#❆ | staying on the alert. ( dash commentary ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

evieveevee · 4 years ago

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What We Lost: Returning to Tumblr in 2020

On December 17th, 2018, Tumblr banned 'adult content' across the site, marking the end of an era. The ban was the result of a cavalcade of issues which reportedly made maintaining NSFW content unfeasible for Tumblr. Now, it's 2020. I'm back on Tumblr, and I can't help but meditate on what we've lost both on Tumblr, and across the globe in 2020.

Part One: Tumblr and Adult Content

*Things we lost to the flame Things we'll never see again All that we've amassed Sits before us, shattered into ash

— Bastille, "Things We Lost In The Fire"*

A bit of personal history: Tumblr was the primary community I used in various forms from 2012 onwards, associating with various fandoms, doing what I could to design interesting things. The various communities I was involved in intersected with social justice communities, and eventually I dug into those further and tried to learn to better myself in the process, starting along the path to becoming the person I did.

Part of that process was also learning to love my own body, a thing I was not particularly good at and still struggle a bit with nowadays. One of the ways I did this was by making 'adult content', or more plainly, pornography. It was a unique opportunity to experiment with femininity and sexuality - something I'd been very closed off from as part of my upbringing - in a supportive, fun environment. Experimenting with my self image first in this way, in semi-private, led to me experimenting more publicly and eventually embracing aspects of that as part of my day to day life. That's right: making pornography was part of what led me down the path to figuring out I was trans and embracing that part of me.

Making porn on Tumblr was a great time; the adult content creators and consumers community on the site was largely supportive of queer people and sexuality, different body types, all manner of things. It was - in my experience - a healthy and fun place to be, and certainly one of the better places you could be on the internet for a visual medium like pornography. Tumblr's format made it easy to share both adult content you made yourself, and stuff you were curating. Vex Ashley wrote that "this sharing was so desperately vital for women and other marginalised people whose sexualities are often overlooked or infantilised in media about sex in preference for the tastes of the traditional porn consumer – the straight white guy" in a eulogy and love letter to Tumblr's adult content communities.

Tumblr's format remains novel to my knowledge as well: the notion of having a large image-focused feed which also allows for easy sharing and curation, gorgeous, high resolution pieces and photos to be uploaded with relatively little compression, custom arrangements of photosets, and personalized theming of your blog. There was, and remains, lots of potential for expression on Tumblr., and its focus remains unique. Twitter and Mastodon's focus is on what's written, Wordpress doesn't have the sort of interlinking of blogs that Tumblr does, and Facebook is... Facebook (read: evil).

I think the novelty of that format is what made the announcement of the ban on 'adult content' so impactful. Even looking back at the framing of it is gross: the post posits that 'adult content' is something which is negative, and says that removing it is working towards a 'more positive' Tumblr. There appears to be an attempt to try and strike a balance in allowing conversation about sexuality and such, but this is the killing blow. A huge portion of the community, including countless queer and furry artists, needed to find a new home online.

3 months after the ban had hit, traffic had reportedly dropped off 20%. Recent data from SimilarWeb, the outfit which published that initial data, shows that visits to the site have dropped off a little bit more, but have stayed otherwise pretty consistent. August 2020's data shows about 317 million visits. [1] In other words: any hope that this move would allow Tumblr was dashed. A massive portion of the userbase deleted their accounts after archiving them; Tumblr and the internet at large had lost a massive, vibrant chunk of community, and it was completely in vain.

I lost contact with a bunch of those folks I was following on Tumblr for years. The mass exodus left both people who wanted to find and share artwork and adult content and the people who made it completely adrift. Years later, some artists are still picking up the pieces. Archaic policy like SESTA/FOSTA being brought into the picture has left very few standing when it comes to adult content, Twitter included. Who knows how long that will last? If something happens to change the way that Twitter handles adult content, for example, what options do casual creators like myself have?

Fortunately, platforms like OnlyFans exist. But even those are at potential risk from legislation like the EARN IT Act, not to mention the danger this poses to Twitter and to the internet at large. OnlyFans and its ilk, as they exist right now, are fantastic for sex workers because they offer pay-gating and a variety of features to make sure sex workers get paid. But they leave those of us who want to be able to curate the content they enjoy or casually create their own content freely without real options, and without real community.

We stand to lose a lot, and as always people in the margins will be the ones most impacted: the queer, the people of color, the disabled; all will suffer greatly if adult content is found without a home. Media dealing with queer themes is enough to be considered "adult content" by some and it's not hard to imagine what we could be staring down the barrel of here.

What have we lost in eliminating platforms like this?

Part Two: 2020 and the World

*These are the things The things we lost The things we lost in the fire, fire, fire.

— Bastille, "Things We Lost In The Fire"*

Meditating on what we have lost seems to be a running theme for the year 2020.

January: New Year's Day. In Aotearoa New Zealand, smoke covers the skies from a fire a literal ocean away. The Australian bush has been on fire, part of one of the most and it has turned the skies of a nation not it's own orange at midday, across thousands of kilometers. What did we lose in those fires? What stories and history? What wildlife, what species? What will remain afterwards? What will grow anew?

April: Aotearoa New Zealand hits the peak of COVID-19 related lockdown with the entire nation moved to Level 4, meaning that nothing except truly essential services, such as roadworks, pharmacies, and supermarkets were open. During that time, I thought a lot about how some of my favorite small shops were doing; the bakery with astonishingly good pies, the charming dollar store which always has a few things that catch my eye, the coffee cart near one of the local parks every morning. As a nation, Aotearoa acted early to deal with COVID-19 with a strong hand, and it was risky for all of those small shops across the country. What would we come out the other side of the lockdowns having lost, both in terms of human cost and cost to the places around us?

May: Following the murder of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis Police officer Derek Chauvin, massive protests against police brutality, racism, and white supremacy break out across the United States of America. Daily protests have continued to the time of writing in some cities. George Floyd is one of 781 people killed by police in 2020 at the time of writing in the United States alone [2]. 1099 people were killed by police in 2019 [3]. What incredible lives and stories have been lost in the process? Are those stories being told now? How do we prevent this from happening again? (Hint: defunding the police will be a start, and supporting the cause now is a good choice too.)

It is now September: The incompetence of the US Government has allowed COVID-19 to spread beyond control, leaving tens of thousands of deaths in its wake; lives and stories which must be remembered and their stories carried on by others. The western coast of the United States is on fire, blanketed in smoke and ashes. Massive west coast cities like San Francisco gain an apocalyptic feeling as the skies turn orange, like they did for me in January. Friends of friends lose everything in small Oregon towns. The costs of the prolonged fires will be paid by people all up the coast; it's their health outcomes which will suffer. What will we lose as a result of this in the future? What can we do to make things better?

I want to be clear: this is not a comprehensive list, and is centered around the things that me and my social circles have been aware of and talked about. Even with that consideration, we have to reckon with massive, ongoing, and far reaching concerns. The loss felt as a result of all of the above issues is staggering, and far reaching, and we must fight to ensure that loss is not in vain. Voting alone is not going to solve these concerns, and there's more to concern yourself with than any one person should have to cope with. There's not a magic bullet to solve all this stuff though.

Rather than pretend that I have one, I want to propose a couple things to close this out: one bit of advice, and one plea for yourself and others.

The advice: pick your battles carefully. Pick issues you want to focus in on, and fight for those things to make things better where you live, and in your social circles. Choose things to care deeply about first. Keep caring about them.

The plea: think carefully about the questions I've asked throughout this piece, and think about the things in your life and communities that you have lost. Think about how to make sure those losses are taken with you and learned from; to take lessons learned and better yourself and the people around you. Think about the things you don't want to lose, and how to fight like hell for them.

Move forwards to something, and some place better than where we are now. Stand united with the people around you, and press on.

*Do you understand that we will never be the same again? The future's in our hands and we will never be the same again.

— Bastille, "Things We Lost In The Fire"*

If you enjoyed this piece and want to support my work, please contribute to my Ko-fi. If you are interested in re-publishing this piece on another site, please contact me either here or via my business email.

References

[1] Data provided by SimilarWeb; accessed on 15/09/2019 at 5:30am. (https://www.similarweb.com/website/tumblr.com/)

[2] Data provided by Mapping Police Violence (https://mappingpoliceviolence.com); accessed on 15/09/2020 at 4:08am NZT

[3] Data provided by Mapping Police Violence's (https://mappingpoliceviolence.com) database, downloaded on 15/09/2020 at 4:08am NZT. Count obtained using the following formula:

=COUNTIFS($'2013-2020 Police Killings'.F:F,">=1/1/2019",$'2013-2020 Police Killings'.F:F,"<1/1/2020")

#tielwrites

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nothingunrealistic · 4 years ago

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just for fun, some snapshots of this fic as it was being written, with commentary. under a cut to avoid dumping dozens of screenshots in a row on anyone’s dash. also i’m going to reblog this and add some more because tumblr is cutting me off from saving any more changes but i’m not done saying what i wanted to say.

i got this prompt back in july, dropped it into a new google doc, and then didn’t do anything with it until october. as you can see, i didn’t immediately have any good ideas, so i just let it percolate in the back of my mind (along with one or two dozen other writing prompts and projects) for a while.

then, three and a half months later, i finally had an idea! at three in the morning! (not pictured: half a dozen links to pages about autistic burnout, meltdowns, and shutdowns. research is important but it’s not as fun to look at.)

sometimes you think of dialogue well before you think of how to fit it into a scene.

this was eleven days later.

finally! some actual prose! and a way to tie the story to the events of canon! (after this, i worked on this particular fic every day until it was done.)

just putting stuff in brackets works basically every time. the bracketed notes start out as a more high-level interview of what’s going to happen, then get broken down / separated / elaborated on further until they pretty much stand in for individual paragraphs / sentences / lines of dialogue or inner monologue.

see: stuff from the Big Block Of Text getting copied and pasted to where it should be.

pretty sure *this* big block of text got written on one of the rare occasions where i actually managed to write for the entire hour i have set aside specifically For writing. if i were to break down the revision history further, it’d almost certainly show that many of these paragraphs started out as bracketed not-quite-prose, some of which still remained at this point. (also pictured: one particular line from mafee that did not make it into the final draft.)

more details from canon and just details in general.

mafee does Not have rights. (also, it turns out it’s much easier for someone to press their hands against their whole face if they’re not wearing glasses.)

by far the funniest change i made while writing this.

writing any new character’s pov is an adventure in trying to nail down how they’d talk inside their own head. doubly true for any new billions character given that no one talks like a normal person on billions; triply true when it’s a character like rian who Knows no one talks normally and is trying to fit in with the Accepted Dialect.

i’m like dropping hints that winston is having a bad time right now.

winston is having a bad time right now.

rip post-it note fidgeting; long live pen fidgeting. (another research topic: what *do* quants do all day that they might still be working on late at night? well, possibly, backtesting and optimization of algorithms.)

two character threads that started here: rian trying (and ultimately failing) not to make it obvious that she Cares about winston, and winston speaking more tersely than usual, for obvious reasons.

i watched Many clips from the show trying to figure out whether the doors at axe capital ever stayed open on their own, what sound they made when people opened them, and if it was even plausible for characters to hear construction noise through the glass when the doors were shut. (on that last point, i ultimately decided that if the mase cappers could hear becky lynch yelling through a closed door — and most likely they did hear her before they saw her — they could certainly hear power tools.)

“everyone else went home” was the best reason for mafee to walk back into the tmc office that i could think of. he just wants to hang out with Someone yknow?

mafee’s made the noise worse not only by leaving the door open, but also by sitting down loudly and talking a lot!

mafee’s use of “quisling” is a very specific shoutout to the incident he’s describing. axe declared that there was a quisling in the office; mafee had to ask what that meant, and donnie defined it for him; a few episodes later, mafee went out of his way to drop “quisling” into the conversation when talking about it to someone he wanted to impress.

getting the wording of this exchange just right was tricky. also rip mafee’s chair spinning.

switched up the placement of hammer noises and drill noises so that it’d be a Continuous, unrelenting noise that forced mafee to talk louder still and ultimately became too much for winston.

also had to figure out how to fit this comment from mafee into the flow of the scene.

mafee jumps to act as soon as he realizes something’s wrong; rian thinks about what the best course of action would be first.

rian’s got a pretty idealistic perspective on how taylor operates. (this connects nicely to a canon comment from wendy about how taylor tries “to solve every problem [they] see.”) she’s also still working out How people talk here.

wanted to include this early point about it being quieter in taylor’s office, but i couldn’t really make it work.

this was the first point at which i had a clear idea of how this fic was going to end / would conclude in any satisfactory way. bringing that “rian cares but doesn’t want that to be Known” detail full circle.

punctuation pickiness! (and the door is finally closed!)

you know what sounds even worse than metal on wood? metal on metal!

i spent so much of one day just working on these few paragraphs.

and then i got the idea to throw in rian’s recollection of winston’s description of the mase cap office either late that night or the next morning and wrote most of it down while sitting through a meeting. (ft. more emphasis on the Separation between rian and winston & taylor.)

DUMBO is an acronym (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass) but it isn’t always written in all caps. i found a style guide (from a college department in nyc, though i can’t remember which one) that declared it should be written as Dumbo rather than DUMBO and decided to go with that.

mafee is WELL out of the loop here. no wonder he wants to leave.

i went pretty hard on “mafee is being Less Than Kind And Understanding about this whole situation” and eventually had to have him walk it back with “well i didn’t WANT him to suffer or anything.”

this is everything i managed to get done in the Designated Writing Hour (and then some) the night that the supernatural finale aired. oops.

i was torn between rian hearing Something to alert her of taylor’s presence and hearing nothing at all; ultimately i chose the latter. (this revision was also from the brief period of time where i changed the google doc to a landscape layout in the hopes that the Changed Visual would shake some more ideas loose. it worked, a bit.)

see: rian Not hearing taylor.

this detail was added pretty late — one of the last changes i’d made the day before posting. (i’d also switched the google doc back to portrait mode at this point.)

#sometimes i write #Soph's Writing Podcast: Text Edition

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houseofglass · 4 years ago

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Ramblings on Supernatural’s final season

Once upon a time I couldn’t open Tumblr unless I saw the episode of Supernatural first. Otherwise, I’d be inundated with gifs, reactions, play-by-plays, and commentary. And that’s all from people that didn’t tag their posts. The tagged posts showed as simple white bars on my feed, alerting me to the deluge of stuff people posted about the show.

But now, today, I jumped on Tumblr as I do first thing in the morning and there was barely a ripple about the previous episode. I haven’t seen it yet, I had plans the previous evening and will watch it tonight, but the spoilers are, well, meh.

I know many people I follow have moved on to new obsessions, delights, and entertainments. I see their posts and wonder who these characters are and wonder if I should invest some time in checking out the source material. This is a good thing, people evolve and seek out shiny new things. But it’s sad too. This Tumblr of mine was created solely because I fell into the Supernatural fandom and I have a pang of longing for the days of excitement and new material to feature.

This is the final season of Supernatural. I’d been waiting for this season for five years. I really believed it was best to end the show as it was getting a bit long in the tooth. Now, here we are.

But then the pandemic slipped into our lives and disrupted everything. Filming stopped. Life changed. The season put on hold.

What a horrible end to the show, I thought, to have their final season so badly disrupted. Fans will leave, lose interest, move on. And they have, if my dash is any indication.

Unfortunately, so have I.

There is no excitement for the show anymore. Not for me. The last episode, 15x14, sucked pretty hard for reasons that surprised me. I liked the character of Mrs. Butters a lot. She was interesting, prim, and a breath of fresh air. But she was also the central focus of the episode. Once upon a time, Sam and Dean were the focus of every episode. Now, they’re merely background characters to some wood nymph in the bunker.

Did the show have their funding slashed? Is that why they stayed on set in the bunker? Is that why there was little CGI of monsters? And when did Jensen start phoning in his acting?

Yeah, I know that’s a remarkably unpopular opinion for those that have read this far. But really, Dean didn’t feel like Dean in 15x14. Who was that man? Who was that character? Who wrote those lines he had to say? Who told him to act like an idiot and flash his brother, then act like he did when he noticed his hemline was too high? Jensen didn’t act like Dean. Jensen acted like he had no idea what he was supposed to do so he acted like a goof. It fell flat.

And on that topic, I must say that Jensen is looking beat up and old these days. Yes, I’m aware of his actual age and that people grow old as time marches on. But Jensen (or Dean) looks tired, drawn, wan, and, well, hungover. To be fair, so does Jared. They both have that look of prettyboys who are trying to deny their prime has passed. Or maybe they appear this way because the show refuses to allow them to age, to show grey hair, to acknowledge the character’s hard lives.

Maybe my attitude has shifted because I’ve been enjoying new shows like Utopia, The Boys, and Lovecraft Country. Those shows have an element of intelligence to them, each in their own way. Two of them have twists I didn’t see coming. All three fill up their allotted time so much that my mind feels full after watching, like there was a fair bit of information to process and let my mind chew on.

Supernatural is the opposite.

The show has become empty. Each episode a waste of 42 minutes. I remember little or nothing from them as not much new information is presented. Earlier episodes felt fuller, full bodied, well rounded. Now, I feel like I’m watching a half hour show that’s been stretched to fill an hour.

What a sad note to end on. What a dim spark to guide us to the final episode. It’s as is if the writers, showrunner, directors, and actors gave up about a year ago and are just going through the motions now. It’s hard to dredge up excitement, it’s hard to care. I honestly can’t even remember the first half of the season. Something about fighting with Chuck? About a bullet in Sam’s shoulder that mirrors pain? About monsters let loose? I remember it felt bad, watching a show I enjoyed as if it were a reunion show ten or twenty years into the future, created with a shoestring budget with the original aging stars in a last gasp for fame.

Please, please, please just get to the end without looking like the actors were dragged out of bed too early, and without looking like the costume department has no money, and without forgetting who the main characters are.

Goodnight Supernatural. You can rest your weary head now. You’re done and have been for a season or two. I’ll limp through to the end purely for loyalty’s sake. Sleep well in my memory.

#spn #supernatural #final season #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #pandemic mention #The Boys #Lovecraft Country #Utopia #is it the pandemic making me see the show without excitement?#or is it the sad flop that the show's become?#I'm just rambling #thanks for reading #J2 looks so done

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badassxbirdy · 7 months ago

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May Activity Update - Pinned Post

It’s time once again for an activity update! If you’re new here: these posts help me to keep track of what the frick I’ve been doing, particularly when tumblr breaks or the brain fog strikes. This one includes posts and drafts for April. Everything else can be found in previous updates under this tag. There’s also the full thread tracker here.

The full activity update (along with OOC housekeeping) is below the cut. Bold text = links.

If you want to see all IC interactions without the other stuff, click here. If you’d like to start something new, there are opens and memes, or you can just hit up the DM’s. You can also add Ty on Discord for IC texting.

Now onto the update!

Housekeeping

As I keep having issues with Wire, I'm switching to Discord for IC messages outside tumblr. I can get the alerts on my phone, so really it’s the same difference as a way of doing IC texts. You're still welcome to send me OOC messages there, but primarily you can consider it Ty's phone. Username is the same as here, badassxbirdy.

I'm starting to migrate things over to Tyler's new relationships page, so please ignore the mess and missing stuff for now!

Threads, replies, and other IC interactions:

(In alphabetical order by username)

@demcnsinmymind

Ty gives Lance a haircut (link)

Doctor Ty is in the house! (drafted)

Lance's rep. 😂 (link)

Diner demon chaos. (link)

Now kith! (link)

Taking Lance on a hunt. (link)

Azzy proves a point (drafted)

Car trouble (queued)

At the motel (queued)

@demonstigma

Nosy Tyler is nosy (queued)

@derschwarzeengel

Sick Tyler = sulking Tyler, and boyfriend talk. (link)

@florafound

"Hold still, I'm trying to help!" (drafted)

@innerwar

Thank you for memes! They are in the drafts and I'll answer asap. 💖

@loyaltyguided

Ocean hedgehogs (link)

@magaprima

Demon problems part 2: electric boogaloo (queued)

@omnipotenceisoverrated

Thank you for the starter! It's in the drafts, and I'll answer it asap!

@pantslessoptimism

Dumbass teens and library ghosts. (queued)

@ruinedmyself

"The multiple failed assassination attempts against me have helped build both character and self esteem.” (link)

“Hold still, I’m trying to help!” (link)

@tobeblamed

Dean is better than google. 😇 (link)

Headcanon, dash games, and assorted silliness:

Birthday fun! (link)

Ty is forever frustrated by the height of her friends. (link)

Thread commentaries/crack (link/link)

I think that’s everything! As always, please let me know if I’ve missed something. I never intentionally drop threads without notifying, rest assured that if it’s not here I am either having a brain fart or I simply have not seen it. Remember to be kind to yourselves, and stay safe! ❤️ — Em

#activity update #pinned post

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trashlord-007 · 5 years ago

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What is strangers from hell? I’ve seen it a lot on your blog and it looks rlly interesting 👀

Ohohohoho it's a treat, lemme tell you.

Strangers From Hell (sometimes known as Hell Is Other People, or by its Korean title 타인은 지옥이다) is a Korean drama starring national treasure Lee Dong Wook and ZE:A member qtpie Im Siwan. The drama is actually based off a Korean Webtoon of the same name. They did take some liberties and change some of the characters and plot, though, so it'll still be worth the read (once it has an English translation).

The story focuses on Yoon Jong Woo (Im Siwan) as he tries to adjust to life in Seoul. An old friend offers him an internship, allowing him to move to the city. This brings him closer to his girlfriend as well. Unfortunately, Seoul is expensive so he has to look for an affordable goshiwon (고시원, where you rent a very very small room for a few weeks or months) within his budget... which leaves him with very few options. This brings us to the main setting of the story.

The Eden Goshiwon is the one he decides to stay in. It's quite rundown and isn't ideal and the other tenants are... quirky, but he just needs to stay long enough to save some money. He's planning on just a few months but... plans usually have a way of falling through.

It is inside this Goshiwon that we meet the a fair portion of the cast, including the mysterious Seo Moon Jo (Lee Dong Wook) who is a little too fond of the word 자기 (jagi; darling, honey, dear) and the amicable but pushy landlady Eom Bok Soon (Lee Jeong Eun, who you may remember as the original housekeeper in Parasite). It is also due to the actions of certain tenants that we get to meet So Jung Hwa (Ahn Eun Jin), a perceptive and determined police officer.

I won't say much else because, like, spoilers but every episode escalates. There's never a lull in the content. There's never a boring moment. You're left on the edge of your seat questioning just how much more one can take before they snap, and how bloody it will be once they do.

Every character has a story to tell and has their own motives, whether good or bad. Most characters are looking out for themselves and no one else. It provides an interesting social commentary and a look inside the minds of several mentally imbalanced individuals. It is due to this mindset of looking out for only one's own interests that pushes the story to greater and more terrifying heights with every episode.

There's also a decent amount of violence, so swerve on it if you're not into that.

Lee Dong Wook really brought his A game with this one (but when doesn't he, amirite?). I believe it was one of the first roles he's played that possessed this rather creepy and ominous vibe, and he absolutely nailed it. While he starts as a charismatic dentist who is well-liked and respectable, you'll soon find yourself on a rollercoaster of twists and turns as his true character is revealed.

Honestly, I could say the same for Im Siwan. There's much more hidden beneath his soft, almost pathetic exterior. It truly is a testament on how much any one person can take before they decide to take action. Learning about Jong Woo's past truly opens your eyes to the possibilities of his future, and trust me when I say you won't be disappointed with his character development.

This is one of the few shows, Korean or not, that I would recommended wholeheartedly. It's a 10/10 both story-wise and performance-wise. If you're interested in psychological dramas / thrillers with a dash of horror, this is the show for you. There's so much going on that it leaves no room for you to be bored. I mean, the stuff I touched on was just the first episode or two. You're always left wondering what will happen next, who will make the next move.

Truly a masterpiece if I've ever seen one.

Edit;; I just want to add that the ratings dropped at one point as it aired because it creeped people out! It was airing late at night and they found the show too scary to watch! It did such a great job conveying fear and terror and horror that people tuned out! It was actually a news article about this that alerted me to the show and made me wanna watch it in the first place. There is no better review for a show of this type than people having to turn it off because it scared them. What a legend of a show.

Edit;; it's come to my attention that I should probably include where you can watch it! Last I checked, it wasn't on Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, or Viki. It is on OnDemandKorea and that's where I watched it! There are ads though. I'm honestly not sure where else might have it. Please let me know if there's other places and I'll add them to this post!

Edit;, STRANGERS FROM HELL IS NOW ON NETFLIX!! GO WATCH IT! ♡

#WOW I rambled #i'm so so sorry lmao #bbinie ♡#strangers from hell #hell is other people #타인은 지옥이다 #Lee Dong Wook #Im Siwan #lee jeong eun #ahn eun jin #seo moon jo #yoon jong woo #kdrama #long post #again I'm sorry but I really like this show!#10/10 recommend #kdrama recommendations #kdrama review

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bananabraiined · 5 years ago

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"Secrets make me very nervous. If the others have their secrets, they should keep it a low profile. Very low."

"I don't have secrets on my own to keep. I rather be truthful and copacetic than to be sneaky and deceitful. Those things can cause someone to be not trusting......"

#in character: donkey kong #lon'qu voice: stay alert.#(🍌 a banana for your thoughts?: musings)#(🍌 banana splits: dash commentary)

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papa-rhys · 5 years ago

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The Morning After (Rhys X Reader)

Note: Kind of a part 2 to Shared Empires, but can also be read separately!

Warnings: none unless you count heavy smoochin as a cardinal sin

Word count: 2000 (ish)

Just gone 6 am. It’s so early you might actually cry and the constant tick tick tick of the clock in Rhys’ bedroom is slowly pushing you over the edge, seemingly just to spite you.

Rhys sleeps peacefully beside you, one arm draped over you. Soft snores leaving his lips, stirring up that god-awful moustache ruining his face. Not for the first time, you contemplate shaving it off while he sleeps. Or maybe setting it on fire? No, that’d probably hurt him. You watch him sleeping for a moment longer before the clock's tedious taunts begin grating on your nerves again.

That’s it, you think, I gotta kill it.

You sit up and gently shove the sheets off - silk, grey in colour to match the industrial metal of Rhys’ room and damn near everything else on Promethea. It’s a break from the sand and rock colours of Pandora, at least. You’ve never thought that grey could be so refreshing, but after spending a significant amount of time on a planet that literally has a place called The Dust, you’re just thankful that it’s not frigging beige.

You have to stand on an armchair to reach the clock on Rhys’ wall and once or twice you almost fall, your legs still wobbly from sleep and the celebratory bloody mary’s you and Rhys had thrown down your necks last night. Memories surface, albeit blurry ones; Rhys’ smile, his dumb jokes landing better than usual thanks to the ethanol, hands wandering under the table while Atlas soldiers booze it up on the other side of the room.

The clock tumbles off the wall when you smack it, vengefully, and Rhys pretty much leaves his body when it clatters to the floor. Bless him, but he looks like he might have just had an aneurysm. There’s a few moments of silence as he blinks away the fogginess, sitting up and looking around the room like he’s just been born.

“You okay?” you ask. He nods, slightly confused. He looks like he might be trying to remember his name. “Good,” you say, holding back a giggle.

Rhys rubs his eyes with his knuckles, digging in deep enough to spark a kaleidoscope, no doubt. He’s shirtless and his hair is a mess - his locks having dried curly and shaggy after you’d drunkenly (and totally playfully) dunked each other in the indoor fountain on the way through the lobby last night - but it suits him a lot more than his usual business getup, you think. He looks less work and more play, which is always the way to be.

“You want some coffee for that hangover, Mr CEO?” you ask, hopping down from the armchair and landing on the metal floor, barefooted.

“Coffee sounds amazing,” he replies, giving you a sleepy smile. He frowns when he spies you picking up the cracked remains of his clock from the floor. “What happened to my clock?” he asks.

“I killed it.”

“Why?”

“It was ticking,” you say simply, flashing the object a look of disgust before heading towards the buzzer on the door and nonchalantly dropping the blasted clock into the rubbish bin on your way past. You thumb the pad on the wall beside the door and speak into the comms. “Two coffees with extra cinnamon when you’re ready, Butler Bot. Throw in a little ethanol if you’re feeling generous.”

“I’ll be right with you!” the robotic voice complies, way too cheerfully for this hour of the morning.

As you pad your way back over to the bed on the balls of your feet, Rhys sits at the foot of the mattress, still wrapped up in the sheets at his waist. He waits for you to approach with his arms open and you stand between his legs, the pair of you still warm and toasty with sleep. He hugs your waist and looks up at you through eyes that at least seem a little more alert now.

“How did you end up here?” he asks as you comb his hair back from his forehead.

“You offered to pay me otherworldly amounts of money for the rest of my life,” you reply. “And as a Vault Hunter, I’m legally and morally required to do anything for money.”

“I mean here,” he clarifies, smiling. “In my bed. With one of my shirts on.”

You look up at the ceiling, pressing a finger to your chin under the pretence of searching for an answer. A hum and a shake of the head draws Rhys’ smile up even further at the corners. “Can’t think of any reason in particular,” you say. “Maybe it’s just your dashing wit.”

“And my wonderful fashion sense,” he says, straightening a little.

“The alcohol helped, too.”

Rhys pulls you in against him and you topple, the pair of you landing with a bouncy thwump on the mattress. You giggle and sigh while he places a few strategic kisses on your throat and the sweet tickling of that bloody ‘stache is the one and only thing worth keeping it around for. Lord knows the pash rash down under makes a good argument for shaving it off, though. Eugh.

Rhys rolls sideways and you land beside him with his arm draped over you once again. It seems like you’ve spent the last 48 hours doing anything but moving - the whole time, you’ve been hanging off him like the punters at the bar hang off Moxxi. He hasn’t seemed to mind so far. His eyes haven’t left you in a solid three weeks. If you didn’t find him so innocently charming, then you’d probably have shot him in the face by now, in all honesty.

“We can stay here all day if you want,” he mumbles quietly, only a hairbreadth away.

“Screw the war and let them take Promethea?” you say.

Rhys props his head up on his hand and leans over you. “Well,” he says, shrugging, “we could always save the planet tomorrow instead. I am the CEO of Atlas, you know. I can pretty much do what I want.”

“That sounds like a very shady way of looking at it.”

You smile, but it’s tinged with sadness. You both know letting Maliwan and the bloody Children of The Corn take over Promethea isn’t on the cards. Hell, it isn’t even written on the throw-aways. If this damn war weren’t raging overhead, then you and Rhys would have all the time you wanted. But alas, it is. Another villain taking up your time, another stranger who needs your help, another wrong that needs to be righted.

“I can stay until noon,” you tell him, craning your neck to deliver a swift and equally sweet kiss to his lips. “But then I have to go. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, tracing circles around the edge of the button on your borrowed shirt. “I know. I just hate that we can’t spend enough time together.”

You push up onto your elbows and sit up, gaining height on him (for once) and revelling in the way he looks up at you with that sparkle in his eyes. That sparkle comes when he watches you do two things; when you kill and when you boss him around. You’re beginning to think he has a little bit of a fetish for those two things and you’re not so certain which one is stranger.

With a pointed finger tip pressed to his chest, you push him down further into the mattress and swing a leg over him, straddling his waist. “Why, Mr CEO, you should know that it’s not about the amount of time spent,” you tell him, summoning the most painfully flirtatious tone that drips off your tongue with each word. You lean down and he watches you with those wide sparkling eyes, hardly believing his luck. “It’s about what you do with it,” you add.

Rhys swallows, the pounding in his chest visible. He doesn’t get a word out before you kiss him, but you doubt he’d be much more than speechless anyway. A few second of waiting for a response would have probably only earned you a little drool and a murmur that you imagine would have sounded a lot like “murrmuhnuhnuh?”

The kiss is all kinds of lovely now that last night’s booze has mostly worn off and you pray to the Maker that Butler Bot doesn’t interrupt with that coffee. In an ideal world, it would conveniently take him the next two hours to prepare those piping hot cups of bean water, but realistically you know you have a little over five minutes before he comes zooming in with a tray in hand, offering cheery commentary on your sexual performance. Robots don’t have a grasp on social etiquette.

Still, you can’t quite bring yourself to stop Rhys from flipping you over, despite the embarrassment that is surely on the way up the stairs this very moment.

Rhys breaks the kiss, hovering over you with your legs wrapped around his waist. “Is this okay?” he asks, that cute, bumbly nervousness creeping in. “This is what you want, right?”

You smile up at him, pearly whites on show. He returns the smile even though you haven’t given him an answer yet. Bless him, he really likes you.

“This is exactly what I want,” you tell him. “But if you’d be a doll and hurry up before Butler Bot barges in with those coffees, that’d be amazing.”

He leans down and gets right back to it, laying down kisses like they’re landmines in a field of Eridium clusters. There’s no way in hell that something that feels this good is legal. Or even morally sound. You’ve gotten a lot of kicks in your time but this is on another level. You're a tad bit lightheaded, only it feels good, not dangerous. The thumping in your rib cage thrums through your ears, too, and your breath comes quick and heavy. All of this feels a little bit like heaven, if you’re honest - not that you’d ever get up there after all the things you’ve done for money. Still, you can afford to enjoy this little taste of it, right?

You lose your fingers in the hair at the back of Rhys’ head and grip the slightest bit tighter when his hand squeezes your thigh. His whiskers tickle at your collar bone as he leaves his kisses across your chest. You can tell that some of them will have left hickies in their wake come tonight and you look forward to wearing them on the battlefield. There’s something deliciously petty about letting Maliwan and those COV losers know that you still have the time to get laid in between putting them under the dirt.

Rhys comes up to take a breather, his cheeks pink and breath slightly laboured. “This is more than just good fun, right?” he asks.

You tilt your head to one side, trying to pin his meaning. Watching his breaths come and go, stirring up that moustache, you speak. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re… you’re waaaay cooler than me and I - I just figure maybe you’re just having fun while you’re on the job and I was just hoping that maybe it’s more than just… that.” He swallows between breaths. “Is it?”

A slow smile creeps up to the corners of your eyes and you reach a hand up to smooth out his dumb frigging moustache that you’re shamefully beginning to like. In a weird, love/hate kinda way. “If I wanted fun, I definitely wouldn’t be fighting yet another corporate war on a planet in the arse end of the galaxy,” you say. “I think I could find better ways to get my kicks if that’s what I was looking for.”

“And that means…”

You cup his face with both hands. “It means I like you, you idiot,” you giggle. “For reasons that may never be known.”

Rhys grins like a Rakkshire Cat and that sparkle is back to twinkling in his eyes with a hot vengeance. He leans down and presses his lips to yours once, twice, three times. And with a soft sigh, you flop your arms onto the mattress on either side of you and let the moment take you.

#rhys strongfork #rhys the company man #tftbl #borderlands #borderlands fanfiction #my writing #writing: rhys strongfork

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herohalf-a · 7 years ago

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‘ . . . ’

watches as the unfortunate event happens. ( izuku vomiting suddenly and unexpectedly on momo. )

#heromight #creatied #emeto tw #❆ | staying on the alert. ( dash commentary )#// gOD //

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unrestedjade · 4 years ago

Note

fic writing meme: 1, 12, 17, 18, 21

Oh dang, that’s a lot! Think I’ll put this behind a cut to spare everyone’s dash.

1. The first fandom I wrote and posted for was Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. But! Somewhere in a landfill is a notebook with a very overwrought Animorphs fic about Ax falling in love with my very cool, original-character-donut-steel alien bat-centaur who can tell the future. Every day I thank the universe for not letting my family have internet access until I was 14. Actually, maybe the universe should have held out longer, but you can peep the cringe for yourself over here: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/173909/Fortuna

Yes, that is my old ff.net profile. My only regret is that I didn’t get a chance to back up my ask fics before the site suddenly decided to make a rule banning them and deleted them all. (Me, still salty over that 15 years later? Why, yes actually.)

12. A trope I haven’t tried yet but really want to? It’s hard to narrow it down; there’s a lot of “cliche” fanfic tropes I never let myself write that I want to indulge in this year. I’m thinking about finding one of those bingo cards to use or something. But since I grew up sneaking my mom’s romance novels, I think an arranged marriage would be fun to try if I have to pick just one.

17. The fic I’m most proud of should come as no surprise, lol. I still can’t believe I finished something as long and plotty as finaglc. Would love to manage it again someday. :’)

18. Line/scene dvd commentary: okay okay okay! So there’s this more-or-less abandoned DaphGan Legend of Zelda fic I was writing back in the day, that was just a loose serious of vignettes in chronological order. I had ideas for like 20 chapters and fizzled out because it turns out only about three people on the whole earth give a shit about DaphGan and I can’t write in a complete void of feedback. Anyway, I researched medieval boar hunting techniques because I desperately wanted an action scene culminating in a ~bad omen~ and here it is, so scroll by if you just want to see the last question in the batch:

Within minutes, they were deep enough that the forest canopy closed above them, far above Ganondorf’s head. In the cool and the dim, and with the rustling of leaves in the breeze overhead sounding almost like waves, Ganondorf felt as though he were at the bottom of a great, ancient lake. Mist lay in a thick blanket on the ground as high as the smaller horses’ barrels, and a carpet of dead leaves and needles deadened the sounds of their movement. The hunters had fallen silent. About that, he had no complaints.

(I recall being inordinately fond of the underwater imagery, because I’d been struggling for how to conceptualize a thick forest for a person who’s spent most of his life in the open desert.)

Save for ferns and scattered herbs, there was little in the way of troublesome plants or low branches beyond the border of the forest, and Ganondorf realized that King Daphnes’ suggestion the day before had, in truth, been polite censure of his clothing rather than any practical concern. He frowned, and put the thought aside. It did not matter.

(I was not at all subtle about the Hylians picking at the Gerudo envoy’s appearances, which I think I could handle a little better now, but alas...)

He thought instead on the many sounds surrounding them, his ears straining to hear every one. There was birdsong, in patterns and notes he had never heard. Small creatures rustled in the trees. Water gurgled somewhere out of view. The woods were full of life in every direction, and Ganondorf quietly marvelled at its richness.

All of this, for the sport of one family?

(This piece of writing is old enough that I was still using the now-defunct “two spaces after a period” rule, wow. Also, hello there, years-old misspelling. :/)

They kept to a walking pace for an hour or two, hushed but alert. The dogs picked up a scent, the party wheeling around to follow after them. Ganondorf rode alongside King Daphnes. The man’s eyes were alight as he looked down the deer trail ahead of the dogs; a small smile of anticipation grew on his face. "They have something, eh?” he said, in a whisper. “What did I tell you!”

The lead dog threw its head back, baying. It launched itself forward and the rest of the pack followed suit, tails held high like flags.

An enormous boar, all sinewy muscle and bristled hide, burst from a nearby thicket and was driven ahead of them.

“Aha!" The king spurred his horse to a gallop, the rest of the party just behind. Ganondorf quickly found himself bringing up the rear.

The stallion seemed to find this as unacceptable as he did, for without his urging it picked up speed, long strides eating up the ground until the pair were level with the king once more.

(This bit started with the rest of the hunting party giving G-dawg mad shit for insisting on riding his stallion instead of a more appropriate horse, so I had to vindicate him, of course.)

Ganondorf’s eyes were now fixed on the boar. He crouched low over the stallion’s neck, free hand fisted in the tangles of its mane. They pulled ahead to run with the dogs, until even the dogs were falling behind them.

"Stay with it!" The king’s bellow carried over the thunder of the stallion’s hooves. "Keep running it!”

They ran. The boar was fast and nimble, leading a chase through dense copses and over fast-flowing streams. The world fell away until all that remained was the path they weaved through the trees, the rolling strength of the horse beneath him, the forest rushing by in a blur of green and loamy brown, and the boar.

Ganondorf laughed like a child, his heart light for first time since he’d come to this impossibly green land.

The chase ended when the boar made to leap over a fallen log and could not clear it, tumbling end over end. The beast scrambled to its hooves, brandishing its long tusks. It had reached the point of exhaustion, steam rising from its hide, muscles quivering with exertion. It could run no longer.

Ganondorf held it at bay, keeping the point of his spear trained on it. He did not wish to incite it to charge and risk his horse. He simply looked at it, watching the boar watch him with wide, red eyes. Foam gathered at its mouth, and he wondered whether it would die where it stood, if its heart had burst in its chest.

The baying of the dogs was not far off. The hunters were closing in.

(Still a little puffed up over the juxtaposition of hunting being legitimately thrilling but cruel. Catch my bro getting swept up in the excitement.)

“Excellent work!" Daphnes was at the head of the party, as he had been to start. "Oh, well done, man!”

As the dogs circled, barking and snapping, the boar stood its ground, head lowered. It made a few feints at the dogs foolish enough to attack, but as the hunters closed in it had less and less room to manoeuvre. Ganondorf could see it rallying for a final effort, weariness flowing into terror and rage.

It roared, lunging, scattering the dogs. Blood streaked its tusks. A horse reared when its leg was cut by sharp hooves. For a moment, it looked to Ganondorf as though it might break away again and escape.

In one practiced motion, Daphnes leapt from his horse and sunk his spear deep into the boar’s side.

Ganondorf’s racing heart froze. Pain keener than any he had ever felt lanced through him, choking him on a silent cry. He clutched at his chest, groping for the spear-head that wasn’t there. His own spear fell from numb fingers to the forest floor. Terror and agony, all-encompassing, swept over him in a crushing wave.

None of the other hunters noticed his distress. All eyes were locked on their king’s struggle with the beast. The boar screamed, running against the spear as if it would happily run the length of it to reach Daphnes with its final breath. The cross-tree of the spear and the strength of the man wielding it kept the boar’s tusks far from its target, however, and for every drop of blood that spilled from its side a portion of its strength bled away with it.

After what felt far too long, the boar collapsed. It’s screams had faded to rattling breaths, and when Daphnes stepped forward, knife drawn, it did not resist.

It was on Ganondorf that its red eyes rested when its throat was cut, in some mute accusation or seeking solace, he could not say. The pain in his chest receded when the final gout of blood ran out onto the dark earth. By the time Daphnes stood from his task, wiping his hands and blade clean on a rag, Ganondorf might have believed that the pain had been a trick of his imagination.

(This thing with the dead boar was meant to keep coming up in small ways throughout the rest of the vignettes as a harbinger of G-dawg’s ultimate failure and doom along with being an illustration of how he twists and suppresses himself for the sake of pleasing Daphnes, but of course it’ll probably never happen now since I’m five years out. I really did like this idea, though, and this scene was super fun to write. Except for now I’ve noticed another old typo. T_T)

21. The fic that got away? Lots; I actually have a horrible track record for finishing long fics. The one I’m most bummed out by, that I still think of from time to time, was actually a fill for the old Transformers Anonymous Kink Meme on LJ. It was Animated-verse pre-war Ratchet/Ultra Magnus with a detour into Ratchet/Megatron. I was about two thirds of the way done when something happened in the community that I can’t recall anymore derailed me, and I never ended up finishing it. Sometimes I think about scraping it off the meme to at least archive what I had done on Ao3 or something, but I probably won’t lol. It would take forever to track it down since this was back in like, 2012.

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cursewoodrecap · 4 years ago

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Session 14: Nice Sociable Folk

Everyone is very nice to us, except one grumpy guy.

This one fought me, folks. And Quarantine Depression didn’t really help. So it’s a bit less pared-down than it could be. But speaking of people who should probably be quarantined, have some virulent fungus.

We return to the scene: Valeria has just unceremoniously yanked a mandrake root out of the ground, and it’s doing what mandrakes do, screaming at the top of its lungs (...do plants have lungs???) and raising hell. Which is not GREAT if you’re in the middle of the Spooky Woods Where Monsters Live.

We’re reckless idiots, but that’s on brand.

Shoshana rolls a Nature check to know it’ll stop screaming on its own eventually, and that getting it into our Haversack will stop or dull the noise. Otherwise, the recommended mandrake-harvesting technique is that extreme heat or cold will stun its screaming. Usually people harvest them with daggers heated over a flame.

Problem: Shoshana is only one who knows this, Clem and Val are stunned, and it’s LOUD, so it’s hard to talk. So it’s up to the sorcerer to handle it. She doesn’t want to burn the dang thing to a crisp and make it useless as a spell component, so blasting it with magic is right out. She snatches a torch out of Clem’s backpack and lights it, heating up her small dagger.

Clem fails to shake off the stun, but Valeria recovers. Gral throws an inspiration at Clem, who’s still stuck, and frantically glances around the area to see if the BIG LOUD NOISE has alerted any enemies. In fact, it very much has. A variety of heavy shapes are uprooting themselves out of the dirt, turning blank mossy faces towards us.

Shosha tries to hurry up on silencing the mandrake, but her haste causes her to fumble it. At least she doesn’t damage the plant.

Gral, still watching, sees the grassy, lumpy creatures pick up rocks and start hurling them. Shoshana gets bonked. A rock bounces off Valeria’s armor. Gral’s looking at those ones, when another one hefts out of the ground behind him and conks him with a big ol’ stone.

“Ah,” Valeria observes. “Yeetroots.”

Clem, even with inspiration, still fails to unstun herself, clutching her hands to her sensitive elven ears.

Gral swings his sickle into a yeetroot’s rooty, tuberous body, a thick sap dripping from the gaping wound. Meanwhile, Shoshana takes a second stab with her hot dagger and manages to silence the awful screaming.

The one Gral bloodied picks him up entirely and yeets him at Clem. Gral bounces off the drow’s armor comically. Clem remains completely undamaged while Gral pouts at being unwillingly Fastball Specialed. Valeria and Shoshana scatter, dodging another volley of heavy rocks.

Taking an entire orc to the face, though, finally breaks Clem out of the stun. She’s ready to lumberjack down some trees - oh, wait, Gral’s lying there moaning. The battle medic gives him a good slather of Space Mayo, and he’s fine, though he probably smells like a sandwich.

Gral and Shoshana pop off a couple of spells for minor effect, the tuberous creatures shrugging off most of the effects. They’re bothered enough to retaliate, though; the one Valeria’s facing off against hefts her into the air for another round of PC Bowling, flattening Shoshana. The hail of rocks from the rest of the Yeetroots doesn’t let up, but their aim is only mediocre.

Aethis snacks on a root-person Valeria nicely carves up for them, and as Clem gets to slicing and dicing it looks like the fight’s falling in our favor.

Suddenly, a short human guy in rough clothing charges ungracefully out of the woods, crossing through the undergrowth strangely quickly for someone so unathletic-looking. He clonks a Yeetroot over the head with a long wooden staff, whacking it a few times for good measure so it stays down, and then looks up at us with a frustrated expression. “What the hell are you kids doing? Get out of here!” he shouts irritably, like we’re trespassing on his lawn.

He’s got a bit of an accent. It’s much heavier than Shoshana’s; even by her small-town standards it’s the rural accent of someone who speaks Old Valdian regularly.

Gral Dissonant Whispers a Yeetroot, causing it to run past Clem and the Old Dude. It runs straight into Clem’s sword and dies. Shoshana, Valeria, and Aethis efficiently dismantle the last one standing.

Clem’s ears, still sore from the mandrake’s cry, pick up additional movement through the woods. Sounds like the Yeetroots weren’t the only ones interested in loud, clumsy prey.

The old man seems to know it too, and he starts to scold us. “Pulling a mandrake while the woods are like this? Dummkopfen! Now get outta here! Scram!”

“I’m sorry, we didn’t have a choice-“

“What are you doin’ yakkin’? MOVE!” he shouts, turning and dashing into the underbrush. Shoshana barely catches him muttering “those IDIOTS” in Old Valdian as he scrams.

Well, we’re definitely not gonna stick around either. Old Dude went northeast. The Sturmhearst camp is to the south. We’re all thinking this weird crotchety old man is a druid, so he’s gonna know the best way to go and also we could totally ask him a few burning questions. With a concise nod to each other, we dash after the druid, Valeria swinging herself up onto Aethis’ back.

The wooooooooods are aliiiiiiiive, with the sound of monsterrrrrs, but following the druid’s trail we manage to dodge down an old gully and manage to shake any of them who came to investigate the commotion. Unfortunately, we’ve just put all those monsters in between us and the Sturmhearst camp. We pause, crouched in creek bed, as the last walking tree’s footfalls fade into the distance.

Gral breaks the silence: “…wait, was that a druid?”

Shoshana grumps. “How are we gonna FIND him? He could be a SQUIRREL by now! And I’m surprised he even speaks city-folk Valdian.”

We got the sense of how he moved – he hasn’t left a footprint, but we’ve picked up his pattern a bit. We could keep following him, and Valeria suggests the quest will give time for the monsters attracted by our noise to disperse. Gral doesn’t want to pass up the opportunity to find out what the Druids know about the Prisoners, and Valeria’s hopeful he might have seen the other Order of the Rose knight about.

Shoshana beefs her Survival check. We’ve been doing well following his pattern of not disturbing plant or animal tracks, trying to think like a druid wood. But we hit a dead end.

And then Clem casually points out some tracks none of the rest of us can even make out.

Please. Clem Haxan has tracked wood elf partisans. One aging human is nothing.

We follow Clem’s lead for about an hour. As midday approaches, we notice the sense of vibrant, chaotic, suffocating life is fading a little, and the sickening-sweet scent of flowers and spores has lessened. We come upon a grove of trees, standing tall, centered around one utterly massive tree in the middle whose canopy is just barely open enough to allow beams of light to spear through. In every beam, a sapling has begun to grow. Others, a little more seasoned, have grown tall and thin to push up through the great tree’s canopy.

Deeper in the grove, Shoshana can hear a voice in Old Valdian, and it’s mostly swearing.

“Dumb fuckin’ kids, I swear, first it was those meshuggenah bird mask idiots, now we got - what the hell were those morons doing, stirring everything up? Hard enough when the woods are just tryin’ to kill ME without having to keep an eye our for-”

It seems to be a one-sided conversation. Rambling, but pausing for responses that we can’t hear. Shoshana cautiously steps closer.

She wants to be respectful, but the closest thing Old Valdian has to deferential is a greeting without commentary. “...Hello?”

The voice pauses, and then speaks to its silent companion. “Do ya hear something? Go check it out.”

We all roll real bad Perception. Gral is starin’ real hard, and he only sees a squirrel loop the big tree. We don’t hear the druid say anything else.

She tries a Message cantrip: “We wish to respect your solitude, but we need to speak with you.” Hopefully a decent Persuasion roll will do.

“Wait. Hold up,” the voice grumbles in Old Valdian, heaving a massive sigh. “They’re idiots, they’re not gonna-”

Something big makes a “GRAAHK” noise.

“No, they’re not gonna go away unless I talk to them. Look, they followed me here. I knew it was unavoidable.” He calls out to us in common Valdian. “All right, come on in, no funny business.”

Being seasoned D&D players, we’re hesitant to cross the giant patch of fallen leaves, but it turns out it’s not a booby trap; it’s just what happens when you’re under a big ol’ tree. They are pleasingly crunchy and probably serve as an excellent intruder warning.

The druid isn’t pleased with our caution. “Either leave or come over here! Let’s get this over with.”

We circle the tree to find a small hut in a sunbeam, with a little garden. The old guy, looking like a hippie Danny DeVito, is sitting outside on a fallen log, prodding a small campfire with a stick as he heats a kettle over it. More notably, there is an owlbear curled up next to the fire.

“I wouldn’t get too close, he likes eatin’ fingers,” the druid grumps. “That’s why he’s called Fingers.”

“Oh! This is Aethis, and I’m Kyr Va-”

“Yeah, yeah, get to the point.”

“Are you a druid?”

“Ah, right to the point.”

We manage to stumble over a quick introduction, and that we want to ask him about the Druids’ actions against the artist’s colony in Holzog.

“So all druids know each other, huh?” He starts peeling a potato, unimpressed.

"I don’t know how druids work! There was an organized attack against cultists of the Key, at an artist's colony at Holzog Valley. Do you know of this, and are the Druids in an organized resistance against the Prisoners?"

“Are druids an organized anything?” Shoshana snarks.

Druid DeVito rolls his eyes. “Look, mask guy. I go where I’m needed. I don’t know anything about what’s going on in Holzog. I barely know what’s going on here, I just got here!”

“You... just got here?”

“Yeah, like a month or two ago. Hard to get lay of the land when EVERYTHING’S TRYIN TA KILL YOU, not to mention it’s hard to get a handle on things when idiot adventurers are runnin’ around STIRRIN’ THINGS UP!”

Gral soldiers on. “Well, what do you know of the curse corrupting this area? We were here gathering supplies for a ritual, but it seems like there is also trouble here, what with the villagers and the trolls."

Gral is very polite, so the druid grudgingly answers. “Look, here’s how it goes. This” – he taps the tree – “is Mother Tree. It’s important, for reasons. There’s always supposed to be a druid warden here. But something happened. She’s gone now. So I heard it through the grapevine, and I got called in.”

“Was it a literal grapevine?”

“The old bag and the windy bastard have ways of getting in touch with us, if we’re needed. They told me I gotta go here and – well, so I came. I’m tryin’ to figure out what happened to old warden, figure out what I can do to keep the place safe. It’s a lotta work! But right now I’m trying to make lunch. Because lemme tell you, this owlbear is a lot calmer than most of his type, but he WILL eat me if he gets too hungry.”

“As far as what I know about it? Half the valley got taken. Everything west of the river got overgrown. Haven’t spent much time on the other side; I don’t wanna get spotted. You see what happens when somebody gets a look at me.” He gestures dismissively to all of us. “No good deed, and all that.”

“So half the valley got overgrown. My sources tell me the other half is honestly not doin’ much better, even though it looks better on the outside. Like I said, I’m still tryin’ to get my networks up and running, which is difficult when most of my sources are working for the enemy.”

“Yeah, the villagers have fungus brain,” Shoshana tells him. “Someone who came from this village seemed to be corrupted by fungus, and was working to encourage its spread. Also, they’re bringing in a Fuckton of Trolls to Bad Herzfeld. Which, if they get fungused, is...bad.”

Valeria, meanwhile, is attempting to feed the owlbear some granola. After a moment, she elects to just toss the bag in its direction. Handfeeding an owlbear is Not Wise.

“I’ll add that to my list of problems,” the old man grumbles. “Bunch of sporebrained trolls, sporebrained villagers, plants tryna kill me…all right. How many they got so far?”

“One troll was definitely fungused, but he’s dead. There’s about 8 at the troll moot now. Their food stores look spore-free so far, but we’re going to be looking into the village more.”

“Yeah, they wouldn’t want to be corruptin’ ‘em yet, it’d tip their hand too early. Trolls are usually solitary types. With how the sporebrains work, any new arrivals would be majorly creeped out. They’d want to get a critical mass before they try to get ‘em brainwashed.”

We agree that’s probably the plan. We explain the situation in Holzog, and ask what he knows about the druids’ actions there and whether the druids are the Prisoners’ jailers.

He shrugs. “Me and mine, we don’t talk to each other much. We each got our beats to cover. It’s not like they give us a manual – we’re not super fond of writing things down. Rumor is there’s old sources – real old – that have some knowledge, but otherwise you gotta get lucky and get a visit from the bosses themselves. But they’ve never been the most reliable.”

“The...bosses? Like Baba and Gramps?” Shoshana asks, referring to the old grandmother and grandfather gods of the woods.

“Yeah, they don’t exactly come when you ring a bell. Now I don’t know what old rattlechains, or the angry lady, or the quiet guy, or the sneaky bastard are like, but the chiefs aren’t communicative at the best of times. And since this fakakta Curse thing started they’ve been harder to get a hold of. We get our orders, they keep us busy, but there ain’t much in the way of answers. I’m told to guard this place, and do my thing. The ‘Prisoners,’ or whatever? That’s new to me.

“Look, stay away from the villagers, anyone especially friendly, anyone who talks about love, togetherness, caring, all that crap. Don’t go anyplace overgrown, anyplace with too many mushrooms. Spores will get in your brain.”

“I just do what I’m told. Or infer, really, I’m not told enough to do what I’m told.

If you wanna be helpful – something’s spreading this. The Curse spreads enough on its own, but something’s deliberately spreading it around. Go hunt for whatever’s doing that. Also, I can’t find previous warden – y’know, the person whose beat this is supposed to be.

He’s mostly losing interest in us, but can’t resist one last jab. “What do you need that mandrake for anyway? Half the things you think they can do, they can’t.”

Valeria jumps at the chance to talk about her Quest. “Over in Mornheim they’re dealing with the undead sort of curse. There’s a disease in the water affecting the whole population, and we found a ritual to purify the river! It’s not the sort of magic I usually work with, but I think I can make it function with the plants that I need. I’ve got almost all of them!”

“Hmm. Whatcha missin’?”

We check our notes. “Norbert’s Wort?”

Those Sturmhearst guys might have some, if you wanna try to get it off ‘em. Or there’s a bunch of it growin’ not far from the riverbank. Lemme see this ritual of yours, I wanna make sure you’re not wastin’ your time.”

He gives it the once-over with a surprisingly appreciative eye. “Oh, huh. Rosalind’s work.” He rolls up the scroll, slaps it back into Valeria’s claws, and turns to walk out into the wood. “Get outta here. I got things to do. If you stick around, Fingers will eat ya.”

Wait.

There’s a beat, and then Shoshana starts yelling. “WAIT, ROSALIND? BECAUSE WE FOUND THIS IN THE HOUSE OF A LADY NAMED ROSALIND. AND I DIDN’T THINK YOU GUYS WERE INTO HOUSES? WAIT COME BACK SHE’S A GHOST NOWWWWWW-”

He’s gone. Dammit.

We wave goodbye to Fingers.

As we cautiously make our way out of the grove, Gral is asked to make a Charisma check. A leaf, still stuck to a small bent twig, falls from the great tree and gently helicopters down. He reaches up a hand and catches it out of the air, easily, as if it was intended to find his hand. With an excellent perception check, he glances up and sees the silhouette of a motherly face in the branches. It’s hard to spot among the rustling green canopy, but it’s looking down at us from the branches - he can almost see a wooden torso in one branch – and then the shape pulls back into the branch, moving through it like sand.

Gral experiences an internal hell yes.

Gral has received: one twig with some leaves! It has vibes. This thing is definitely special, and a gift – not from the druid, but from the Mother Tree.

It clearly has Properties, but we do not know what they are.

So, what next? Trying to get the last plant for the spell has a nonzero chance of getting us lost overnight. We could stop by the Sturmhearst annex, or check in on the trolls....wait. Dang it. This morning we told that old lady we’d stay in town overnight. And we’ve already stood up one dinner invitation this arc.

As Clem capably leads us around dangers and toward Sturmhearst, Gral stares at his twig. He can see the leaves seem to move without wind, and he slowly realizes he’s able to predict which ways Clem is gonna lead us based on which way the leaf radar blows. It seems the gift can help find safe passage in the wood!

With a good survival check, we manage to skirt all dangers and the riled-up zone. Once again we smell acrid smoke from Sturmhearst camp and pass by the impassive looking giant owl guards with their flamethrowers. We see Rita the robot chicken hop by with something in her mouth, and follow her into camp. She ignores us and bops right up into the house that contains Prof. Ulmus’ lab.

Hey, we should go check on Flynn! A student directs us to where they’ve set up their clinic in an old barn, and soon we are confronted with a steely-eyed Fiona, arms crossed, glaring at us. “Hi, we, uh-”

She is silent, as usual, but Valeria rolls a nat 20 insight and can read her face like a book. She’s mad that we didn’t come back when we said we would – we made them worry, and also left them alone in this den of academic madness.

Valeria stumbles over a sincere apology until she is interrupted by a solid barbarian hug.

The paladin takes this as her opening to gossip about our day. “We got plants! And got real lost! We slept over a troll’s place!” Fiona makes a surprised gesture. “Yeah, there’s like eight. They have HOUSES. It’s surreal?!?!?! One of them thinks he’s a doctor!”

She’s interrupted when Dr. Ulmus sticks her hand through a curtain and hands off a vial of blood. Valeria now has blood. “Take this to my lab, please.”

Valeria blinks. “O...kay?” She dutifully leaves to take the blood to the lab.

Shoshana can’t keep her mouth shut. “Uh, ma’am? ….did you not notice that wasn’t a grad student?”

“Hm?”

“You gave this to the paladin.”

“…Good. She’ll follow orders. WAIT, YOU’RE BACK!” The doctor bursts through the curtain, beak-first.

“We come bearing fungus!” Clem gives her a vial of fungus. Clem is then ordered to take this to Prof Ulmus’s lab. She does.

So now we have two tanks in a lab. They try to flag down a grad student and make them do it . No, too bad, they’re busy. Clem is like, what if I’m enormous and intimidating? But the grad student is not impressed. “Please. Do you know what kind of horrors I’m studying? You can’t terrify me.”

Valeria is like FFFF CAN YOU PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHERE THE BLOOD GOES. But the grad student leaves.

Oh hey, that rack has vials of red stuff. She puts the blood in the blood rack.

Clem shrugs, sets the fungus on a random table, and leaves.

Back at the clinic, a pale and haggard Flynn stumbles out and leans on Fiona. “My sister was very worried,” he tells us, making a flimsy effort at his usual grandiosity. “I, of course, had total confidence in you!”

Fiona, deadpan, signs: [He cried.]

Professor Ulmus finally emerges in full. “Well, Mr. Fairgold, I’d say you’re well on your way to recovery! Practice those breathing exercises I showed you and take it easy for next few days.”

Valeria and Clem hustle back, spouting apologizes for missing dinner, because Valeria is polite and Clem is genuinely upset at missing the opportunity to pick the doctor’s brain about medicine.

“Hmm, yes, you’re back! Well, you’re all alive…” Professor Ulmus starts inspecting us, her beaked mask tilting this way and that. “…oh dear.” She prods Clem a bit. “Yes, hmm.” She briskly hands Clem some sort of compressed herb poultice. “You’ll want to eat this.” Clem immediately makes a med check. It’s some kind of medicine, I guess. Clem swallows it. It tastes super gross.

“So!” she chirps. “I look forward to hearing what you’ve learned. How was your expedition, did you find what you were looking for?”

“Most of it,” Valeria admits. “We’re still looking for Norbert’s Wort.”

“I have a bit, but it’s spoken for, I’m afraid. Anyhow, I believe a dinner was planned! It’s a good thing you didn’t show up last night, I forgot all about it. I had to do quite a lot of work on Mr. Fairgold. The fungal infestation in his lungs should be cleared up, although the treatment did leave some aftereffects. Nausea, some trouble breathing for a few days. Nothing major.”

Valeria just sort of awkwardly lifts her hand, offering Lay Ons. He waves her off, bluffing his way past her insight. Sure, he’s fiiiiiiiine.

“He was fortunate. Not the worst I’ve seen – something worse would have required a substantially more radical treatment. More invasive, too. Were any of you exposed?”

“Uhh, not to that, but to other things?” We tell her about the Snorlax bear over a plate of sandwiches.

“Yes, I’ve seen similar phenomena – a fungal colony hijacking a living creature. Unfortunately that’s where my expertise ends – I might have to discuss with my, ugh, colleague in the aberrant biology department.”

Valeria tells her about the dream mushroom feast. “So you tripped on mushrooms and hallucinated and fought some mushroom men. We’ve all been there.” The professor waves it off with disinterest. “Yes, spooky curse magic messing with your mind, I’m sure it was harrowing. And/or enlightening. But I don’t have time for spooky magics; I’m a woman of SCIENCE! Speaking of, Clementine, where did you put that fungus?”

“On a table with similar looking specimens?”

“Pardon me a moment.” She immediately stands and runs. We see a huge guard stomp toward the lab. Then flamethrower noises. There’s a bit of screaming.

She emerges slightly scorched, fixing her coat. “That…was the wrong table. It’s cross contaminated! Well, I suppose that’s the cost of science. Sometimes, in order to make great discoveries, you must burn a table of samples before they kill you.”

“I’m sorry, I asked a grad student and he said put it anywhere, really!” Clem bluffs.

“Which one?”

“....um, a short guy wearing a bird mask?

“Ah, Jean-Pierre, I know him. We will have words later. Never trust an entomologist, they’ve all got a head full of beetles or something. So! What’s next for you? I can’t say we have a ton of room here, but I’m sure we can try to find somewhere for you to stay...”

Valeria idly taps the clear bead on her earring chain. “Well, we DID promise to stay at the inn in town tonight...”

Ulmus hums discontentedly. “I trust the villagers precisely as far as my guards can throw them.”

Shoshana butts in. “Right? Okay, because the last time we stayed in a fungus person’s house I was RIGHT and it SUCKED.”

We go back and forth, deciding we’ll keep our promise but stay in the annex for dinner. A feast in Mushroom Town sounds...ominous.

Clem, determined, asks the professor if she can have a flamethrower. Sadly, it doesn’t matter how much Clem pleads her strength and skill, those had to be SPECIALLY REQUISITIONED from the ENGINEERING DEPARTMENT. She had to call in favors! Now if you’ll excuse her, she has work to do.

We have an early dinner, and then head to other side of river for the first time. The difference could not be more marked. If this wasn’t German old-growth forest, the other side would be a jungle (a fungus jungle? A fungle.); these are lush, rolling, well-tamed agricultural fields dotted with quaint farmhouses; rural but civilized.

The “town” is a bare handful of buildings clustered around a small mill. A general store, the mill, the inn, a sheriff’s office, and that’s really it. Blacksmith. Handful of tradespeople. Pretty standard – these are people who live to support the surrounding farmers.

Not far from there we can see the Farmers’ Temple we heard about, a plain round wooden structure with large carved symbols for Rack, Torme, and Lethe. By Valeria’s standards, it’s the absolute bare minimum of what counts as a temple. “They’re trying, I appreciate that.”

As we travel into town, Valeria can see that the people on this side of river seem to fall firmly into 1 of 2 camps: some are incredibly healthy, almost overly large and well-fed, and very happy. The other half seems sickly. Not as bad as Mornheim, but we can easily sort people into Kinda Sickly or Big Healthy. There’s a lot of coughing. Perhaps the Medusoid Mycelium?!

It’s nearly sunset; we head down to the inn. There’s a couple of people sitting around the inn, farmers getting a drink after making deliveries to the mill. A friendly innkeeper named Aaron greets us. “Ah, you must be the people I’ve heard about!”

“Yes, Zelig told you about us?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some rooms prepped for ya. What brings you to town? We don’t get many of your type around – knights, or whatever you are.”

“Oh, we heard there’d been another Knight of the Rose around,” Shoshana probes.

“That’s what Zelig says, haven’t seen him.”

“Well, uh, thank you for your hospitality?”

We head upstairs, breaking into our usual pairs of roommates - Clem with Gral, Valeria with Shoshana, Aethis in the stables weirding out the horses.

Clem, the wary soldier, checks around to ensure the room is secure. She finds something! A note has been tucked into the mattress. “YOU ARE IN DANGER. COME DOWNSTAIRS AFTER THE SERVICES START AT THE TEMPLE.”

Huh.

She tells the rest of us. Everyone is like, “...yeah, we already knew that?” But it’s excellent news that not every villager is in on it.

There’s a knock on Clem’s door. A nervous young woman is standing there, holding a tray full of pastries. “Hey, uh. My dad wanted me to give you these. They’re leftover, they’d just go stale anyway.”

“Oh, uh, thank you! Much obliged. Um, will that be all?”

“Try ‘em, at least take a look at them. They’re pretty good,” the girl tells her insistently, and scurries off.

Clem and Gral immediately inspect the pastries suspiciously. Pulling one apart - sure enough, there’s a note stuffed in a pastry! It says “CHECK UNDER THE BED.”

Under the bed, where Clem found the first note.

Gral pops down to the tavern area to get a few more deets from Aaron the innkeeper. Turns out temple services start after sundown. “You’ll know it, you’ll see people headin’ towards it. Why, you thinkin of attending?”

“We have a paladin with us, she’s always interested in the local religious customs.”

“It’s nothing you’d be interested in. More of a town hall meeting than anything.”

“I understand. Thank you for the pastries, they were absolutely delicious!”

“Oh, thanks kindly! Sleep well.”

Sure enough, as the sun sets we see lights in the dark as people start streaming in from across the valley to the Farmers’ Temple.

Once it looks like the last stragglers have made it into the service, Clem knocks on wall separating our rooms, as a signal, and we head downstairs. We try to be quiet about it. Aaron and his daughter are there, cloaked and ready for travel. His daughter has a hooded lantern in her hand.

“I don’t know what you people came here for, but you’re not gonna find it here,” whispers the innkeeper urgently. “You have to leave.”

“What kind of danger?”

“I keep my ears open. Zelig came back this morning, told some people about some outsiders, guests – told us to have rooms ready for them, and then stay out of their way when they came for you tonight. I don’t know how long we have – they always go to temple first, but the clock’s running. I don’t know you much, but you seem-“

“This has happened before?” Valeria breaks in, concerned.

“Not in so many words, but, yeah. People have gone missing. Last time we couldn’t do anything about it. We weren’t warned; they just showed up in the night. This time they were worried – there’s more of you, and better armed. Last time was just traveling merchants.”

Gral nods. "We came here looking to find what 'they' were planning at the troll moot. We don't just want to run away, but if you're in danger for housing us, that can wait. What's next?"

“The troll moot? Yeah that’s fishy, but I don’t know how to warn ‘em away. You folks seem connected, can you get word out about this place? But be discreet. I’ve heard stories about the Penitents, and I don’t want no part of that either. There’s still good people here. A lot of people in that temple there, though – I would have sworn they were good people too, until this all started. I’m not sure what it’s all about. We haven’t been going to services, and so far they haven’t forced us to. But they had folks posted in the inn, makin’ sure you showed up tonight.

“You gotta get moving. Rebecca can get you to someplace safe. Slip out now, and finish leaving the valley tomorrow night.”

Clem insights ‘em, and then seem genuinely honest and concerned for us.

“Whatever this is, something about you guys has them spooked, so I wanna make sure you survive. There’s strange things afoot in Herzfeld these days.”

“Would they let you leave?” Valeria asks.

“I don’t wanna know what would happen if we tried. So far they’ve been content to let us keep running the inn, serving ‘em drinks.”

“How have you evaded their influence?” Clem asks suspiciously. “What makes you the exception?”

“Not everybody’s one of ‘em. The woman, Zelig, she came out of the woods a couple months ago after the other side of river fell. She started talkin’ to people, sayin’ she knew way to protect us. People were scared, ‘specially since the old cleric went over to the other side of the river and never came back. A bunch of people went down to the temple to hear her say her piece.

“Those that went – not all of them came back. Afterwards, she started holding services regularly. Meetings, gatherings, whatever. Those that go, their crops flourish, they get strong and healthy. Those that don’t start to get sick. Their crops die. And once people start getting sick, everyone tells ‘em to go to temple and pray about it.”

I don’t know why Rebecca and I have managed to avoid the brunt of it so far.”

Rebecca pipes up. “I’ve snuck into the temple during day, it’s open to everyone. It seems fine mostly, bit run down – everything seems to be in place. But whatever’s going on there, it’s weird. The point is, I can take you to a safe place.”

Her dad nods. “I dunno where it is. Safer that way.”

Rebecca continues, her face too grim for her young age. “I’ve been smuggling people out of the valley. Mostly, people who oppose Zelig just vanish. Dad keeps the inn running and keeps his ears open. Anyone we suspect might be in danger, we get them out.”

Valeria considers. “We’re not going until we figure out what’s going on, but staying safe for tonight is not a bad idea.”

“I don’t know how long the service will go. It can be ten minutes, it can be an hour. We have to get moving, now.”

We hurriedly discuss: we want to know what happens at the mysterious services, but Valeria and Clem aren’t exactly built for stealth. Rebecca says that during the service itself, the town’s pretty deserted - everyone either goes in or stays well away.

We decide to split the party: Rebecca will take Team Clank to meet her friends at the safe house; Gral and Shoshana will sneak up to the temple.

“I can’t tell you where safe house is; if you get captured, you’ll spill. Meet me at the top of hill there. I’ll be hiding in the bushes right by the old fence.”

The shadowy huntress and the subtle bard manage to get close without giving themselves away. Gral gets right up next to a window, and listens in, staying out of the window’s line of sight.

Zelig’s voice booms out, rich and strong: “Brothers, Sisters, we come to our next business. You have heard of the outsiders. They come, they question us. They question our ways, our motives. They endanger our sacred project with our brethren amongst the trolls. Do not fear, for we have a solution: I sense in them a great capacity for love and understanding. Tonight we shall find them, and give them a chance to join in our love. Should they not, should they hold hatred in their hearts, then those hearts may be hollowed and made ready for our love. Come brothers, come sisters, come family.”

Gral minor illusions the hue of the night sky onto his face, hoping it’s enough cover to peek in the window unnoticed.

“It is time. First, let us renew our bonds,” the old woman intones. Zelig stands in the center of the circular room. All the people around her are tall, strong, and glowing with health, crowded together, holding hands. Zelig taps a floorboard, and Hans and Frans solemnly move to pry up the board.

Underneath is a lush green carpet of plant life. Fungus and vines creep out of the floorboard, growing at an impossible rate. Everyone stands as a wave of vegetable and fungal matter extends through temple, climbing up the worshippers’ legs and enveloping their bodies entirely. As Hans and Frans pull back the boards, a frame rises up; vines work their way into frame, forming a picture. Blooming flowers and different shades of leaves and lichen form the image of a female figure, motherly looking, bound in roots. Yet another tapestry?

The worshippers speak in eerie unison. “Though bound, she will be free. She is the growth. She is our love. She is protection. She will grow free of her bonds. We will grow as she does.” The chanting does not falter as the wave of plant matter entirely consumes the chamber. Gral ducks back under the window as the air chamber starts to fill with dense, cloudy spores.

He’s been relaying everything he sees to Shoshana with Message, and they both agree: We’ve seen what we can see, it’s time to get the hell out of here.

Meanwhile, Rebecca leads Valeria and Clem out of the town proper to a set of rolling hills near an abandoned granary. There’s a cleverly hidden trapdoor set almost invisibly into the sod, leading down into a small network of caves.

“They used to use these caves to make cheese! Hmm...it should be this one tonight.” She bypasses several doors set into the earthy tunnels, stopping at one seemingly at random and knocking softly.

A voice on the other side whispers, “Who are you?”

“One who seeks freedom,” Rebecca whispers back.

“And who are we?”

“The last Free Thieves!”

...What.

The door opens a crack, and Rebecca hurriedly herds the tanks through. “The guy in charge is the little guy. His name’s Henri Decannes. Him or one of his people will help you get out. I have to get your friends.” She runs back into night, vanishing into the darkness.

Valeria groans. She understands that stabbing Henri is not an appropriate action at this time, but dang would she enjoy it. And now she’s gonna have a DEBT to him? Maaaaaaaan.

As Gral begins to sneak back over to Shoshana, behind them, they hear the congregants start to move.

#bad herzfeld #the growth #valeria argent #gral omokk'duu #clem haxan #shoshana bat chaya #druid devito #professor ulmus #henri decannes #session recap

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