#I added a different title for flai

[shadowgale96]

A Game Between Ghost Kings // Amonimy's Official Heaven Official's Blessing Book 2 Trailer

[wadbot]

flay4rev.wad: Flay the Obscene - Reversed MAP01: Flay the obscene - Reversed (2128, 608, 0) Author: Chris Hansen Date: 2014-03-21 Description: This map is a revamp of the original Flay the Obscene, which was released in 1999. As a 15 year anniversary celebration of the map -which was the first big noticeable release from me- I have decided to dust it off and dress it up. I could have called it "Flay the Obscene 4", since I considder it to be a fourth entry in the series, as it plays, and looks, quite different from the original one. This is mostly because it is played backwards, but also because there are new areas added to it, and a ton of updates in both terms of gameplay and architecture! But I have left out the "4" from the title but kept it in the filename as I want to emphasize the fact, that it is "simply" the first entry, which has been reversed. But why even considder the "4" then? Because, I think I want to create a fifth entry that sees the player tackle his homeworld, which has been... erhm, on second thought, we'd better leave that part out ;) Since the map has been reversed, you will probably find the old start area of the map, which is now the end, somewhat cramped. There was a challenge to make that interesting, so instead of having the level end with an empty intro level - which has btw been merged into the main level - you will get to fight in that one too in order to give the entire level an interesting end. Confusing I know, so don't spend too long thinking about it. Just go and kick some ass and have some fun! :) PS: !Minor spoiler! I guess you can avoid the final fight and just head for the exit. But can you really live with the shame of being a coward?

[strangertheories]

Ooh icic. Tysm for adding on, your theories are always a delight to read!

Something I’d like to point out before I get tangential again is the mindscapes that Vecna and The Mind Flayer look to use are remarkably similar, which points to the fact they’re sharing a domain of some kind. The difference between the two is kinda what I’m centering this first bit around.

Basically, The Mind Flayer can only construct the surroundings of his own Mindscape around the actual locations the person is being targeted in, and also appears to be noticeably weaker against more abrasive targets like Billy. Meanwhile, in the trailer, we see Vecna being able to construct these large pillars and boulders to fling down at Max to terrorize her. What this tells us is that, like you said, Vecna is stronger than The Mind Flayer. On a broader standpoint, I think he’d definitely stand no chance against the entire UD, but in specific situations regarding humans and their fear, it’s not much of a competition. I think this inherent strength in this domain comes from Vecna’s origins as a human, which gives him more knowledge over how the human mind can be twisted against itself.

This is actually a reason I think he’s even rebelling against The Mind Flayer to begin with. We know that Flaying victims exhibit some humanity/resistance even when in later-stages, especially if they have a strong will (see: Billy’s sacrifice in Starcourt). It’s important to question how this reflects into Vecna when he’s been exposed to The UD for so long. It’s given that he’s been warped and possessed externally, but like you also pointed out a few posts back, it’s internal too. And with that, there are two driving forces I can think of that would directly contribute to this, both internally and externally.

Number one, this is something you pointed out and I want to expand on. I firmly believe that Vecna is not only stuck in The Upside Down, but also bound to The Creel House. I think we’ve all seen his design by now, so it’s not something that really requires clarification. However! If you choose to interpret those tendrils on his back as “chains” his Dnd-Canon title of “The Chained God” starts to really ring as literal.

Number two, the internal factor, is something I don’t really see brought up enough. Vecna, in dnd-canon, is prone to fits of spontaneous rage. If that doesn’t scream motivation when associated with him being trapped in The UD for twenty years along with being bound to The Creel House, I’m not sure what does. What I’m thinking is, like I mentioned earlier, he’s almost following in the footsteps of Billy, but it’s the opposite. Instead of him breaking free of The Mind Flayer’s control out of heroism, he’s doing it out of pure rage. Spite, if you will. The frustration of being trapped in the attic combined with the fortune of Billy Hargrove’s death and Max Mayfield’s grief is literally just gold to him.

It actually might be what wakes him up in the first place, to be honest. I’ve been struggling to grasp the coincidence of this random villain suddenly picking on Max, but if he’s connected to The UD even faintly it would be impossible for him to not know what happened. That could even be a secondary thing that triggers him to wake up, The Mind Flayer failing his goal even when he was at his strongest and most opportune. Vecna takes him for weak at last and seizes the moment, targeting Max and using The Mind Flayer’s own failure against itself.

I really think there’s a strange correlation between Hawkins getting cagey and him waking up too, just haven’t really put the pieces together there. The whole thing that happens with Chrissy could’ve been deliberate, maybe? He starts to terrorize her subtly to get the town to turn against The Hellfire Club, making Max feel more ostracized so he can swoop in and claim her as a personal addition to his Demobat-Soontobehuman Army lol.

Ok, wow. If anyone is reading this post and skipped the ask above, please go back and read it. It's some amazing stuff and I can't talk about everything in this post, so please go and read it.

There's a few things I'd like to address about your ask. Firstly, all your analysis about Max and Billy. Max's grief somehow re-awakening Vecna after decades would make total sense and also call parallels to Pennywise, who the Duffers have said served as a direct inspiration for him. Pennywise feeds off of fear, grief and hatred and it's what brings him back every 27 years. Incidentally, this season is taking 27 years after Vecna used Creel (as pointed out by @japplejottomjeans). Your explanation for this being why Vecna chose to kill Chrissy would make total sense, as originally I thought it would just be because of her turmoil over her abusive mother.

Another thing I'd like to touch on is his motivation. Billy broke out of the mind flayer in order to rescue Eleven and end the cycle of violence (not saying I'm his biggest fan, but I think he did have good motivations in his final scene). Will broke out of his possession briefly because of Mike (which I believe came out of love). These are pure motivations. The concept of someone who's already an angry person being warped by the UD and the mind flayer becoming a whole new monster out of rage and spite would make such an interesting villain. I'm so excited to see a supernatural opponent with intelligence in this show because it's not really been explored so far.

Finally, Vecna being chained metaphorically and literally to the Creel House would make complete sense. It would explain why he didn't target Will and the others in the UD in season 1 because he was obviously there. I'm not sure why he is stuck there. I think the spirit of Vecna was trapped in the clock for years so maybe when he finally got a physical form it was also linked to the clock?

Thanks for your asks, they're all super interesting and honestly could end up being cooler than the actual canon Vecna if they aren't confirmed within the show. Hope this expansion helped!

[brax-was-here]

Scarlet Briar: The Seeds of Life chapter 6

Written by: Braxxus

Chapter 6: It’s Not Me You Should Be Afraid Of

Sometimes we must accept the hand dealt to us

“Mother…” Ceara heard a soft voice speak nearby. Slowly opening her eyes, she squinted as the leaves of the jungle canopy slowly came into focus. The air was humid, filled with the sounds of the jungle’s inhabitants filtering through the air, but there was a new sound that grabbed her attention. A slight hum in the air, mixed with a light resonating chime.

“Wonderful.” She sighed heavily. “What now?” She casually extended her arms up in front of her face. “Naked…again…”  She groaned slightly as she slowly pulled herself from the ground.

“Mother…” she heard again. She whipped around quickly towards the direction of the meek voice, her attention becoming extremely focused. She realized she was in the place from her vision, but now the thorned vines making up the strange structure had a crystalline sheen to them, glistening in the sunlight, the apparent source of the resonance in the air. The small glowing object once again sat in an alcove in the middle of the vines.

“I remember last time.” She thought to herself. “What are you?” she asked out loud.

“Come closer…” a playful voice whispered through the air. Ceara paused a moment before cautiously taking a step forward.

“If I do…” she spoke. “That weapon…”

Once again, the ghostly image of the Avatar of the Pale Tree slowly appeared, again with the face of a child. Ceara stopped.

“What is the matter?” Ceara’s heart jumped, and her eyes widened as she heard a different voice on the wind, a familiar one that caused a chill to run up her spine. “Why hesitate?” it asked coyly.

“The last time…” Ceara spoke. The avatar opened its eyes slowly, smiling lightly at Ceara.

“It’s waiting for you…” the voice growled behind. Ceara slowly turned to look behind her. She saw nothing but the light breeze blowing through the jungle’s dense foliage. A hushed laughter echoed through the air.

“I’m not afraid of you.  Not anymore.” Ceara said loudly as she she focused on her breathing, calming herself down.

“It’s not me you should be afraid of.” It replied. Ceara turned and looked at the ghostly image. It slowly brought it hands up and clasped them together under its chin, still smiling warmly at her, its eyes bright. Ceara cautiously stepped towards it. As she neared, the image slowly reached out to her, slowly opening its tiny hand. Ceara paused in hesitation, looking at the face of the child. Slowly she reached out for its hand when without warning, a wave of black energy knocked her away. She quickly regained her composure to see the dark sword once again stuck in the ground where the child had been, a slight glow of light fading where the blade had embedded itself. She looked at the weapon, watching its vines writhe and twist around its form.

“It’s not Caladbolg…” she spoke. Ceara pondered on the dark weapon. “An item of great power…a relic of Mordremoth…the pale tree…a black blade.” She stared at the ground as she tried to put the pieces together.  “A relic of Mordremoth…a young pale tree...” Her heart raced as she made a realization. “This…this is the relic …it’s…it’s a seed. And Nafiona…Oh no.” The wind picked up and a roar filled the air.

“What’s happening!?” she cried as a billowing black cloud rushed forth from the blade, quickly emcompassing the area. Ceara felt her breath drawn from her as the ice-cold fog quickly enveloped her body.

“Waahaha!!” her gasped muffled as she woke with a start. She quickly looked around at the upside-down world before her. The jungle was buzzing with activity as the morning sunlight streamed through the leaves of the canopy. She was gagged, her arms were bound behind her, her legs tied together, and she was hanging from a tree limb by her feet by thick interwoven vines without a stitch of clothing. Looking at the ground below her was a pile of animal carcasses flayed open just a few feet away. Struggling against her bindings she quickly remembering the discussion with Nafiona.

“That idea didn’t go as planned.” She thought to herself. “I guess I’ll hang around and wait to hopefully be found. I have a lot of thinking to do anyway.”

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“Do you think she is ok?” Liathlas asked as she packed some dried fruits into a small satchel.

“If the rumors I have heard about her are anywhere near true, I’m sure she has those courtiers wrapped around her fingers doing her bidding.” Malyck replied, as he checked the edge on his dagger.

"I hope so.” Liathlas sighed as she chewed on a piece of fruit while securing her satchel.

“Are you ready?” he asked, sheathing his blade.

“I am.” Liathlas turned to Mabli. “Thank you for your hospitality and thank you for your help.”

“The jungle provides. Safe journeys to you.” The itzel replied.

The morning sun was rising as the duo exited the hut and hurried down a nearby rope walkway to the jungle floor. Malyck pulled out the small tracking device and activated it. It projected a tiny holographic screen, showing a blip in the far distance.

“I hope I am interpreting this thing correctly.” Looking a little confused at the device. “If this is Scarlet’s location, it shows her deep in the jungle in that direction.” He looked at Liathlas who nodded back at him. They rushed off quickly.

“So, you’ve been wandering the jungle all this time?” Liathlas asked as they made their way through the brush.

“I have. Since the fall of the jungle dragon, I’ve been searching for others from my tree.”

“That’s why you never returned to the us then?”

“Correct. As long as the chance exists that others from my tree still survive, I cannot return to your Grove. I must find them and make sure they are safe. Then I will bring them to your Pale Tree.”  

“Understandable.” She replied. “What are we going to do when we find Ceara?”

“Can she truly be trusted?”

“Ceara?”

“Yes, Scarlet Briar.”

“Ceara…”

“Whatever her name is now. Can we actually trust her?”

“Um…well. I know what she has done while under Mordremoth’s control. And I’ve heard some stories about her since and judging what I have seen of her these past few days, there is nothing that would make me think she would betray us now.”

“She left with the coutiers and did seem to be somewhat happy about it. And this tracker is leading us right to her…and them.”

“Afraid they’ll see you as their harbinger again?”

Malyck abruptly stopped, vexed at the term. He turned his ire towards Liathlas, glaring at her. “Don’t ever call me that.” he snapped at her, pointing at her sternly. “I am not their ‘harbinger of doom’ or whatever title they had for me. If 

Liathlas was slightly taken aback by his outburst. “Well, sadly, you are correct.” She relented. “No argument there.”

Malyck glared at her a few moments before turning to continue through the jungle.

“If you don’t trust her, why are you going after her?” Liathlas asked, a slight inquisitive tone in her voice.

Malyck paused again, looking off into the jungle, sighing lightly. “In the hopes that you are telling the truth about her. Also, the group of courtiers number twenty or more. You will need as much help as you can get to stop them.” Again, they continued through the jungle.

Hours passed. “We’re getting close.” Malyck whispered as they made their way through the terrain. “Here.” They found the tree where Ceara had attached the tracker. They could see the remains of a camp nearby.

“They were definitely here.” Liathlas said as they entered the camp area.  

“Hmm…if they are heading for the corpse grove, they would most likely be heading towards the west.” Malyck pointed and paused. “I think I found her.”

“Oh! Where…” Liathlas paused at the sight of Ceara hanging from the tree in the distance. Liathlas’ heart skipped a beat when they also noticed a giant creature nearby that was making its way to her. “No! We have to get to her!” The duo rushed through the vegetation.

Ceara was staring at the approaching beast trying to formulate a plan to somehow get out of her predicament. The creature was easily ten times her size with a very long barbed tail. It stopped, raising its nose in the air before letting out a low growl.  It continued to lumber slowly towards her.

“Don’t move…don’t breathe…” she thought to herself. “I can’t end like this.” Her thoughts were interrupted by a pistol shot that struck the creature in the side of the head. It turned, roaring in pain. Various illusions appeared around it, attacking it fiercely.

“Liathlas!” Ceara thought as she squirmed in her bindings. More pistol rounds rang out, hitting the beast in various places along its body. The creature fought back against the illusions before letting out a roar and running off into the jungle.

Liathlas ran up to Ceara, Malyck not far behind. He pulled out a knife and started cutting through the vines that bound her. Liathlas removed her gag.

“Thank the pale tree you’re ok.” Liathlas gasped.

“I am, thank you, and don’t you dare tell anyone about this.” Ceara sneered. Malyck cut her hands free which Liathlas grabbed. Malyck wrapped an arm around her legs as they were cut free. They helped her stand. Ceara wobbled a moment as she regained her balance.

“The tracker worked.” Ceara noted. “That’s a relief.”

“Indeed. How long ago did the Court leave?” Malyck asked.

“I’m not sure. They didn’t take too lightly to me being in their presence as you can tell.”

“Hmm…The corpse grove is at least a day’s journey from here. We’ll need to hurry to catch up to them.” Malyck stated.

“Corpse grove?” Ceara’s asked.

“A bad place.” Liathlas interjected.

“It is. It is a place where the mordrem create their troops from the remains of others” Malyck added.

“Like a factory?” Ceara’s brow furrowed. She remembered a vision she had months prior while trapped in the Mists with Ventari.

“Somewhat.” Malyck nodded.

“Ceara?” Liathlas asked, noticing Ceara’s far off stare.

“I’m ok.” She replied, snapping back to the present. “I just remembered something from a long time ago.” She turned to Malyck. “So, this corpse grove. It’s a tree like the Pale Tree?”

“In theory, it is but not as grand. It serves one purpose and one purpose only. We have to get moving.” Malyck explained.

“And that purpose is to create the mordrem.” Ceara pondered.

“Correct.” answered Malyck.

Ceara thoughts drifted to the vision of the young pale tree she saw. “A seed.” She thought to herself.

“Ceara? Um…your clothing?” Liathlas interrupted her thoughts.

Ceara looked down at her naked body. “Hmm…I’m sure one of the courtiers has my armor and I’m going to make their life very miserable when I take it back.” Ceara fumed at the loss of her prized possession.

“Yes, but…right now…” Liathlas started. “We could fashion something for you.”

Ceara looked at her dumbfounded. “From what?” she asked, holding her hands out as she looked around her surroundings. “There’s nothing here.”

“Of course, there is! You just wait here!” Liathlas exclaimed gleefully as she started running around the immediate area. It wasn’t long before she returned with lengths of vine and some giant leaves.

“Oh no…” Ceara’s shoulders drooped as she whimpered to herself.

Malyck casually glanced at her momentarily before chuckling to himself. It wasn’t long before Liathlas had created some makeshift clothing for Ceara to wear out of the leaves and vines.

“This just isn’t going to work.” Ceara complained, looking down at her makeshift outfit.

“It’s the best we could do given our current circumstances.” Liathlas replied to her. “It’s better than being completely naked.”

“What does that matter? We fell out of our pods into the world naked in front of everyone. No one cared then. Why should we care now?”

“Because there are other people in the world other than sylvari.” Liathlas barked at her.

“Feh.” Ceara spat, rolling her eyes at her.

“We need to hurry if you two are done bickering.” Malyck interrupted. “I’m sure the courtiers have reached the corpse grove by now and found what they are looking for.”

“What they are looking for…” Ceara muttered, sighing lightly as they started their trek through the jungle.

“Hmm?” Liathlas looked at Ceara curiously.

Ceara returned her gaze. “I think I know what they are looking for.”

Malyck stopped and turned abruptly. “Which is?”

“A seed. A seed like that of the which the Pale Tree sprouted.”

“How do you know?” Liathlas asked, her eyes widened at the thought.

“I…I’ve been having a vision. A vision showing me a small, rounded object set in a vine covered alcove. A young version of the pale mother appears above it.”

Liathlas and Malyck stared at her in silence.

“There’s more. Anytime I get close to it, a dark sword that resembles Caladbolg appears and cuts it down, causing it to disappear. The sword remains in place of the seed.” Ceara looked at Liathlas, whose mouth was agape.

“Another seed?” Liathlas gasped.

“We need to find it before the court does.” Malyck looked at the two. “Let us hurry.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier!?” Liathlas asked Ceara as they rushed through the jungle.

“Because I didn’t know what was happening. I just recently put it all together and that’s the best thing I could come up with.”

“If another seed exists that is amazing!” Liathlas said gleefully.

“And terrifying.” Malyck responded. “What kind of power does it hold that the Nightmare Court is searching after it?”

“I don’t know, but it must be immense.” Ceara replied to him.

“What do we do with it when we find it?” Liathlas asked.

“We secure it so that no one can take it.” Malyck answered.

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“And there it is.” Nafiona spoke as her group of courtiers crested the ridge. They had travelled most of the day to reach this area of the Maguuma jungle. She smiled as she looked over the valley below. Within it stood a tall, twisted form of a tree, its branches covered in dark pods. They could see various creatures moving within the small grove within its base.

“Behold, my courtiers. The corpse grove lies before us!” Nafiona gestured grandly.

“It is within your grasp, m’lady!” one of the courtiers spoke excitedly.

“Indeed, it is.” Nafiona smiled proudly, placing her hands on her hips. “Now, let us prepare to remove the vermin from within. Ready the cannisters!” she ordered as she turned to her courtiers.

“Yes, m’lady!” her entourage shouted in unison as they saluted her. Quickly the courtiers assembled two small cannons facing towards the grove below, each with a stockpile of ammunition next to them. Nafiona picked up one of the cannisters, smiling coyly.

“Madam Scarlet…I have to admit that your toxic spores are a wonderful creation. With this newly engineered version, even more potent than before, I’ll have the power I need to take control of the Nightmare Court, and then the Grove, and from there, all of Tyria.” She turned to one of her courtiers. “Are we ready?”

“Yes, m’lady.” The courtier Ordhran responded.

“Good.” She handed the cannister to him, in turn he quickly dropped it into the weapon. It automatically fired the metal cannister into the area of the twisted tree below. They watched it explode, a cloud of gas erupting into the air.

“Fire. Cover that whole area in spores!” Nafiona ordered her troops proudly. “Leave nothing standing!”  Round after round the cannons fired into the grove below, until the entire area around the tree was covered in a fog of toxic gas. Nafiona laughed to herself as the last round was fired. The barely audible sounds of the mordrem inhabitants could be heard as they seemingly fought to stay alive in the toxic cloud. It wasn’t long before sounds of the dying gave away to silence.

Nafiona turned to her courtiers. “Now, the time has come to claim our prize.” Her entourage saluted her. “Caelan, you stay here with a small group and guard the cannisters.”

“Of course, m’lady.” He saluted her as she turned away. Nafiona and her group travelled down a narrow pathway along the ridge to a group of gigantic, thorned vines that formed a crude bridge over the chasm below. It led them to the corpse grove, where Nafiona hoped to find what she was looking for. The toxic gas had mostly cleared when they reached the area, swept away by the breeze. The bodies of the mordrem laid strewn across the ground, some still writhed as the courtiers approached.

“Kill them. Kill any that are still alive.” Nafiona ordered. Her followers searched through the area, slaying any mordrem that might still cling to life.

“It seems all of been taken care of, m’lady.” One of her followers announced.

“Good. Now, tear this place apart. Do not stop until we have found the prize I seek.” She paused a moment. “Ordhran?”

“Yes, m’lady?” He watched as she walked over to a large vine protruding from the ground, running her finger along one of the sharp thorns. “How is the sword coming along?”

“Perfectly.” He stated. “It will be ready soon.”

“Hmm… if the prize is here. We will need to hurry.”

“Yes, m’lady. I will double the efforts.”

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“I can’t believe you are wearing her armor.” Caelan said disbelievingly to Orla, as she fiddled with one of Ceara’s gauntlets.

“It almost fits! It is a little loose in the hips, but other than that it’s almost perfect!” she replied excitedly. “Besides, it’s not like she’s going to need it anymore.” Orla smiled at him.

Caelan shook his head as he looked over Ceara’s rifle. “I can’t seem to figure this thing out. All these little screens and switches, but I can’t get anything to work.” Orla paid his prattling no mind and she continued to fiddle with the buttons on one of the gauntlets.

“Or this thing.” He continued as he picked up a silver cylinder shaped object. He flipped a switch on back and forth, tapping it against his hand.

“Oh!” Orla gasped as she was enveloped in a stealth field. Caelan looked up and saw Orla gone.

“Orla!? Where are you!?”

“I’m right here!” she giggled, seemingly from nowhere. She crept around him, only he noticed her footsteps in the loose dirt.

“Stop playing. We don’t have time.”

She reappeared next to him, a disappointed look on her face. “You’re no fun, Caelan.” She returned to her place and sat on a downed tree. “Hmm…I wonder what this does.” She spoke softly pressing one of the buttons. A series of holographic screens and keypads projected from the gauntlet.

“Oh my! Caelan! Look!” he looked up from working on the rifle.

“Oh wow!” he exclaimed. “What is that!?” He leaned the rifle against the stack of cannisters and approached her.

“I’m not sure!” Orla slowly reached up and tried to touch the holograms. Some of the keys lit up as her hand passed through them. “Whoa!” She tried again, cautiously placing her fingers in the keys. They lit up as she touched them.

“Hahahaha! This is…this is so neat!” she laughed.

Caelan reached up and touched a screen, his hand passing through.

“I think they only work with the gloves.” Orla said as she playfully tapped at the various buttons. “Hmm..nothing seems to work here either.” She continued, slightly disappointed.

“I guess she has some kind of security or something.” Caelan replied to her, looking out over the corpse grove.

Orla pressed another small button in the hidden panel. A pair of holographic projections of Scarlet Briar appeared and leapt at the preoccupied Caelan.

“Caelan!” she screamed just as one ignited a holographic sword and swiped at him, hitting his arm.  

“Orla! What are you doing!?” he screamed. Orla pressed the button again causing the holograms to disappear. She ran up to the injured sylvari.

“Are you ok!? I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I didn’t know that would happen!”

Caelan looked at the wound, golden sap ran down the sleeve of his armor.

Another courtier came running up “What was that!?”

“I don’t know! They just appeared and attacked! One of her weapon systems, I think.” She said as she helped Caelan remove the armor from his arm. “Do we have anything to bandage this wound?” she asked.

“Just a moment.” The courtier said as he rushed to a nearby pack. He returned with some medical supplies. Orla applied an oil to the wound before wrapping it in a bandage.

“There. Now stay off your feet and don’t do anything strenuous for at least two weeks.” She joked.

“Funny.” Caelan replied, strapping on the armored sleeve. “Orla, do you think all this will work? What Nafiona is planning?”

“Are you having doubts?” she asked him, looking at him in the eyes.

“It’s not that I’m having doubts. I would just hate to think that after all we have done here, that what she is looking for doesn’t exist here…or at all.”

“It does exist. This is the realm of the jungle dragon. There is one here. I’m sure of it.”

Caelan nodded his head and smiled at her. “It is. We’ll find it.”

“We will.” She smiled back at him.

Caelan reached for Ceara’s pistol that lay on a small pack next to him. “At least this works. Though it doesn’t seem to have much ammunition. Maybe…two shots by the looks of it.” He looked at Orla. “What about all those little gadgets?”

“Well…” Orla started as she moved to a small stack of gas cannisters. She reached up and grabbed a few of the things she had removed from the satchels of Ceara’s armor. “This is a food bar of some sort.” She said removing the wrapping, taking a bite from it. “And I don’t know what this is.” She held up a small device.

“And what about that little thing?” Caelan pointed at another device.

“Not sure. There is a switch and a little screen.” She activated the switch causing the screen to light up. “it shows a map of some sort with a bunch of little while dots.” She showed him the screen.

“What about that little button?” he asked.

She turned the screen back to her. “I don’t know.” She pressed it and disappeared in a flash of light. Caedan waited a few moments for Orla to reappear.

“Orla? Orla are you still here?” he asked. “Orla!?” He turned to one of the nearby courtiers, who shrugged dumbfoundedly back at him.

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Time passed as the sun moved to the west. The trio dashed as quickly through the jungle as they could. Malyck put his hand up, stopping them abruptly. “Get down.” He whispered, quickly dropping into the plants of the jungle. Ceara and Liathlas followed suit.

“What is it?” Ceara asked.

“Courtiers.” He said peering out. Three members of the Nightmare Court could be seen in the distance, standing near some equipment. “Looks like guards. We must be getting close.”

“I see them.” Ceara scanned the jungle. “What are they guarding?”

“I’m not sure. I believe the corpse grove is just beyond the ridge.” Malyck unholstered one of his pistols.

Ceara looked at him inquisitively. “Do your weapons actually have that kind of range?” she questioned.

Malyck glanced at her for a moment then back to the courtiers. “Sadly, no. We’ll have to move closer.”

“Others might be nearby. They’ll hear your shot.” Liathlas cautioned. “If we get close, I could stealth us to take them out fast.”

Malyck nodded. “That seems like the best way to take care of them.” Returning his pistol to its holster.

“Hopefully, none of our other friends are waiting for us in that brush.” Liathlas muttered as they started moving through the jungle again. Slowly they crept through the thick foliage, cautiously making their path. They paused again as they neared the courtiers.

“That’s my rifle…and my pistol…and my saber…and my other things.” Ceara hissed through her teeth, eyeing the courtier who was fidgeting with the futuristic looking weapon. Liathlas looked at her, placing her finger over her lips giving Ceara a signal to keep quiet.

“Well, it is!” Ceara whispered harshly to her. Liathlas gave Ceara a perturbed look. Ceara glared back at her a moment.

“Those weapons they have set up. They must have used them to launch those cannisters into the grove below.” Malyck stated. “Looks like three guards.”

“Charr mortars, by the looks of them.” Ceara added.

“And the one with your rifle looks somewhat worried.” Liathlas also added, noticing the courtier seemed to be fidgeting nervously.

“It doesn’t matter. He dies either way.” Ceara glared at him. “How do you want to do this?” she whispered to Malyck.

He thought for a moment. “I’ll walk towards them out of the jungle like I’ve been hurt, and try to pull them close, dropping their guard. Both of you stealth and try to position yourselves to take them down quickly when I give the signal.

“What will the signal be?” Liathlas asked.

“You will know. Now.” Malyck slowly stood, clutching his right shoulder. Hunching over, he hobbled slowly through the brush, his breathing labored. The duo watched him as he slowly entered the clearing. Liathlas waved her hand, casting her stealth field causing them to disappear.

“H-Help…” Malyck stammered as he clumsily shuffled across into the clearing. “Help me…”

The courtiers turned towards him. “Halt!” one of them ordered. “Come no further!”

“Help…” Malyck gasped as he dropped to the ground. One of the courtiers motioned to Caelan to stay put by the cannisters. They approached him; weapons drawn.

“Not one of us.” One of them sneered, shoving Malyck’s head with his foot.

“Put him out of his misery.” The coutier brought his sword up. Malyck rolled out of the way as the point of the blade came down, piercing into the dirt.

“Just as I thought!” the courtier snarled. Clones of Liathlas appeared near them and attacked. Malyck pulled his pistol and shot the courtier that attempted to stab him..

Caelan took aim at one of the clones when Ceara appeared in front of him.

“Ma…madam…” he stammered. She snatched the rifle from his hands, then proceeded to strike him in the jaw with the stock of the weapon, knocking him out. Powerup in the rifle, she turned to see her comrades finishing the other guard. She looked down at Caelan, who lay unconscious, his mouth open.

“Still catching flies with that maw of yours.” Ceara shook her head. She undid her holster from his waist, strapping it around herself. She saw some of her other gadgets sitting on top of the stack of cannisters, which bore some familiar writing. She grabbed one, staring at it.

“What is it?” Liathlas asked as she approached.

“Spores…toxic gas…from the Nightmare tower. The same used as in Lion’s Arch.”

“Are you…are you sure?” Liathlas asked very concerned. They looked out over the grove below as Ceara looked over the mortars.

“They bombarded that area to clear out the mordrem.”

“Then we can use this supply against them while they are searching for the seed.” Malyck suggested.

“I’m not sure that would work. I would imagine Nafiona and company would have some kind of antidote handy in the event of it being used against them.” She looked the cannister over, turning it upside down. “It explodes above the air, spreading the gas over an ar-“ A light lit up and the cannister beep.

“Thorns!” Ceara spat as she threw it as hard as she could over the ridge. It exploded in the air.

“Double thorns.” She gasped.

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

“What is going on up on the ridge?” Nafiona turned to see the remnants of the exploded spore cloud dissipating in the air near the cliff wall. “Ordhran, check to see what those fools are doing up there.” She ordered.

“Yes, m’lady.” He bowed to her and marched towards the vine bridge.

“A lone soldier?” Liathlas asked as they watched Ordhran crossing the vine bridge.

“I could take him down from here.” Ceara brought the rifle up.

“No, that would only draw more of them. Wait until he reaches us.” Malyck backed away from the ridge. The others followed.

It wasn’t long before Ordhran reached the crest of the ridge. He stopped momentarily before reaching the end of the pathway, focusing his hearing.

“Silence. Doesn’t bode well.” He thought to himself. He brandished his sword and shield, moving cautiously up the path. Cresting the ridge, he projected a force shield just in time as he was bombarded by mesmer attacks. He turned and ran as fast as he could back towards the corpse grove.

“Briars!” Liathlas shouted.

“Stop him!” Malyck yelled. The trio rushed the ridge. Ceara fired her weapon at him, as did Malyck. The rounds bouncing off his force shield as Ordhran quickly rushed across the vine bridge. Ceara fired another round, hitting the ground at his feet.

“Thorns! Thorns! Thorns!” she cursed.

“Well, now they definitely know we’re here.” Liathlas muttered.

Ordhran ran into the grove to Nafiona. “M’lady! Scarlet Briar lives. And she has help.”

“Oh, really? That’s not surprising. How many?”

“I’m not sure. There were many. I was attacked immediately.”

“Well, then I guess we prepare for an assault. Get everyone at the ready.”

“Yes m’lady!” He bowed to her and turned. “Everyone to arms! Now!” he shouted. The command spread through the courtiers as they gathered quickly, bringing their weapons to bear.

“It seems our former acquaintance, Scarlet Briar, is up on the ridge, possibly with a small army. We’ll crush her, and her motley group with ease!” Nafiona announced. A raucous cheer rang through the air as the members of the Nightmare Court stood ready.

“M’lady, should we press the attack with a little surprise?” one courtier asked.

Nafiona looked at her and smiled. “Why yes, I believe we should. Mesmers place your portals now! We’re going to pay Madam Scarlet a visit!” The courtier, along with another opened ethereal portals of swirling energy in front of the group. “Attack!” Nafiona commanded. The group of sylvari rushed through the openings.

“Well, I guess we could use the mortars against them?” Ceara suggested to her compatriots. “I still don’t think it will do any good.”

“It’s our best bet right now.” Malyck rebuttaled.

“Um…we have a problem.” Liathlas spoke up, noticing two swirls of energy starting to form near them. “Mesmer portals.”

“Run! To the jungle!” Malyck shouted. Liathlas cast another stealth field about them, and the trio bolted for the dense foliage. The Nightmare Court poured out of the portals, taking up positions around the mortars and stack of cannisters. Nafiona followed them through.

“They have retreated, m’lady.” Ordhran announced. Nafiona’s eyes narrowed, and she scanned around the area.

“Judging by these tracks, it looks like they ran off into the jungle.” A courtier suggested as she knelt looking over footprints in the dirt.

“Get a scout party together and do a quick search of the area.” Nafiona ordered. The courtier bowed to her and pointed to two other sylvari to follow.

“Check on them.” Nafiona motioned towards two courtiers standing near their fallen comrades. Another checked on Caelan.

“These two are dead, m’lady.”

“And Caelan?”

“He’s alive.”

“Wake him.” She ordered. The courtier started trying to awaken the unconscious sylvari.

“Ordhran. It’s obvious the seed is not in the corpse grove.” She pondered a moment. “I dare say it is in the south. In the area where the jungle dragon fell.”

“M’lady?” he asked.

“The sun is starting to set so we’ll set up camp here for the night.” She said, turning to the large sylvari. “The mordrem will be active and we need to be prepared. Also…” she paused, a sly smile forming. “I believe there is a pact camp to the south. Send them a courier. Tell them…tell them that Scarlet Briar lives and is here in the jungle. It is believed that she is trying to resurrect Mordremoth.”

“With pleasure, m’lady.” He bowed to her. Nafiona chuckled to herself as she watched her followers start setting up the camp.  

[antiquecompass]

Untamed Spring Fest Day 29: Stream

Large bodies of water weren’t as common in the Winter Court as they were at Lotus Pier, but that didn’t make the rivers, lakes, and streams of Gusu any less interesting. The creatures here were different, but Jiang Cheng still understood them and was glad to have something close to home here. They were excited to meet him and he’d spent hours getting to know the various occupants of the little stream that ran behind the quarters designated as his own. When he married into the Winter Court this entire building would be his--his bedroom, his work space, his sanctuary from court life.

It wasn’t uncommon for arranged marriages among prominent figures to see them sleeping in different beds, far apart from one another, but he had hoped they would at least be in the same building. He knew the separate quarters were commonplace, but he’d grown up on the stories Wei Ying shared of his parents; they were a true love match, a soul bond, when one died the other followed, when one took to the ghost roads the other did as well. They always shared the same room and bed, Wei Ying often sleeping between them while on their travels. Jiang Cheng knew it was because they probably couldn’t afford much else, but there was still a sense of closeness and intimacy there he’d always wanted for his own match.

He dipped his fingers into the small stream as he let his thoughts run wild. He knew there was an inevitable--welcome, but inevitable--end to this courtship. Of course he would marry the Winter King. Of course he would live here. Of course all of the distance between them now--the forced distance between them--was because of propriety.

Jiang Cheng had only been living in the Winter Court for a week now, and yet it felt like he and Xichen were closer when they were leagues apart in distance.

“I suppose I should just write him letters here as well,” he complained to the fish swimming around his fingers. “Or perhaps schedule an appointment through Moira.”

“My betrothed may see me anytime he desires.”

Jiang Cheng was so startled, so unused to anyone else coming to this stream, that he reacted on protective instinct. Protective instinct which saw a magically induced wave well up from the stream and drench the Winter King.

Jiang Cheng gasped. His mother would flay him alive for this.

“My King,” Jiang Cheng apologized as he bowed low in apology.

“I suppose I deserved that,” the Winter King said as he set the basket in his hands to the side and pulled off his waterlogged outerrobe. “Invading your privacy after all.” He smiled at Jiang Cheng, somehow still regal and still kind, even soaked through. “And it seems I must also remind you that you are allowed to drop the title. I prefer it when you do, when it’s us.”

Jiang Cheng scrambled up and started to pull from his magic to dry Lan Xichen’s clothes as fast as possible.

“It’s no trouble,” Xichen said, reaching out to capture his hands. “They’ll dry. I’m more concerned about you. You were absent from the morning and mid-day meals.”

Jiang Cheng hesitated, uncertain of how to explain he’d rather eat from the vendors who sold at Gusu’s gates rather than the Winter Court’s standard Lan family fare. It was far too bland for his tastes, clear that they only expanded their offerings during special occasions, and he did not want to insult his hosts.

“I had a late start to my morning,” he explained. “I ate from the vendor carts.”

“As you often do,” the Winter King said, his eyes and words showing his concern. “If there’s anything you wish added to our menu--”

“--I couldn’t possibly--”

“---we will gladly see to it. This will be your home as well.” He looked down at Jiang Cheng with pleading eyes. “Please, Wanyin. I don’t want you to be unhappy or uncomfortable here.”

And Jiang Cheng remembered then, of the rumors of the past. Of the well-known unhappiness of Lan Xichen’s mother. Of how she faded in the end, spirit and soul broken.

“I am not unhappy here,” he said. “I am a guest here, for now, my--” he stopped on the pained sound Xichen made. “Xichen,” he corrected. “I am a guest here and even if I am your betrothed, I would not put the cook’s out for myself alone. Perhaps it will be different once I have my own contingent here, with a cook from Lotus Pier. But for now I am just a guest, and I would never have them go through such trouble just for me.”

“Do you know how to make your own food?” Xichen suddenly asked.

Jiang Cheng nodded. “We are required to be self-sufficient at Lotus Pier.”

Xichen held his hand out. “Will you come with me?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng didn’t hesitate to take it.

Past the stream and the building that housed Jiang Cheng’s quarters there was a set of stone stairs. They climbed them side by side, hands still together, until they came upon a home hidden on the mountain. There were no guards here, but it was obviously a well-loved and well-maintained residence with a beautiful over-full garden in full bloom.

“These are my true living quarters,” Xichen explained. “Those in the palace are for covinence, but this is the home I built with my own hands. My brother helped, of course.” He was almost shy as he spoke his next words. “I hope one day we have--that is to say if you would like---that we can dwell here together. The home has its own kitchens, though I confess, I have no skill there. You may use it at any time though, whenever you are here, as a guest or something more.”

Jiang Cheng took in the rooms around him and had to shake his head.

“You swear you do not read minds?” he asked.

Xichen nodded. “That is only a connection developed over time or with a--”

“Soul mate,” Jiang Cheng said. “If I dropped all my shields right now--”

A blush stained the pure jade face of the Winter King.

“For the sake of propriety I ask that you please wait until after we are wed,” he pleaded.

Jiang Cheng smirked before turning his attention back to the home. It was wonderful and more than he could ask for. He knew he could love it here and be himself behind these protective walls of strong wood and still close to the little stream that had offered such comfort.

“It’s not much,” Xichen said.

It was everything.

“It’s wonderful,” Jiang Cheng said. “Thank you, my Winter King.”

[your-iron-lung]

Survivor Blues

also available to read on AO3 HERE

You call that a scar? A bruise? A tear? Pillow-marks. Souvenirs. 

Story Synopsis: 'What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger' is a philosophy Billy's father has been beating into him for as long as he can remember. If you get hurt, suck it up and walk it off. Take the pain and live with it. Grow with it; let it make you a better person.

Surviving the Mindflayer hurt. He should've been able to adapt to the pain; should've been able to let it shape him and make him stronger, but he can't. It's too much. The pain is too great and all consuming, and Billy has far too many things that need to be healed at once. 

In the end, what didn't kill him only makes him wish he'd died.

Word Count: 3416

Pairings: Light Harringrove

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, light angst (but with a happy ending- SOMETHING I DONT USUALLY DO)

Notes: this was just supposed to be a small thing, like, 4 paragraphs max, but it blew up and welp here it is. title comes from the song ‘Survivor Blues (the after hours)’. UHHH ENJOY **************

Surviving hurts.

Laying down, standing up; simply existing hurts him immeasurably. It’s like he can’t get comfortable anymore. Walking, talking, resting, sleeping, eating (especially eating) - anything and everything he does causes him more pain than he knows what to do with. But what else can he do? He’s alive, after all. He survived.

He tries to carry on like nothing’s wrong to prove a point, like, by pretending he’s not in constant pain it’ll somehow prove that he’s still as strong as he used to be, but it makes it all worse. Despair creeps in with the hurt, but before it overwhelms him he adopts it; uses his pain as penance, abuses this new sick form of self-flagellation to try and convince himself that he’s only getting what he deserves for all the hurt he’s caused countless others.

The doctors that saved his life had told him that recovery wouldn’t be easy, but still, Billy thinks, maybe he’d have been better off dying. Some days it hurts even to breathe, and if this is the way he’s going to be for the rest of his life, then he hopes he lives a short one, absolution be damned.

His dad still hits him. It hurts.

For a while after he’d been released from the hospital, things had been fine at home. Tense, but no voices raised. No hands raised. Some semblance of peace descending upon father and son until the bills from the hospital come in and Neil just loses it. Rages for hours. Just yelling, at first, but eventually his hands come flying and Billy is too hurt to escape them.

It becomes routine after that, although Billy notices that his father’s fist is a little bit gentler as it collides into him. Almost like he’s mindful of the places he’s already been hurt, as though by striking him in the places he still feels solid he’s showing his son some kind of mercy. It could be worse. Maybe Billy should be grateful. He isn’t.

Redemption is a far off dream that grows dimmer by the day whenever his father finds cause to blacken his eye.

 ***

He hears about Harrington through Max occasionally. Sees him around town sometimes when his dad drags him out. It hurts.

Part of that hurt stems from the unresolved things he did to Steve that night at the Byers’ place, but most of it actually stems from the night he almost died- should’ve died. It comes from where he’d been lying prone on the floor of the Starcourt Mall, bleeding out corrupted, blackened blood with Max crying over him. He couldn’t move his head after being impaled by so many cruel appendages, but even as his gaze had been fixed firmly upwards, he’d seen that pretty, pretty face of Steve’s looking down at him from over the railing of one of the upper floors. If Billy remembers right (and he does), Steve had appeared stricken. Horror-struck and dumbfounded. Billy pictures that look of terror on his face and feels his chest constrict painfully, because whenever he sees Harrington around town these days, he looks happy. Content. Like nothing ever happened. It pains him to see that he’s somehow made his life livable despite the things he’s seen, but it hurts more when he realizes Steve doesn’t ever look his way, even though he knows, he must know that Billy is near.

They hadn’t been friends before any of this, but rather, they’d been close to being something more.

 ***

It feels like he has nothing left to live for. It hurts.

He makes a list one day and runs down all the things he used to take stock in before his flaying and can’t find one single thing that stands up. His looks? Ruined; his body riddled with deep, ugly scars and a stomach devastated by irreversible chemical damage that leaves him barely able to eat anything. His car? Totaled beyond repair when Harrington had to T-bone into it to save those kids’ lives (and even the memory of that hurts). His friends? Tommy H. had gotten out of Hawkins while the getting was good and took Carol with him; probably the only smart thing he’d ever done in his life. High school was over, the crown he’d usurped passed on to the next sniveling bastard in line who wanted to be king.

He’s bitter when he comes to terms with the fact that he has nothing. Has no one. Can’t even tolerate looking himself in the mirror to see what being flayed has done to him. He’s too thin. Torn. Unrecognizable and dead around the eyes, haunted by the things his handler made him do.

His gaze is drawn to the necklace that keeps his Saint medal close to his heart and hates the way that it hangs heavily around his neck. It gets heavier every time he remembers it’s there until finally it feels like the chain it’s looped on is digging into his skin. He takes it off when he can’t stand it any longer; doesn’t think ol’ Saint Christopher can do anything to help him anymore. Hasn’t helped him in a long time, actually, when he thinks about it.

 ***

He almost kills himself one night. Accidentally, but still as an indirect result of all the accumulated traumas and hurts he’s still struggling to contend with months later. It feels good for once.

Max finds him, of all people. Walks right into his room without knocking to ask if he’s seen something of hers she just can’t seem to find but knows is in the house somewhere. She stops talking as soon as she sees him splayed out on his bed, foamy vomit trickling out of his mouth, empty bottles of beer littering the floor and a stomach full of prescribed pain medications that don’t fucking work.

“It wasn’t on purpose, it just never stops hurting. They don’t help,” he tells her later, after his ruined stomach gets pumped and his dad wails on him for that added cost to his already large hospital tab. “Nothing works. I thought maybe more would.”

She looks at him differently after that. No longer cold. No longer calculated; just thoughtful. Contemplative, but not in the same way where, in the past, she’d had to tread on eggshells around him or he’d hurt her in much the same way Neil hurts him. She becomes surprisingly loyal after that, even after all he’s done to her- done to her friends- and that hurts.

She becomes the support he hadn’t realized he needs. Convinces him to try the recommended physical therapy to hopefully get to a place where it doesn’t hurt for him to simply exist anymore.

“I’ll get a job,” she promises him, knowing full well that whatever place willing to hire a 15 year old won’t pay nearly enough to cover the cost of continual therapy sessions. “We all can; we didn’t know how to help you before, so we didn’t, and I’m sorry, Billy, we were so scared- but we know what we can do for you now. We can help you.”

Her words hurt. At first because she’s confirmed for him what he’s suspected all along: that they hadn’t even tried to help him, but before that old semblance of anger he used to rely on can surface, she’s hugging him, and he realizes that the hurt this time comes from a place of emotional vulnerability too deep within him to pinpoint exactly.

It hurts, is the bottom line- but this time it’s a good kind of hurt. The kind that has him hugging her back.

 ***

Slowly, he begins to heal. The pain doesn’t lessen, but other things he hadn’t realized were hurt begin to mend.

He gets to know her friends; manages to apologize to Lucas for all the shitty things he’s said and done specifically to him. In turn, they begin to help him, but all the paper routes, lawn mowing gigs, and occasional pet sitting opportunities they take up don’t really amount to much in the long run.

But he still continues healing.

They try to recruit the teens. Nancy gives what she can, but most of the money she makes goes towards traveling costs so she can continue to see Jonathan without having to rely on her parents. Billy refuses to take her money anyway; he’s not a goddamned charity case, but unbeknownst to him she puts what she can afford to spare in Mike’s hand for him anyway. Not that she’d had anything to do with what happened to him, but some people are just good at heart- something Billy hasn’t had a whole lot of experience with.

They don’t hear back from Harrington.

It helps. He heals. It’s close, but it’s not enough.

He still hurts.

They all struggle to get him through the initial assessment appointment with a therapist, and it doesn’t go well. Billy hates it; hates the fact that he has to rely on other people for the betterment of himself, but he doesn’t want to squander all the hard work those damnable kids are doing for him. It drains him. It drains their funds. He doesn’t know what to say when the secretary asks what day she can schedule his next appointment for. He almost tells her ‘never’, but settles for ‘same time next week’ when Max takes his hand in hers and looks up at him with that determined, patented Mad Max gleam in her eye.

She knows as well as he does that they won’t be able to raise enough money in time for it, but he goes anyway when ‘same time next week’ inevitably rolls around. Somehow, miraculously, he’s able to afford it. When he asks Max how that’s possible, she stays suspiciously quiet. A mysterious benefactor has started funding his therapy visits, he realizes.

He hates it. The knowledge that he can’t know who he’s become indebted to hurts what’s left of his pride.

 ***

Weeks pass and the results of his therapy visits manifest in little ways. He can take deep breaths without his chest and lungs constricting too sharply. It doesn’t hurt as much to walk. On good days he can even laugh without that deep pain blowing up inside him. Not that he laughs all that much anymore.

Max remains quiet whenever he asks her who’s doing this for him.

“A friend,” is all she says whenever he tries to corner her about it.

“I don’t have any friends,” he informs her, to which she shrugs and replies, “You have one.”

He heals. Day by day as he learns the exercises, he heals. But still he wonders who.

Who the hell cares about him that much to help him? Not Neil. Not Susan. Max was already doing her best for him, but her best wasn’t enough. To think that someone out there could care so much about his recovery leaves him feeling oddly funny. He both likes and dislikes it.

The mystery doesn’t stay unsolved for long.

When school starts again, Max can’t go with him to his appointments anymore. She becomes afraid that he won’t go if someone doesn’t go with him to make sure he does (and she might be right about that), and arranges for someone else to take him but declines to say who.

He waits outside on the porch for them, smoking lazily now that it doesn’t hurt him to breathe in deeply anymore. Sunglasses on even though it’s overcast because that fucking thing left its aversion of sunlight in him when it died. Coat on, collar up. Trying to reclaim the air of confidence he used to live by even if he doesn’t quite fill out his clothes like he used to anymore.

He waits until he sees his ride pull up to the curb in front of his house. He lets his cigarette smolder on his lips, lets it burn right down to the filter before he flicks it away as he belatedly comes to understand just who has been helping him.

Harrington honks at him, pokes his head out the window and says, “Shake a leg, Hargrove, let’s get a move on.”

Billy wants to be angry. Wants to be obstinate just because he can, but he’s tired and only has so many spoons left to get through the day with. He goes with him without much of a fuss, but has about a hundred things he wants to say to him as they ride.

It hurts that he can’t get any of them out.

 ***

Recovery is a slow process.

The drives to his therapist aren’t long, but there’s still room enough to hold a conversation if they ever chose to do so. They don’t.

Neither one of them is able to say anything to the other for days until Steve finally takes the initiative to breach that wide, wide gap that didn’t used to be between them.

“So… I’ve been seeing a guy,” he starts, side-eyeing Billy as he speaks to take stock in his expression.

They’re stuck at a red light that hasn’t turned green for two minutes. It’s divine. It’s torture.

It hurts.

“That’s… nice,” Billy says slowly, unsure of what Steve’s getting at. If it’s relationship advice, he has nothing to give.

“No! No, not like, uh, not like that,” Steve stutters. Drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Nervous. “Not that there’s anything… wrong with that, but, no. Not like that.”

“Okay.”

“More like, your kinda guy.”

“’My kinda guy,” Billy repeats dully.

The light remains red.

“Yeah, like, y’know,” Steve continues, still nervous, face colouring with embarrassment. Still waiting for that light to change. “A therapist, but, like, for my brain, or whatever.”

“A psychiatrist?”

Steve winces at the word, looks away, and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah. A psych.”

“Okay,” Billy says again. He doesn’t know where Steve’s trying to take this. A show of solidarity? Some sort of admission?

Steve’s quiet for a moment up until the light finally, blessedly, turns green. The car lurches awkwardly forward in Steve’s enthusiasm to get going.

“Yeah, so, I’ve been seeing a guy.” His fingers never stop tapping, playing out the rhythm of his anxieties. “And we’ve been talking uh, a lot about you.”

“Me?” He’s surprised, then, suspicious. “Why?”

“You keep me up at night.”

But before Billy can ask what the hell that means, they’re there, and Steve’s already wishing him good luck.

*** 

He’s lying in bed later that night, reveling in the fact that it no longer hurts to do so when Max knocks and enters. She’s holding something big and boxy in her hand and looks kind of confused about it. A little awkward.

“It’s for you,” she says and waits for him to sit up and take the bulky two-way radio from her.

“What?” he asks stupidly, turning it over in his hands.

Max shrugs. “He said he wanted to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“See for yourself. Give it back when you’re done,” she says, and then leaves.

He waits to hear her footsteps pattering down the hall, back to her room, before he presses down on the communication button uncertainly.

“That you, Harrington?”

“Don’t cream yourself. Yeah, it’s me.”

A ghost of a smile works its way across Billy’s face at the familiar words. He takes a seat on the side of his bed, holds the radio close to where his medallion used to hang.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do this in person,” Steve says, his voice coming through in crackles and static. Still legible. Still determined. Billy ignores the pounding of his heart. “When I said that you keep me up at night, what I meant was…”

Billy hears him sigh before trying to finish his thought.

“What I meant was that I kept seeing your body on the floor at the mall whenever I closed my eyes, and not being able to do anything about it. I started having dreams where you actually fucking died or some shit and I got all fucked up about it when I remembered how close we were to being- well, you know. But I couldn’t figure out why that kept happening; it’s not like any of that shit was my fault, right?”

“No,” Billy agrees, swallowing hard. “Wasn’t your fault.”

He thinks he can hear Steve exhale a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, so, I don’t know why but it just kept sticking with me. I started losing sleep because you were always there. I didn’t even know you were involved at all until-”

“Until I tried to kill those kids.” Billy finishes his sentence for him, trying his best to ignore the lump forming in his throat as he says it.

“That wasn’t you,” Steve says quickly, and gives Billy a moment to collect himself. “It wasn’t. But, I thought maybe if I just, I don’t know, avoided you, then maybe the nightmares would stop.”

A slight blossom of anger. He quickly discards it; that’s not what they need right now. “Did they?”

“No.”

The lump in his throat doesn’t go away. He swallows it down, but then it grows and starts to take up space in his chest. It pushes down the anger, and pushes the hurt he’s been internalizing up and out. His eyes grow wet. He blinks the tears back.

“I ignored you for so long,” Steve says in a hushed whisper.

“I know,” Billy replies and tries to keep the hurt that’s threatening to bubble out of his throat down.

“And then Max told me you tried to kill yourself-”

Steve’s voice catches, and Billy can hear the hurt that starts spilling out of him. He’s crying. Billy sniffs and stops blinking his own tears back.

“It was an accident,” he tries to tell him, but his voice gives out part-way through. “It was an accident,” he repeats as he clears his throat. Hot tears begin to streak down the sides of his face. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t know what to do. I tried to talk to Robin but she said she couldn’t do for me what a therapist could, but I’ve always heard that that shits for crazy people, and I’m not crazy, just miserable and then Max came to talk to me about you again and I just. Saw my chance, I guess.”

Billy holds the radio in one hand and his head in the other. He can feel a headache coming on. Steve rambles on, about how the guilt he feels manifests the horrific visions of Billy lying dead on the ground in that shitty mall and how his shrink suggested that maybe just talking to Billy about it might help.

“I could’ve killed you that night,” Steve says at the end of his rant, sniffling uncontrollably. His voice sounds hoarse, but at least they’ve both stopped crying. “I almost drove right into you.”

“You kinda did. Eye for an eye, though. Guess that makes us equal,” Billy replies, and Steve laughs.

His laugh is cheery despite the dark tones of their conversation. Light. It lifts Billy up.

“It could’ve been way worse, though.”

“Yeah,” Billy agrees, breathing deeply. His eyes feel crusty with dried tears. He wipes at them and feels how sore they are. “Yeah, you could’ve missed. You wouldn’t be so sorry if you had.”

Steve gets really quiet at that. Billy knows that Steve knows he’s right. He would’ve killed them if Steve hadn’t done what he did, but it doesn’t change the fact that it hurt the both of them when he’d had to resort to such drastic measures.

“But I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You survived.”

“So did you.”

“Fuck it. I miss you, Billy. I wasted so much time trying to get over the part of you I thought had died.”

They stay up all night after that. Just talking. Catching up, making amends. Healing.

The conversation only ends when Billy realizes Steve’s fallen asleep on his end. He’d been slowing down gradually as the hours passed, so it doesn’t come as a surprise, but still Billy wishes they could’ve talked more.

And they can, he understands. They can talk the whole rest of their lives away if they wanted to, because they survived. He sets the radio down on the floor beside his bed and slips in between the sheets. He closes his eyes and smiles. They survived.

When he wakes up, he realizes he no longer hurts.

[mercenarypark]

How do you think a crossover between Scooby-Doo and Ghostbusters would go?

EDIT: i typed all this shit out, posted the ask, and it posted without any text. thank CHRIST i saved everything i had written like 5 minutes before but i gotta re-add some edits real quickfunny that u ask since my friends and i have been workshopping that concept for monthsHeres what we have set in stone: first of all, Ray is Fred’s uncle. Theres no way around this one. This is mandatory. We’ve got two excitable and kindhearted idiots, with a love of ghosts and mysteries, who are constantly walking right into danger while having The Time Of Their LIVES, and theyre both voiced by Frank Welker? Not to mention the fact that so many Scooby Doo movies/shows involve various relatives of the Scooby gang suddenly appearing out of nowhere despite never being referenced before, and Fred having a famous uncle isnt even out of the ordinary, what with him being Bobby Flay’s nephew [and, while its only briefly mentioned in one old non-canon video i found, hes apparently a distant cousin of Tom Jones. which is hilarious] Second of all, setting will probably be Miskatonic University, aka the fictional university from Lovecraft mythos. Stay with me here, I know full well Lovecraft is garbage, but both Scooby AND RGB canon have Miskatonic as a real place At some point in RGB, Venkman and Egon go to Miskatonic for information during “The Collect Call of C[a]thulhu”, and the university is referenced again in “The Hole in The Wall Gang”, where Ray talks about his college football team having to fight Miskatonic’s once In Scooby Doo Mystery Incorporated, at the very, VERY end of the show, the gang gets scholarships to Miskatonic and drive off on a road trip to there, solving mysteries along the way. They’d have a perfectly valid excuse to already be in that area- and even outside of Mystery Incorporated’s timeline, you could easily make the argument that Miskatonic University and Arkam, Massachusetts would still exist in other Scooby timelines since it exists THERE, and they could still have a reason to be in that area solving mysteries as a resultAs for an actual plot, that’s more debatable. Probably some eldritch god bullshit, probably a lot of “is this a job for US or for YOU?” and trying to sort out if they’re dealing with a guy in a mask or an actual supernatural being. could also lead into the two teams trying to one-up each other in friendly[or not so friendly] competition, with Winston being literally the only one who wouldnt take part in that (see: “Ghostbuster of the Year”, and him also being the only one with the common sense to be like “wait we’re getting into a petty fight with teenagers now? Really??”). aside from that probably mostly a lot of the Ghostbusters bouncing off the Scooby gang. Going off what we’ve discussed:-Ray and Fred’s love for each other as family is compromised by the fact that neither of them will accept the possibility that the other guy’s car is better than theirs. Ecto-1 vs the Mystery Machine. who will win? no one. no one will win this mess-that said Ray and his talent with engineering works well with Fred’s trap building expertise so if whatever monster of the week they wind up dealing with is tangible, they’d make something incredible and way, wayyyy too complicated to catch it-It would take about 10 minutes for Egon to get into a heated debate with Velma over the existence of the supernatural, and they would both at least CONSIDER getting into a literal fistfight over it. Do not leave these two alone together. It won’t be pretty. -And in Mystery Inc, there’s the added bonus of Scooby technically being an alien god; so in that continuity there’s the potential of Egon, who steadfastly doesn’t believe in aliens, being confronted with the gang’s “mascot” who is an alien; and Velma, who steadfastly doesn’t believe in ghosts, being confronted with the Ghostbusters’ “mascot”, who is a ghost. -Slimer, Egon, Shaggy, and Scooby can and will eat the rest of them out of house and home. This is a fact.-Velma and Winston get along for being the bookish ones of their respective teams AND for far and away being two of the smartest, with the most common sense-that said Daphne probably has the most common sense and practical knowledge of the gang, and she and Winston both also share the sad title of “most often sidelined and ignored and not given the fun roles”, though over the years Daph has managed to save herself from this (see: Be Cool Scooby Doo). Also, without them, their respective teams basically fall to pieces. they are the glue keeping these ships running. -though with regards to what roles Daphne DOES get to play most of the time, iirc Venkman is the non-Janine Ghostbuster who’s most likely to get kidnapped, if only one of them is captured and not the whole crew like in “Janine Melnitz, Ghostbuster”. [examples of Venkman getting kidnapped solo include “The Bird of Kildarby” and “A Fright at the Opera”.] What I’m saying is, if anyone’s gonna get kidnapped by the monster of the week, it might well be these two. They can probably break themselves free, though, especially if they work together-Venkman, Shaggy, and Scooby share the common trait of being perfectly willing to ditch everyone else if given the opportunity and go nap and/or eat instead of dealing with whatever the hell is going on THIS time. the difference is that Venkman’s not really a coward, he’s just a lazy asshole-Speaking of things Venkman has in common with the gang, Venkman and Fred share the titles of “least brain cells” AND “biggest egos”. lord save everyone if those two try to put their heads together. anyway thats most of what we’ve got so far[i know, theres an unfortunate lack of Janine]. with all of that combined, you could probably make a pretty good crossover. christ knows ive been chipping away at the idea for a while, though i havent made much headway w/ how busy i am and how distracted i get (see: my 10 other in-progress rgb fics in varying stages of completion, and the fact that i only have 2 that are actually finished and posted)in short, i think the idea is fantastic and its a genuine shame that it doesnt look like the idea has really been considered, even with scooby doo guess who out now. Sure, there’s been more and more crossovers with the comics- the TMNT crossover and the new Transformers crossover- but I’d really want to see this with RGB and not the prime versions and again, it doesn’t look like crossover comics with the RGB characters have been considered. :/

[imagine-loki]

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter One Hundred and Nine

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

NOTES: Good news those of you sending me hate, this is the last chapter. To those of you that have been supportive and nice throughout this, thank you so much and I hope you enjoyed it.  

Children Ages

Nafi (20) Anna (18) Vali (15) Danu and Kushtrim (14) Einar (7)  

SEVEN YEARS LATER

‘I hate him, I want him castrated.’ Maebh groaned as she felt the next contraction start.

‘You said that last time.’ Sif dismissed as she pressed a cloth to Maebh’s forehead.

‘I mean it this time.’

‘You said that too,’ She laughed. ‘So what was the cause of this then?’

‘Thodin’s marriage, too much mead.’ She groaned.

‘Well, it is renowned for assisting in fertility.’ Sif shrugged as she helped Maebh through the contraction. ‘I thought you said you could not lay with him any longer.’

‘It just happened.’

‘And no pain?’

‘Not that I can remember. This baby better not be like Einar.’

‘You are big.’

‘Do not say such things.’ Maebh pleaded.

‘It will be here soon. I am thinking a girl.’

‘Danu would love that.’

‘She has been praying to Freya for it.’

‘She is fourteen, they are so far apart.’

‘Maebh, there is Nafi, Vali, Kushtrim and Einar, there was also Liulf, that is five boys in total and her only sister taken from her, she just does not want to be the lone girl.’

‘Danu was the Mother Goddess, she commanded mostly men.’

‘Well mostly is not all, Danu does not want to be the only girl.’

‘I cannot control these things.’

‘Well act like you do and hope for a girl.’ Sif suggested.

‘I am too old for this. No more.’

‘Yeah, I heard that before.’

‘How did you stay at three?’

‘I have no idea, it just happened.’ Sif did not know, she and Thor continued their marriage as before, but she had not conceived again after Modi. ‘Thank the Norns.’ Sif walked to the door. ‘Danu?’ The girl came to the door. ‘You need to get everything ready.’

‘Already do.’ She smiled, bringing everything into view.

‘I hate you right now.’ Maebh growled at Sif.

‘Mother, if you ever plan on having me be interested in being a wife, you are not helping the idea of me wanting children.’ Danu pointed out.

‘Do not do it, it is a trick, keep away from men.’ Maebh warned her.

‘Listen to your mother.’ Loki called from the other room.

‘Shut up you, this is your fault.’ Maebh snarled.

‘You were not exactly declining my advances.’

‘I am going to kill him.’ Maebh tried to rise from the bed, but Danu and Sif pushed her back down. ‘Let me at him.’

‘After you get this baby out.’ Sif promised.

‘No, because I will be too content to do it then.’

‘No, you are not far from needing to push, you cannot be running around after a fleeing husband.’ Sif informed her.

‘Fine, but only because I can feel the baby beginning to press down.’ Maebh conceded as she felt her body ready for what was needed of it. For all her jesting, Maebh was concerned at the damage her body was about to endure. She had been somewhat shocked when, after their night of unplanned passion, she felt no pain, but she refused to believe that she would get away without terrible injury after a birth. She could only wait and hope that it would not be so bad. ‘I take it the healer is less than pleased.’

‘She seems to think you are the worst sort of patient, you did not heed her warnings.’

‘It was not planned.’ Maebh inhaled deeply. ‘I think we are there.’

Sif checked. ‘Yes, next one, you will be able to start.’

‘This is better than a cold room in a foreign land.’ Danu jested as she looked at her mother.

‘Yes. you do not have to be here.’

‘I want to help. I did okay with Einar.’

‘You did.’ Maebh grimace as she felt her body ready to begin another contraction.

‘Mother, perhaps you need to consider not having any more children.’

‘Danu, your mother has been saying that since after you and Kushtrim, trust me, if she could prevent it happening, she would have done so way before now.’ Sif laughed.

‘But….you can stop it, by not doing things.’ Danu stated plainly having long been told by her mother how children came to be.

‘Yes, if you can stop doing those things, that is the issue.’ Sif laughed. ‘You cannot stop love.’

‘Arranged marriage?’ Maebh suggested playfully, laughing at the horrified look on Danu’s face. ‘Never. Do what right for you, my beautiful….Ah!’ Maebh’s teeth clenched together as the baby began to make its way down the birth canal.

‘Push, Mother.’ Danu pleaded, taking her mother’s hand. ‘I have another brother to welcome.’ She smiled.

*

Nafi sighed with relief as the coast of Asgard came into view. ‘Anna.’ He nudged his wife gently to get her to wake. ‘We are here.’

‘Thank goodness.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘I cannot remember this journey being this long.’

‘It does seem longer this time, I agree.’ Nafi conceded, making sure that they were still warmly wrapped in their pelts. ‘We will be there very soon though.’ He rubbed her arm.

As they got closer, Nafi glanced at the shoreline and grinned as he focused more on it. He watched as two figures on horseback cantering along the water’s edge. He smiled as they came to the dock at the same time as the boat docked. ‘How is that boat taking you, you never seem to cease growing, Anna, you poor thing.’

‘You finally grew a bit, I was getting worried you were taking Mother’s height.’ Nafi chuckled as he stepped off the boat, embracing his brother tightly, clapping his back. ‘I have not seen you in too long, how are you, Brother?’

‘All the better for seeing you. What brings you here?’

‘Just came to see my family. I hear my idiot younger brother convinced some poor creature to marry him.’

‘Yes, that rumour is indeed going around the realm. I heard my older brother had some news also.’ Vali joked.

‘I do not know what you are talking about.’ Nafi grinned.

‘Not what we hear, is it Kush?’ Vali looked around grinning.

‘Nah, we heard different.’ He grinned, stepping forward and hugging his brother. ‘You are built like an ox.’ Kushtrim commented. ‘Anna, how can you even fit in a bed with him?’

‘I have to sleep sideways.’ She laughed as Vali aided her out of the boat. ‘Einar will be broader, I think.’

‘Without a doubt, he has grown since your last visit, you will not believe it. He will be broader than Grandfather.’

‘Is that possible? Were it not for Danu being the one to assist Mother with the birth in a small room on Midgard, I would think it the wrong baby.’ Nafi stated.

‘I think the only reason people do not think he is not Father’s is his eyes and hair being identical.’ Kushtrim added.

‘That; and could you imagine the idiot to imply Mother would stray from Father?’ Vali commented.

‘I think Mother would flay them.’ Nafi nodded.

‘At the very least.’ Anna agreed.

They walked through the village before making their way to Thor’s. ‘Father, guess who is here.’ Kushtrim called out. A moment later, a small, burly built boy came out of the dwelling and looked at them. ‘Einar, do you know who this is?’

‘Anna!’ Einar rushed over to her, hugging her tightly. ‘Hi, Nafi.’ He stated dismissively as he cuddled Anna.

‘I am only your brother.’ Nafi grumbled.

‘But he loves Anna.’ Vali laughed. ‘Cannot say I blame him, she has doted on him since Mother brought him back from Midgard.’

‘Yeah, that is true.’ Nafi conceded. When he turned slightly, he smiled. ‘Hello, Father.’

‘My son.’ Loki embraced him tightly. ‘How are you? You did not tell us you were coming, it is so good to see you.’

‘We thought we would come and say hello, I hope you do not mind.’

‘Never, you are always welcome home, you know this.’ Loki smiled. ‘Hello, Anna. I see you are commandeered once more.’

‘By my second favourite Lokison.’ She smiled as she looked back at Einar.

‘Where is Mother?’

‘At home, looking after your grandmother, she and Danu are no doubt rushing around dealing with things.’

‘Why so?’

Well, you recall Leah?’ Nafi nodded. ‘She wed Heimdall.’

‘About time.’

Loki smiled and nodded back at his son. Leah and Heimdall spent the best part of the previous few years tiptoeing around things, but with Maebh losing her patience one day, she quite literally came right out and dealt with it, leading to a conversation on it, much to everyone’s surprise. Leah had been made terrified of childbirth and carrying as a result of her past trauma, something Heimdall completely understood and sympathised with, and with the loss of his wife and children to the disease, and with one healthy daughter, he was okay with not having any more children, so with that in the open, the pair were content and a match made. Heimdall once more had a stable home for his daughter as well as a very loving stepmother for her and the affections of a woman who clearly was happy by his side, something he praised the Norns for.

‘So who is helping mother?’

‘A young enough woman, Nia, she is good but still learning. Danu and your mother are helping her get settled.’ Loki explained. ‘We will take the cart back, it will be quicker.’

‘Is Uncle Thor not around?’

‘No, he is gone hunting with Thodin and Modi, they will be back in a few days. I had to deal with an issue in his absence there.’ Loki rolled his eyes. ‘You know how it is. How is Ásvaldr?’

They got back to the house soon enough, and with the horses being cooled by the farmhands, they entered the dwelling. ‘I think you brought home some stragglers.’ Danu laughed at seeing her oldest brother. ‘Hello.’ She hugged him tightly.

‘You literally are Father’s image, you know that, right?’

‘I would have been a wonderful looking woman.’ Loki jested as he looked at his daughter.

‘You could not exude the same air as I do Father, so you would not be as incredible.’ She laughed.

‘No, you get that from your mother.’

‘Where is she, and Grandmother?’ Nafi asked.

‘I am right here.’ Nafi turned to see Frigga sitting by the fire. ‘Hello.’

‘Grandmother, how are you?’ Nafi was shocked to see how old his grandmother was becoming.

‘All the better for seeing you, my handsome boy.’ She gently kissed his cheek. ‘How are you?’

‘So happy to see you all.’ He smiled.

‘Good.’

‘And Mother?’

‘She is sleeping, she had a long night.’ Loki explained. Nafi looked to his father worriedly. ‘You were not told?’

‘Told what?’

‘What do you think?’ Kushtrim laughed.

‘I….’ Nafi looked amongst them. ‘But Mother cannot….’

‘Should not, would have been the correct term.’ Frigga scoffed eyeing her son in a scolding manner.

Nafi looked to his father, who shrugged unapologetically. ‘So I have another brother?’

‘Why did everyone assume another boy?’ Loki asked.

‘He is not wrong though, is he?’ Vali laughed.

‘Another….really?’

Loki smiled and walked to the bedroom, coming back a moment later with a small baby, no more than a few months old. ‘Nafi, this is Vidar.’

‘Vidar.’ Nafi studied his new youngest brother. ‘He looks more like Mother.’

‘He does.’ Loki conceded. ‘I think he will be like Liulf.’

‘Father, I fear I am at risk of not remembering how many brothers I have.’ Nafi laughed.

‘How do you think I feel?’ Loki retorted.

‘Loki?’

‘In the living area, Dear.’

‘Did I hear…?’ Maebh looked out of the room.

‘Hello, Mother.’

‘How big you are getting.’ Maebh smiled at him. ‘You are a formidable man.’

‘Size has nothing to do with such things, you are so small and yet feared by so many.’

‘Well, I am apparently the Goddess of War and Death.’ She scoffed.

‘And procreation it would seem.’ He pointed to his new brother.

‘Yes. I blame your father.’

‘She tried to get up and kill him when she was in labour, it was hilarious.’ Danu laughed.

‘Danu, stop reminding her.’ Her father pleaded.

Maebh for her part rolled her eyes. ‘You must be hungry, come, let us get you all fed.’

‘We are really going to need a bigger table.’ Vali stated.

‘Well you are moving out soon, so that is a help.’ Kushtrim commented.

‘I not moving anywhere, we are staying here, I asked Mother and Father.’

‘Wait, where are you going to fit?’

‘You and Einar in one room, me and Sigrunn in our room, Mother and Father in theirs with whatever number of more children they decide to bestow on Asgard and Grandmother and Danu in their room.’ Vali shrugged.

‘What about when Brienne and I get married?’

‘You can leave, no one is stopping you.’ Danu snarked, Vali and Einar laughing with her.

‘Behave.’ Their father reprimanded. ‘Our old home, the one from when there was only Nafi, will be repaired and readied to include a small workplace for you.’ Loki informed Kushtrim.

‘My own….?’ Kushtrim stared at his father in disbelief, Loki nodded. ‘I…’

Kushtrim’s skills as a fighter were fairly good. He was well able to defend and attack, but he did not have the heart. Something he feared his parents disowning him for, but they, to his shock, seemed to love him more for it, showing him that his own traits, though not similar to theirs, were as admirable in their eyes.

‘Yes, Heimdall insisted on it also and has aided in its construction. After all, a good workshop for you is a good income for you and Brienne.’ Maebh smiled.

‘I….Thank you.’ Kushtrim had tears in his eyes as he took in what his parents were doing for him, to ensure him a good life.

‘It is our duty as your parents to help however we can so that you can look after your own families in years to come. Just as Mother aided me.’ Loki looked fondly to Frigga, who sat at the head of the table.

‘Your father should have done more.’

‘He came through when it mattered.’ Loki acknowledged. ‘Look at this home, look how many children it has raised and is still raising.’ He smiled, taking Vidar so Maebh could eat. ‘We are blessed.’

‘Or cursed.’ Vali joked.

‘Well, it is odd.’ Maebh laughed. ‘Vidar is younger than his niece.’

Loki looked at the little girl sitting on his oldest son’s lap. At just coming to a year old she was indeed older than her uncle. ‘It is unusual, becoming a father again after becoming a grandfather.’ He grinned. Vidar began to yawn. ‘I better put this boy to bed.’ He walked away from the table. ‘Will I…?’

‘Please.’ Maebh smiled. ‘Has she settled more now?’

‘Well, the journey over with her was harder this time, last time she just slept, this time she is far more interested.’ Nafi looked down at his daughter, who was chewing at her fist. ‘How do you do it with so many. Vali, Danu and Kustrim were all in one year.’

‘You adapt.’ Maebh smiled. ‘She is growing well.’

‘Yes.’ Loki came back and gently sat down again, cradling the baby in his arms. ‘She is looking more like you now, Anna.’

‘She is, though she has Nafi’s hair, it sticks out everywhere.’

‘At least she has hair.’ Loki laughed, indicating to the baby in his arms.

‘But…’ Nafi pointed to the baby. ‘Vidar….’

‘Vidar has hair, Freya has none.’ Danu smiled.

‘Who in the realms is Freya?’ Nafi asked, utterly confused.

‘Our sister.’ Vali informed him.

‘Wait, what?’

‘Mother can only have girls if she has a boy at the same time.’ Einar stated sagely as he stole some of Vali’s food while his older brother looked at Nafi, awaiting his reaction.

‘I have….oh Norns.’ Nafi shook his head. ‘There are two? What...How….?’ Loki simply shrugged. ‘How do you not know, you did it?’

‘You cannot control certain aspects of these things.’

‘I give up. I just...now Vali is getting married and wait and see, he will have a child and you two will assume that is your cue to have more.’

‘How do you think we feel, we thought there would be no more, then not only is there one, but I am forced to birth two, again!’

He looked at his little sister, who frowned at the large built man giving out across from her. ‘She even has Mother’s frown. At least she is well named.’ She gave him a bemused look. ‘I am going to come home to more children next time, I know it.’

‘No promises.’ Loki grinned, looking to Maebh, who was looking as though she was contemplating actually castrating him, but the look in her eye was one of love. Her look telling him that for all their trials and tribulations, they would persevere together, whatever would come.

[losersclubimagines]

Night Terrors | Part Two

Title: Night Terrors

Pairings: Losers Club x Reader

Type: Platonic | Romantic | Familial | Other

Warnings: whoooo lots of gore, midly graphic too, bleeding, pills/medicine, profanity, soft sappy fluff

Summary: with a wound clean and a head hurting, you reconcile with your best friends.

———

“... waking up. Guys, s/he’s waking up!”

Your first rise to consciousness felt like surfacing from a drunken state. At first, it took all your effort to peel your eyes open - and then everything else kicked in all at once.

Staring at the ceiling of Richie’s kitchen, hard wood under your back, the cold sweat lacquering your entire body and, most of all, the agonizing pulses of pain radiating from what was left of your calf.

Your breaths turned to gasps, to groans of fear and pain, to strangled yells your throat was too dry to support. You registered fingers, grazing over your skin too close to your wound, and thrashed wildly, trying to kick them off.

“Don’t!” you tried to yell, but only the feeblest of croaks left your lips. “Don’t touch it...”

“Y/n. Y/n, look at me.” A head of curly auburn hair and pretty eyes swam before your tear-clouded vision. “You’ll be alright. Listen to me, you’ll be fine. We have to stop the bleeding.”

You bit your trembling lip and squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the unshed tears residing there spill and slide hot down your cheeks. Seeing with clear vision now, you spotted Eddie hunched up tightly against the wall, limbs locked together tight and face buried in his knees lest he see your ugly, bleeding wound. Richie hovered next to him, standing, uncharacteristically quiet, and almost no color in his face.

“Your parents?” you asked weakly, hating to do it, but needing to you.

Richie swallowed. “They’ll be out for a few more days.”

You nodded, but your stomach had no place for pity right now, not when the pain was this intense.

Finally, you saw Bill hovering over your leg. Around fifty medicine bottles and drug packets lay scattered like litter over the counter, but he touched each one with an uncertainty that made dread fill you.

Finally, Bill caved, and called over, “E-E-Eddie! I n-need your help over here!”

Looking like he wanted to vomit, Eddie slowly righted himself and walked over, dry-retching every time he saw the slowly blackening blood crusting around your wound.

“Alright,” the boy said faintly. “Get the fexofenad- the brown bottle with the blue cap.” Bill retrieved it and twisted off the lid. A strong smell of disinfectant rose from the bottle, and you whimpered and twitched in a strange sort of terror. “OK, now soak these cotton pads with it and clean the wound. We need to make sure it’s not infected before we wrap it up.”

“What about the bleeding?” you interjected, horrified. “It’s not just going to - to fucking dwindle to a stop. That thing almost tore my whole fucking leg off!”

Eddie and Bill exchanged quick glances. “Y-Y/n, uh... it - it probably f-feels bigger than it really i-is.”

“What does that mean?” Hysteria was beginning to rise, taking your words on the way to your mouth and flaying them, leaving only these high-pitched, panicked sound.

“He means it’s actually... kind of a small wound,” Eddie supplied nervously.

“Sm - fucking small?” You shook your head. “That’s impossible, I felt it, I - it’s teeth were -”

“IT’s played mind games before,” Mike supplied gently from somewhere you couldn’t see. “Maybe making you feel like you were going to die was just... adding to the fear.”

And, finally, the realization dawned on you, and the hysteria broke into a single sob of relief. “I’m not going to die?” you whispered, seeking confirmation from Eddie. For a boy who looked like his kneecaps would’ve given in five minutes ago, his smile was sure.

“Not unless Bill fucks it up spectacularly beyond his track record.” He reached for your hand, then quickly retracted it. “Sorry. I would take your hand but there’s... there’s blood all over it, so...”

You laughed, a breathless sort of laugh over in one exhale because there were too many feeling warring around in your body right now to spend time on just one, then hissed in pain as your wound began to sting,

Bill swiped the soaked cotton pads over the edges of the teeth marks, clearing up the blood that has crusted black, and then inside, over jagged flesh and torn muscle, making you twitch away and groan and gasp - but all the placebo agony from your first waking had turned tail and fled, leaving you with only this dull, pulsing pain like needles pricking into your skin.

“A-alright, it’s wiped. Sh-should we wrap it up n-n-now?” Bill asked, and Eddie nodded in affirmation. You hissed again as Bill, albeit gently, began to wind a long length of bandage gauze of your calf, layering it on thick and then tying it off with a rather spectacular knot, and that was it, over. The Losers Club breathed a collective sigh of relief, and you tried for sitting up.

Black dots swarmed your vision, and you groaned, groggily swaying on the spot until an arm caught your weight and helped you off your makeshift operating table. Stan supported you as you blinked away the darkness, and when you unhooked your arm from his shoulders with a murmured, “thank you,” he beamed in a way you’d never seen him smile, and that was as much a remedy as any packaged or plasticked drug could be.

You looked over at the table. Your wound was small, true, but holy shit did it ever bleed a lot. Blood dripped from the sides of the wood and also made a grotesque bread-crumbs trail to the door of kitchen, twining round the corner and out of sight. You swallowed.

Richie was the first to speak. “Look, I know my folks are negligent assholes and everything, but...” he cast a long look over the state of the place. “I’d rather not poke a sleeping dragon in the dick, y’know?”

A nervous laugh broke forth from everyone in the room, and fifteen minutes following, there was a pail filled with hot water, a tub of sponges and cloths that Eddie gagged to touch - “do you even wash these, Richie?!” - and everyone was at work.

You helped to scrub down the table with a hard, bristly brush, while Ben took the other die. In your panicked flails after waking up, you’d managed to get gore on the wall a meter to your left as well, which Beverly and Bill tackled together. Eddie, Stan and Mike had disappeared out the kitchen to presumably scrub away the trails of blood from the front door and the driveway, and even Richie - no, especially Richie - was helping, on his knees and scrubbing at those blood spats on the floor until they were way past clean. His glasses kept sliding down the bridge of his nose, and his skin held a sheen of sweat from the effort.

You listened to the sounds of your friends all over the house, and grinned. You’d never been so happy whilst cleaning up blood before.

————

The seven of you sat in a lopsided circle, in the grassy top of the cliff overlooking the quarry. Beverly was plucking daisies from the grass and making a deft flower chain with it, and you lay horizontally with your head in Stan’s lap and your legs sprawled over Richie, who kept tickling your toes until you kicked him in the chest.

“Guys?” you piped up tentatively, and in the slightly bored silence, all eyes turned to you. You swallowed, sitting up and knotting your hands together in your lap. “I just... wanted to say I - thank you. For the other day, and taking me to Richie’s house and patching me up and... everything.”

Richie scoffed. “What, like we’d just let you bleed out on the floor?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really thinking clearly...” you trailed to a stop. “When - when IT appeared for you guys... was he just a clown? Or did he - did he take other shapes too?”

To your misguided relief, Eddie, Bill, Mike and Stan nodded in affirmation.

“I - I saw a leper,” Eddie stammered. “Mike saw his parents, Stan saw that freaky woman in the painting in his dad’s church and Bill... Bill saw Georgie.”

You swallowed, feeling tears rise to your eyes.

“Why?” Beverly called from across the circle. “What did you see?”

“I saw...” You gathered yourself. “You. All of you. Dead, dying. And I couldn’t - I couldn’t do anything. It’s like... I just had to sit back and let it happen and, and there was nothing I could do, it just-” You sniffed forcefully, blinking away tears. A different kind of silence had washed over the group. Beverly’s daisy-chain-making hands had stayed. “Anyway. The things is, I... love you guys. And-” You broke off, unsure of what you were going to say, unsure of what could be said.

“A-and we love you t-too,” Bill supplied from the other side of the circle, at the same time as Richie to the left of you grabbed your hand with a tenderness that was both uncharacteristic and absolutely and entirely Richie.

“Yeah,” Bev echoed softly. “We love you too.”

You smiled, and your cheeks were wet with tears again but it didn’t do to wipe them away, not with everyone gradually piling atop of you in a gaggle of limbs and soft hands and hair pressing into one another in a circus parody of a hug.

Amidst the labyrinth of your friends, you vowed to never feel lonely again.

[halfwayinlight]

as usual, this is for @cleverdistraction . not sure i posted all chapters here, but pervious ones can all be found on AO3

Title: Fauxrents Chapter: 6  Fandom: Star Trek TNG Pairing:  Will Riker/Deanna Troi Rating: PG, maybe PG13

It had taken a great deal of convincing to get Will to move away from tonight’s dinner plans. While Deanna wouldn’t exactly say they had argued about it, they had certainly had a number of discussions about it. And she had eventually banned those discussions from the meal table.

Although Will was off duty right now, Deanna had continued with her morning schedule the day after the incident. There had been four in-take sessions with various crew, all thrown physically and mentally by the events of the night before. Two of those had been held in sickbay. She had a mental note to check in with sickbay this afternoon to see how the lieutenant with the worst injuries was faring. For now, Beverly had kept her patient sedated, but in the next day hoped to ease that back. Deanna was sure she would be having some conversations with the younger lieutenant once she was conscious enough.

Will had waited for her and was sipping something that looked thick and creamy. It hadn’t taken long for both of them to order or for their food to arrive. She was starting to savor the first bites of blini with caviar when Will began to share his newest idea.

“I hope you can join us for dinner tomorrow,” he started, before taking another sip of his drink.

Her eyebrows arched as she used the side of her fork to cut a delicate first bite. “Of course I planned to join you and the boys for dinner. We needed a night to rest, in our own rooms, but I thought you knew I was… that is…”

“You were planning to share a bed with me,” he finished for her, voice suggestive as it dropped low in tone and volume, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Yes, in a word,” Deanna retorted, primply beginning her meal and giving a surreptitious glance around Ten Forward. They were having a late lunch, in deference to her schedule and Will’s late morning nap.

He nodded and drank a bit more. “Good,” he murmured, “Anyway, I thought it could be a fun night together. I want to cook.”

She took this in without commenting as she worked on her own meal, hunger really hitting and reminding her that it had been nearly five hours since her last meal. It was when no further words were forthcoming that she finally took a longer look at his drink and asked, “What are you drinking?”

“Vanilla protein shake,” came his idly reply. “It sounded good.” He shifted in his seat, relaxing further. “How do you feel about something… fun for dinner?”

Deanna considered this for a long moment before pressing, “Fun as in fondue? Or fun as in having to break open my meal before I consume it? Or fun as in deceiving my meal into thinking it’s getting its own meal and having to flay and cook it on site? I’m not gutting fish for you, the boys, or myself.”

His smile widened. “No fish or hunting involved,” he assured, palm lifting to halt her train of thought. “And you love the crabs, and I cracked most of them open for you. You even had a mallet and everything for that one.”

“The spices were delicious,” she conceded. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“It’s rude to interrupt your conversation partner,” he teased in defense.

She swallowed another bite of caviar and blini and gave him a leveling look.

“Alright, alright… I was thinking… something exotic.”

“Such as…”

“Something a more… Klingon in nature.”

“I’m not eating any more gagh unless it’s diplomatically necessary so as not to offend actual Klingons. And I will not expect Jake or Willie to eat anything I’m not willing to eat.” Her tone had been firm and crystal clear.

A day and a few hours later, and they were not quite on the same page. “I’m just saying, it’s never too soon to start expanding their palates,” Will huffed as he worked on the dinner he’d finally compromised on.

Deanna shook her head and gathered her fresh supply of uniforms and moved toward a fairly empty corner of the closet in the Potts’ main bedroom that she and Will used to keep their things stored in. A night in their own beds had done them both a world of good, but she was still on limited lifting, and Will wasn’t going back to full duty until tomorrow. He’d had a mild headache this morning and had felt better until more recently.

She had no objections at all to family dinner with Jake and Willie. Her objections were to his menu. They’d exchanged three communiques that day alone. And it had come up at dinner and again at breakfast before she’d put down her fork and told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was not going to discuss Klingon or other exotic cuisine during another meal she was doing her best to enjoy.

Two more communiques had followed, only the last starting to bridge their difference of opinion in this matter. I merely think you were being overly ambitious in your expectations, she reminded him, not for the first time. If you would start with something a little less of a stretch, it would go easier.

Gagh is an adventure, came his objection from a room away.

It occurred to her that their ability to have these conversations had grown easier in the last week and a half or so. Now, though, she rolled her eyes and tucked away clean things. We finally feel rested. I’m not about to deal with traumatized children because their supper tried to escape through their nasal cavities.

Give me a little credit, I would’ve cooked it first.

Not everyone is as much an epicurean adventurer as you.

Says the woman who had oskoids and caviar at lunch yesterday, Will grumbled. I promised to cook the gagh first, and I was willing to dial it back to heart of targ or pipiusclaw for the first meal. With a huff of irritation as she rejoined him in the dining area, he stirred the batter in front of him with more ferocity than really needed.

“Imzadi,” she murmured softly, aware the Potts boys were finishing their showers after their early evening at the gym, “Do you have another headache?”

Blue eyes narrowed in irritation. They both knew it wasn’t a question. “Sorry I’m being a piece of baktag .”

Deanna gave his cheek a soft kiss and brushed back that ever-persistent stray lock that fell in his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re still not feeling like yourself. I know we both hate medical leave.”

“Yeah,” Will replied. “I had all of these great ideas for the holodeck, but between your arm healing, and this concussion…” He reached for the bacon and eggs and added them to the griddle he was working over. Medicine might have been able to heal him quickly, but there were still some mysteries to brain injuries. His headaches were minor, but his body was not yet finished healing itself and adjusting to the medical intervention from sickbay.

Deanna had already set the table, taking her time and trying to minimize the noise of plates and cutlery clattering. Now she was reaching for the hypo that Beverly had left with them. “Hold still,” she instructed, pressing it to his neck and feeling the tension between them ease within moments. “Klingon food might be a bit advanced. But I’m glad you thought of breakfast for dinner instead.”

“You’re just hoping for chocolate in your pancakes.”

Her head tilted slightly, and she gave him a pointed smile. You know the way to my heart.” The words were out before she’d really analyzed them.

He gave the eggs a quick scramble as he opted to keep it light, “I know better than to come between you and chocolate… although, I should make you settle for regular, boring pancakes with only maple syrup after not going to sickbay as soon as you were hurt the other night.”

Her eyes rolled as she snagged a few berries from the pile he’d cleaned to use for toppings. “We took the same first aid and triage courses. It was a minor injury. The boys were upset, and I was able to sleep through it I would’ve waited for hours in triage.”

“You shouldn’t have to sleep through it,” he muttered to himself as he gave the batter a final stir. “You know I hate it when you’re injured.”

“That feeling is very mutual,” Deanna reminded, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. There wasn’t space for anything else because both boys were joining them now. Thankfully their usual noise level had been lowered because of a few hours of exercise. Tonight would be a family dinner and then they would all watch something together, and then bed right on time with any luck.

Both boys had ordered their own drinks from the replicator, juice for Jake and milk for Willie, and they were taking their seats. Will had settled the griddle on the table and was making pancakes to order. Currently he was in the middle of set of chocolate-laden pancakes for both Willie and Deanna and Jake’s was plain so he could add syrup and berries.

“Are you guys gonna stay here tonight?” Willie asked around a bite of the eggs that already been scrambled as a sort of appetizer while the pancakes cooked.

“Yes,” Will replied, sipping his own cup of milk. Deanna was keenly aware that he wanted some coffee, but Beverly had forbidden him to drink caffeine for the next few days in deference to his recovery. “Just like before. We would’ve stayed here last night, but we both needed some extra time to rest and heal up.”

Their previous family meals had involved everyone talking about their day, but were usually followed by an activity. It was a testament to the recreational class in the early evening tonight that both boys had moved immediately to eating, rather than talking.

“Don’t forget to chew,” Deanna teased with a small laugh as Will began doling out pancakes and both boys began eating immediately. She gave a soft thank you to him before adding a little whipped cream on hers and some shaved chocolate. Don’t you start, she thought toward Will.

He gave her a sly look. Enjoy. It’s too rich for me.

She took her first bite and practically sighed at the decadence. It was warm from the griddle and just the right mix of cooked through, but with enough chocolate sauce to and cream to give it the texture of molten lava, with the cool of the cream and bitterness of the dark chocolate shavings. The textures were their own sensory experience.

Across the table, Will coughed suddenly and shook his head slightly before taking a sip of his drink and warding her off.

“Are you okay?” the question came from Jake.

Will colored slightly, though it might have been from the coughing, but he nodded and took another long sip of his milk. “Too big a bite,” came his weak explanation, though Willie didn’t seem to notice at all and Jake took it in stride.  You’re projecting too much, he protested as he took a moderate helping of scrambled eggs and resumed eating with smaller bites.

Sorry, came her sincere apology. I didn’t mean to flood you. It had been some time since she had done that. Although, to be fair, she didn’t think much about projecting these days. There were more species of beings aboard Enterprise than other starships, but it was not as diverse as she and some of the crew might wish it was. So few species were empathic, and she knew from her time with her mother and occasional trips to Betazed that she was less in practice with keeping her thoughts to herself than she had been growing up on her home planet. She supposed it was the same with her emotions. Though rarely were she and Will as open to each other as they were these days. The accident the other night had only made them more in tune as they had checked in with each other frequently in the last two days.

“Is… everything okay?” the question came from Jake, and it occurred to Deanna that it was very quiet in the room. Even Willie was looking up, a too-large bite of pancake dangling from his fork in mid-ar.

“Yes,” Deanna answered. “I think we all must be a little tired.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he glanced between the adults.

“Sometimes our mom and dad know what we’re thinking,” Willie said slowly, his fork lowering to the plate as he looked at first Deanna, who was watching him closely, and Will who was going on about eating as if everything were normal. “Are you trying to read our minds?”

It made her laugh, and she shook her head. “Have you learned about Betazoids in your class?”

“We learned about them last year, on the other starship we were on before this. Well, I mean, I guess we learned about you, that is,” Jake spoke up. “And about how they are tele.. Tel…”

“Telepathic,” Will supplied the word in between bites of his eggs and pancakes.

“Yeah, you can read people’s minds,” Willie added in accusation. He glanced at Deanna out of the corner of his eyes. “What am I thinking right now?”

She shook her head with a smile and swallowed her own bite of pancake and took a long sip of her juice. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, except that you are suspicious of me.”

“What’s suspicious mean?”

“It means you don’t trust her or you think she might be tricking you,” Jake answered and glanced to Will, “Doesn’t it?”

Will nodded with a small smile as he took clear enjoyment in the boys finally addressing something they both knew they had wondered about for a while now. “More or less.”

“I certainly hope to regain your trust,” Deanna answered seriously. “While it’s true that most Betazoids are telepathic, it’s rather like a continuum. Meaning,” she clarified before the question could be raised, “that some are very strong telepaths and others are not very good at telepathy, and a lot of Betazoids fall in the middle and are sort of good at it but not really great at mind reading. Sort of like… well, like one person might be very gifted in athletics, like Will. and other people might not be very good at sports.”

Will finished off his drink with a long sip. “Deanna’s mother is a very strong telepath. She’s very good at reading people’s minds. In fact, she’s even read Deanna’s thoughts while on a shuttle and not even on the ship, yet.”

Two sets of wide eyes turned in her direction. Both boys were a mix of nervous, and in Jake’s case a little embarrassed at the thought of having their minds read.

“I am not, however, a telepath,” she added quickly, finally getting to the point she’d wanted to clarify. “I’m half Betazoid. My mother is Betazoid, but my father was human. So I am a hybrid. Some hybrids develop telepathy, but that’s rare. In my case, I’m not a telepath. My mother and my mother’s family and other Betazoids can share their thoughts with me. But I can’t read or hear their thoughts unless they specifically share them. So you don’t have to worry about that. I am an empath, which means I can sense other people’s emotions. When they’re happy or sad or things like that. But I don’t always know why they feel that way because I can’t read their thoughts.”

Willie knelt in his chair to better reach his plate and took another big bite of his pancake and chewed for a long moment. “So,” he began, gesturing with his fork, “our mom and dad aren’t reading each other minds when they finish each others’ sentences and stuff like you and Will do?”

Both adults shared a smile. They’re on to us, Imzadi, Will thought in her direction. “Not quite. It’s just that… when adults, or really anyone, spends much time together and they really get to know each other, they can often anticipate or guess what the other person is going to say. Or what they think.”

“So it can feel like reading someone’s mind. When really, it’s because we know each other so well. Will and I have known each other for many years now, like your parents,” Deanna finished.  She surreptitiously avoided looking at Will.

Since they were both assigned to Enterprise , they’d never talked about the telepathy they shared between them. They hadn’t discussed it at all since… well, since before . Since some time back on Betazed all those years ago. She hadn’t mentioned it to any of the crew. And now she vaguely wondered if it was something they should’ve have mentioned. Mentioned… to the captain? It had never impeded their duties. And she wasn’t aware of Betazoids ever having to divulge who they were bonded with. Many never bonded. This felt too personal to share, and she felt certain Will hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.

“Deanna?” You okay? Deep blue eyes were watching her with concern. “I asked if you wanted another pancake.”

“Sorry,” she murmured around a bite. “It’s been a long day. No, thank you, I’m alright with my two pancakes.”

They lapsed into catching up on the news they had missed while the boys were sleeping over with friends. By the time both boys were stuffed with dinner, they’d caught up on the latest subjects and trials and triumphs of school. Willie had an upcoming diorama of a star system he needed to start in a few days, and which he planned to use some of his craft and art time to build, and Jake’s class was learning about oral histories and would need to talk with his parents soon to get some information to help him complete the project. Will and Deanna were already planning how to record the presentations to make sure their parents could watch.

Before long, they were cleaning up the meal and piling onto the sofa bed to enjoy something to watch. It was a children’s program that the boys enjoyed, and this latest was a retelling of some of the Bajoran myths. It didn’t take much for everyone to find a comfortable spot, and Deanna would be lying if she didn’t admit that it was even more relaxing to be stretched out next to Will and to let the cares of the day slip away.

                                        ***                                   ****                            ****

She woke to music and realized that the film had ended, and the rooms was otherwise quiet. To her left, Willie was sprawled like a space jellyfish and snoring softly. Beyond him, Jake had also lost the battle to slumber, though silently. Rubbing her eyes, she shifted, apparently enough to rouse Will because he mumbled something about the warp core before pushing himself up on one arm.

“Wha?”

“We all feel asleep,” Deanna whispered in drowsy amusement. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at the screen that was now too bright in the otherwise dark room.

Will ordered the screen off, and his arms wrapped around her slowly, giving her time to object as he pulled her close. “Guess we wore everyone out today.”

“Mhmm,” she murmured, shifting to face him in the dark and smiling to herself at the contented mood settling around them. It took a bit of arranging, they were rusty after a night apart and many nights when they’d simply collapsed onto this bed, too tired to care exactly where arms and elbow and knees ended up. It was almost awkward, but charmingly so as his arm slid to her lower back and offered support as she cuddled close.

Warm lips pressed slowly to hers, and then his forehead brushed hers and rested there. “You didn’t explain this to them,” he observed softly, voice not even a whisper.

“Neither did you,” she countered neutrally, hand searching in the dark for his cheek and cupping it gently, tracing down to his beard.  He was quiet and still, letting her explore, fingers stroking along his jaw before she leaned in again. She wasn’t quite on target, and her kiss pressed to one side before his hand cupped her head and urged her to her left and their lips met for a long moment. A breath, and lips met together again, his mouth opening so slightly in invitation.

Smiling, she shifted and let herself indulge in a long, warm kiss. It was his hand that got them into trouble, brushing her side and making her squirm and practically yelp in surprise as he found one of her ticklish spots by accident.  Will! She protested, though she had to bite her own lip to keep from giggling out loud.

One of the boys shifted and said something indistinguishable. And for a long moment, they both froze and held their breath. When nothing else was said and the room remained still, she relaxed against his side and fought another giggle. Maybe we should’ve gone elsewhere to kiss.

I wouldn’t object, but we probably need sleep at some point.

“How pragmatic of you,” she breathed, though letting him in on her amusement. Her arm wrapped across his waist, and Deanna settled on her side, arm resting across him and leaving her recovering shoulder in a neutral position. Is this alright for you?

The light pressure to the top of her head was his goodnight kiss. “It’s perfect,” he murmured, a smile in his voice.

[bthenoise]

Cannibal Corpse Debut “Inhumane Harvest” From 15th Full-Length Album ‘Violence Unimagined’

Big news metalheads! For the first time since 2017′s Red Before Black, death metal icons Cannibal Corpse will be dropping a brand new full-length album.

Titled Violence Unimagined, the band’s new 11-track effort will be their first to officially feature Hate Eternal guitarist Erik Rutan as he replaces former member Pat O’Brien.  

Elaborating on the new record due out April 16th, as well as Rutan’s influence on the album, bassist Alex Webster says: “I think the most noticeable difference on this record will be the addition of Erik to the band. He wrote three full songs for the record, music and lyrics, and his song writing and guitar playing have added something new and I think his musical style integrated into ours very well.”

“He’s a great friend of ours,” Webster adds, “so on a personal level, he’s been a perfect fit as we knew he would be. Beyond that, he’s one of the hardest working people I know, in music or otherwise, and he maintains a high energy, positive demeanor in challenging situations where other people might go in a negative direction. This energy and great attitude rubs off on the rest of us as well. That’s really a perfect situation to have when you add someone to a band, or any kind of team: someone who’s great at what they do, and also inspires the people around them.”

As for Violence Unimagined, Webster notes, “It really follows the path we’ve been going down for a few years now. I think we approach the writing in a similar way most every time: Each of us try to write the heaviest, most memorable songs we can. We want each song to have its own identifiable character. Showing my age, I like to say you can ‘drop the needle’ on any point of one of our albums and quickly tell which song you’re listening to.”

For your first taste of what’s to come from the longtime legends, be sure to check out the smashing lead single “Inhuman Harvest” below. Afterward, be sure to pre-order Cannibal Corpse’s new album here.

VIOLENCE UNIMAGINED TRACKLIST:

01) Murderous Rampage 02) Necrogenic Resurrection 03) Inhumane Harvest 04) Condemnation Contagion 05) Surround, Kill, Devour 06) Ritual Annihilation 07) Follow The Blood 08) Bound And Burned 09) Slowly Sawn 10) Overtorture 11) Cerements Of The Flayed

[archiveidjowi-blog]

+ PEEKABOO. 

schedule prompt o1 | cherry bomb prepares for a comeback. 

ahn jowi is sick to her stomach. 

truthfully speaking she’s looked a lot better. the diet she’s been on was bad enough, but the added stress of the scandal breaking and yohan’s subsequent reaction has left her positively gaunt. on the upside, her manager points out (relentlessly positive as always) her abs are well defined. 

yeah, she thinks, because i’ve been subsisting on the leftover adrenaline of near constant panic attacks for the last week and a half, so my body is metabolizing the half a chicken breast i’m allowed to eat a day with alarming alacrity. but ahn jowi is too tired even for her characteristic venom, so instead she rolls her eyes, shadowed by purple in an elegant halo that has her looking full on nineties model style heroin chic.  

she runs her thumb over the screen of her phone. the display is covered in notifications from friends wanting to know whats going on, who is he, how is she doing, is this for real, were these what those rumors were about, was someone making her do this, but hadn't they just seen her with yohan the other day? jowi hasn't bothered to even unlock the damn thing since the news broke, she's not sure what the point in even having it anymore is.  what a fucking farce. 

her whole life is a farce. they're primping her up now so she can simper at the camera, smile and stun, so they can layer her in filters and photoshop until it doesn't even look like her anymore, throw it out with a title that says something disgusting like MARCO'S GIRL AJ - all the articles say it lately, and she can feel the reaction to it each time. its visceral and destructive, a wicked twist in her gut like she's just been punched. she feels flayed open, put on display for hungry eyes. even the stylist now, once a friend, seems to look at her differently. it seems like she can read the secret on her face, like everyone knows what's really going on. its not like these kinds of relationships are rare and they're barely a step away from sponsorship themselves, but jowi is sure everyone knows hers to be the false, flimsy little cover it is. surely they can sense it, like animals can smell the disease on one another they must be able to sense the rot inside her. 

they trim up her bangs while she's in the chair and its all she can do to not ask outright, hey miyeon, will you turn the chair around, i literally can't face myself in the mirror anymore, i'm probably going to puke on your expensive and alarmingly neutrally toned array of makeup. instead she holds it back, stubborn fingers digging into her palms, nails pressing crescent moons there as she breathes in deep, slow, careful. she's going to make this count. if she's ruined her personal life at least her career will shine, her performance will remain convincing. if this is all she has now, by god, jowi is going to make it count. 

so she slips out of the chaotic mess of broken pieces, shattered glass, and heart palpitations that is ahn jowi and pulls on AJ like armor, slides out of the chair with a grin on her lips and a nod of thanks, struts easily in far too high heels towards the photoshoot set. 

[sbknews]

New Post has been published on Superbike News

New Post has been published on http://superbike-news.co.uk/wordpress/seabright-future-fenton-seabright-ktm-rc-cup-champion/

Seabright Future: Fenton Seabright is KTM RC Cup Champion

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Fenton Seabright is the 2017 Santander Consumer Finance KTM RC Cup champion, clinching the title on Saturday October 14 at Brands Hatch, Kent.

Riding the no.47 KTM RC 390 ‘Cup’ specification machine, the 15-year old has been a consistent title challenger throughout his first year in the KTM-supported series. From the 19 races it took for him to win the championship, Fenton stood on the podium 15 times with eight of those on the top step. To put the icing on the cake, he won the final race of the year after an epic battle with title rival, Jack Nixon.

Nicknamed El Guiri (pronounced L´giddy) which means the foreigner, Fenton is originally from Chelmsford, Essex, but has lived in Spain since he was two-years old. Amazingly, 2017 is only Fenton’s third ever season racing on tarmac circuits and despite winning racing scholarships in Spain, the Seabright family chose the KTM RC Cup to help boost his profile in 2017.

With the added pressure of a ‘racing commute’ which has required his entire family to travel from Spain to the UK to each of the eight rounds and 20 races, Fenton’s incredible debut season racing in the UK has seen him manage to maintain his school work along with competing in the PREM OTO4 250CC & IMR PITBIKE 14 0CC championships at home.

Fenton came into the eighth and final round of the championship as title leader with the slimmest advantage over Jack Nixon of just half a point, due to half points awarded at Knockhill for Round 3. With 50 points up for grabs over two races, it was all to play for.

RACE 1 Saturday hosted the first race of two from the weekend and launching off the line, Seabright along with Nixon on the no.14 machine, were separated by less than 0.1s throughout the race on the full-length Brands GP circuit. However, on the penultimate lap, disaster would strike Nixon as he crashed out of the lead unhurt at Clearways, handing the race and title to Seabright. Rounding out the podium was Matthew Bower and Kade Verwey, returning to form after injury.

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RACE 2 Almost a carbon copy of the first bout, the final race of the year was a straight fight between Seabright and Nixon but this time going all the way to the flay. The pair laid down an impressive pace to quickly break away from the chasing pack; a dramatic, eight-strong battle for third. With differing lines around the Kent circuit, the two youngsters traded places multiple times each lap but it was Seabright – now riding with the no.1 plate on – who held Nixon off for the win. Matthew Bower finished the year in impressive form with another podium – his fifth of the campaign.

Fenton Seabright said: “It means so much to win this – what a year! My first season racing in the UK and learning all the tracks and the travelling has been full on. “We joined the Santander Consumer Finance KTM RC Cup as it a high-profile, competitive and fair championship to boost my career. All the bikes are equal and there’s no cheating. The support from KTM is unbelievable and the camaraderie in the KTM village is fantastic; everyone shakes each other hand after a race and supports each other. “I was disappointed for Jack and for the first race to end like that – it was close to us both coming off. But Jack has been one of the best people to race with this year; he’s a fair rider on track – one of the cleanest racers with passes. He’s fast and confident. I’m disappointed for him but happy for me and we will see each other again on track a lot in the future.”

Simon Roots, KTM UK Marketing, Events & Motorsport manager, said: “What another incredible season of RC Cup racing. The series is as popular as ever and we are clearly seeing the championship used for its purpose – a platform for future talent to improve and demonstrate their skills in a fair, affordable and high-profile way using KTM RC 390 in its Ready to Race ‘Cup’ specification. “The championship is nothing without the amazing riders, their families and teams that have helped produced arguably the best season of RC Cup racing to date. Congratulations to everyone involved and especially Fenton Seabright on his incredible season.”

There’s no time for some of the riders to celebrate, especially Seabright and Nixon who head straight to the Red Bull MotoGP Rookies Cup try-outs in Almeria tomorrow (Monday) before continuing on to the KTM RC Cup World Final in Jerez, where they’ll be joined by Matthew Bower and Connor Thomson for two races on October 21-22.

Discover more at www.ktmrccup.com

SANTANDER CONSUMER FINANCE KTM RC CUP Final championship positions after Round 8 of 8

1. Fenton SEABRIGHT 380 2. Jack NIXON 349.5 3. Brian HART 315 4. Matthew BOWER 243 5. Connor THOMSON 165.5 6. Kade VERWEY 157 7. Connor MOODY 141.5 8. Jordan McCORD 137.5 9. Adam DUNN 108 10. Will LATHROPE 107

KTM RC CUP: Seabright’s Park

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[kiraqueenofchaos-blog]

What Hell may come... (Memory)

Title - What Hell may come

Type - One Shot

Rating - PG-13 (Violence against children.) 

Author - Kiraqueenofchaos

The ax fell hard slicing the log cleanly in two. They hit the ground with a dull thud. I wiped the sweat from my brow and bent to grab another. With winter soon to come to this area, I needed to prepare. I lost myself in the repetitive movements. 

A time later, I had a hefty pile. More would need to be cut on the morrow. My meager cabin lay well to the north of the nearest village and I didn't see the need to travel there unless it was of the utmost of importance. Most things I crafted or retrieved myself. 

I picked up the bundle, carrying it past the open door. A stew simmered above the fire in the hearth, the smell of cooked rabbit and vegetables making my stomach growl. Hunger winning over work, I added the wood to the others stacking them neatly. Now to clean up before dinner. 

Outside, I pulled the water from the well  and washed off the grime accumulated over the hours of hard labor. The wind shifted bringing with it the smell of ice and snow, it blew across my skin causing tiny bumps to appear along my arms. I shivered. With both hands, I cupped the water running it over my face. As I reached for more, a pulse of energy skittered up my spine.  My body tensed, hand landing on the hilt of my short sword. 

"Kira." Drawing the blade I spun, angling it at the intruder. The older boy before me seemed vaguely familiar. He tensed, pale blue power collecting in his palms, taking an aggressive stance. I studied him. Only a few years out of his first decade, his black hair brushed thin shoulders. It seemed as if he hadn't been eating, not much of a challenge. But when I met his eyes, the echos of pain there pooling in the back had me lowering the sword. My voice disbelieving I said, 

"Loki?" The boy of mischief had grown. Not yet a man but well on his way. I had lost track of him over the years. At some point concluding the he'd never return. But as the autumn leaves fell in brilliant shades of burnt orange and ruby red, here he was, but he seemed different somehow. Not just in appearance but all hints of happiness erased, leaving only the weary resignation I saw now. 

At my words the power receded, his posture straightening. He gave me a considering look before he nodded. Sheathing the blade, I stepped towards him, intending to pull him into a tight embrace. I'd missed him, without his witty remarks and creative antics my days became dull. 

Before my fingertips touched his shoulder he jerked away, crouching protectively to shield his body. 

"Don't touch me." I stopped, arm still outstretched. The vehement in which he spat the words at me had anger roiling inside of me. Such harsh treatment of one so young shouldn't be tolerated. I had feared that the cruel handling from those meant to care and protect him had continued after his leaving, but the violent response to such a simple touch suggested a darker truth. 

With the demand of those who'd hurt him on my lips, Loki's head whipped around to scan the area. A shimmer eclipsing my vision, stilling my tongue. The mirage rippled in the air, like heat from a blacksmith's forge. I lifting a hand, intending to touch it. 

"Don't. Please." Loki didn't turn as he spoke, ever watchful for something she didn't yet sense. I stared at his hazy image through the barrier but did as he bid. Something had forced him to seek refuge in a place he felt safe, but now his problems had followed him. 

"By Odin's mercies, I found you." Loki's shoulders lowered a fraction, giving me the impression that this newcomer wasn't a threat, at least not today. A boy possibly a few years older than Loki strode toward him, his blonde locks shot with streaks of dusk shifted shades as the light shown over him. His blue eyes lit from within suggested the touch of the Gods on him. His focus only on Loki he didn't spare me a glance. I frowned, why hadn't he acknowledged me? The boy spoke derailing my train of thought. 

"You need to return with me this once. Father is demanding you come to him and has sent Baldur and Tyr out to find you. He's mad at what you did, you know you'll be punished again." The wince that accompanied his grave tone made it seem that it wouldn't be a fair one either. My fingers curled into my palms, anger a white hot poker burning through my blood. How dare they force Loki to return to such a man. Couldn't they see that this treatment was the last thing he needed? That overgrown son of a whore should be flayed alive. He didn't deserve to have the children he bore. Intending to step between the two, Loki spoke causing me to pause. 

"Odin can wait. I refused to stay in the God's forsaken place another moment. I needed to be alone." Odin? Confusion my ever present companion, I remained silent and the boy's eyes widened. 

“But you must return, if you don't the punishment will be worse." 

"Thor, I need to be alone. Can't you understand that?" Loki stepped back closer to where I stood as he looked past the boy named Thor. I did as well but saw nothing, not daring to close my eyes to search the natural energies surrounding us, I trusted in his ability. Something was coming. 

Not of a mind to displease his father, Thor reached out to grip Loki's arm, but he again stepped away. The reaction wasn't as violent this time, as if he controlled the impulse to show the fear, but he'd shown me. 

"Tyr, I found the worthless wretch." As Loki tensed, my jaw tightened. The man that spoke neared us. He was more than a score of years, this must be Baldur. Another a few years younger trailed behind, Tyr. They each had different shades of flame hair and moved with the bearing of one familiar with the ways of a sword. My hand gripped my own once more, ready to take action if needed. 

Again, neither looked in my direction. With a hand, I pulled at the tight braid flipping it behind me. Not even a flicker of their eyes. I realized then that the haze before me was Loki's glamour. They couldn't see or sense me. Why didn't he want them to know of me? I had too many questions and no answers. Holding my position I watched as they closed in around him. Lightning fast Baldur's fist shot out connecting with Loki's jaw. It threw him close to the shield. They laughed as blood dripped from his lips. Thor did nothing as he glanced between them all. My temper snapped, I would sit by and watch him beaten, again. 

"No." Sword already drawn, I froze when I heard Loki's whispered words. The others assumed he'd been speaking to them because cruel fingers yanked him back by his hair. His eyes locked with mine and he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. I bared my teeth at him. He knew I hated doing nothing, yet this is what he asked of me, fine. He played in an arena I had no experience in. 

"You shouldn't have run from us filthy swine." Tyr said, a sneer curled his lips. 

"It's time to return you to father." Baldur said, twisted joy lit his eyes as he dragged Loki back until the vanished before my eyes. I felt my eyes shift and blue veins of electricity encircled my body. The smell of ozone over shadowed the touch of ice and snow. 

As Loki disappeared, the shield fell exposing me to the remaining boy. I wanted to inflict violence, and he seemed a good substitute. As he finally noticed my presence I snatched him to me, my sword at his throat sparking with power. My translucent gaze bore down on him letting him see the wrath of the Fury's I possessed. Venom in every word I said, 

"How dare, you do nothing. I should end you for the injustice you committed." Thor swallowed hard, but didn't flinch as my energy touched his skin. It increased my rage, I wanted him to hurt. 

-End-