cravings are getting so bad that you're starting to shake because--

it's a cat. on a leash. Actively enjoying time outdoors. It's not the norm in Jersey so seeing it is kind of a spectacle.

Adams way of distracting you is like his love language--physical touch

especially after you've all confessed your feelings to each other and are actively romancing it up

Adam will pick up on one of your tells--grabbing the lighter you have and flicking it a few times is your biggest because the lighter is what you grabbed first, then you'd find your cigarettes and go out onto the porch for a bit.

Adam just kind of,, grabs the lighter from you while pressing a kiss to the side of your head and pockets it while saying that you're stronger than your addiction.

You give in because there's no point in fighting against him, let him smother you in kisses and affection instead while trying to avoid thinking about the fact that you'll have to go into work the next morning

There are two ends of the scale. Lawrence sits on one side of it while Adam sits on the other--Lawrence is a law abiding citizen who regularly makes a point out of sleeping eight or nine hours, makes sure he eats healthily and doesn't engage in anything like drinking or smokes too often.

Adam is the opposite--because he doesn't have insurance, he's not been to the doctor in quite some time (other than the trip post-trap, which he spent several hours contesting the bills for to get it down from nearly $7000 to $250) and he likes his cigarettes and takeaway food.

You are somewhere in the middle--you have insurance because you worked the mandatory 2000 hours and two years of work to become eligible so all of your current health records are up to date. However, like Adam, you had to spend several hours calling the right people and getting your charges reduced because there was no way you could afford $7000 in medical bills if you were paying it out of pocket. You don't really care enough to watch what you eat, so to speak (you, too, are a semi-regular enjoyer of takeaway but you monitor things like your hearts BPM and you try to avoid stuff that will just make living more difficult via health issue) and because of your addictions you avoid cigarettes vehemently but you don't mind things like weed or the occasional glass of brandy

It's like--Lawrence isn't chaotic at all. Adam has moments where he's chaos incarnate. You?? you bounce between neutrality and chaos somewhat infrequently.

Generally, though?? it's a very nice existence. You watch SO MANY SUNSETS together and you and Adam somehow convince Lawrence to smoke weed with you which is a fun experience

[idyllic-affections]

got a junior herbalist idea for you :3

Baizhu overheats EASILY, aka basically whenever he leaves the pharmacy in hot weather. The longer he spends out there the more he slowly loses energy (Changsheng joked it was like an 'energy broth'. Put him in the sun and it all evaporates. Baizhu sighed heavily.)

the junior herbalist has a similar weak constitution, so same thing. Baizhu & herbalist have to pay the same price for overheating: becoming absolutely exhausted/sleepy.

in the rare cases the whole gang has to go out for something, especially in hot weather, Baizhu and the herbalist immediately crash once getting back to the pharmacy and get herded into the back room with some fans. peek in 5 minutes later and they're both completely out, sleeping the afternoon away. (if both are okay w/ it and not sticky, sometimes they'll cuddle a little.)

heat exhaustion.

summary. the heat drains is very draining for the majority of those who work at bubu pharmacy.

trigger & content warnings. depictions of heat exhaustion and references to heat stroke.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff, comfort. baizhu & reader. 0.9k words. they/them pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. REAL OMG I GET LIKE THIS, EXTREME HEAT LITERALLY SAPS ALL MY ENERGY WITHIN THE HOUR. I FEEL LIKE A FUCKING CORPSE IN THE HEAT. i relate so bad..... i know EXACTLY what this is like so i RAN to do this request when you sent it HSJSHSKGJG im working on your dain req btw <33

i like to think that summer is every bubu pharmacy employee's least favorite season. gui dislikes it because he knows everyone else finds the heat tough to deal with, whereas baizhu and [name] hate it because it means they'll both be more likely to be out of commission, given how inclined they are to overheating.

qiqi also overheats, so she dislikes the summer for that same reason. she hates the feeling of being hot. she hates overheating. since she's a zombie, it's just... very uncomfortable and, in some cases, even painful for her. it stresses her out.

it stresses everyone out, really.

the pharmacy's atmosphere tends to be a little more frantic and tense during the summer as everyone tries to stay on top of their respective bodily conditions.

due to the collective struggle with heat, it isn't uncommon for trips out of the pharmacy during the day to be reduced to a minimum. qiqi can't handle gathering herbs when the temperature gets a bit too high, even with her cryo vision, so it's typically left to gui to do tasks like that while the sun is up. he doesn't mind it much at all.

he's not quite as sensitive to the heat as everyone else, so it's hardly an issue for him.

sometimes, however, going out during the day can't be helped. even when the weather is poor, leaving most of the pharmacists in equally poor condition, people still get sick and injured. that's the unfortunate truth.

sometimes emergency trips need to be made. high-priority house calls, herb gathering... some situations cannot be avoided, and given that [name] virtually always comes along with baizhu on house calls to gain experience and knowledge...

yeah.

it's not exactly uncommon for one or both of them to come back nearly ridden with heat stroke. heat exhaustion is a common result of such outings, which could become heat stroke if both aren't careful.

baizhu would certainly, 100% give them the option to opt out of house calls during the summer—they may be his apprentice, yes, but he would never force them into situations that would put their health or safety at serious risk, and there's plenty of other things they could do back at the pharmacy that wouldn't put them at such a high risk—but they wouldn't want him to have to go out in the heat alone, so they'd go with him regardless.

he downright refuses take them on house calls too far outside of liyue harbor in extremely hot weather, though.

(he also very rarely goes anywhere too far from the city during the summer, and the citizens of liyue are generally very understanding of the reason behind that. if he absolutely has to, however, he literally won't allow [name] to come along because of the serious risk it poses to their wellbeing.)

it's really just a learning process more than anything.

each pharmacist needs to learn where exactly their own limit is. it takes time and practice.

sometimes [name] overestimates their own ability. even so... they're certainly more skilled at working with their body rather than against it compared to how they were before their employment.

nonetheless, heat exhaustion is still a common and expected ailment at bubu pharmacy.

With tired, slightly uncoordinated fingers, they unclipped all of their unnecessary accessories, shedding anything they possibly could. They sat with their legs crossed on the bed often used for both the pharmacists' and patients' recovery needs. Anything that could make their body temperature higher, any unnecessary layers of their clothing, had to go. Given how exhausted they already were from the heat... they were at a considerable risk for heat stroke. There simply wasn't room for the extra cosmetic things when the weather was so unbearably hot.

The backroom of Bubu Pharmacy was thankfully rather cool with consideration for the dreadful heat outside. The air was pleasantly chilling against the festering heat beneath their feverish skin. They sighed, rubbing the inner corner of one of their eyes with their fingertips, as if to rub the tiredness away. It did nothing to help their state.

"It's way too hot this summer..."

"You didn't have to come along, [Name]," Baizhu mused, reassuring as he settled beside them, "I would have understood if you wanted to stay behind. It is rather hot this year."

"No, I know," they replied gently, interrupted halfway through by a yawn, "but I would have felt kind of bad if I didn't. I like helping people."

He softly tapped their shoulder, signalling them to lay down, which they did without any complaint, mindful to leave space for Qiqi in case she decided she wanted to curl up at their side (which she sometimes did if the pharmacy wasn't especially busy). "Remember not to do so at your own expense. You don't need to push yourself so hard. You have to be mindful of your condition, [Name]."

They went quiet, shooting him a critical look.

"I respect you so much Dr. Baizhu, but that is insanely hypocritcal of you to say. You are such a hypocrite. I just know that if Changsheng weren't off hiding somewhere, she'd back me up right now."

The doctor merely chuckled. "You may be right. Nonetheless, my point still stands."

"Yeah, I know, but it's not as if I passed out or anything. I used to faint in the heat all the time, but it happens less now... I've gotten better since working here."

He smiled fondly, gingerly taking off his glasses and setting them to the side. Baizhu shifted a little, getting into a position that was comfortable. "You have, indeed."

Quiet murmurs, discussions of medicinal practice and others of similar content, were eventually lost to the weight of heat exhaustion.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[moki-dokie]

since my post about sexuality in bes took off, i've been thinking about making one about gender because people have been even more Chronically Western about that than anything. but the topic of gender has also been talked to death about this show.

still. i've yet to see a single person touch on the actual historical aspect of gender in this period of japan. (weeaboos where ARE yall??? i cannot be the only one left here jfc)

so, more below the cut.

okay. so. before westernization and christianity came in and obliterated and sanitized the culture, there were 3 recognized genders that i know of. there was possibly a fourth but my research only got me so far on that and i gave it up a long time ago. i'm gonna be talking about the 3 i do know about.

male and female were the obvious ones. aligns exactly how you think. cock and balls = male/man, vag and tits = female/woman. yes, there were many crossdressers of both genders. yes, there were people who by today's language and understanding would be considered trans. they, however, did not have these words nor have a need for them. you were either man or woman. or...

then there was a third, which was USUALLY but not always applied to adolescent males called wakashu. the closest thing you might refer it to is androgynous. earlier in edo period it was pretty much a catch-all for any adolescent male, but much later it became far more specific to the exceptional beauty of the young male. a wakashu was a sex icon, something to be desired and lusted after, so beautiful and alluring that even the most stoic and hardened samurai warrior could break and beg for their attention. and yes, we're talking about minors. wakashu were typically in the 6-17 age range. many delayed their coming-of-age ceremony (which would then make a wakashu a man) well into their 20s. and there are records of some who continued to identify as wakashu even into adulthood. a person could decide when it was time to move from wakashu to man, it wasn't so set in stone.

this time in japan did have a lot of strictness but there was also a whole hell of a lot of fluidity that was just so extremely normal for them. choosing to remain wakashu wasn't a big deal. want to go on to be a man? cool, congrats on all your man-related responsibilities now hurry up and find a wife. want to remain wakashu? cool, congrats on all the awesome sex you're gonna be having and the many things you'll be learning. either way was a good path. you were likely to have a bit more opportunities gaining power and land going forward as a man, but as wakashu you'd be expected to be an apprentice and learn more things from your teacher (while also sexually servicing him, extra bonus - most of the time.), so both had benefits. a samurai class wakashu, for example, would very likely go on to be a man since by nature of being samurai they have tons more opportunity. but a peasant wakashu would probably be more likely to remain wakashu and learn as much as possible and earn as much money as possible (since they were often prostitutes or performers as well).

so desirable were wakashu that sometimes female prostitutes tried to disguise themselves as one to attract more clients. they were often indistinguishable from women with their colorful and intricate kimono - sometimes the hairstyle was the only giveaway. and though the japanese didn't give a shit about the gender they were fucking, as i've covered before, true wakashu enjoyed a bit more freedoms with sex than did women pretending to be wakashu. like i mentioned in my previous post how they did have specific terms for who was giving and who was receiving in sex, certain aspects played into this. wakashu were expected to receive when with men, and expected to give with women. this would of course depend a little upon caste heirarchy too but that was the general gist of it. women on the other hand were expected to always receive. (and although straps were very much a thing, you'll find the double ended dildo far more popular amongst w/w relationships - at least in depictions. in reality it was probably an equal mix.)

the concept of wakashu has not entirely left japanese culture and has actually since been divvied up into the two aspects it represented: youth (shonen) and beauty (bishonen). hence why shonen manga and anime is so popular, why there are always always always bishonen prominent in manga and anime, why yaoi often has the strict dichotomy of uke and seme. and why shotac-n remains so wildly popular while the loli opposite has gradually declined with the introduction of censorship laws. the entire concept surrounding adolescent males is still very rooted in the role that the wakashu gender played until quite recent in history. (it formally ended in the meiji era, which was not that long ago.)

now with all of that said, where does mizu fall? she's still a woman. plain and simple. had she been born in late edo, she would have absolutely been considered an extraordinarily beautiful wakashu and lusted after constantly. people would be tripping over themselves to bed her. but being early edo that was not the case and she is still a woman having to disguise as a man in order to survive so she can fulfill her goal. that must be acknowledged. that is a key point that is brought up many times within the show. to ignore that fact is to erase who mizu is. she is masking as a man because she has been told since childhood being a woman would get her killed. because she has seen it far too many times how simply existing as a woman leads to a dead end. because she tried it and it turned out exactly as she was told. being a woman is not an option in her quest for revenge. if she weren't mixed race, though? i'd bet my left hand she would have embraced the hell out of wakashu and used it to her advantage. screw sex as an art, mizu would have made it a weapon. mizu wielding both a sword and the sexuality of wakashu would make her the deadliest thing in all of japan. however, that wasn't the case and we musn't ignore what is ths case. in her world, she is a woman forced to disguise as a man. period.

mizu by today's standard's is a whole different story, though. there is enough ambiguity that she can fit nearly any label you want to slap on her and that's fine. we have a lot more leniency with modern western terms. we have a huge spectrum of gender and you can toss her just about anywhere on it. you are all correct and incorrect simultaneously because any modern terminology applied to her is automatically headcanon. and just as i emphasized on my last post, headcanons, fics, AUs, ect, are exactly where these modern western ideals belong. it's awesome that she resonates with so many different gender identities - few characters in media can pull that off so well! yall should absolutely celebrate that! use her to express your gender euphoria! but do so while remembering who she is in canon. her canon experience is not pure fiction. there are still people in today's world that must disguise themselves out of necessity and quite often that ends up being women of color. there are people in living history who had to do that to survive.

you can respect the source material and also have your own unique headcanons and perspectives. both can be true.

[sharkjumpers]

youre insane for that. youre so crazy. a man says "i see you" to sam and he proceeds to speedrun the most complicated father-figure/mentor and apprentice dynamic because of it. That might KILL him.

Oh my God I've had to type this out three times. Ok. Take three. First of all Mav said "yeah and Matt only said it as a joke".

I was trying to say: yeah, it's driving me crazy thinking about everyone's general inability to go unseen around Cass because her first language is the body--her understanding of the world and those around her hinges upon looking directly *at* them. She looks at someone--complete strangers--in a uniquely (and scarily) intimate way that no one else around them can manage by virtue of not being raised the way she was raised. It's impossible to not be seen by her.

But it's much harder for her to be seen by other people. She's always on the outskirts. Cass is saddled with a very unique loneliness—a disabled one that further plays into the connection I think she and Sam could find within one another. She is alienated on so many levels; the root of her lonely existence ties back to being raised by David Cain (a white man) in a bunker, isolated and alienated from any community she may have had growing up, robbed of any verbal contact with others, any chance of a normal life, and just any generally relatable experience. The Lonely City defined it wonderfully:

As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was also the shame of having been on the streets at all, the worry that people would know he’d been a hustler, and judge him for it. He found himself plagued throughout his early twenties by an inability to speak, to acknowledge verbally what he’d been through, the experiences that he’d had. ‘There was no way I could relate them to anybody in a room full of people at any party anywhere,’ he told his friend Keith Davis in a taped conversation years later. ‘The sense of carrying experiences on my shoulder, where I could sit there and look at people and realize there was just no frame of reference that was similar to theirs.’ And again in Close to the Knives: ‘I could barely speak when in the company of other people. There was never a point in conversations at work, parties or gatherings when I could reveal what I’d seen.’

And from Batman: Ego...

Cass lost her chance for a normal life before she was even born. My point here is she is fundamentally lonely and that there is an uncrossable divide between her and society at large. She can't go to school. She can't really make friends who aren't people she already knows from work. She can't get back what was taken from her... so she also chooses to make do with it. She forces herself onto the outskirts.

And I've said this to Mav before, but I think this will always be one of the fundamentals of Batgirl for Cass to me: an inability to coexist with a normal life. There is no way to change the past (though she's constantly trying to make-up for killing one man as an eight year old girl), so Cass fully commits herself to the anonymity of Batgirl.

Okay. Do you like my essay? I'm finally getting back to our friend Sam.

... who, in Mav's words, is the guy who felt so invisible he said fuck you, I'm going to do it on purpose. Who, in my words, is fucking (rightfully) crazy about being seen. It's something he's been deprived of. Unlike Cass, Sam is in.

He's not, but he is. He's technically part of society. He functions within it, something Cass can never do. But he is constantly being overlooked. Outside of Chinatown, he rarely registers on anyone's radar. Blindspot. No one looks at him. He's a janitor. He's completely invisible. And then when he's at the Temple, he's still being deprived of his right to be an individual. His own mother knocks away the only visible part of him (his mask) when he reveals himself to her. ("I don't want to see you anymore either.") I think if Cass came across this guy, his body would be screaming "PLEASE LOOK AT ME". And she'd notice it screaming in the first place.

So essentially yeah you're right it might just kill him. They would make great friends. Some things happened to me in my formative years that I don't want to tell you about but some things happened to you too. Idk maybe Batgirl is the lesbian situationship Blindspot needs. Can you tell I am autistic also and like comic books a lot. Also Mav says their tattoo itches. Anyways this all boils down to "Look at me and I'll look at you" I think.

[peithopathos]

Rangers Apprentice Opinion on the TV show "How Its Made"

Will - Loves it, basically his childhood TV show, (if he managed to keep the remote for more than 30 seconds.) Casually watches it in his free time and constantly remembers the show anytime he uses something that appeared in an episode.

Horace - Doesn't get the hype. It is just kind of boring to him. Hated it when Will used to put it on as a kid, but mostly now puts up with it and goes to do something else whenever it is on.

Gilan - Crack for his brain. He can't remember a single fact from the show, but he'll casually walk into a room when Will is watching it and the theme will come on, and suddenly it'll be six hours later and he's on his 10th episode and he's learning about Dipping Dots and how the fuck did he get here?

Halt - Secretly watches episodes on his phone while hiding under his bedsheets at 3am like a kid with their Nintendo DS when they're supposed to be in bed. He's watched all the episodes 5 times now and knows most of the narration by heart. Still pretends he hasn't watched any of the episodes when his kids are watching, he does talk about it with Pauline frequently though (after they are married.)

Crowley - Uses it for background noise when he's cooking or cleaning, can't sit still long enough to watch it on its own.

Pauline - Absolutely knew that the show was some sort of comfort thing for Halt, so she started to casually have it on in the background whenever he was around. Unfortunately, this has had the effect of Halt thinking she watches the show a bunch, so he'll drop really obscure narration references/comments/complaints to her and she has no idea what the fuck he is talking about so she has had to go back through and seriously watch most of the show to keep up the original facade of her watching the show rather than admit that she just had it on in the background because Halt just gets so happy about the fact she also watches it.

Maddie - The FX noises they use freak her out so she usually changes the channel whenever it's on. Doesn't get why anyone chose to watch it in the first place. She once tried to ask about the weird logo animations and got a four-hour lecture about how cable ads used to work.

[jedi-enthusiast]

My Thoughts on Episode One

Keep in mind that these are just my thoughts that I've written down as I watch the show, they may change or I may expand on them later.

"Former Jedi Knight Ahsoka Tano-"

Bitch, she was never Knighted! She was a padawan!

I see we're already starting off strong /s

Although, I will say, I'm glad they put "the EVIL Galactic Empire" because the way some people talk about the Empire is like they're trying to make it seem like it wasn't that bad---at least this shuts those bootlickers up. So, silver linings!

----------

Ngl I think Dave Filoni was trying way too hard to recreate the "hallway scene" with Darth Vader in Rogue One and failed miserably.

Also, if people keep referring to Ahsoka as a "Jedi" throughout this episode, I may or may not explode.

-----------

"The Order doesn't exist anymore."

And I am once again reliving Order 66 and crying, thanks a lot.

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"Let's just say I didn't follow 'standard Jedi protocol.'"

Given what we see of her interrogation tactics in that one TCW episode with Luminara, as well as Anakin's tactics, when not following "standard Jedi protocol" ...I'm more than a little concerned by what Ahsoka means by this. Did she torture Morgan? Did she take Morgan's mind apart like Maul did to Jesse?

C'mon Ahsoka, what did you do that wouldn't have been standard Jedi protocol?

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"They seem to have abilities like you."

Hera, you were literally basically married to a Jedi and you were also captured by Maul at some point, Kanan talked to you about this stuff and you experienced it...you know what a Sith is.

Ahsoka, you also know what a Sith is.

They're literally wielding red lightsabers in the holo.

Why are both of you acting like you don't know this?

Also, why is Hera talking like she wasn't literally at the battle of Lothal and like she also didn't know of/have beef with Thrawn?

----------

Once again with calling Ahsoka a Jedi.

Also, Ahsoka has always said "I am no Jedi' or said that she isn't a Jedi anytime someone has called her that since she left the Order, so why isn't she denying it now?

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LOTH CATS OH MY FUCKING GOD-

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Ok, I know Ezra's recording is supposed to be this really emotional spurring moment but like...

1. The dialogue feels so utterly flat- (so far most of the dialogue has felt that way for me tbh, it's like...none of the characters are really talking like the characters, yknow? And it all just feels so stilted, like they don't know themselves or the people around them).

And 2. Ezra wouldn't have had time to make a recording??? Him taking out Thrawn was a spur of the moment decision, they didn't know everything was gonna happen the way it did, so how exactly did he make this recording???

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FDSLKJALJHFJA IT WAS A NIGHTSISTER TEMPLE???

MORGAN IS A NIGHTSISTER???

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

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"Ahsoka Tano's former apprentice is on Lothal...you're looking for Sabine Wren."

I assume this is gonna be explained later, so I'm attempting to hold in my judgement---but since when did Jedi start taking non-Force-sensitive apprentices?

Kanan taught Sabine how to use the Darksaber so she wouldn't hurt herself and so that she would let go of her fear/anger/pain so she could face her family---so why in the world was Ahsoka teaching her, and since when is taking a Force-null as an apprentice a thing?

I'm just so confused.

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"There is nothing easy about being a Jedi."

AHSOKA HAS SAID REPEATEDLY THAT SHE IS NOT A JEDI, WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM????

Also, again, since when can Force-nulls become Jedi?

I'm assuming that they're taking the "Sabine is Force-sensitive" route for this, even though it's very weird considering she never showed signs of it in Rebels, but I still feel like they should've already revealed that if that's the case---because right now it's just confusing.

If they don't go that route then I genuinely already hate the route this is going as far as Jedi stuff goes.

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"Anakin never got to finish my training. Before the end of the Clone Wars, I walked away from him...and the Jedi."

*long sigh* not this bullshit again.

Ahsoka he literally helped Palpatine commit genocide against the fucking Jedi---that was probably a bigger factor in you not finishing your training than you deciding to take some time to figure yourself out. Seek therapy, please.

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I'm gonna be honest, this lightsaber battle between Sabine and the apprentice is...so disappointing.

To be fair, though, I've been disappointed by every lightsaber duel since everything set in the Prequel era---nothing can really live up to those duels.

----------

Since when can people live through getting stabbed with a lightsaber, without drawing on the Dark Side?

Sabine should be fucking dead, like Qui-Gon was in TPM.

And before anyone says- "oh it's the end of the episode, you don't know if she's still alive" -yes I do, because I already know she's in episode 2.

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My thoughts on episode 2 will probably either go up tomorrow night or sometime this weekend, I don't know yet because I'll be moving into my dorm tomorrow.

Already though I can safely say: my expectations were literally in the ground and I'm already disappointed.