#i need examples of that so that i don’t get caught in an echo chamber

[bizlybebo]

i am not going to get in stupid fandom discourse i am not going to get in stupid fandom discourse people are allowed to have opinions that differ from mine that is the beauty and wonder of the human experience i am not going to get in stupid fandom discourse

[armandisdaddy]

Jorrāeliarza Mēre (Dear One) Part 3.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon Fem Reader

Word Count: 2,136

Warning/Content: 18 PLUS 🔞, Incest, Age-Gap, Sibling Rivalry,Angst, Smut, p in v penetration, choking, blowjob, cunnilingus, saliva kink & SWEARING.

Summary: You were surprisingly happy in this marriage with Daemon, but how long would this happiness last before is all came crashing down…

You and your new husband were quite the insatiable pair it seemed. Daemon had you doing things you never imagined you’d be doing. For example, at this very moment you were in the library your back against a book shelf, your legs over his shoulders while his face rested between your legs lapping at the sensitive bud hidden between your velvet folds. It was mid-day for the God’s sake and he had to have you whenever and wherever he possibly could. Your whimpers and struggles to stay quiet echoes off the stone walls. “Daemon…please…”, you begged wanting to retreat to your chambers before a Septa or Septon caught them in such a blasphemous act. “Gaomagon ao drējī jaelagon issa naejot keligon, issa jorrāelagon?” “Do you really want me to stop, my love?” He peeked from the skirts of your dress, laying chaste kisses along your inner thighs before attacking the mound of flesh with his tongue again.

How could you deny him the pleasure of pleasuring you? Heavy breaths echoed about the room. You bite down into your lip trying to keep your composure but he made it so hard to do. You were losing track of your thoughts, they were becoming hazed and filled with nothing but ecstasy as he pushed you further and further off the deep end. Your fingers entangled in his hair pushing his face further into your cunt. The sloppy sounds of him devouring you filled your ears only causing more madness to ensue. Why was it so easy for him to get you like this. “Issa zaldrīzes, kostilus…nyke jorrāelagon naejot.” “My dragon, please… I need to.” He smiled and spoke in a sing-song tone as if to tease her. “Ao jorrāelagon naejot skoros, jorrāelagon mēre? “You need to what, dear one?”

You bucked your hips forward pressing your mound into his face begging for release. “I need to cum, my love.” He groaned into your cunt aggressively sucking and lapping at her sensitive sex causing you to convulse around him. She drenched him her juices sighing in relief. “Good girl..” He hummed licking his lips clean before kissing your lips. You could taste your sweet nectar. You grabbed at his pants desperately to return the favor, but he shooed your hands away even with his cock throbbing uncomfortably in his pants “We don’t have time, issa byka rūklon.” “My little flower.” He kissed you once more. “I have council with king, your father, and the rest of the cunts in his court. I promise I’ll be back to finish what we started.” You whined holding onto him tight before letting him go. “Fine.”

He left you to your own devices for a few hours and as the time slowly crept by and your darling husband was taking longer than expected. You decided to start wandering the halls of the castle. It wasn’t like home back at Driftmark. It was times like this that made you home sick. When you were all alone. Your sister Laena decided to stay back in King’s Landing as well, but she still hadn’t spoken to you since the day of the wedding. She was pretty good at avoiding you when the two of you weren’t on the best of terms.

Making your way into the courtyard, your sister sat at the roots of the Godswood. She held a book in hand something about the past dragon-riders you surmised. “Sister?” You called to her softly not meaning to offend with your presence. She quickly tensed looking up your eyes met and Laena was just about to retreat. “Please…don’t walk away from me sister. Are you really going to hold this against me? I promise you didn’t not go behind your back on this. Why are you treating me this way? Have I ever showed any small inkling of disloyalty?” You were right and she honestly knew what you said was true, but you could’ve denied the proposal in her mind.

“Y/N I’m very aware of this…but I do not understand why it is always you that ends up with what I want. I am the eldest and yet you end up with everything I’ve ever wanted. So tell me sister since you loathed becoming someone’s wife so much before. How is married life treating you?” You did not wish to smile, but it couldn’t be helped after what you had just experienced with the man you were falling in love with so easily. “It is good..”

That smile let her know that it was more than just “good”. She hoped that you were still in misery, still unhappy with the fate that was decided for you, but you were…happy and all the anger that subsided for a moment bubbled to the surface again. That was supposed to be her. “No need to gloat about, I’ve heard the whispers about him fucking you around this castle like a common whore. Interesting sister, I thought you were a prude.”

You laughed hysterically, she sounded so desperate it was become quite annoying actually. “Laena, you’ve been sulking around here like a child. It reminds me of when we were children and you couldn’t get your way. You know as a woman I had no choice in the matter and how betrayed I felt…I would think that as my sister you would’ve understood me, but I see you were too busy feeling sorry for yourself. And yes I’m filled with so much damn happiness I could burst.

I thought I was going to be miserable and my husband has shown me otherwise. So, forgive me for finding a way to find the light at the end of a dark tunnel sister. But what I’m not understanding is how you could see that he didn’t care to pay you any fucking amount of attention and yet your still pining like a little girl and acting like a child whose toy was taken from them. He is not a toy sister, he is a man. A man that did not want you…so get over it for fucks sake. Find someone that does and stop being such a fucking cunt.”

It was a shock to the both of you. You had finally gotten the courage to stand up for yourself after all this time. Maybe the Rouge Prince’s attitude was rubbing off on you in a good way. You finally broke the silence. “Listen Laena. I love you very much; you are my eldest sister I once followed you like a shadow…you mean everything to me. Do not let this break us apart..Please…”

Laena sighed. She truly missed you and wanted to have those girlish talks about how your first night with him was and all the things that y’all were learning about each other. But her stubbornness had got the best of her before. “Y/N I’m so sorry…I don’t know why I took my frustrations out on you. I guess I saw the chemistry that you two had and I thought you were trying to take him from me. Please forgive me for how I’ve treated you as of late.” You smiled and sat down at the tree with her hugging her and kissing her cheek aggressively.

Now that the two of you had made up, Laena had spoke of her plans to head back to Driftmark. You were saddened by this, but you were sure she was missing home just as much as you. You gossiped and giggled like little girls for hours and by the time you realized it, it had grown dark. “Oh my the time has passed us so quickly, we should get to our chambers.” Laena agreed and you walked her back to her room. Now it was time for you to head back, Daemon was probably waiting there for you and you were excited to see him.

Turning a sharp corner you saw him leaning against the stone wall as if he had been waiting for you. “Dearest husband how long have you been standing there?” He smiled approaching you, his hand cupping your face ever so gently. “Not long at all, Y/N. I see you and Laena have finally decided to end this unnecessary feud. You giggled and teased, “A feud that started because of you, my Lord.”

“Oh yes, I can recall you wanting me all to yourself .” He chuckled pulling you into him by your tiny waist causing you laugh in return. “I don’t remember it like that , Ser. I recall you asking for my hand specifically.” He pressed his forehead into yours backing you in a dark hall that led to one of those paintings that hid a passageway behind it. He led you inside and backed into the cool wall. “I guess you’re right, issa byka rūklon.” “My little flower.” He nipped at the soft pink flesh of her bottom lip, pressing his crotch against her. The monster within in pants strained against the fabric. “You and that pretty little mouth of yours have been on my mind all day. I could hardly keep my thoughts straight.” His hand swiftly unlaced the back of your dress letting it fall to the floor leaving you in the thin fabric of your chemise.

The cool are stiffened you nipple and they piqued through the delicate linen. He took one between his fingers rolling it while his other fingers crept into your undergarments finding that sensitive bundle of flesh rubbing circles around it and dipping into your heated core occasionally. Your moans echoed through the darkened pathway and your hips bucked meeting the thrust of his fingers. He kissed your lips feverishly, letting his tongue play with yours. Pulling away his ragged breaths heated your flesh before he spoke. “On your knees. You wanted to return the favor earlier?” You nodded quickly finding your place on the ground watching him unbuckle his pants letting his thick cock spring forward.

Opening your mouth you took him in, immediately filling the space. You moaned at the taste of him, your hand hovering over you cunt when you needed relief. You began to bob your head letting your mouth suck around the thick flesh with excitement. He groaned lacing his fingers into your hair keeping you still while he thrusted into your face. His cockhead touching the back of your throat making him growl and pull your silver tresses roughly. His free hand lightly slapping your face as the sloppily sounds of your mouth bounced off the walls of the secluded space.

“You’re my good girl?” He cooed pulling his cock from your mouth a lewd pop beckoning you to answer him. “Yes…” you could barely catch your breath before he was shoving his cock back down your throat pulling back again. “Spit on it..” He voice like velvet and you obliged spitting on his cock before he began to fuck your face again. That delicious mouth of yours was bringing him to his climax quicker than he would’ve like he groaned pulling away and making you stand to your feet. “Are you ready to carry my child?” He removed the chemise from her body leaving her bare in front of him. “Yes, my love give me a little dragon.”

He lifted you leg over his shoulder while you balanced yourself with the other. He groaned as his cock filled you up the warmth of your walls sucking him in. “Gods you feel amazing. His hand held the back of your neck as his hips began to move pulling his cock in and out of your warmth, grinding into that spot that only he knew how to reach. You were losing your mind the pleasure becoming overwhelming. Soon his pace quickened and he turned you so that your face was pressed against the wall. His hand laced around your throat pulling you back deepening the arch in your back.

He pounded into you placing just the right amount of pressure on your throat. You cried out in pure pleasure racking your fingers over the stone walls he growled in your ear like an animal. With his pace you were going to reach your climax soon. “Daemon…I’m going to cum..” He smiled pulling you head back further crashing his lips into your sending you over edge and him soon following spilling his seed inside of you. “You are so beautiful, Y/N. I love you. Come let’s go to bed our chambers are right around the corner from here. ” She rode out her orgasm feeling the warmth of his sustenance. “I love you too. Yes..please…I’m exhausted.” He chuckled carrying you in his arms whilst you carried your clothes and the two of you were off to bed…if he didn’t wake you up in the middle of the night for another round.

To be Continued…

@graniairish @midnightprincess18

[lorelylantana]

Savageries of the Heart Chapter 6; Heritage

First -Previous -Next

Chapter rating: T Overall Rating: E

Noodle turned out to be quite the escape artist, if the flickering of a forked tongue against her chin was any indication. Zelda’s giggle swiftly turned into a yawn. Noodle wriggled into her hair until Zelda lifted her head so the serpent could take her usual space coiled around her neck.

“Good morning, Dove,” Link cooed softly, kissing her shoulder as she sat up. 

“Good morning,” she said with a stretch. She leaned on Link’s shoulder to look down at the slate in his hands. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just looking through some of the messages that piled up over our honeymoon,” he said, tapping out a reply to his latest missive. Zelda’s brow wrinkled.

“Don’t you do that in your office?”

“I could do it in our office,” he admitted, and Zelda felt him smile against her cheek, “but that would mean leaving you here to wake up alone, and that wouldn’t be very hospitable, would it?”

She grinned and shook her head.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” she asked, booping Noodle’s nose. Link clicked out of his messages and brought up a schedule. 

“I don’t have many appointments today, so I thought I’d give you a tour.”

Walking through her new home felt like walking through a dream. Her breath steamed in front of her, even though Zelda fel perfectly comfortable, if not warm. Her bare feet walked across frozen stone floors as Link led her through chambers carved into the mountain. It was a surreal feeling, walking next to walls of solid ice, light filtering through in tendrils onto the floor. On her other side was a line of doors. Curious, she opened one, and was surprised to find a bedroom.

“For guests?” she asked, though she couldn’t imagine that many would willingly stay in a frozen abode such as theirs. Link shook his head.

“Children,” he clarified, then caught himself, “Not that we need them! I mean-” he sighed, “I didn’t marry you to pump out heirs. That’s not how we do things.”

“It’s how my family does things,” Zelda said. She wouldn’t say that she was a natural born mother, but there was this vengeful feeling that had grown over the years that was determined to continue her line, even if it was just to prove she could. Zelda ran her eyes down her husband’s figure. At the very least she had a strong set of genes to work with.

“In any case, It’s the one thing I can do to honor my family, making sure the weakest link doesn’t break the chain.”

Link paused then, turning to look her in the eyes. There was a tragic look in his eyes that would make Zelda bristle were it not for the rage burning quietly behind the melancholy.

“Is that how you see yourself?”

Zelda looked down, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s how my people see me.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

She looked up at him, a question on her lips, before he cleared his throat. “I think breakfast should be ready by now. Let’s go eat.”

An moment later, Zelda was seated at the table for breakfast, which gave Link an opportunity to help her settle into her new home and give her a brief explanation of what would be expected of her as a Warden’s wife. As a Mother of the Zonai she would be expected to handle domestic affairs. This included holding audiences and coordinating joint efforts between regions among other housekeeping tasks, handling the finances and presiding over festivals and rituals and whatnot. The Dragonlands were the political center of the Zonai, and marrying its Warden meant that she had an additional responsibility of leading an organization based on the Temple Mesa.

“Wait a moment,” Zelda held up a hand, “You mean to tell me the Hands of Hylia is a Zonai organization?”

The Hands of Hylia was a renowned charity that gathered resources from across Hyrule to redistribute them when needed. Their quick response to epidemics, famines, and other such disasters quickly earned them the reputation of the kingdom’s greatest first responders. Her uncle had poured a generous amount of money to the administration, if only to claim a portion of the glory and saving the castle embarrassment for it’s slow response time. 

“I don’t understand. What’s the point in helping a nation that looks down on you so?”

Link leaned back, considering before putting his thoughts to words.

“You know the Sheikah once served the Hyrulean royal family,”

“I did,” Zelda nodded, “Because of Hylia’s blood.”

“Yes, but that’s not all. The Sheikah value knowledge, and so they served Hylia’s daughters, paragons of wisdom before they were usurped by their fathers.”

“What does this have to do with the Zonai?”

“Because the Zonai follow the Hero. At least, we follow his example.”

“I’m sorry, what ‘Hero’?”

Link gave her a quizzical look, “The Hero, the one in all of the stories.”

Zelda shook her head, drawing a blank.

“You really don’t know? No one told you? What about the history books?”

“My uncle had all the history books burned shortly after he took the throne,” Zelda said, in a trance, “Anything that referenced Hyrule’s matrilineal line was disposed of.”

Link cursed before getting up and taking her hand, pulling Zelda as he walked to the same alcove they materialized in the night before. He pressed a button, and they were gone in a flash of light,

Zelda expected her feet to form on top of the sandy beach, not the stone worn smooth by eons pressing against her skin like a well trodden path. Her gasp echoed over towering walls etched with a procession of men and women making their way towards the biggest statue of Hylia she had ever seen.

Zelda felt all at once so small yet nostalgic in a way that drove her forward, paying no thought to her bare feet and the casual slip hanging from her shoulders. 

She had a place here, and she felt secure in this undeniable, instinctive sense of unity that swelled in her chest and seeped into her bones.

“What is this place?” she whispered.

“They call the Temple of Time the birthplace of Hyrule, but this,” Link gestured to the massive statue “Is where your bloodline began, when the Goddess Hylia came down to earth and brought her light to the land.”

Zelda walked with him as he led her over the uneven stone, wrapping her arms around his right. After years of precious little physical touch, going to be with her husband had been the release of a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and found herself gravitating towards Link, who seemed more than receptive to her advances, holding her hand tightly in his while they walked upon the stone. They walked in revered silence until they finally reached the statue. Link took her hand and pressed it against the smooth folds of the Goddess’ robe. 

A gasp fell from her lips, there was a hum that resonated in her chest, causing her heart to flutter. Link’s skin burned against hers, and she felt this surge of affection for him that felt much older than their marriage. 

“Hylia’s line has survived for thousands, if not millions of years, surviving famine, disease, and several wars. Do you really think it can be extinguished so easily?”

Zelda shook her head.

“No.”

“Then we agreed,” he said, hooking an arm around her and bringing his slate around, “Now let’s go home.

Zelda had been sitting at her new desk when her translator began to chime. She glanced at her slate to see who it was.

Owlan (Resting Father of the Dragonlands)

“Owlan?” she said when the call connected. Was there anyone in Hyrule that wasn’t a Zonai in disguise?

“Hello Mother Zelda. I thought I’d see how you were settling in, and I wanted to say that you can call me anytime if you need some pointers for your new position. I was in your shoes quite some time ago.”

“Thank you, that means a lot,” she said, before clearing her throat, “How are things in the castle?”

“As you likely expected, Prince Nohansen wasted no time in commanding your old room to be refurbished for his occupancy.”

“What was wrong with his old one?” she asked. Owlan chuckled.

“It wasn’t yours, of course,” was his snide reply, “You should know the Commissioner returned from his sabbatical, he kicked up quite a fuss when he heard of your nuptials.”

“Really?” there was no love lost between Zelda and the Commissioner. Her uncle’s right hand man was adamant that she spend her days in the castle’s shadow rather than lend her talents to worthier pursuits. “You’d think he’d be glad to get rid of me.”

Owlan hummed thoughtfully, “I’m concerned he may know more about the Zonai than he’s letting on.”

“I could say the same of you,” Zelda quipped, she got a chuckle for her efforts.

“Fair enough. How are you adjusting to your new position?”

“I’m still a bit overwhelmed, but well enough considering the Zonai’s true nature,” she admitted, dragging her finger over her desk’s surface. A list of ingredients she’d ordered scrolled at her touch. Zelda had made her order hours ago, but still fiddled with the giant screen. The novelty of it all hadn’t quite worn off yet. “I must admit, the bath was divine. I’ve never seen such a lovely room.”

“I wouldn’t know, so I’ll take your word for it.”

That gave Zelda pause.

“But weren’t you Father of the Dragonlands?”

“The requirement for being a Zonai Caretaker is a family tie with the region’s Warden, what kind doesn’t really matter. It could be a parent and child, cousins, even best friends, if they sign an oath to one another. I’ve never had much interest in romantic relationships myself, but I was more than willing to support my sister as she watched over the land. In fact, I think you’re actually the first Mother who married in for quite some time.”

“Is that right?” Zelda asked. It seemed the older her marriage grew, the stranger it became. And then, before her eyes, strings of light condensed in front of her. 

“What is it?” Owlan asked when he heard her gasp. Zelda shook her head.

“Just more Zonai wonders I have to get used to.”

Owlan blew out a laugh, “I can imagine. I’ll let you get back to the intricacies of Zonai culture. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’m at your service, Mother of the Dragonlands.”

The call disconnected. Zelda shook her head ruefully, looking at the piles of fruit and herbs within her reach. With a swipe of her hand, the recipe for the Zonai body paint was on screen. She reached for the nearest Armoranth. 

It was time she got to work.

[dgcatanisiri]

I think sometimes, certain spaces end up being caught up in one issue, or issues that face primarily a certain group, and then end up so focused on that issue, that group, that they forget that other groups also face issues, or face similar issues.

Y’know, obviously a white cis gay telling a woman of color that she’s not marginalized is ridiculous and we rightly laugh at this sort of thing, but I do sometimes feel like there’s sometimes a demand that, if you don’t face “enough” persecution, you need to just shut up about your problems, and that, a lot of the time, this hits HARD when men try and discuss their problems, what with the whole ‘patriarchy’ thing.

It’s like, yeah, sure, “check your privilege” and that sort, but I feel like this sometimes gets abused and turned into a bludgeon - “no, your oppression doesn’t count and isn’t enough to count, so you don’t need to contribute to the conversation, and your attempts to do so are actually you talking over the ACTUALLY oppressed people involved, you are as bad as The Other Side, shut up and get out, you don’t belong here.” Despite how men face a lot of problems both within the patriarchal system as it is if they are not considered “masculine ENOUGH,” let alone when bringing in the other intersections, race, sexuality, identity, etc.

Or even, within that, there’s a segment of men who do face these issues, but don’t have the language and/or awareness of everything to express it properly, and, rather than understand and try to help bridge that awareness gap, the response centers around “a man trying to overtake the conversation,” rather than, say, a gay person talking about queer issues, a black person talking about racial issues, so on. Shove them back out of a conversation that they can contribute to, just because they might not have handled bringing it up “correctly.”

Like, just as an example within the queer community, I’ve seen the violent Twitter mobs come after trans people who don’t mention NBs in everything they speak about, when... Sometimes, yeah, you do want to and should be entitled to just speak about your position and your experiences. Not bringing up a community is not inherently erasure, it can also just as easily be that someone is simply trying to speak to the experiences and perspectives they know, often particularly to avoid talking over the experiences of those they don’t.

And some of it probably does have to do with internet echo chamber - you get the people into your circle who represent the point of view that you want, you start seeing that perspective as THE ONLY VALID one, because there is no alternative presented to you. And, as a result, if your ONLY VALID PERSPECTIVE is not acknowledged, not given its due in a conversation, then that conversation is not worth listening to.

Don’t mistake me as trying to say that I don’t fall in to this too. I know I do. It’s human nature. The general idea of what I’m going for here, though, is that this feels like an underdiscussed aspect of conversation in these spaces.

Like, if this WERE a “but what about MEN?” issue (and I argue that it’s not by virtue of this being something for all communities to consider), the question I’m really trying to go for here is “how do we keep a seat at the table open for everyone who is part of the conversation without letting ANY voice drown out the others?” Sometimes (granted, with this specific example, not very often), it actually IS a legitimate question to raise in a conversation.

Y’know, there ARE legitimate issues that men face and deal with that need to be addressed, and not even marginalized men - to address a single issue, with the way incel communities target vulnerable cis-straight white guys, we probably SHOULD be looking in to how and why they’re susceptible to these recruitment tactics and how to improve matters, so this really SHOULD be a conversation that involves them, and does so in a way that isn’t “all your role models of masculinity are bad and you can’t emulate them without being bad yourself.” It’s a conversation that should be happening.

And I don’t feel like it’s the kind of conversation that a lot of The Discourse™ is able to handle at the moment, because of giving in to this idea of “no, you do not have something to contribute to the conversation, no matter what your experience, so shut up and don’t say anything,” which just undermines its use in terms of rhetoric and actually facilitating change. Even if it’s meant as a “listen and learn to those who know the topic better than you because it’s their lived experiences, it’s still framed in a way that puts it forward as “you have nothing to contribute, and you are A Bad for attempting to in your ignorance.” And, as so happens in internet discourse, once you are labelled A Bad™, you are branded eternally with the label, and should expect that will forever taint your attempts to interact with anyone in these spaces. Once you’re frozen out of these spaces, what spaces are left for you?

Also, the fact that I took the overly simplified version of “but what about men?” and broadened it back out into “how to keep seats open at the table for all involved while not drowning anyone out”? That kinda goes back to that point of “maybe the person bringing this up doesn’t have the language to express themselves best.” Especially with the way that The Discourse™ likes to compact language down and turn a minor accident into a nuclear conflict...

Nuance is a lost and forgotten art in the spaces, and we need to bring it back. Some people may enter the conversation in bad faith, sure. But defaulting to believe that all people of a certain group are acting in bad faith... I kinda see that as a bad faith position itself. If people who want to learn are excluded from the start... What’s even the point of the discussion?

[moonchildsaurora]

Running in Circles

✤ guard captain!Mingi x thief!reader  ✤ genre: Guard AU // smidge of fluff, (semi)enemies-to-friends. (feat. Yunho) ✤ t/w: sfw, none - except very brief mentions of some fighting, rated PG ✤ count: 3k ✤ [ part 3 ] of Lacuna miniseries

a/n - huge apologies for keeping Captain Song in for a so long but alas, he’s finally freeeeee. I really need to pick up the pace with continuing on with this mini series 😅 this idea sorta played out better in my head than out in words - I’m not 100% happy with this, it’s defs not my best but I shall practise writing more Mingi fics in the future! This is also probably the tamest of the lot in terms of cry-level. Just preparing you guys with an easy read before the shitstorm that awaits in the next member on the list one shot hahahahahahaha. @hereisleo​ & @barsformars​ hope you both enjoy this for ya man 😉 I couldn’t bring myself to hurt this giant teddybear too much in writing. Also everyone, let’s welcome back a familiar face within this one shot :P

In all of his years of being a royal palace guard of Aethevintis, nothing would cause his body to seize up with tension instantly and hasten the greys that threaten to come through his still youthful auburn tresses than when he was requested at the interrogation chamber.

Heavy steps echoed off the dark granite stone floors, the sharp clinking from an array of medals that hung proudly to signify his prestige were in sync with his tense pace. Song Mingi had no problem exercising command and authority when it was needed, in fact, he prided himself in doing so.

He was good at his job, and he knew that.

Otherwise the title of Captain wouldn’t had been bestowed upon him that four winters ago. The real struggle was when his confidence in being assertive was mistaken for the ability to intimidate, broad body physique to further fuel that common misconception. And so Mingi often found himself sat in that bleak chamber with some poor unfortunate soul, who had been frightened into admitting nothing more than petty crimes.

He’d argue such tactics were unnecessary. Running his hand frustratingly through his hair for the umpteenth time, Mingi mentally braced himself for whatever...or rather whoever awaited for his arrival.

Rounding the corner, his brows arched up with surprise upon seeing the King standing in front of the chamber doors. The troubled look that replaced the King’s usual ebullient features prompted Mingi to straighten his posture immediately; this was sure to be a serious matter.  “Good afternoon Sire…”

Yunho turned towards the rich baritone voice of the Guard Captain and rigid shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at the sight of one of his most trusted.    

“Captain Song,” Yunho nodded in acknowledgement, “Although I’m not sure if it’s entirely good at all.”

Mingi’s forehead creased but remained silent to allow the King to further elaborate about his plight.

“The Queen’s aquamarine diamond parure has been stolen, and I suspect a selection of other jewels too. Those I care not for as much as the diamond parure…it’s got high sentimental value as it was passed down within the family from my great-great-grandmother.”

“That certainly isn’t good at all. Has the perpetrator been caught yet, Sire?”

“As luck would have it, yes actually. And I’ve been told that you would be the perfect person to know how to handle this….situation,” at saying this Yunho fully turned to face Mingi. The falchion in his belt’s scabbard felt heavy and a million and one thoughts were running through his mind at once.

“Mingi…”  

Mingi could see the sincerity in Yunho’s eyes and the hesitation in spilling out the words that needed to be said.

“I hope you know that in any other circumstances, I would not be requesting you to deal with such matters that you have immense dislike for. I apologise for putting you in such a position. This…certain individual has crossed paths with you before and I’m hoping with that familiarity you may be able to coax them to reveal where the diamond parrure is. How you do so, I’ll leave that up to your discretion.”

Oh.

Well that wasn’t what Mingi was expecting to hear. A certain individual he’s familiar with?

He straightened his back and gave a determined nod of his head, “I shall do my best Sire. That room may be the bane of my existence but this matter is clearly of importance to you, let us hope the thief can be convinced to comply.”

“You have my utmost gratitude Mingi,” Yunho said, reaching his hand up to give Mingi’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before making his way out of the grim dungeon hallway.

Mingi waited till the King was out of sight before turning to face the chamber. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his heart and pushed open the doors with slight force.  

“Well, well if it isn’t my favourite Captain of the guards. Come to keep me company for the evening?”

If he wasn’t already sweating before, he sure was now. That oh-so coquettish voice he’s grown to recognise almost immediately, fell on his ears.

You sent a cheshire grin to the tall figure, legs propped up on the worn-out wooden table and hands idly fiddling with the heavy brass shackles around your wrists. This certainly wasn’t the first time your paths had crossed but it was the first for you both to meet in a more dire setting.

Mingi feared for the implications of your capture.

Not just a mere thief of the streets but being the leader of Dusk Talons, the Royal Crown surely won’t pass up a chance to make an example of a core individual from the renowned thief guild.    

“You ought to close your mouth, otherwise the flies will get in.”

One of the guards closer to you brought his fist down on the table, a mere tactic meant to frighten you. However, all it got out of you was the bored glance you sent to the guard who started berating you for talking back to Captain Song.

Mingi let out a sigh, “That’s enough. I can take it from here, you all are dismissed.” The command was given to the other guards in the room as he settled into the chair across from you. They left without a fuss and silence encompassed the room, though not for long.

“Would you please be a dear and help with this?” you asked, chains jangling as you held out your cuffed wrists towards Mingi.

“It would seem that’s not needed at all,” a ghost of a smile gracing his lips, “your handy work got the job done for you.”

“You’re no fun.”

Not admitting out loud, you were slightly impressed that the guard captain didn’t let your lock-picking slip by him. The shackles dropped on to the table and you made a show of stretching your arms out, body arching lithely off the chair. Your loose tunic rode up just shy of showing skin, causing Mingi to avert his eyes out of respect.

That widened your grin.

Mingi let out an awkward cough, any pre-planned script he had for questioning was abandoned. You weren’t entirely a stranger to him nor were you an acquaintance – if the laws even allowed for that. But Mingi didn’t feel right about making you go through the same interrogation protocol as previous criminals had to. You weren’t like them.  

“I can’t tell if you thrive off the riskiest raids or that you don’t fear anything nor anyone. Going after Her Majesty’s diamond parure? Of all things!”

An airy chuckle left you, “If I didn’t know better…you sound awfully worried for me, Captain.”

“Shouldn’t you be at least more careful? What would become of your family if something were to really happen to you?”

The grin on your face disappeared immediately.

Mingi continued when he didn’t hear a response, “I’ve seen you…giving food and gold back to those in the Lower Wrean. I know some of the funds for the city’s orphanages are provided by your guild. And that one time…the only reason why you led the attack on our eastern outpost was to rescue a few of your own and relocate some of the nomad camps away from potential crossfire. You don’t abandon family, right?”

These were the things that convinced Mingi, you weren’t really all bad. Questionable choices? Sure. Morals? A little grey. Although underneath the layers, your intentions have always stemmed from a compassionate heart.  

“What’s to the rich if they lose a few here and there? They have far more than enough, so to us, they’re top of the list of contributors.”

Mingi remembered you telling him that when he had first caught you escaping from one of the noble’s house. Your guild only ever stole from the rich and it was a bonus if the corrupted was targeted too. Mingi, who then was still under the command of the previous captain, hesitated to pursue. For his moral compass went spiralling. Being bound to carry out his royal duty or close a blind eye because he empathised with what you stood for.  

Empathy.

Nothing more than a weak link, according to his captain. There was little room for that, just as grey had no place among Aethevintis’ black-or-white justice system.

Hence, a thief was still a thief at the end of the day. Even for a good cause, by definition you were on the opposing side.

You continued to observe Mingi in silence, with a neutral expression, as you let his words sink in. Captain Song was much different than his predecessors. An unspoken level of mutual respect had developed between you both somewhere along the way of your encounters. The way he led with his heart rather than blind authority was admirable.

“We do what we must to get by. My family…as you so kindly put it…are capable of adapting to whatever circumstances are thrown their way. Risk is an inevitable norm for us.”

At least, you could appreciate Mingi looking at you without that faux sympathy.

“And I’ve lived doing what I do best…that is to survive. Being careful only gets you so far but being smart, well, you could go just about anywhere with that.”  

With a rather loud yawn you broke the tension in the dim room. The grin reappeared back on your face and you slinked backwards on the chair. Mingi was contemplating on whether switching back to the original subject of this…talk…would be a good idea or not. He needed a starting basis, a hint of sorts from you in order to give direction where he’d be searching for the missing parure.  

Betting on the fact that you don’t wholly despise him, Mingi tried his luck. “Now I do have a job to complete, and I’m sure we both would rather spend our time elsewhere other than down here…”  

“Aww, I thought we were having a good time getting to know each other better. Don’t get to do that as much on the streets now, do we?”

“What have you done with Her Majesty’s parure?” asked Mingi, keeping his tone levelled.

“You sure are set on that huh? What’s in it for you if you successfully retrieve the jewels?”

Tilting your head, eyes sparking a challenge. Only to be met with determination glinting off Mingi’s own pair of dark chocolate brown orbs.

“Nothing more than the satisfaction of returning a precious family heirloom back to my King. It’s of great importance and sentiment to him.”

You wished you could find fault in his resolution. Yet again, Mingi was nothing but honest in answering you.  

Surely, you could play a little nicer this time, right?

“Hmm, I’ll think about it. I’m feeling rather parched as well…any chance I could get some fresh water?”

Sensing you weren’t going to give in anytime soon, Mingi drew in a deep breath and exhaled. Standing up he offered, “And I’m guessing you haven’t had anything to eat?”

“You’re offering?”

“This is an interrogation chamber, not a torture one.”

Mingi left to gather the necessities. Head filled with too many conflicting thoughts, that he missed the growing grin on your lips and the space where the dungeon keys previously sat on his belt.  

“THE PRISONER HAS ESCAPED!”

“FIRE IN THE COURTYARD!”

It was havoc.  

The thunderous sound of fireworks broke through the tranquil evening. Catching everyone by surprise and confusion arose as to why bursts of colourful sparks were going off within the palace grounds. When some of the flag banners and trees caught fire from the stray sparks, it caused a flurry of panic.

And to make matters worse – the guards had lost you.

Mingi finished over-seeing the last batch of palace staff into the safe area. “All palace guards are to stay by the doors to the throne room and west wing! No one is to leave or enter until my unit and I have done a final sweep of the grounds, “ he ordered.

Part of the team was put in charge of getting the fires under control. He deduced the fireworks were set off as an intended distraction and, a successful one at that too. Mingi’s priority was now to prevent you from escaping.

He heard the commotion and shouting before, “CAPTAIN! THE SOUTHWEST WALLS!”

You held your own and by the time Mingi had reached your location, the guards who were stationed there were knocked out cold on the ground. A minor cut bled slightly from your left cheek and you looked a little more roughed up than when Mingi had last seen you.

“Here I was thinking this would be a clean goodbye…” you said, securing the rope around your waist that Mingi noticed was tied to the stone merlons. He also saw a couple of dark-coloured pouches with you that weren’t present on your attire during the interrogation.

Three guesses as to what filled those pouches.

You followed his eyes to where they were fixated on, “Ah yes, amongst thieves it’s the number one rule to not hide our spoils on ourselves…lest we get caught.”

A series of sharp whistles was heard. The signal that your guild had completed their tasks and was awaiting to reunite with their leader down below at the meeting point. You blew three consecutive similar whistles back in response.

“Wait!”

You paused with one foot up on the stone edge. Turning back to look, you saw Mingi’s hand hover slightly over his falchion.

“Are you going to try and stop me?”

‘No. But I will ask once more, where is the diamond parure? I know the cold season approaches and you’ll need all the resources you can get. Those gold and other jewels you’ve got there should be sufficient enough. So please….”

Having already made your decision the moment you slammed the doors to the chamber out, simultaneously breaking the noses of the unsuspecting guards, you knew what you had to do. But that didn’t prevent you from adding a little dramatic flair.

After all, you want to stay memorable in Captain Song’s books.

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?”

Your voice dripping with light sweetness, eyes locked on his as you made your way right up to him. Your hand darted out to grab his falchion and on reflex, Mingi intercepted – large calloused warm hand latching around your wrist.

“But maybe that’s what makes so different from the others…” You flipped his hand so it faced palm up, and placed a familiar cobalt blue pouch on it. “You’re a good man, Captain Song. Thinking with your heart doesn’t make you weak…this world needs more of that, more of people like you.”

You watched his shoulders fall with relief and the look he had in his eyes change into something you couldn’t quite discern. Mingi nestled the pouch carefully towards his body, the delicate clinking confirmed its fragile contents within. And he didn’t feel the need to look inside for confirmation; he trusted you.

“If we were to meet in another lifetime, I hope we’d be on better terms then. Preferably one leaning closer to friends.”

A genuine smile crept up from the corners of your lips upon hearing Mingi’s words.

“That sounds rather nice, actually.”

You could definitely use a friend like Mingi in your second lifetime, should fate ever be so kind to give you another shot.

“CAPTAIN!”  

The clamouring of guards and blades being drawn drew closer and you could hear the running of feet up the stairs.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave. And I am so sorry for doing this but…”

And you physically winced when you sent a knee to his gut, causing Mingi to collapse and gasp for air.

“…Captain Song wouldn’t go down without a fight and this makes it look less like you just let a scummy thief off the hook.”

Mingi waved his other gloved hand, “I…understand – you ought to hurry…” he managed to cough out the words.

“Don’t be a stranger.”

With that, Mingi watched you leap over the wall’s edge just as back-up from his unit arrived. Not only did you leave him with the Queen’s jewels and potentially a bruise or two, you also left him with a new sense of comfort.

Two worlds apart. Two unlikely individuals who were both willing to cross the bridge that’s been built to fill the gap, to meet in the middle.

Yeah, this was a change he could get used to.

“Thank you Captain Song!” cheered the orphans, watching with admiration at how effortlessly Mingi climbed the tree to recover their kite that got stuck in the tall branches.

He soon found his legs to be attacked with hugs from several pairs of petite arms.  

Mingi returned the affections with gentle head pats and a, “Be careful not to run too fast and watch where you’re going!”  

The townspeople greeted him as he patrolled his rounds. Even scoring a ruby red freshly-picked apple from one of the vendors. Today would be a breeze. Golden rays of the sun shone down warmly and the morning air was still crisp. Mingi was already planning to finish his shift early and go see if he could convince Yunho to sneak away from royal duties for a round of archery out by the fields.

“STOP! THIEF!”

Just like that, his trail of thoughts were cut short. Mingi snapped his attention towards the direction where the yelling came from. Jogging over to where the crowd had gathered, he was nearly bowled over by a fleeting figure.  

Upon making eye contact for that split second, he could recognise your mirthful eyes from anywhere.

Your eyes crinkled with delight and being bold as to send a wink his way. But your feet never stopped sprinting and within seconds, Mingi had lost you among the sea of townspeople who still went about their business on the street.    

“THEY WENT THAT WAY!”

Mingi looked back to see some of his unit tailing after a few hooded figures who disappeared into the maze of alleyways. Your guild sure knew the layout of the town inside out.

A sigh escaped him. So much for finishing up early for the day.

But if it was a chase you wanted, then it would be a chase you’ll get. Being the respectful gentleman that he was, he’d let you have a head start of course.

Maybe one day, when he’s old and cranky, worn out to his bones – he’d stop running in circles after you.

Luckily for you both, today wasn’t that day.

[immiryn]

On Otherkin Discourse & Kinnies

I don't feel like I have the right to ascribe intent to others the way some people do. It feels to me that assuming that most Kinnies are bad faith actors is a a terrible idea, because we are then lumping people who could grow into valuable community members because their experience is different in with trolls. Take the following point as an example:

We as Otherkin often say that you don't choose your kin-type. To us this feels like it is a form of truth, because to us, it is. That doesn't mean it's a universal truth. By telling other people that "you don't choose your kin-type", we are pushing our personal truths onto others. In the process, we exclude people who don't or can't necessarily understand that concept. Some people need to feel a degree of freedom in making choices so that they can feel more comfortable with themselves and their identities.

When we assume that everything is a threat to ourselves and our identities, we create an unhealthy, exclusionary mentality that others people for being different than our own experiences. We ignore the the fact that the person on the other end of the screen may in fact be A Real Person(tm) and discard all empathy and objectivity on the basis of a singular portion of a person's identity. It's absolutely disgusting, and it's a mindset that proliferates itself regardless of whether we genuinely engage in it or not.

Let's talk about how this exclusionary mindset plays out in communities - Discord servers in particular. I've been through a fair number since Discord released nearly six years ago, and I've seen how discourse surrounding trolls, cringe, and Kinning have impacted some of them.

The following is based on my experiences and may not be indicative of your community. YMMV. That being said, I observed this on a few servers - it was not isolated to one group of people. It is likely more common than you think.

Generally speaking, it seems that people who aren't able to engage in genuine/good-faith discourse tend to be people who are easily influenced, or who want to engage but can't develop an opinion on their own, or otherwise who don't care and will just fit in with others "for the lulz". These people tend to band together and create the bandwagon for others to ride on, especially if there's a particularly loud voice to ride with. Those who are able to think critically can often get caught up in these echo chambers due to peer pressure.

The people who aren't willing to hop on the bandwagon and who are genuinely willing to offer criticism on the behavior and why we should be empathetic towards the targeted group get ostracized. They leave. Negative behaviors become reinforced, and admins and moderators are often complicit with this. They may even reach across Discord servers to inform other communities of people they've spurned.

People spin up hateposts about the most outspoken individuals, regardless of whether those people were good faith or not.

We wind up back where we started. A bunch of outcasts, similar in experiences but not united. We cast each other on the pyre, and we tell those who might genuinely seek community to jump in. The fire's warm, after all. Don't mind how your soul singes, that just tells you that you feel welcomed.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 54: Angor Unleashed

Becoming the Mask

I did so much unnecessary research for casual bits of narration in this chapter. So much. So unnecessary. For example, I know a lot about tiger attacks now, and this story doesn't even have a tiger in it.

Bold italics are trollish, but I'm thinking of doing away with those and just noting the language used in the narrative. Let me know what you think!

+=+

While interacting with humans in India, Walt elected to put on a more American-sounding accent. He was out of practice with it despite his station in Arcadia, but the sheer number of American tourists should keep him from standing out in anyone's memory.

He was part of a tour group in Ranthambore National Park. The Inferna Copula kept tugging at his senses. Angor Rot was somewhere in the park. From the other sensations that were echoed through the ring, Walt guessed he was in one of the ruins, which the tourists were allowed to photograph from a distance but not permitted to explore.

The tour group left the park for the city of Sawai Madhopur, where Walt parted ways with them. He napped for a few hours, and then he left his hotel room, shifted forms, and flew back to the park. It was just over eight miles back to Ranthambore's borders. He had to stop and rest once he arrived.

He'd packed lightly. His satchel had two water bottles and some troll-friendly foods, which wouldn't spoil. His money and passport were pocketed on his other form. He'd paid for his hotel room up front, so, if the staff even noticed he wasn't there the next day, they would assume he'd left early for the next tourist destination.

Ranthambore was a mix of scrubland, rocky areas, water, and dense forest. Considering Angor Rot had been here for centuries without the humans finding him, he was most likely in one of the forested areas.

With the size of the park and the inhospitality of the terrain, it could take months to search without the Inferna Copula to guide him. Walt felt a bit stupid, though, playing hot-and-cold with a magic ring. He wondered if Jim ever felt this way when trying to puzzle out what the Amulet wanted.

As he expected, the ring led him into a forest, where he landed and continued on foot.

He kept an ear out for humans – if they got close enough to hear them, he ought to shift forms, so that if he were caught, he could play the lost tourist – but for the moment he stayed in troll form. Part of the park was a tiger reserve, and they were ambush predators, so if one struck while he was human shaped, he likely wouldn't have time to shift and save himself. Stone wouldn't smell like food to them.

Tigers were also nocturnal, so that risk was substantially lower now in the daytime, and healthy tigers rarely chose to hunt humans in any case, but Walt hadn't lived as many centuries as he had by taking chances with the risk of getting eaten.

He made his way to a stone building that had possibly once been a temple. There were skulls, both troll and human, around one side of the sagging brickwork steps. The troll skulls had oversized nasal openings that looked almost like an extra eye socket, and broken off stubs that had been horns. The steps inside seemed in better shape, and rotated out of sight.

The stairs led down into a chamber at approximately a right angle to the entrance. Properly inside, the architecture looked much more trollish. Trolls seemed to love working heads into as many design elements as possible. There were grotesques high on the walls shaped like troll busts, snarling faces with forward-swept horns and clawed hands holding onto their plinths, with chains drooling out of their mouth and leading to a pile of rubble on the floor.

Actually, when Walt squinted, those busts looked unsettlingly like Gunmar …

A twisted staff was propped up beside the stones in a pile of human skulls. The Skathe-Hrün, the Pale Lady's favoured channel for shadow magic, gifted to her Champion. More skulls were scattered about the room.

Why were there so many human skulls? There weren't any other scattered bones in the room. Where was the rest of each skeleton? If they'd been eaten by trolls, it was unlikely for the skulls to be left behind. Had they been set up to try and scare humans away from accidentally freeing the assassin?

Walt took the staff and began using the forked head to lever the heavy stone bricks off the captured troll. Angor Rot's tense position might be what was keeping him from being crushed; if the chains went slack while he was still under all this weight, the shift could cause the stones to fall and do more serious damage.

When he was half-unburied, Angor Rot breathed. Walt jumped and nearly went for a knife. The chained troll tried to move, but couldn't. He had a deep, but rasping growl. Was that his natural voice or a distortion from centuries of thirst?

There was another carving shaped like a troll head on the wall which was low enough to easily reach. This one had a crest of straight, radiating horns, and a lever in its mouth. Walt set the staff down, stepped away from Angor Rot, took a deep, fortifying breath of his own, and pulled the lever.

There was a rattling sound as the chains went slack.

Angor Rot stayed on the ground for a moment. The stones shuddered from his breathing. Halting, wavering, he pushed himself to his feet. The remaining bricks on his back clunked to the ground.

"Who has awakened me?"

"I have." Walt watched the pale troll snap the manacles that had bound his arms and legs. "Angor Rot …"

"You know my name. A shame I will never know yours."

Angor Rot picked up the staff and charged with a roar. Walt threw a knife, which Angor Rot batted away in mid-air, and raised a second knife to block the strike. Golden light flashed. Angor Rot stopped mid-blow, trying and failing to push his weapon down further. It was like watching magnetic repulsion.

"My ring!" he snarled. "My flesh!"

"I had hoped we could speak like civilized trolls," said Walt, "but thought it would be prudent to have some … insurance against attack."

Angor Rot stood down, scowling. Walt saw his eye twitch.

"I'd like to make a deal with you," the Changeling continued. "I understand you once fought against Gunmar."

Angor Rot said nothing, but from the way his grip on the Skathe-Hrün twitched, Walt has surprised him.

"I'm part of group who recognize Gunmar's escape from the Darklands – or, indeed, his continued survival – would not be in our best interests. Your prowess on the battlefield is nearly unmatched. In exchange for your agreement not to attack the current Trollhunter," he raised his hand to show the ring, "I return this to your possession. If you're willing to help us further – some bodyguard work, some magical assistance – we're a resourceful lot. We'll put those resources at your disposal to find a way to restore your soul to your body."

Angor Rot's eyes narrowed.

"You don't need to decide now." Walt got a water bottle out of his satchel and took a drink, then put it on a nearby stone ledge. "Have a drink." He pulled out the most perishable of the food he was carrying, dried meat, and left most of it on the ledge as well. "Think it over on a full stomach." He bit into the piece he'd kept for himself.

It took a moment for Angor Rot to reach out, but once he got started, he ate quickly. His hands shook and he seemed to be forcing himself to pause and chew, to take sips of water instead of guzzling it down. Survival training, Walt guessed; it wasn't safe to eat too much after a period of starvation.

"Who are you?" the pale troll finally asked.

"Waltolomew Stricklander. Strickler for short. My friends call me Walt."

+=+

That was … a suspiciously human-sounding name.

Angor's golden eyes flicked to the holes in the roof, and the sunlight peeking in.

"Changeling," he growled in realization. "You expect me to believe one of your kind would turn against Gunmar?"

"Several of my kind have turned against Gunmar," said the Changeling icily. "Once another option became available."

"An alliance with the Trollhunter?" Angor guessed, based on the Changeling's earlier proposed terms of alliance. "And if the current Trollhunter does get rid of Gunmar for you, how can they trust you not to turn on them right after?"

"There would be no benefit in that. The rest of trollkind will hardly welcome us back with open arms just because we realized Gunmar is selfish and short-sighted. We need the Trollhunter's status to give us a proper opening."

"Why would the Trollhunter help you?" Angor could see one striking a deal for information, as a one-time arrangement, but not a sustained alliance.

"Let's just say he has a … personal investment."

Oh. That math wasn't difficult to add up. Angor couldn't help but snort.

"Your lover?"

The Changeling started sputtering. Angor almost chuckled. The idea sounded like something out of those melodramatic tragic sagas his cousin had loved.

"Don't be disgusting," said the Changeling. Angor not-so-idly considered testing whether a thrown knife would still be repelled by the ring's barrier. "Jim's like a son to me."

Angor had been largely cut off from his emotions since having his soul torn out, other than brief flashes of anger or amusement or disgust.

That claim … hit Angor oddly. It made him feel something. He didn't know what it made him feel but he did not like it.

Well, no wonder the Changeling – Stricklander – was desperate enough to barter with Angor Rot, of all trolls.

Trollhunters, particularly Trollhunters Angor Rot had been sent after, had notoriously short lifespans compared to the average troll.

"… You have my word, that if you return my ring, I will not attack your Trollhunter." The Changeling held his soul, what else could Angor say? If there was the slightest chance that he could truly get it back –

"Excellent."

Unexpectedly, the Changeling took off the Inferna Copula right away and set it down on the same ledge he'd been putting food and water, then took a step back, clearly inviting Angor to take it.

"You would surrender your leverage so easily?"

"I believe in opening negotiations from a position of strength," said Stricklander. "However, I'm also aware of the risks inherent in lauding one's advantages over another. An ally attained through coercion is a betrayal waiting to happen."

There was probably a lot of history behind that reasoning. Changelings were supposed to be on Gunmar's side, after all, not the Trollhunter's. (Or at least, that had been the case when Angor was first trapped here.)

Angor didn't bother to press for details.

He picked up the ring. Unworn, it didn't repel him. He put it on.

His soul was not restored.

He could feel it – he could tell it was there – but it stayed stubbornly locked away. Angor growled and clenched his fist. The Changeling backed away.

It had been too much to hope that his soul would merge back with his body just from having the ring. Angor had suspected it wouldn't be that simple. It was still a bitter disappointment to be proven right.

But it was in his hands, now. For the first time in centuries, Angor Rot was under no one's command but his own.

Angor swung his staff at the Changeling. Stricklander blocked it with a knife and pulled another one from that ridiculous collar of his. Who kept their knives in a ring around their throat?

"Just testing," Angor rumbled. For all he'd known, the Changeling had the Inferna Copula elsewhere on his person and had given Angor back a decoy. The Changeling growled at him but didn't retaliate when Angor withdrew. "Now … explain your terms for a full alliance, instead of just mutual non-interference."

+=+

Jim preferred to fight with knives, but axe training was as common as poison training at the Janus Order, since axes and sharp-bladed shovels had always been relatively common compared to swords, making them an easy weapon to hide in plain sight.

He had picked out an axe in the Hero's Forge that roughly matched Toby's – though not enough to think they'd been made for dual-wielding – and he and Toby were running drills with them while Claire and Mary sparred nearby. Darci's target practice was considerably further to the side, and facing away from the rest of them, to avoid accidents.

Blue fog wafted in.

"Hold!" called Blinky and Jim at the same time.

"But I'm winning," Mary complained.

"What's that fog?" asked Jim. "It looks like that stuff in the Void – should we get out of here?"

"Our souls are free …"

The fog went around them all. It condensed into little lights, still leaving tiny smoky trails behind them, seeming to explore the Forge.

"Floating lights – these are pixies!" cried Claire. "Cover your ears and nose!"

"We can return to our brethren …"

"Wait," said Toby. "I don't … think they've noticed us." He reached out to touch one. Jim grabbed his hand before he could. "I don't think they're hostile."

"Finally …"

"We can rest …"

"Our souls are free …"

The lights circled the patch of the floor for the Soothscryer, spinning faster and faster until it came up, and then getting sucked into its mouth.

Darci said what they were all thinking.

"What the heck was that?"

"I guess I should … follow them?" said Jim.

"I have no hypotheses at this time," said Blinky, "but I do concur with Tobias. These new spirits did not appear to be hostile. Go investigate."

The Void did not appear more populated when Jim first entered it. If anything, it seemed a little emptier, since none of the ghosts had assumed their shape from life.

"Hello?" he called.

"Jim!" Araknak's voice greeted him. "Sorry, we're all a bit distracted just now. Angor Rot's victims have been freed!"

"Who?" was Jim's well-considered and articulate way of expressing congratulations.

Kanjigar spoke up next. "Trollhunters who lost their lives and souls to Angor Rot. These souls have finally been released, and are now free to return to the Void."

"Who is Angor Rot?"

"He was a hero, once," said Araknak wistfully. "But he went questing for magic and power, and lost his soul in the process, and turned on the trolls he'd sworn to protect. He's hunted Trollhunters before –"

"And no one thought to warn me about him?"

"To consume their souls –"

"And no one thought to warn me about him?!"

"Probably to try and fill the void of losing his own; but he was trapped by his final victim and hasn't been seen for over three hundred years. I suppose he must have finally died."

"Why is there a human in the Void?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

"There isn't," said Araknak. "This is my great-great-grandson, Jim; he's the current Trollhunter."

"Just because you adopted the fleshling doesn't make him a troll," the new voice mocked.

"First, he was a troll before that. Second, by a certain use of the word 'troll', it actually does." To Jim, Araknak added, "You should probably step out while we explain things to the new arrivals." Araknak's wisp expanded into a full-sized ghost and gave Jim a gentle shove, which landed him back on the material plane.

"So what's going on?" Toby asked eagerly.

"Blinky," said Jim, "have you ever heard of a troll named 'Angor Rot'?"

+=+

Previous Chapter (Claire and Not Enrique argue about his name)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (The kids have a movie night)

Blinky canonically had to do some research to uncover who Angor Rot is, and we never do see him learning Angor Rot was anything but an ambitious troll who cursed himself by accident in a quest for power, so it doesn't make sense that in Season 3, Jim knew Angor used to be a hero. Here, at least, some of the Ghost Trollhunters remember it, and Jim has seen Angor’s name in a few history books he just doesn’t remember at the moment

I am not using the explanation for Angor's backstory presented in the spinoff novel Angor Reborn. In my version, Angor lost his soul before the Battle of Killahead, and was eventually imprisoned by one of the Trollhunters he was hunting, shortly before that Trollhunter died from the wounds Angor had inflicted during their fight. (This is outlined in The Epic Backstory, and yes, it will come up in the text of the story itself later.)

Angor's place of imprisonment being Ranthambore is trivia found in The Art Of Trollhunters.

[ddagent]

A Year in Review - Writers Version

Rules: pick your favourite sentence from a work you posted / wrote during a month of 2020! if you didn’t write anything in any particular month, don’t worry! tell us what you were doing or use it as free space for runner-up sentences. after that, tag 8 people or more to do the meme!

I know I am hideously late but I’m battling this sinus infection and only just now catching up. I was tagged by the amazing @aviss, and I am tagging anyone who wishes to do it! <3

January: Head, Hand, Heart (Chapter 15)

Brienne kissed Jaime in the spot where they had first met, where they had first embraced. Where they would stand as Queen and Prince Consort to preside over the kingdoms. Where they would present their first child to the Court. Where Jaime would tell their three children for the umpteenth time how he thought their mother the Maiden when she entered this very room. Brienne kissed Jaime in that spot until they both decided to return to their bedchambers and satisfy their hunger. They left the ghosts behind them as they went and began their new life together.

The Lion and the Beauty. Oathkeeper and Stormbreaker. The Golden Prince and the Warrior Queen.

February: I Can’t Get No Satisfaction 

“How gallant of you. Let us see how long it lasts before all you think about is your want; your need to touch your clit, fill that cunt of yours.” His teeth toyed with his bottom lip. Brienne loosened her grip. “You think I want to fuck you? I have no desire to bed anyone other than my sister, but I equally have no desire to walk all the way to the capital with my cock stiff and my balls blue. I am merely suggesting, my Lady, that we give each other a helping hand to take the edge off.”

“I won’t untie you.”

“There are other ways I can touch you, my Lady. You can straddle my face; let my tongue give you the orgasm you so desperately need.”

March: Sugar

Jaime’s forehead furrowed, and those beautiful lips fell into a frown. “Can you give us a minute?” he said to the waitress and, after she took her leave, leant across to Brienne once again. “You’re not used to asking for the things you want, are you?”

She bristled at his tone. “And I bet you never have to ask; they’re just given to you.”

He grinned. “Most of the time. I was lucky enough to be born into a family with more wealth than I can ever spend. My sister’s bought vineyards; my brother a boat or three. I’d like to buy your time and your company.”

“Why me?”

April: Table for One

As she completed the last table of appetisers, Podrick returned. He was smiling. “Table fourteen said to give his compliments to the chef.”

Brienne frowned. “He hasn’t even eaten it yet.”

“He said if you cook steak as well as your scallops, he’s in for a good meal.” Podrick closed the distance between them, so the rest of the kitchen couldn’t hear what else he had to say. “He also said that if he’s lucky enough to get a third course, he’d like the chef to bring it out herself.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed. “I see.”

May: Chariot

Jaime pulled his car up in front of the Tarth Limited building; the blue-tinted windows shining in the King’s Landing sun. “We’re here.”

“Thank you,” said one of his passengers; a tall, striking woman with the bluest eyes Jaime had ever seen. Her companion, a shorter, plain-looking man whose face Jaime wouldn’t be able to pick out of a line-up, said nothing. “Have a good day.”

The woman went to open the rear door, only to find the handle stuck. Not wanting yet another comment about kidnapping passengers and holding them in his back seat, Jaime flung himself out of the driver’s side and opened Widow’s back door. While some (his mother, for example) found calling his car Widow’s Wail macabre, Jaime found it suited the faulty door, rusted exhaust, and the tendency for the radio to splutter to life at the oddest moments.

“Sorry about the door,” he offered, allowing the young woman to make her escape. “Have a–have a good day.”

June: Pride

Cat grinned, and Jaime just sat, watching his daughter smile his smile. She had her mother’s eyes and nose; both of their desire to wave around a stick at other people carrying sticks. But that smile was all him. She grinned at her lion cub, who had her mistress’ eyes, and Jaime knew the exact moment his daughter settled on the perfect name.

“Sapphire,” she said; the cub sneezing in response. “Saffie for short.”

“I love it. And your mother will love it, too.” He stroked his daughter’s head, earning a content smile from his child and a bop of the head from the newest addition to the family. “Now, will my little lions finally go to bed?”

July: Sparkline

“Nineteen Reasons why Hand Jaime Lannister is the sexiest politician in Westeros,” Brienne teased as Jaime entered her office. The Sparkline article was open in her browser; a topless photograph found on his brother’s social media reason number one. “And then there’s the one about your beard.”

Jaime ran a hand over his face as he slumped into his familiar seat beside Brienne’s desk. “Ah, yes. I saw that article.”

“They suggested you should call it Ovary Killer.” A clear riff on Oathkeeper, the ancient Valyrian sword that hung in the Queen’s office. It’s sister blade hung in his own. He’d like to take it to his laptop most days. Over her screen, Brienne caught Jaime’s eye and grinned. “The press is rather fond of you.”

“As they are of you, Your Grace. You and…Renly.”

August: Score

“Touché, Ms Tarth,” Jaime said; his smile fixed in place as he chatted with her. “Manager of the Evenstar and so desperate to meet me that you did a job one of your staff could have easily done.”

Brienne snorted. “I don’t believe in hiding in my office, Mister Lannister, especially during a busy weekend. Believe me, the highlight of my day will be watching you lose, not seeing you in a small towel.”

“Oh, so you did see me in that towel?” Jaime Lannister teased his bottom lip with his teeth, and her traitorous stomach somersaulted. “I should thank you again, Ms Tarth. My lucky gloves were in my room; without that key, who knows how many of your goals I would have nearly let in.”

“I don’t think your hands are nearly as good as you think they are.”

September: Mixed Doubles

The half-penny dropped, and Jaime had the sudden urge to throw himself in front of a fire-breathing dragon. Anything other than face this realisation. As Jason re-joined Brienne and Melara in the living room, Jaime gripped the kitchen island and tried not to scream. “Oh, Gods!”

“Now, Jaime, this isn’t something to get worked up about,” his father declared; a wry smile forming on his features. “In actuality, it’s rather amusing.”

“We’re not even on the same continent as amusing! Tyrion told me to wait a day.” Jaime turned sharply towards his brother. “Wait a day, you said. Ask her then if you think it’s right, you said. Well during that day, Brienne fell for the direct-to-DVD version of me!”

Tyrion held out his hands; trying to placate his brother. “Jaime, I know you’re angry—”

“—angry; I’m not angry. I just want to hit you, wait a day, and take you to the maester then!”

October: N/A

[I didn’t write anything in October. Not even headcanons :( ]

November: Not Marriage Material

“Is she presentable?”

From behind the handmaiden, a choked snort of derision echoed out into the hallway. Jaime, Lord of Casterly Rock, just smiled. The handmaiden, short of stature but sweet of face, merely nodded and allowed him entry. Her gaze lingered on his crimson tunic and golden curls before the girl took her leave; no doubt to return to the kitchens and wax poetic about the Golden Lion. Jaime took a moment to bask in the admiration before he entered his oldest friend’s chambers.

Brienne was sat in front of the looking glass, staring unhappily at her reflection. Jaime crossed the room and pressed his lips to her freckled cheek. “Lady Evenstar.”

“My Lord.” Brienne sighed as he perched himself atop the dresser. “Who is it today?”

December: A Sevenmas Carol

“I don’t deserve this.”

“Did I deserve my end, Kingslayer? Did my husband and sons? Does your sister, after all she’s done, deserve to die in your arms like lovers from a song?” Lady Stark blinked away a tear. “Life is not given to the deserving. It is not a case of what you deserve. What do you want, Ser Jaime?”

He did not even have to think. “Her.”

[painted-crow]

Hello, fellow double Bird here! Do you have good tips on how to avoid Bird primary related exhaustion? I'm very confident that I'm a bird primary and I love putting in the research to make good choices and constantly trying to learn more and update my systems. But sometimes I suddenly just get so TIRED. Especially with politics lately and trying to stay well-informed. I've caught myself once or twice looking at some of my oblivious GOP-supporting relatives who are content to just always vote their party and never look any farther and actually feeling envious of that in a way. I wish I could just shut my brain off like that and never feel guilt for not putting in the research work. Is that a sign of burning or is just general exhaustion because of *gestures to the world* everything?

There is A Lot happening. My advice is this: you cannot be a completionist about your system. There's too much going on for one person, and there's too much fake information flying around for any individual to sort through everything.

Pick out the things you have most influence or control over--things you can actually affect--and focus on just a few of those. It doesn't help anyone if you're burned out, or if you're Burned.

Try to keep a variety of people around you so you aren't in a bubble/echo chamber. Don't completely shut yourself away from the opinions of people you disagree with (if you can spare the energy; and remember that some people are so toxic they aren't worth listening to ever). Even if you continue to disagree with them, which chances are you will, it's important to have a general idea of what they're thinking and why--and by not closing off those relationships, you make it so they're around your influence as well.

This is important because empathy is important. Just dividing into teams and yelling at each other is a nightmare (...we all know what I'm talking about).

(Obviously, you should also be around a lot of people you do agree with, and you should have some reliable sources you trust for good information, but most people don't have a problem with this part.)

Setting specific political references aside, no matter what (social, cultural, political, etc) group you belong to, eventually they're going to be wrong about something, because every group of humans is made up of humans. You can and should still support them if you believe in their cause, but it's important to know when you actually don't agree.

As long as you don't live in a bubble, you can assume pretty safely that if something important happens, you will eventually get to hear about it by cultural osmosis, and you'll hear a few different sides of it. You can then pick and choose when something is relevant enough to research, and only then if you have the energy to look into it.

This definitely isn't perfect, and for those few things you really care about, you shouldn't rely on it. But if you're that attached to perfect, you're going to have a hard time.

"Awareness campaigns" put out this cultural idea that people paying attention to a thing automatically helps it. To be honest, this is about as baffling to me as sports fans thinking that sitting at home and watching the game somehow helps their team win. Awareness campaigns can grab the attention of people who might not know they're affected by the issue, or who might really care if they knew about it, and this can help because those people will do something as a result. But the majority of people will be like "huh. I guess that's a thing." and move on, and that doesn't actually help. Which is fine!

But as a culture, we've picked up this idea that it does, and that therefore we need to be aware of EVERYTHING. We don't. You don't owe random, irrelevant causes your mental energy. It's up to you to decide when and where your impact might be worth the cost to you in time and emotional investment.

So, do the obvious things: make sure you vote, for example. If you're driven to contribute to a cause by donations or volunteer work and you can afford to, absolutely do that. Use whatever skills and resources you've gathered to make practical contributions that matter to you. But the wider world doesn't actually depend on your system being complete and perfect.

And thank heavens for that. That would be so much pressure.

[killem-all-if-they-wont-eat-cake]

Image: Freja och Svipdag (1911) by John Bauer

My text "Freyja en Svipdag" published in Covidnine-zine, a magazine edited by the wonderful Winnie Sluis, idealized by Winnie and Lisa @oppergod, with collaboration of several amazing artists.

“With her eyes closed and very sleepy, she could feel the sea breeze on her face and hear the sound of the tide breaking in nine waves, one after the other, until she finally managed to open her eyelids.

At first, she discerned arches and pillars through the blurred image, which she later identified as the ruins of an old cathedral. The stone foundations of this structure immediately reminded her of Glastonbury Abbey. The sound of the violin came to her, as well as the seagulls’ song and the gallop of a gray horse mounted by a masked young man, who headed in her direction. On the beach, an old lady recited the stanzas of ancient poems. Coffins swept across the sand, such as fragments of a shipwreck. The corpse of the violinist, who once was Yorick, the court jester, suddenly stopped the music, marveling at the horizon and contemplating his next song, as follows:

'Oh  Páter if I only knew who she was...  I swear I would have sought her earlier!  Oh Páter, here comes Gwena, who traces  This plot, full of diminished chords...

Tis  fire, aye, ‘tis pipe’s ember,  Burning slow and steady, steaming  And if I inhale, choke and clear my throat  Bitter-sweet is her surrender, such a delight  This woman...

Yet  I think she keeps  Something restrained  For the One of the strings...

She  dares not look but only glimpse

Her  bearing ever so high,  Still entrapped in a gilded cage  From which one tries to break  With a treble clef... Egnis! Egnis!

Aye,  see as it burns strong,

It is painful for Gaius,  Her way of walking and fluttering  Always a promise of the foreign

 Though  beware not to cut yourself;  For she is like As-Sirāt,  Even if broken, she remains sharp.

More  so she is intricate and complex,  Full of ardor and nothing else,  And seems entirely anti-flustered  Ah! ... but if there is a breach...

 “Tis  for sure the apple-tree”  I answer myself.  Since when I wandered haphazardly,  Wandering, wondering, though not seeing  If there was indeed an olive tree...

 Thus,  if the fire she already brought;  And I always have some cider;  Only the gold is wrought...

What  fire is that?  Mighty and aristocratic,  Convoluted and anti-pragmatic.

Alas,  we get to the story’s end,

If  you expected me to be light-hearted

To  speak of her beauty or noble

character,

 You  don’t see me for who I really am

For  only the sublime pain of a burn

Compares  to shall be required

To  conquer her troublesome

Spirit.

 Nevertheless,  if I allow myself

A  final indulgence, I think it goes

Without  saying.. that she’s beautiful,

Dignified,  and a relief to the eyes,

(Though  quite difficult to contain)

That’s  why I have fallen...O Páter!”

The rider dismounted and removed his mask, revealing a quite familiar face.

Then he burst into tears, moans, and screams, calling out the name “Sophie! Sophie!” A cacophony of chimes and carillon began at an Episcopal belfry, the imposing figure of a castle appeared behind the mist. Brísingamen, the fiery torque, sparkled around her neck as she rose, entirely dressed in white. The young man, who wore black garments, offered her his hand, and spoke:

 “Dear Sophie, your father awaits us.”

 The strangest thing happened; she felt her lips moving without having ordered so. “My darling Joris, at last you have come for me.”

 Although she did not know exactly how, she remembered the young man in front of her was her betrothed, and that they referred to each other by the names of the saints which the ephemeris fell on their respective birthdays. His on the feast day of Sint-Joris van Cappadocië, and hers on that of St. Sophie van Rome.

 “Sophie, the owl told me the baker shall hold a banquet in our honour!”

 “O, here, have a daisy” she said, taking a flower from the garland adorning her long blonde hair. “I would give you give you some violets, but they all withered when the fishmonger sailed to Crete.”

 “Indeed, Aerope told me that Catreus’ ashes are still warm.”

 They walked side by side, with hands intertwined, wearing wicked smiles as they climbed the hill where the castle's Tor stood. Upon arriving, they were received by the King of Guilder and the rest of his progeny.

 “Welcome, my children, to Kasteel Groninger! Our earthly paradise. Pray, remember the road ahead is still long. Fredegund anxiously awaits Siegbert's return, in deep sleep at the Mountain of Obstacles. Do not forget that: Fafnir must yet perish and Sigrdrífa still needs to be stripped of her armour” King Aegir affectionately warned, embracing both Sophie, whom he recognized as his youngest daughter, and Joris, his future son-in-law.

 "Your majesty, I assure you I shall be worthy enough to wed Lady Menglöð" replied Joris, referring to Sophie, the princess of Guilder, by her true name.

 “Heer Valentijn,” asked King Aegir, also calling Joris by his birth name “I believe the sacrifice of Galswintha will not have been in vain: Faith, Hope and Charity shall be glorified, but do not forget to greet your new sisters.”

 With their faces veiled and sitting on the stairs of an old church, the nine daughters of Aegir, presented themselves one by one. The oldest was called Schnecke, “Bloody-hair”, thus called in virtue of her red hair; the second went by the name of Mimi, the “Billow”, therefore known due to her being prone to fits of nervousness; the third was called Caroline, the “Comber”, because of her explosive temper; the fourth answered by Lily, “Pearl-transparent”, on the account of her translucent complexion; the fifth was named Henriette, the “Small-Wave”, due to her short height; the sixth answered by Olga, the “Lifting”, on account of her extraordinary intelligence; the seventh was called Hannah, the “Great-Wave”, thus known for her bulkiness;  the eighth daughter was Jeannette, called the “Well of Origin” for having the habit of reciting prophetic riddles every time somebody asked her something; the last of them, Friederike, the “Cool-Wave”, was therefore called on account of her cold manners.

 Each of them, as Joris approached, answered him with witty sentences related to each of their epithets. At the end of these parables, King Aegir once again addressed him:

 “Valentijn van Florin, I give you my word as sovereign of Guilder that the most beautiful flower in my garden is your dear Sophie, who at this very hour tomorrow you shall take as your wife. Such a marriage will unite our two rival kingdoms under a single crown, as intended your kinsman, Prince Humperdinck, though in far less auspicious circumstances.”

 The bride and the groom waltzed through the castle, covering the walls of each room with snow. Whenever Joris asked if she wanted to be his wife, Sophie burst into hysterical laughing, which echoed throughout the stairs. Sometimes she replied she first owed vassalage to another lord, who was certainly sterner and bonier. This ‘danse macabre’ continued until they faced the stained windows of the cathedral, when the black priest signaled them to stop. For this reason, the nine waves blew out the candles on the candelabrum, one by one, forming a fairy-ring around the two of them and joining their dance wildly.

 Joris mused for a moment and said:

 “Three times nine girls, but one girl rode ahead,

white-skinned under her helmet;

the horses were trembling, from their manes

dew fell into the deep valleys,

hail in the high woods;

good fortune comes to men from there;

all that I saw was hateful to me.”

 For the celebrations to continue Sophie was taken to the hall of Suttungr, while Joris was given the task of finding the severed head of Mimir. Locked up in the chamber of Invitation to Battle, Sophie was punished for exercising her prerogative in choosing differently from what the All-father had commanded. There, Huginn and Muninn, her liege's crows, whispered bad omens at her ears as she repeatedly painted a Byzantine icon of the Virgin of Mercy.

 “Torture me all you want,” she said to her tormentors “a tearing joy overwhelms my soul. Plato's aesthetic dictates the beauty of forms is equivalent to the greater good and that which is purer. I merely follow the example of Paris in his preference for the ‘kallistei’; the beloved is always chosen for blind love, and only love. I admit I may be wrong, but I still believe that his heart is as good and generous as I sensed on our first meeting. The world is sustained by hope, we believe in what we want to believe and how we want to believe; it does not matter if nature and experience tell us otherwise. My dreams have never betrayed me, my heart has never lied to me: it is necessary to follow one’s deepest desires, for they are ordained by the Norns.”

 In retaliation, the crows of the one-eyed king pecked at her ears until her neck was covered in blood. Ignoring the pangs of pain, Sophie continued to draw the icon that depicted a beautiful sleeping maiden, whose closed eyes showed an expression of tenderness and parted lips outlined a tenuous, albeit provocative smile, as though she was caught in a sensuous dream.

 Hence, Sophie chanted in low voice:

“What sort of dream is that, Odin?

I dreamed I rose up before dawn

to clear up Valhöll for slain people.

I aroused the Einheriar,

bade them get up to strew the benches,

clean the beer-cups,

the valkyries to serve wine

for the arrival of a prince.”

At the same time, Joris rode up to the Mountain of Obstacles, where the earth shook and a pit of flames reaching the sky surrounded the red gold of the gods. In this desolate place, the guardian at the gate, who was also the chieftain of the dwarves, gave Joris the sword of anger and the shield of wisdom with which he was able to defeat the horrible serpent, Jörmungandr.

After licking a drop of the creature’s blood on his finger, Joris was given the gift of understanding the crows’ language, which then instigated him to come to the chamber of Invitation to Battle. As soon as he entered the room, he blew on the horn he carried on his neck by a chain. The Virgin awoke from her feverish dream.

Sitting on a golden throne, the queen-like Sophie gladly received him in her father's hall:

“For nine lives I have awaited you, and for nine days you have hanged on the Sefirotic Tree. To you I give my gray horse, so you can ride to Gamla Uppsala; for Memory can only be restored when Gjallahorn descends to the well of origin. There, Heidr will offer you one of her full tits. Drink patiently, but steadily.”

“Frigga, my dear wife, all I ask is for you to grant me knowledge of the nine worlds.”

Before proceeding with her husband’s request, Sophie prayed for eloquence and intelligence, taking her lute in her hand, singing the most beautiful song of shadow and dawn. She praised the day, the night, the gods and goddesses, and the Holy Land where the Nazarene was crucified. After prayer, she harvested liquid from three of her father’s most precious cauldrons and prepared the elixir of life and death, stating it contained enchantments, blessings, songs and runes of power, manliness and pleasure of the flesh and soul.

Sophie told Joris that in the beginning there was nothing, and this nothing was called Njörun. When Njörun became aware of herself, she begot Njöðr. From the union between these two, Mardöll was born. The latter was self-suficient, loving herself and being therefore happy. However, curiosity caused the goddess to create a mirror from her own breath, and when she contemplated her own reflection, she fell madly in love with it. Since then, she divided herself in two: Mardöll of Fire, who saw the image, and Mardöll of Ice, the image seen. After tracing a runic symbol on her body and whispering over it, her reflection became Yngve, her twin brother. The two of them began a frantic dance that culminated in intercourse, from where emerged the rest of the runic spirits.

Sophie then told him how Mardöll first taught the runes to the All-father, how he held the head of Mimir and uttered wise words; and that from them flowed the worlds of the Æsir, Vanir, giants, elves, and humanity. She went on to count all the kinds of runes that Joris needed to know and how to use them. At last asking him if he would like speech or silence from her. To which Joris replied he was not afraid of knowing his fate, even if that meant death.

Shortly after, she took his horn, in which she poured the Mead of Poetry, while rambling: “The beautiful should not perish; the fair should not perish. Eternal love of immortal soul, glittering through my skin like fins. Drop by drop, your spirit will return to me, the first drop will be heavenly!��

The moment Joris took the last sip of this precious drink, the walls opened, and the drums played. King Aegir and the nine waves were finally welcomed to the wedding feast. Circling an oath-ring on a trunk, the sovereign of Guilder joined the hands of his daughter and son-in-law, making a cut on each of their palms so that their blood could mix. Joris and Sophie intertwined their fingers and together declared:

“Ubi tu Askr

Ego Embla;

Ubi tu Embla,

Ego Askr.”

“When thou art the Ash

I shall be the Elm;

When thou art the Elm

I shall be the Ash.”

“Grímnir, the greatest of all gods, is here, he proclaims you to be one flesh, consecrated to him” decreed King Aegir as the newlyweds resumed their bridal dance, accompanied by the nine waves, who happily sang:

“Stampa hårt i marken,

Låt säden flyta  runt,

Ta emot den unga  flickan,

Frej i älskog,

Freja i älskog.”

“Step hard on the ground,

Let the seed fly,

Welcome the Young Maiden,

Freyr in lovemaking,

Freyja in lovemaking.”

Joris enveloped Sophie in a lustful embrace, with each whirl more ardent than before, ‘til they both lost their balance and fell backwards in the hay. At this moment, Thanatos, the black priest showed up uninvited:

“I am a polar bear who has floated here from Greenland on an iceberg. May the gods bless your matrimony with such perennial beauty as that from the coupling of Zeus and Leda. As a wedding gift, I bring you a veil made for an Arabian princess. Please, accept it. O Vanadís, daughter of the king of kings.”

Upon hearing this, Sophie let out a long shriek. She understood what those words meant. For three nights, she and Joris made love at moonlight, in the presence of the court of Guilder and all the creatures of the universe. On the morning of the fourth day, he had to leave her side to wander the nine worlds, bringing the sacred knowledge he acquired to whichever mortals he found. Weeping, Sophie bade adieu to her husband with the following greeting:

“My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. My sisters receive the heroes at Fólkvangr, serving mead to those slain in battle. When the ash commune with the elm, you shall return to me. Not a second after, not a second before.”

The black priest then proceeded to lead them to the calvary, placing two wreaths of thorns on their heads. “I crown thee, Freyja and Óðr.”

For nine days and nights, Sophie bitterly mourned her lost husband, crying tears of gold for his sake. Once again trapped in the Mountain of Obstacles, she cried out for mercy to the one who was older than time itself:

“That man hon fólkvig fyrst í heimi,

er Gullveig geiru studdu

ok i hǫll Hárs hana brendu;

thrysvar brendu thrysvar borna,

opt, ósjaldan, tho hon enn lifir!

Heidi hana hétu, hvars til húsa kom,

vǫlu velspá,  vitti hon ganda

seid hon hvars hon kunni,

seid hon hugleikin,

æ var hon angan illrar brudar.”

“She remembers the first war in the world,

when Gullveig was hoist on the spears

in the High-One’s hall they burned her;

three times they burned the three times born

often, not seldom; yet she lives! 

She was called Heidr at the village,

the wise völva knew how to cast spells

she practiced seiðr whenever she could

with ravished soul, she performed seiðr,

She was always sought by wicked women.”

As she asked for divine intervention, Sophie devoted herself to the hard work required by the spinning wheel. As though passing in a trance through Psyche's trials, she was accompanied by her sisters, who danced around her, hand in hand. The first branches of the elm emerged from her heart, which enwrapped her in just a few minutes. From her withered body, the most majestic tree of Fensalir was formed. Three times she was struck by lightning, three times she burned; only to be three times reborn the next dawn.

When Joris at last returned from his travels around the world, finding her in such a state he declared:

“Nu em ec aptr kominn,

fát gat ec thegiandi thar;

margom orthom melta ec i minn frama i Suttungs sǫlom.

Gunnlad mer um gaf gunom stóli á

drycc ins dyra miathar; ill ithgiold

let ec hana eptir hafa

sins ins heila hugar

sins ins  svara seva.”

“Now I have come again,

I’d have hardly made it so far;

without speaking great words to my advantage in the hall  of Suttungr.

Gunnlöð gave me, from her golden throne

The precious drink of mead; a poor payment

I gave her in return

for her whole soul

for her  burdened spirit.”

With these sorrowful words he also became an ash tree, his roots becoming entangled with hers. From their union emerged a magnificent swan egg which cracked in two beautiful girls. The Æsir called them Hnoss and Gersemi, the Twin Treasures.’

[nouru-vi]

Here’s the WIP first chapter of an Allods fic I started working on today - WIP because it lacks a proper intro that I may or may not add later. The fic will star my characters Istharnax (pictured) and Talsa, and will deal with a custom storyline that tells how these two characters met for the first time, as well as loosely tying into the whole canon dealio with the Architects. SCP-flavoured fantasy Sovietpunk horror ahead (though there are not many specifics in this chapter yet).

"This installation is clearly experiencing major and highly concerning issues. Why have you not informed your superiors immediately?" the woman inclined her head slightly to the side, which reminded the nervous supervisor of a predatory animal. It made him even more nervous, and thus it took him just a bit longer to respond than expected.

"We have ran into some unforeseen difficulties during the experiments, and it took all our manpower to... to identify a solution. These difficulties have also caused disturbances in the Astral around us, so we could not even send messages. I was going to file a report as soon as the situation was sta- dealt with! There was no need to send an inspector after us immediately." He managed to work himself up into sounding proper indignant, and he emphasized the word inspector with perceptible distaste. One of the guards standing behind the Arisen woman made a face, shifting his gaze to the side. His expression said, "You're in for it now, buddy." The supervisor caught it, and at long last and way too late, began slowly questioning his life choices.

Istharnax's head returned slowly to its default position from its little incline. There was silence for several seconds as the piercing green points of her gaze tracked the beads of sweat beginning to run down the supervisor's forehead. When she spoke next, it wasn't in her usual way – the words entered the man's brain directly instead.

Her mental voice was in very deep contrast to the reverberating, metallic tone of her vocabulator. It was a voice that, under other circumstances, would have turned this man's legs to jelly. It was a voice that, by sheer virtue of its pitch and timbre, promised to give one the time of their life and then some, making the hearer promptly forget any and all potential concerns about this voice belonging, in fact, to a six foot tall cybernetic undead. However, what this voice now actually said only achieved the effect of burning shame and pants-wetting terror on the supervisor.

"Listen here, you pompous, insolent halfwit. I am an Occultist. I am tuned into the emotions and thoughts of those around me at all times. The amount of raw terror billowing through this installation and unceasingly echoing off the walls is making my skin crawl. I know that something horrendous has transpired, and I know that the personnel have been stumbling over themselves to muster any sort of effective response to it, let alone an appropriate one. And you, my friend, have, for some reason, been more terrified of delivering news of this disaster that transpired under your command, than of what the event may have unleashed. I would like to suggest that you relay to me, in your own words, what has been happening, before I wring it out of your monocellular brain myself like one squeezes the juice out of a fresh, ripe orange."

Through her monologue, the supervisor gradually pursed his lips, his eyes going wide as saucers as he stared at her, transfixed. He was growing aware that the faint, fixed smile of Istharnax's mask and the light of the pair of green photoreceptors drilling right into the core of his guilty soul would most definitely haunt his nightmares. Provided he lives long enough to have any, his treacherous brain added. The Arisen had not moved at all while she spoke, but now she crossed her arms and started drumming her fingers – fingers with such sharp and painful-looking claws, the supervisor noticed – on her elbow joint, the metal on metal going clickity-click-click.

The supervisor leaned back, unable to endure Istharnax's gaze any further and shifting his own to the surface of his desk. One of his hands grabbed onto the other in his lap to stop their shaking, as he slowly began to speak. "I... as you have likely been briefed, our task here is to... explore the possibilities presented by a new avenue of magitechnology... exponential mana splicing. We have determined that it has great potential for energy generation, as well as for weaponisation – it makes for a spectacularly powerful operating principle for weapons of mass destruction, in particular. That is... that was the research team's consensus for months. We have been running experiments in order to measure its exact capabilities, to refine the related technologies... it had all gone wonderfully smoothly, as you surely also know from previous reports that I had been sending very diligently." At this, he lifted his eyes again for a moment to meet the inspector's gaze, clearly hoping to see whether she considered this a mitigating circumstance. If she did, she wasn't showing it, silent and motionless again with her arms still crossed. The man sighed and continued.

"Everything was fine until nine days ago. The experiment we ran that day... suddenly reached critical mass. The system was shut down immediately, we did all we could, but... there was no stopping, and no way to prepare for, what would happen. There was a massive implosion, immediately obliterating everything within the experimental chamber. An anomaly was created. Before we could study it or assess the situation, it started slowly expanding. It consumes everything it touches, and within a few minutes, before we could realise the fact that it expands, it extended to the wall of the observation room for the chamber. The researchers present were sucked into the anomaly."

He paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath. To his surprise and utter bewilderment, an impulse entered his mind, which could only have been sent, judging by process of elimination, by Istharnax. It featured no words – instead, it felt like suddenly standing in a patch of warm spring sunlight, reassuring him and calming him down. He gave the inspector an astonished look, but the woman still did not move or say anything. Eventually, he spoke again, pushing the words out with great effort.

"Those it swallowed did not die, or disappear... we saw them again soon, once the growing anomaly had eaten through the walls into a corridor. They did not die, but... they came out broken. Wrong. In the worst sense you can imagine. Actually, imagine the worst thing you can. Got it? Okay, now put that on a factor of 10."

He leaned forward slightly with an expression of wild horror, digging his nails into the edge of his desk. "This... thing, is a hole in reality. A bottomless hole, where even the most essential rules of our world break down. Imagine the effects of that on people. Most matter gets destroyed by this anomaly, but not living things, for some reason. It's not a pretty sight." He was talking fast now, as if to get all of this out of his system as quickly as possible. "And you know what's even worse? These.. things that these people have become... Once they get a hold of a normal living being, can spread this condition to it. They do it purposely. Our only saving grace is that they don't seem to possess much strength or other ability to affect normal space, so they can only roam as far as we let them... until the anomaly eats its way through our walls and defenses, that is."

He went silent, and his face looked so gray that Istharnax prepared to jump out of the way in case he throws up all over the desk. She observed him silently, and eventually spoke again, with her vocabulator, in a quiet, almost kindly tone. "Why did you not send a messenger as soon as possible?"

"I... I don't... I wasn't thinking straight, none of us were. And I was terrified, okay? That this would be blamed on me, all on me... I... I realise saying this will likely get me into even worse trouble, but at this point, what does it matter? So, you know what? It would not be the first time! Not the first time that the City Council has to place blame, so it makes an example of the most readily available hapless sod involved!" He cut off, breathing heavily, and somehow his face managed to turn even more gray from horror at what he had just said, and to whom. Both guards standing across from him gave him looks one would give to a soldier who's just been shot through the lung.

But the inspector, for the first time, stopped looking at him. Her head tilted downwards slightly as her gaze wandered to the desk, and she stayed motionless and silent for at least half a minute. Then she let out a long sigh, a very strange sound coming from someone who does not actually breathe and speaks via vocabulator.

"I... see." Her eyes met the supervisor's again, and, astonishingly, he felt that the faint but ever-present menace was now gone from them. "Guards. Take him into custody, but do not send him back to Nezebgrad until I say so... or until it's your last opportunity to do so." She stood up, unfolding her long metallic limbs in a way that reminded the supervisor of a strange, bipedal, metallic harvestman. "Do not worry," she addressed him again, "I will make sure you are treated fairly. And I don't mean the usual 'fair trial' bullshit." The swearword was so out of left field and so strange to hear from the mouth of this terrifying, looming undead beanpole that the supervisor almost laughed. "You will receive punishment for the grave error of sending no message, but I will not let the Council put the blame on you for all of this. You could not have known this would happen. I have yet to find out if any surviving specialist staff members could have known, but I doubt it."

With that, she turned and strode out of the room, the supervisor still sitting motionless and staring after her even as one of the guards approached to handcuff him. He only snapped out of his bewilderment once the guard started nudging him to make him stand up, and had to shout "T-thank you, Inspector! Thank you!" to make sure the woman can still hear him, the metallic clangs of her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

[stanskzseungmin]

Operation Miroh | Stray Kids Mafia! AU ~ Chapter 12

Masterlist

Ongoing Missions

Side Ops 1: Recover Han | Han Jisung's personal effects // I.N | Yang Jeongin 

Mission Briefing

Location: Unknown Settlement

Weather: Rainy

Date: 20XX 

Time of Day : 0145

Mission Objective: Undercover gun deal to uncover info about the "Desert Fox"

Mission Partners: Seo Changbin, Lee Felix

Jisung, if you were here, what would you do?

        Your mission report shook everybody. The entire base fell silent to the point where a pin could be heard dropping. Changbin and Felix were loitering in the lounge when a wounded Hyunjin and a sobbing you burst through the door. Finally at home in safety, the adrenaline ran out. Your lungs were burning and your legs felt as if it was pierced with several knives and needles. Despite your physical ailments, the pain did not come to par with the pain lingering in your heart.

    You knew the adrenaline had subsided for Hyunjin as well. The wooden crate of syringes slipped out of his hands, dropping on the ground with a loud thud. It bounced a bit from landing on its edge, tipping over and finally stilling to a stop as the syringes cascaded out. Hyunjin slumped forward as darkness overtook his body as he dropped to the floor with a loud thud exposing his torn and tattered, bleeding back void of a wing and a damaged second one. 

    Upon seeing both your physical and mental state, Changbin and Felix rushed over. One pulling you into his arms and the other placing a hand delicately on Hyunjin’s shoulder trying to shake him awake. 

    “Jisung… Jisung,” you gasped out, choking on your sobs as tears kept flowing.

    With wide eyes as the understanding finally settled in, Changbin bellowed out.

    “Hyung! Chan hyung!”

    Felix’s head snapped up and joined in. “HYUNG!”

    A set of loud thunderous footsteps echoed throughout the walls as a very worried Seungmin burst through the door. Seungmin’s eyes widen at the sight of you and Hyunjin. Your trembling form caused a wave of pain to erupt within him. Seungmin rushed forward, shoving Changbin and Felix aside, and delicately cupped your cheeks in his hands as he delicately brushed your tears away. 

“Dummy?” Seungmin whispered. “Dummy, what happened?”

You couldn’t respond as you were still choking on your sobs.

Another pair of footsteps came your way as a very panicked, sleep deprived Chan stumbled into the room. Judging by your pitiful states, Chan immediately knew what was the outcome of the mission.

Jisungie, would you forgive us for moving on?

 From then on, the base was in unrest. Chan quickly retreated back to his office to gather as much intel on the Desert Fox. Jeongin immediately departed onto his side ops mission without saying a single word, without sparing a single glance as he grapple hooked his way out of the front entrance. Seungmin looked at you a final time with an unreadable expression as he hoisted the unconscious medic onto his shoulders and jogged off. Changbin quickly followed after gathering the scattered syringes and Felix running over to you and pulling you into his arms.

It isn’t that we don’t care, you understand that, right?

“Y/N, Changbin, Felix,” Chan called out after the three of you have been summoned to his office. “Talk in District 9 has stated Desert Fox by name. Last known location… about a few clicks north of District 9.”

The three of you listened intently as Chan continued tapping away at his laptop. His laptop is now connected to his larger monitor as you three try to focus on the various pop ups of texts, maps, geographic readings, etc. It was a miracle how Chan is managing to condense and process this mass of information in such a compact amount of time despite his handicap of sleep deprivation. 

“The latest geographic screening and surveillance from… Han’s… ,” Chan hesitated. His voice cracked and dropped slightly at the mention of the fallen’s name, but he had to continue on.  “-survey beacon from his reconnaissance mission showed that was some strange activity located within the mountain. Recently, there has been an influx of incoming shipment of cargo.”

“Weapons transport?” Changbin inquired.

Chan nodded. “Most likely linked to the supply run Y/N and Hyunjin disrupted. Changbin, if this is a weapons deal, I need you to go undercover and infiltrate the run.”

Changbin nodded in understanding as he quickly bolted out not prior to Chan tossing him a radio earpiece. Changbin easily caught the small black box and inner ear piece behind his back as he slipped past Chan’s door. 

“Felix, if the Desert Fox is indeed there, you have full authority to kill on sight,” Felix nodded, walking forward, grabbing a hold of a black box and earpiece as well as headed out the open door.

“And what about me?” you whispered.

It’s that… we have no time to mourn.

Chan paused momentarily, letting his shoulders drop as he let out a shaky exhale. Chan was weighing his options, what could you do? Not that he had a lack of faith in you, but there were too many variables to consider. There were too many jobs, too many dangers and only one of you. Chan slumped into his hand resting on his desk. His eyes darted around back and forth taking in the rapidly incoming information and live updates pinging Jeongin’s exact location while simultaneously playing different scenarios in his head and deciding what would be the most beneficial but with the least opportunity cost.

“Channie?” your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“I.N has been sent to briefly scope out the place, you will meet up with him for the rest of the briefing,” Chan stated.

“Chan-”

“Find out about the Desert Fox, gather as much information as you can,” Chan interrupted with a low voice. Chan rubbed at his tired dry eyes as he ran a hand through his bleached locks.

You frowned as the stinging pain washed over you again.

“Chan,” your voice cracked, understanding the underlying intentions of your mission objective.

“Dismissed, Y/N.”

You were replacing Jisung.

 You then met up with Changbin and Felix in one of Stray Kids’ supply warehouses. It was a bit on the smaller side compared to the massive warehouse solely for chemicals, metals, medicine, etc, including all of Hyunjin’s medicinal and lethal experiments, Minho’s endless supplies of empty and filled glass bottles of his outdated experiments as well as Seungmin’s massive gunpowder collection and recently fertilizer and cement (unfortunately, Seungmin has caught Hyunjin’s contagious disease of laziness opting with an easy explosive with the latter two resources rather than an intricate concoction of chemicals and oxides.)

The smaller warehouse the three were currently in had weapons galore dating back to Changbin and Jeongin’s illegal black market dealings when they all were within the accursed walls. There were rows and rows of wooden crates stacked upon each other. Atop of each crate was a small and simple weapon stand that displayed a gun indicating what was in the crates that the display was sitting on. A wall was dedicated to display several bladed and blunt weapons and several harnesses and slings, many of them are customized to fit the member’s needs. For example, Felix’s harnesses have overkilled with many loops and slits to carry as much ordnance and weapons he possibly can, Minho’s have more regular and adjustable loops to strap on his gaseous concoctions and reactant reagents, Chan’s harnesses have special metal hooks and straps just so he can have his laptop on his body at all times whether it be flush against his chest or on the small of his back, etc etc. You get the idea. Another wall was dedicated to Seungmin’s and Jeongin’s (mostly Seungmin’s) joint efforts in customized and personally built weapons. You cringed awkwardly spotting your god awful pistol and customized suppressor on display. Finally there was a vast lot of empty space set aside in the far corner just for Hyunjin and Seungmin to dump their failed engineering experiments. You still don’t know why we kept all of Hyunjin’s and Seungmin’s prototypes for Hyunjin’s mechanical wings and your eyes narrowed in confusion when you spotted Chan’s corpse of a laptop on the floor along with the wings. Strange… Chan usually repairs his laptop rather than replacing them…

Felix was checking the chamber of his pistol to make sure it’s loaded as you walked up to him. Felix noticed your presence and proceeded to holster his pistol somewhere under his white sweater behind his back. Felix wore somewhat… revealing clothing. He shed his normally black attire for a white loose fitting sweater. It was cut down to size thus exposing a bit of his toned torso and with the waistband of his boxers barely peeking over his dark jeans. In his exposed skin, you saw slight elements of a leather harness hidden under his oversized sweater. You can probably imagine what’s attached to the harness: knives, small hand held pistols, possibly some ordnance and most definitely gun magazines. You never truly know, but he’s always well geared up and he’s always manage to hide so many weapons and supplies all over his body. 

Changbin, however, was more modest. He wore a simple white tee with a black vest thrown over it along with black jeans with several aesthetic tears and slashes. He was currently crouched in front of two empty crates back facing you as he added hay as padding for the many weapons he was about to bring. You shook your head lightly at the sight of his black battery pack for his earpiece stuffed into his waistband rather than his back pocket assuming he was too much in a rush and had difficulties sliding it into the pocket and thus, opted for his waistband. You walked forward and slid your palm along the curve of his bottom into his pocket to create space eliciting a loud surprised, totally manly yelp of sorts from him and slid the battery pack into the pocket.

    “Is that all you’re bringing?” you gestured at the two crates.

    “Customized,” Changbin grumbled, patting down the hay and adding in another customized weapon. “All the more to incentivise.” 

    “Are you sure about that?” you inquired, fully knowing Seungmin’s customized weapons were exceptionally made and highly effective and deadly.

    “Relax, little one. The guns are faulty anyway. I made sure of it,” Changbin stated, getting up to face you. “It’s the gunpowder that can’t be faked.”

    Changbin made a small head movement to Felix and he nodded in understanding, waltzing off to the neighboring warehouse for a crate of Seungmin’s gunpowders. Changbin walked towards you a bit and clasped his hands on your shoulders and looking deep into your eyes.

“Are you going to be ok?” Changbin’s voice was soft.

You nodded hesitantly. 

    But is Jisung going to be ok? Being replaced…?

“Jeongin,” Changbin greeted. 

“You’re late,” Jeongin stated sternly with a straight face with his lips curved slightly upward in a small smile. He stood from his previous crouched position. He had a dark scarf wrapped around his head in lieu of a hood. His red fringes brushed against his lashes as the breeze went by. Jeongin wore a simple black tight shirt that was wayyyy too short exposing his toned and lean midriff. His black jeans were also a bit short, his cuffs barely extended past his knee exposing his pale calfs down to regular combat boots. Within his hands was an extremely large and hefty custom .20 millimeter sniper rifle that was forged and assembled by Seungmin. 

“That’s no way for you to talk to your hyungs,” Felix chuckled.

Jeongin responded with a sarcastic and forced smile. 

“Apologies, but I have my own mission directive,” his tone was dripping with false and forced politeness.  

“Innie,” your voice was stern, but sent the message across just fine.

“Beyond that rock formation,” Jeongin gestured with his finger. “-is cave entrance. Within that cave is a hidden underground settlement.”

“Civilians?” you inquired. 

“Many. I believe it’s a front. It’s a pretty well established settlement.”

“A well hidden location for a well hidden underground dealings,” Changbin muttered. 

“With civilians as a cover,” you finished. Jeongin nodded.

“There is no natural light, only torch light. The area is mainly clear of guards with the exception of the far back of the cave. The guards you may pass in the walkways are more than likely to be off duty and is unlikely to actually be doing their job, so they won’t be much of a worry,” Jeongin continued, turning to face you. 

“Thank you,” he nodded as he grappled away and disappeared behind the cliff.

“I’ll wait here with the crates,” Changbin stated. “Y/N, go in and locate the weapons dealings and gather information. Felix, go in after and dispatch the off duty guards.”

You and Felix both nodded as you both turned away and climb up the rock formation. Lo and behold, the cave entrance Jeongin spoke of. You were awestruck at the marvelous sight. It was a marvelous sight indeed Felix agreed with his equally awestruck expression. It was a vast underground cave with a center stone structure that was lit ablaze at the top. The flames lit up the settlement in a calming warm yellow and orange light. It appears to be many well constructed buildings made of mud and clay but the integrity is impeccable. While the other villages and the walled cities had an atmosphere of looming danger and impending doom, this one has a calm, peaceful lighthearted atmosphere. Almost like “paradise,” but without the sheer number of armed guards.

“Paradise?” Felix turned to you.

“Too soon,” you mumbled, shoving Felix causing him to stumble over the edge and land on his feet at the bottom with a soft thud.

“Thanks,” Felix stated sarcastically as he quickly went to work disappearing into the darkness of the unlit or poorly lit areas.

You quickly follow and jump off the edge as well, landing with a small grunt. you reach down to grab a discarded piece of fabric and dusting it off.  You wrapped it around your face and pulled up your hood making your way in. 

“I have overwatch,” Changbin’s voice buzzed over intercoms, a faint clicking and sliding could be heard in the background.

“I have line of sight,” Felix confirmed. “Got you covered.”

You continue making your way deeper into the settlement, walking with your head high. Whispers erupted all around you as the people looked you up and down. You were obviously an outsider with your hoodie and jeans in comparison to the people’s functional rags.

“Hey!” a guard off duty noticed you. His head slung back as red erupted from contact.

“Got you covered,” Changbin buzzed in, Felix popping out of the shadows to dispose of the body. 

“Alley to the left,” Felix buzzed in. You followed his orders walking into it seeing a man positioned there. “Get his attention.”

You continued walking forward. “Hey! You can’t be her-” Felix busted out from the doorway of the building, stabbing the guard in the neck and pulling him in closing the door behind him.

“Keep going,‘ Felix ordered.

“Lost line of sight,” Changbin buzzed in. “You’re on your own.”

“I got you,” Felix reassured.

You made your way into the building to see a man having a smoke. You smirked to yourself as you continued walking and purposefully bumping shoulders into him.

“Huh? Ah-” Felix rushed in and kneeing him in the back. The guard was sent into the wall as Felix stabbed his blade directly center of his neck. You walked out of the door to witness a fight gathering. It seems both civilian and guards were attracted. You could see snippets of two bloodied people pitted against each other.

“A fight club?” you whispered. 

“Don’t think so,” Felix said. “More like dog fights but with people.”

“How awful,” you muttered.

“Stay focused,” Changbin reminded.

“Felix, what are you doing?” you hissed at the Aussie who emerged from the shadows walking towards the fight.

“Joining the fight,” he muttered, pulling out his earpiece and battery pack and hiding it in shadows.

“FELIX!” you hissed.

“Leave him,” Changbin interrupted. “This is an undercover mission. Felix can fight his way to the top and get information. You should get info as well.”

“Alright.”

“Head to the main road, so I can watch your back,” Changbin instructed. Doing as he’s told, you snuck past the fight and head back to the main road. You walked in a brisk pace towards the center stone pillar. 

“I can’t see past that pillar,” Changbin buzzed in. “Can you get up the pillar and see what’s on the other side?”

You obeyed his command silently. Your fingers grasped at all the cracks and protruding  rocks as your toes find purchase of the rough surface. You managed to climb up to the weak wooden walkway, but thankfully, you were light enough for the wood to support your weight.

“Report.”

“Just as Innie said, the back looks heavily sheltered off and guarded,” as you were watching over the guard patrols, you noticed a small gate in the back corner with two men trying to pass crates to each other.

“Careful!” one scolded when the other dropped the crate. The lid popped open as the contents came spilling out, revealing a couple of knives and grenades.

“Binnie, I may have found the weapons supply lines. 2 o’clock far corner.”

“Understood. You’re fine on your own right?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, Changbin out,” Changbin buzzed off.

Your back slumped against the stone structure as you felt the loneliness and grief kick in.

I’m sorry, Jisung. This is supposed to be a time of mourning, but it is a luxury we can’t have.

“Oh shit,” you hear a small voice under you. You were snapped out of your thoughts when a woman spotted you and began bolting. You tilted your head to the side as you pursued, jumping down from your elevated position and landing straight on a mud protective railing on a rooftop. As the woman kept running in and out of the alleys, you jumped from roof to roof keeping her within line of sight.

“Why are you following me?” she called out.

“Why are you running?” you responded, trying to catch your breath.

“Ok, hold up,” you retorted, jumping off and landing directly in front of her. You winced at the sharp stinging pain shooting up your legs. You never understood how Jisu- Jisung.

“Jisung,” you whined. “How do you always manage to land on your feet without destroying your legs?”

“That’s because I bend my knees, stupid,” the squirrel chuckled, flicking your forehead.

 You shook your head preventing your wandering thoughts.

“You’re here to kill me, aren't you?” the woman whispered backing up at bit.

“What gave you that impression?”

“Your clothes,” she pointed out. “You’re not one of us. The Desert Fox sent you, didn’t he?”

Your eyes widen in bewilderment. “The Desert Fox sent...me? You’re not one of Desert Fox’s?”

“No. Never. Not anymore,” she whispered. “I see we have a common enemy?”

“It appears so…” you whispered, eyeing her up and down as she did the same to you as you circled each other. “Let me guess, this settlement is your hideout?”

“Yes, to hide away from the prying eyes of the Desert Fox.”

“You mentioned ‘not anymore,’ you used to work for him?”

“Yes, but I have never met the man. He would send codes with instructions.”

“Supply runs…?” you tried to insinuate the weapons dealing happening right this moment.

 “Disruption mainly. The one we have now is for our own personal use.”

“Freedom fighter?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “The Desert Fox is a cruel miserable man with complete disregard for human life. He does not fight for a cause. He fights for death count.”

"Are you going to kill him?" She spoke up after a lengthy pause.

Jisung's smiling face came before you in a vision.

"Yes. He's the reason for the death of someone dear to me."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. You nodded solemnly as your gaze fell upon a familiar brown sack with a skull mark hanging off the woman’s waist.

~

Felix panted as he bounced on the balls of his feet, swapping stances. Screams and cheers erupted all around him. The woman he was fighting against spat at his feet. She rushed forward attempting to throw a punch with Felix quickly jerked his head back. 

"Who's this guy?" Felix's ear picked up. 

"Don't recognize him," another continued.

The woman rushed him with a flurry of attacks, Felix kept his eyes glued to her fists as he dodged every attack with grace and poise. The woman changed her stance, spinning on the ball of her foot. She was preparing for a heavy punch, Felix easily saw through it. He immediately ducked, her fist barely grazed the top of his head as her forward momentum brought her closer to Felix. Felix easily bounced back up headbutting the woman's nose. Her head few back as her hands flew to her face trying to stop the red spew. She bowed down, backing up and waving her bloody hand signalling "no more"

"Dancing like the devil is he?" a guard in the crowd, mumbled. Felix couldn't pick up any other of his murmurs, but his ears most definitely picked up a soft 'Desert Fox.' "It looks like we have our best man here!"

The guard walked up to Felix with an outstretched hand to pat his shoulder, only for Felix to shrug his hand away. The guard chuckled pointing at him.

"Is there anyone willing to take on this current reigning champion?!" The crowd cheered around him as Felix warily eyed the man. "Remember to keep it a fair fight and no weapons allowed!" 

The guard chuckled walking back into the crowd. Five other guards emerged from the crowd, each equipped with a bladed weapon. Felix's shoulders slumped as he stood up straight and tilted his head with a disapproving gaze.

"What are you going to do now, pretty boy?" the guard in the center snickered.

Felix sighed, tilting his head the other direction menacingly. "I'm going to be beat a cheat."

~

Changbin dropped both crates to the group with an exasperated sigh as he stood up rolling his shoulder to loosen the knots forming there.

“Hey kid,” the man leading the weapons deal called out. “Aren’t you a little young for this?”

“Gotta do what I got to survive,” Changbin put up a plastic smile and played along with the youthful looking man. The man had dark locks that was tied back with a rag. His clothes were loose and in tatters making him look homeless in comparison to Changbin’s clean clothes.

“Right on man,” the man smiled. “Let me see what you have to offer.” The man jumped off the crate he was sitting on and walked towards Changbin with a knife. Changbin eyed the blade waringly as his hand reached for his concealed pistol under his shirt in self defense. The man merely crouched in front of Changbin’s crate and pried open the wood with the blade. Changbin relaxed slightly, but he kept his hand on the grip of his gun.

“We don’t have the most advanced of weapons but we make do with what we have. We have molotovs, trip wires and semtex and a couple of automatic weapons,” the man informed pulling out the hay from the crate. “What are you hoping to get?”

“Information,” Changbin responded bluntly. The man paused to look at Changbin.

“I don’t know what you mean? We’re just people who are trying to survive-” the man’s breath hitched upon sight of the weapons in the box.

“What is it?” Changbin asked. 

The man looked up to Changbin with wide eyes as he backed up to his buddy and whispered to him. Both men eyed Changbin up and down. An uneasy feeling bubbled within Changbin as he got into a defensive stance. Instantly, the two men grabbed two guns from their  crate and pointed the weapon at Changbin. Changbin gasped and backed up, throwing up his hands. 

“D-don’t shoot,” Changbin sputtered trying to keep up his act. Changbin smiled awkwardly and chuckled. “Please, I just need to-”

“I know why you’re here,” the man growled, voice dripping with venom. “Leave or I’ll shoot!”

“But-” Changbin interjected.

“I say we shoot him.”

Changbin glared at the man as he noticed him very quickly getting surrounded. Both guards and other men and women started appearing from the shadows, each equipped with a weapon pointed directly at Changbin.

Too many. Changbin thought to himself. He could hold his own, but not with this many and not without cover. 

“Shit,” Changbin cursed. With reflexes almost quicker than the eye, Changbin kicked over his crate: the weapons, hay and several metal canisters tumbled out. Using foot and friction against the dirt floor, he dragged the pin out of the canister and kicked it towards the two men in front of him. The quickly opened fire but Changbin was quicker and dove to safety behind other wooden crates. The metal canister finally went off after what felt like an eternity. The immediate area was engulfed in a bright white light and Changbin easily disappeared within the chaos.

“Get him! Kill him before he gets to Desert Fox!”

~

Your heart was pounding in your ears. You were panting heavily as you ran down the street. The people were grumbling and gasping at your sprinting form. Many jumped out of your way. Some expressed outrage towards your lack of respect.

“S-sorry!” you quickly apologized bowing your head quickly as you ran into the alley.

You could hear distant cheers and the distinct sound of fleshy impacts and bone crushing blows. You turned the corner and slid to a stop, the soles of your feet grinded across the ground.

“F-felix!” you gasped out. 

The blond Aussie was engrossed into his fight. A guard went to stab him, but Felix easily jumped back, narrowly dodging the blade. Felix grabbed the guard’s wrist and pulled him forward connecting his knee to his face. Another guard tried to do a top down swipe; Felix sidestepped, the blade pathetically whiffing past the Aussie as his fist connected with the man’s jaw in an uppercut. A third tried to take advantage of Felix’s turned back, but Felix threw back his elbow connecting to his face, the nose collapsed and broke with a loud crunch. 

“FELIX!” you called out his name, Felix quickly snapped his head towards you with wide eyes. “We got a problem!”

“That fighting style. That movement. I’ve seen it before,” the supposed ringmaster guard whispered out.

Felix pushed past the remaining two guards, ignoring the booing crowd and not caring that he’s forfeiting the fight as he briskly jogged to you.

“Get them!” Felix and you snapped towards them. “Kill them both! They’re Desert Fox’s!”

The guards all unsheathed their blades and readied their guns. The crowd scattered in loud screams of terror upon hearing the Desert Fox’s name, the name of the monster they’re hiding from. The crowd quickly dispersed each screaming the Desert Fox’s name. 

“Felix,” you whimpered, grabbing at his white sleeve. “We need to go.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, grabbing your forearms and pulling you in the opposite direction.

“Kill them! Don’t let them get back to Desert Fox! Do whatever it takes to stop them.”

“We need to get to Changbin!” Felix called out, sprinting in and out of buildings. The building’s inhabitants yelped in shock from the two intruders. Felix easily vaulted over a random woman’s kitchen counter as he hopped out the open window and you barreled out the door. You both stilled to a stop as a sprinting Changbin passing by you. Changbin scrambled to a stop as he realized who he passed. 

“We got a problem!” you three shouted simultaneously. “They think we’re Desert Fox!”

A loud explosion rang in the background. The cave walls shook as unsettled dust dislodged from the ceiling. The hanging stalactites shook, threatening to fall. The entire settlement was in unrest. Screams of the people echoed within the cave. More and more explosions rang out and the hanging rocks began falling and collapsing onto the buildings.

“Guys,” Felix pointed out sticking a finger in the direction of the back of the cave. You and Changbin turned towards the back where there were black smoke emitting from the various explosions, but there was a problem. There was also a mist like gas that was a discerning mustard yellow/algae green color. 

You recognized what it was. “We need to go! NOW!” The three of you started to sprint towards the cave entrance along with the fleeing crowd. It was what Hyunjin was afraid of: the sacks of strange green crystals from the supply run, the exact same sack the woman had. Several similar sacks were thrown into the escaping crowd as the contents of each sack were agitated and erupted in the similar mist.

“Don’t breathe that in! It’s poison!” you warned, pulling up your makeshift hood onto your nose and mouth.

“They’re gassing the entire place just to kill us?” Changbin called out into the crook of his arm, coughing every other word.

One by one, the people fall to the ground. So many voices would no longer made a sound. You tripped and stumbled over your feet as you fell to the ground. Everything seemed to echo in your ears. The world seemed like it was endlessly spinning. Dots of blacks appeared within your vision. Felix and Changbin were calling out your name, but you could barely make out their voices. You could barely make out the sounds of the two desperately coughing and gasping for air only to inhale more of the poisonous gas. You slumped down to the ground as darkness enveloped your vision. The last thing you could make out was Felix on his knees hacking his lungs out and Changbin crawling towards you. 

The next series of events went by like scenes of a movie. You weren’t fully unconscious, your world was flashing in and out of darkness. You only caught glimpses of what happened before it all went back again. You saw both Felix and soon after Changbin collapsing fully to the ground. Then you could faintly hear a whizzing sound. Afterwards, you saw a figure swinging into your line of sight from a grapple hook. The figure stopped momentarily to grab ahold of Felix within an arm and Changbin across the shoulders. You could barely make out a splash of red before grapple hooking away. Next you saw a dark silhouette appear within your sight.

“Oh my god. You’re ok… you’re ok...” you could barely make out his voice before your world went dark again. You then awoke in the man’s arms and attempted to look at the man’s face. His arms felt familiar. Being in his hold felt normal and… at home. You tried to make out features, but your brain was mush and your vision wasn’t any better. You were unable to make out any noteworthy features before the world went dark again. Finally, you awoke lying on vibrant green grass. Your eyes squinted shut from the bright light. Cracking an eye open, you noticed the clear blue skies before finally realizing both Changbin and Felix on the grass before you unconscious. You spotted the red headed sniper propped up on a rock. His head was bowed down as you was coughing furiously into the crook of his arm. You could hear him wheeze every single pause he took to gasp for air.

“Jeong...in...” you tried to call out weakly, pathetically attempting to crawl towards him. “You… saved us...”

Jeongin panted, dropping his arm. His breath was weak, you could hear the wheeze after each and every one of his inhales and exhales. 

“Did..didn’t save you...” Jeongin wheezed. “Some...one… else...I..don’t… I don’t-” Jeongin erupted into a fit of coughs again.

“What...?” you whispered breathlessly in disbelief. You fully fell to the ground again, the side of your face made into contact with soft grass, your arm fell limp beside you. Jeongin fumbled with the pouches on his body. He pulled out a small box and popped open the lid and placed it in front of your face. Your eyes made out a faint glint of the object’s shine. You could make out it’s slim, long and circular shape with it ending in a sharp point.

Your heart shattered even more if it was possible as you broke out into weeps recognizing the metal objects.

~Voting Opportunity~

Do you want to take Han | Han Jisung’s metal claws for yourself?

Yes: Gain the ability to climb fully vertical walls without the need of hand and feet purchase, gain the ability to use the claws as weapons.

Or

No: Will be left as memorabilia alongside Porcelain Mask at the SKZ base. Warning: You will not have access to the claws from this point on if you choose this option.

~Voting Opportunity~

Do you want to see Hwang Hyunjin?

Yes or No

~Voting Opportunity~

A/N: I know I haven’t left out any clues or hints about what the next mission is, but from this point on, I want you all to keep in the back of your mind who you think the Desert Fox is and what is the Desert Fox’s relationship to Stray Kids based on the hints I left in this chapter. 

Which Stray Kids Member do you want to send on your next mission?

Kim Woojin [Status: AWOL*]

Bang Chan | Bang Christopher Chan 

Lee Know | Lee Minho (Heavy injury)

Seo Changbin (Will not be available until 3 members have gone)

Hwang Hyunjin (Heavy Injury // Will not be available until 2 members have gone)

Han | Han Jisung [Status: Deceased]

Lee Felix (Will not be available until 3 members have gone)

Kim Seungmin (Will not be available until 1 members have gone)

I.N | Yang Jeongin (Will not be available until 4 members have gone)

* : AWOL = Away on leave, but Woojin will return when called upon.

A/N: You can vote through asks if you wish.

[bustedbernie]

Hi @heatherleee .

I don’t “hate” anyone. But as far as politicians go, Sanders has a comportment that is totally unacceptable. And it’s not just about policies.

So, i worked for the Obama and Clinton campaigns in 2008, 2012, and 2016. I’ve volunteered for local and state level candidates in both the Albuquerque area and in rural parts of New Mexico. This is to say that I am a democrat and have been working for actual democrats for longer than Bernie himself has been. That’s part one why I dislike Bernie. He is not a democrat. He is not “blue.” If he wants support from actual democrats, than that means he’d have to do several things. 1) either apologize for his past and current antagonism toward democrats or at least claim to “evolve” on this. 2) fundraise BIG for downballot democrats both in his home state and across the country. 3) Work for the actual party 4) register as a democrat through and through and run as a democrat in his senate elections. He hasn’t really done any of this. I’m sorry, but if he is expecting people like me who have spent time calling, canvassing, data banking, knocking on doors and donating to be on his side if he got the nomination, that’s insane. This is hard work and takes a lot of sweat, tears and dollars. We see him as a conman who is using our carefully built infrastructure while not doing the above to help. We don’t stand for that. And add in him getting involved with OUR campaign and saying OUR man, the first black president, needed to face a primary while we were dealing with a very powerful candidate emerging in Mitt Romney? It was not only totally irresponsible and disrespectful, it was a slap in the face. Don’t forget that Bernie has long held onto the idea that democrats and republicans are “the same.” Why would I like him after all that? 

Going on, I can’t forgive nor overlook his sexism and racism. This is kinda a big deal. His plans are not intersectional. Even to cite himself and many of his supporters, he bases much of his ideology on marxism. Marxism comes from a specific time and place and our point in history is quite different. I am quite smitten with many radical thinkers and philosophers, which is why I see Marxism and marxist writings/thoughts as foundational to a certain worldview in the same way Aristotle is. They’re great, but we’ve built on that worldview and adapted it, and we now have thinkers who speak not only of the facetious nature of “revolution,” but also the need for intersectionality and how “revolutions” often come at the expense of oppressed groups. Bernie’s ideology has not caught up. If you hear me say things like “Hillary Clinton or Kamala Harris are far more progressive than Bernie Sanders,” this is why. Their plans actually address issues of racial justice and gender issues while Sanders sees them, at best, as a secondary issue. He himself has called them “distractions,” while also peddling the idea that “a rising tide lifts all boats.” This just isn’t the case. If he is truly as revolutionary, futuristic, and truly the justice candidate, why in the world can’t he support or speak to issues that black americans, queer americans and indigenous folks deal with everyday? Saying a “rising tide lifts all ships” is to ignore us, to leave us unseen and to castigate the very base of the democratic party. Why can he speak to the so-called “white working class” but not anyone else? 

We can use your housing plan as an example. On the surface, I support many of Bernie’s goals and even many of his plans. But on this issue, you can see that he is peddling ideas that became popular in the 60s and 70s and were implemented in some areas. But, his program is outdated and racist, and doesn’t address the need for black wealth building programs. It also uses blanket policies that aren’t good for certain urban areas. Furthermore, his plan makes little room for new housing development which is actually the largest issue with rent and home prices currently. His plan would actually perpetuate problems by ignoring the supply-side issue. This is seen throughout much of his policies and proposals. 

Let’s get into why that’s an issue. Bernie supporters will tell us that it should be “just about policy,” yet, Joe Biden has now created a public transport plan that is the gold standard in this primary. Elizabeth Warren’s housing plan addresses the issues I outlined above. Kamala Harris’ plan did as well and arguably was better than either Warren or Biden’s current plans. Both have been attacked by Bernie supporters on this issue in breathtaking ways. They have been labelled land developers (which i’m not sure as to why that’s a pejorative), neoliberals, centrists, republicans even. This is not a policy debate. In this example, I’ve mentioned three candidates that have had policies. Instead of engaging on the policies, they attack the very character of the candidates. Whether you support Biden, Buttigieg, Warren or yes, even Sanders, they ALL have very similar goals and ideas. They may have very different timelines for those goals or funding mechanisms or might value some goals more than others, but we are all on board. Yet, we are attacked as if we don’t want healthcare or housing for the poor, as if we don’t want some form of debt relief, etc. There is no nuance allowed and I see frequently the idea that “Bernie is the ONLY one fighting for [X,Y,Z].”

And that’s the largest reason I don’t like Bernie. He has built up a very dangerous cult of personality. It feeds a form of discourse that is corrosive, divisive and actually benefits our largest rivals more than it benefits any type of progressive goal. Me, and many others, place much of the blame for 2016 at Bernie’s feet. You don’t have to agree, but that’s that. I, personally, will not forgive him for what he said and did against Hillary Clinton. I won’t forgive his campaign or his followers for lying on Kamala Harris. And I am not a super big fan of Warren or Biden and here I am finding myself defending them because many in your cohort are spreading the same kinds of lies and conspiracies and propaganda as the MAGA people. And yes, I am fully aware I am making an equivalency between Trump and Sanders with that statement, and I fully stand by it. This black and white worldview is why we have a discourse where “Bernie is the only candidate that has done [X,Y,Z]” is taken seriously by some voters, many of whom either don’t believe Bernie has ever evolved on issues (guns, LGBT rights, women’s rights, states rights, military, etc) or are willing to give Bernie the right to grow and evolve as a politician while not allowing the same of other candidates. It’s not right nor is it okay. 

So I don’t hate Bernie for any one policy, I am more than happy to engage in policy debates and accept that we all have slightly different views on that. But, those debates need to be done in good faith and that’s simply not something we get from Bernie or a majority of his supporters. If this were a policy thing, I could talk about Bernie the same way I talk about Warren or Biden or Buttigieg, and say they’re okay people with okay ideas but they need to pay attention to X,Y,Z because of A,B,C. But when I said I like Kamala’s health plan best for X reasons, I got told i was a fascist or centrist or neoliberal or whatever. I NEVER had a discussion where someone told me why they thought Bernie’s plans were better. Same with Hillary Clinton. Same with everyone still running today. As for this blog, I made it because I was frustrated by all of the above and wanted a place to vent + I wanted to make sure there was at least some content on Tumblr challenging the idea that Bernie is perfect, unproblematic or the undisputed winner. B/C that narrative really made people who spend a ton of time on the internet freak out when it turned out not to be true in 2016. I STILL see people who say “I don’t know a single Joe Biden supporter” on here. I’ve seen that for several other candidates as well. If this blog helps demonstrate that not all democrats/leftists are not on board with Bernie, maybe it will help just a little bit to lessen that blow. I’ve met people who have supported most all of the candidates. The echo chamber needs to have some challenge to it. That echo chamber only feeds the awful cult of personality that i really can’t stand and that I feel is very dangerous. 

[sick-raven]

Ghosts of the Present - Chapter 8

Chapter 1 + warnings

AO3

Previous chapter

Chapter 8

Two months ago, Miranda Bradbury survived sure death and got the ghosts that tormented her locked up again. John Constantine told her she should be safe now, nobody can take her charm away. It was one of the happiest moments of her life despite almost dying.

Seven weeks ago, her nightmares started. The dream reminded her that she can never truly win. Night after night she fell to the snow with crack in her ears. She didn’t really win against ghosts, she just took their power. Locked them in jail. But she was an example of the fact that no jail is unbreakable.

Six weeks ago, she called Constantine. “You said there are other possibilities to get rid of the echo, remember?”

“Your charm isn’t working?”

“It is. I want more.”

“Listen, love, it’s not necessary. Enjoy life.”

“I can get anything you ask for. Help me.”

Five weeks ago, Constantine realized he needs her help. He could steal the artefact himself, but he promised to never go near this cult again and he didn’t want to lose his bollocks. So, Miranda helped and forced him to think about her problem by balancing the artefact over the sea.

One month ago, she got a list and instructions, and the possible results of ritual scared the hell out of her. “Survival chance is about thirty percent,” Constantine told her. She couldn’t tell Jonathan that, he would try to stop her and freak out. Throwing herself into unnecessary danger was her own decision and she didn’t need to discuss this with anyone. “Still want to do that, love?”

“Yes.”

For last month she looked for artefacts and magic tools. She learned very fast they are dangerous. Set of needles tried to acupuncture her to wall. Blessed powder kept teleporting any time she touched it and it brought her to more and more dangerous locations. Not to mention the archive. It was a miracle she survived all the encounters. It tired her greatly and being kept up by nightmares didn’t help.

“Last chance,” Constantine said last Saturday as she sat naked in the protection circle. “Do you understand the dangers? They will be yours, but once you die, you don’t go to heaven, you don’t burn in hell, you are stick for eternity as their property. Just an echo. It’s not worth it, Bradbury, they will cut your life anytime you give an order…”

“Stop talking and do it,” she stopped him.

Jonathan Crane didn’t know any of this. When he saw Miranda kneel in front of her master, panic rose in him. The blood spurting from her hand reminded him it’s his fault. She wasn’t supposed to be here; the League wasn’t supposed to know!

Then she took her shirt off and Jonathan stopped in his steps. He had no words. Miranda’s whole body was covered in tattoos of circles and runes. Witch gathering would gladly take her in their sisterhood. Jonathan’s brain couldn’t understand what he is seeing, the marks looked wobbly, as if they were moving on her skin.

Miranda tore her charm down. “No!” shouted Jonathan and then…

Then.

Jonathan Crane got scared.

The death scream came out of Miranda’s lips. Loud, high and terrifying. Her body surrounded by shadows, intensified this scream. They rose around her like lotus petals and broke into dozens of tendrils that whipped around. Black shadows were swallowing the light, they grew longer and blossomed into more parts.

And the voices from shadows screamed with Miranda.

“Khulan! Khulan!” Different voices, men and women, with hatred and intensity. “Die, die, die!”

“Master, take us back,” said Miranda in eerie voice. She stood up, bleeding and white, contrasting with darkness rising from her body, and made a step towards Khulan hands ready as in for a hug. “Here we are, lost children came back to your embrace.”

Sword fell on the ground. Khulan gasped loudly, stumbling backwards, away from the shadows. “No! I order you to get back!”

The shadows didn’t listen. Their screams echoed, filled the chamber.

“Kill her!” Khulan ordered. The soldiers ran straight at Miranda, weapons ready.

Bloodbath.

Sharp as a knife, the tendrils cut around, killing everyone trying to get near. Incredible speed made it look like they died in an instant. Heads, limbs, blood. Piercing screams of the victims were always cut short as tendrils found whoever survived and stabbed them in the face. One after other, precise cuts, precise stabs.

Jonathan heard Jervis yelp. “Friend, let’s run!” But Jonathan couldn’t move, so Jervis abandoned the ship without him.

Khulan stumbled back as Miranda was coming closer covered in blood of the fallen. Even the soldiers soon realized their fight is useless and started to run away. Shadows grabbed at them, kept catching them and crushing, choking, throwing against walls, all that while screaming in pain and anger.

“No!” Khulan fell over dead body. “No!”

Miranda knelt in front of her. In last desperate attempt Khulan hit her, but Miranda didn’t move a muscle. She was a statue, focused on one thing only. She took master’s face to her palms. Master gasped in fear.

“We love you, master, you gave us everything.”

Miranda opened her mouth.

“Nough…” Khulan’s scream was silenced. Shadows came out of Miranda’s mouth and went deep into master’s throat. She gurgled, hands unable to move. Slowly suffocated with panicked look in her eyes.

It took forever.

It took seconds.

Khulan collapsed on the floor, her face turned in fear. It will never change again. She will never train another assassin. She will never destroy more lives and crush souls. The evil witch is dead. In the valley of bodies and vengeance, Banshee rose, laughing like a madwoman. Nobody has seen her. Everyone ran.

Except for Jonathan.

With manic look in her eyes she took a step towards him like a tiger considering its options before it chokes its prey. Jonathan couldn’t move, his limbs froze, his mind blank. Shadows danced around Banshee like branches in the wind and they silenced their screams into a hum. One more step.

“Traitor!” she screamed. The echoes reminded him several times of his guild. One more step. “You die!”

Shadows snapped at him. Like whips they bended back and stroke.

None touched. They hit the ground around him. Dust rose, blood spurted everywhere. Ghosts began to scream again.

“I hate you!” yelled ghosts. “I hate you!”

She walked to him, screaming. So close he felt her breath on his face and saw tears running paths on her bloodied cheeks.

“You bastard!” She slapped him. The pain woke him up. His brain started working again. She hit him again. Third time he caught her hand.

“Let!” she demanded hysterically.

“You damn cow!” he hissed clutching her wrist hard. “You dare to call me a traitor?”

She gasped, two shadows grabbed him by shoulders and pulled him away. Now they stood two steps away from each other walking around like wild animals.

“You sold me! You knew what they will do, and you sold me, because you are an insecure piece of shit!” she shouted.

“Have you gone insane? I can kill you myself, I don’t need Ra’s al Ghul!”

“You told them!”

“Tetch told them! I can think when I am angry, unlike you with your stupid hysterics!”

“Oh, can you?” she hissed.

“You would know if you weren’t busy fucking Constantine!”

“Does this look like fucking to you?” she raised her arms and tendrils rolled around it like snakes. “I am the master now! Not thanks to your paranoia!”

“You could have told me!”

“Fuck-all I could!”

They stopped in their steps, shaking in anger. Miranda went white as wall, blood still dripping of her hand.

“You were the one who said we should talk,” Jonathan said trying to sound calm and failing miserably.

“You are the one always jumping to conclusions.”

Jonathan rubbed his eyes. “You are right,” he stepped back. “Yeah, you are. Fuck it.”

Miranda nodded crying. “So are you.”

One of the tendrils pulled in the charm. Miranda took it. Shadows disappeared right away. Their master just collapsed on the ground, sat down shaking and crying. “I trusted you,” she bubbled.

Jonathan sighed and walked behind her. He sat down, their back leaning on each other.

“You didn’t,” he disagreed. Miranda sobbed loudly. “If you did, you wouldn’t be afraid of telling me.”

“No.”

“And you couldn’t do that, because I didn’t trust you.”

“You would fight me and tell me I am stupid. Because you fear losing me one way or the other. You always, always, always have to be right and we would just argue over it!”

Silence fell between them.

“It’s my fault,” Jonathan said.

“No, it’s mine.”

“Let’s split it 70-30.”

Miranda bubbled again in short laugh. “You didn’t tell them?”

“No. Jervis did. They just pried details out of me and it hurt. You didn’t fuck Constantine?”

“I got tattoos.”

Another short silence.

“What do we do?” Miranda asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Jonathan.

She trembled, he clenched his fists hard. There was an obvious answer in the air.

“We never really got to know each other,” he said.

“We did.”

“No, Miranda. Joking about your problems is not sharing. Playing them down like I do is neither. It’s avoiding hard things. That’s all we did, what do we really know about each other except basics you write in your CV? We keep to ourselves.”

“And we carry everything alone and we make shit decisions.”

“Yes.”

“We went too fast and got comfortable too quickly.”

“It was a sand castle, no foundation.”

“And one small wave crushed us like tsunami.”

Jonathan laughed at that idea. “You know, I think the witches were right. We really are useless.”

“They are dead, they have no word.”

“I’m sorry I caused this, Miranda.”

“We caused this. I’m sorry too.”

Jonathan stood up. He wanted to say something else, but no proper words came to him. However, he couldn’t leave voiceless, that’s what messed them up in the first place. He rubbed his eyes to shun the tears away.

“It was nice knowing you.”

“Yeah,” agreed Miranda. “It was.”

Next chapter

[taww]

First Take Review: Valvet Soulshine Preamplifier & A4 Mk.II Amplifier

I stumbled upon the Valvet brand fairly randomly. Looking back at my original email to Alfred Kainz of highend-electronics, Valvet’s US distributor, it appears I caught wind of the niche German marque via a review of their E2 amplifier ($2,990) on 10audio.com. In it, Jerry Siegel compared it with some very well-respected solid state and tube competition - Pass, First Watt, Cary - and came away smitten with the musicality of the little 20-watter. I perused the rest of the Valvet line and was immediately drawn to how it blended sleek, unassuming styling with a focus on tried and true design approaches. Tube preamps with solid state amps (no Class D in sight), super quality passive parts, minimalist Class A and single-ended topologies, all in urban-lifestyle friendly packaging... Valvet was speaking my language. The relative obscurity of the brand (at least here in the States) and lack of online reviews only added to the intrigue. A review was clearly in order, and Alfred was kind enough to oblige us with the Soulshine tube preamp ($5,890 in the configuration we received) and A4 Mk.II monoblock amplifier ($7,890). 

Alfred provided this description of the company:

Valvet is located in Bargteheide, in the north of Germany, near Hamburg. What we have here is a very consistent vision by designer Knut Cornils in design and execution. Knut founded the company in 1991 and has been building Class-A amps since 1982. Knut has evolved a distinctive architecture of Class-A modules using high-quality components in minimal designs, featuring valve pre-amplifiers with separate power supply and solid-state mono-block power amplifiers.

Valvet Soulshine Tube Preamp ($5,890)

The Soulshine is Valvet’s top preamplifier line and comes in a number of configurations. The model we received is a line stage and includes a compact external power supply and stepped attenuator with remote control. Recently, two further upgrades became available: the Soulshine IIz ($8,890) featuring a dual-mono external supply, and the Soulshine Trio ($10,990) with built-in phono stage and quad supplies. @mgd-taww​ has the full review of our base configuration coming out imminently, but I'll share some observations from my time with the unit.

I really dug the sleek look of the Soulshine - super slender, with a minimalist front panel sporting two polished chrome knobs, a 2-digit volume display and the Valvet "V" softly glowing in blue. There's zero panel markings, which makes input selection a bit of a guessing game, and slightly odd is the fact that the free-spinning volume knob (it's a rotary encoder for the electronically-controlled attenuator) has a dimple to indicate position, despite it being completely uncorrelated with the actual volume setting. The attenuator itself works extremely well - volume control is a bit on the coarser side, definitely not 1dB across the range, but adjustments are quick, smooth and noiseless other than the gentle clicking of the internal relays. Best of all, the outputs are quickly muted to eliminate any possibility of transients on power-up or turn-off which can be a real hazard with tube designs. The back-panel features 4 inputs - 2 balanced XLR, 2 unbalanced RCA - and both RCA and XLR outputs. The power supply is external, connected with a light, flexible and detachable umbilical cord. Under the hood, the circuit is simple and the parts are high quality, with relatively neat hand-soldered point-to-point wiring (Teflon-sleeved silver in our model). Like any tube component, it'll need some room to breath, but it generates a fairly moderate amount of heat and will fit in shelves with less clearance than typical tube pre's with tall chassis and upright tubes.

Tonally I found the Valvet to be fairly nondescript, and I mean that in the best possible way. There is just a hint of extra juice in the mid-bass, and the low end isn't as extended and tightly-controlled as the solid-state Bryston BP-17 Cubed ($4,500), but otherwise things felt quite neutral and in order - another example of the convergence of tube and solid state tonality over time. The top end had clarity and extension and there was neither the upper-midrange forwardness nor the rolled-off treble that one sometimes gets with tubes.

What it did have was a uniquely singing tone in the midrange that made it particularly expressive with soft melodic passages. E.g. on a performance of the Rachmaninoff Romance by cellist Alicia Weilerstein [Tidal], a passionate rendition of the theme is followed by a pianissimo echo. Through the Soulshine, the delicate passage sounded wonderfully quiet and intimate, yet still expressive; on the Bryston it came across a bit threadbare and pale. Every once in a while this could also come across as a bit of thickening, like just a dash too much cornstarch in the sauce - e.g. with Magdalena Kozena's Mozart arias, the ethereal floatiness of her voice came across slightly more opaque than I heard with the Pass Labs XP10. Tradeoffs, tradeoffs...

Bryston BP-17 Cubed, Valvet Soulshine and Pass Labs XP10 locked in battle

I (or more accurately, my wife and I) heard a bit more editorializing going on with harmonics and timbre. One late evening I was playing some tunes on the Soulshine, Beethoven Symphony No. 2 to be precise, and my wife commented that the orchestra sounded rather sharp (pitch-wise) and nasal. Normally this is how American woodwind players describe European ensembles (who do indeed tune their A's higher and use totally different technique, reeds and often instruments). But in this case, it was a Montreal Symphony performance which she never previously commented on sounding particularly European. Switching back to one of the solid state pre's (the Bryston or Pass XP10) restored the expected timbre - her ears are particularly sensitive, and I can only surmise she was picking up on harmonic distortion being introduced by the tubed Soulshine. I could hear it as well, but to me it was pretty mild, and probably 99% of people won't notice it to the same degree.

The other area where THD may be coming into play is soundstaging. The Valvet has a healthy dose of that holographic tube feel, suspending instruments across a deep, airy and three-dimensional space... so much so that my wife actually felt the sound to be “too 3D,” something I doubt you’ll ever hear an audiophile say. Nelson Pass under his First Watt enterprise shared a design for a very simple 2nd-order harmonic distortion generator, called the H2, as a fun way to add some color to sound. He made this interesting observation about the phase of such distortion:

So why is the phase important? Well, it's a subtle thing. I don't suppose everyone can hear it, and fewer particularly care, but from listening tests we learn that there is a tendency to interpret negative phase 2nd as giving a deeper soundstage and improved localization than otherwise. Positive phase seems to put the instruments and vocals closer and a little more in-your-face with enhanced detail.

My sense was that the Soulshine adds more of the “negative phase” second harmonic - it has that deep holographic stage, without sounding up front and “technicolor” as some tube designs are wont to. Again, to my wife’s ears this effect sounded a little phasey and unrealistic, but I’m guessing many audiophiles will eat it up.

Some other notable and positive aspects of the Soulshine... it's extremely quiet, with nice black backgrounds. In fact, I found it to be nearly dead silent even when cranked to max volume, and considerably quieter than the Bryston which always had some level of audible hiss. Dynamics were strong, the Bryston capturing big hits in the bottom end with more slam and edge, the Valvet otherwise having more verve and nuance - piano in particular had great weight and presence on crescendi. There was a sense of ease, with plenty of headroom even on the loudest, most cacophonous orchestral passages, though I did find dynamics varied a bit with the volume setting, a likely consequence of placing the attenuator after the tube gain stages thus creating variable output impedance. Separation of instruments was excellent - whether listening to a small chamber ensemble or symphony orchestra, tonally-adjacent voices like viola vs. second violin came through with clarity and color. And while lesser preamps can blur the region below middle C (262Hz) into a bit of a soupy blend, the Soulshine clearly distinguished the lower registers of the cello from the left hand of piano accompaniment on sonatas.

All in all, the Soulshine struck me as a lovely and enjoyable preamp. Musically expressive and pure, it was significantly more engaging than the Bryston BP-17 Cubed, and made for an interesting counterpoint to the Pass Labs XP10 ($5,250 before being replaced by the XP12). I didn’t mention the Pass so far as @mgd-taww also uses the XP10 as his reference preamp, so I’ll let him do the honors of an in-depth comparison in his coming review.

Valvet A4 Mk.II Class A Monoblock amplifier ($7,890)

The A4 represents the 2nd generation of Valvet’s original Class A monoblock design, the A3.5. This latest “Mk.II” iteration includes 33% larger power transformers (400W), more filtering (132,000µF each!) and upgraded parts throughout including audiophile-brand resistors and cotton-insulated silver wiring. Allegedly this brings the performance of the Mk.II closer to Valvet's flagship A4e ($9,890), a souped-up 4-chassis model with larger external power supplies and a bit more power. Despite the Class A design, the A4 is downright petite, each monoblock measuring just 230 x 110 x 310 mm (9 x 4.4 x 12.2 inches) but feeling hefty and solid - I don’t have the weight on me, but you’ll definitely want to firmly grasp each one with two hands. Power is rated at 55 watts/8Ω, 90 watts/4Ω in full Class A operation. In what seems to be a new craze (Pass Labs XA25 and models from GamuT come to mind), the output stage uses a single pair of high-power transistors per channel, and the signal path is direct-coupled with no global negative feedback.

My first night with the A4 ended in disaster. I still don't know what happened - my best guess is a wire got crossed in the hookup to my REL T-9 subwoofer - but upon powering up one of the monoblocks, sparks, a small flame and smoke ensued. Clearly something shorted out somewhere, and the A4 being a true minimalist design with zero protection circuitry means any mishap can end in catastrophe. Fortunately no human, animal or other device was harmed, but after weeks of anticipation to hear the amps, I was heartbroken. In my desperation, I listened a bit to one speaker through the other functioning amp, just to get a taste... and even from that crippled mono reproduction, I could already tell there was something very sweet and special about the A4, which made my misfortune even more agonizing.

Alfred Kainz was extremely understanding and had the amps shipped back to Knut @ Valvet for repair. A while later I got them back, and this time I completely steered clear of the REL hookup, instead feeding the subwoofer from my preamp just to be safe. The amps have worked absolutely flawlessly since so the only lesson here is to be extremely careful setting them up, which the manual also states very clearly...

With that out of the way... I think these are some very special amps. While I've heard Class A amps plenty of times in other systems, it's my first time having one in my own, and it was easy to hear from the first notes what all the fuss is about. There's a purity and density of tone, a freedom from electronic haze and grain, a fluidity of expression that's subtle in absolute terms but significant in visceral ones. Great Class A amps have given me the feeling of emancipating music from the chains of typical solid-state limitations, making Class AB (and certainly Class D) designs sound synthetic and mechanical by comparison. The Valvet is delightfully expressive, sweet and pure, with an honest and unforced way of capturing the warmth and beauty of a performance. The Bryston 4B Cubed, a 300W Class AB powerhouse, impressed me with how it carried some of these lovely qualities to a surprising degree, but the Valvet communicates with a higher level of musical connection and tactile presence.

At times, I've heard Class A amps come off a bit dark and slow vs. a very transparent Class AB design. I hear no such issues with the Valvet - in fact, it has all the speed of the Bryston 4B3, with even more dynamic alacrity and nuance. Twists and turns of a phrase are conveyed with uninhibited momentum. Its highs are as sweet and refined as I’ve heard in my system, but with no sacrifice of brilliance. Vocals have richness and complexity, and the variegated harmonics of the violin and oboe have startling trueness. And while it doesn't have the big Bryston's bass slam and depth, it still packs plenty enough wallop to be satisfying with rock and electronic fare. The Mk.II upgrades included a significant stiffening of the power supply, seemingly to good effect - close your eyes, and you would never guess you were listening to an amp rated at just 55 watts. It's by no means a current monster so I would stick with at least moderately-efficient speakers that don’t dip too low in impedance, but I’ve heard 150-watt amps that don’t have this level of control and explosiveness. Certainly compared to a 60-watt integrated like the Ayre AX7e or Bryston B60, the Valvet sounds like a powerhouse.

I'll have much more to say about this wonderful amplifier in the coming months. One of the things I'll need to work on is getting some good comparisons on hand (the Pass XA25 and XA30.8 come to mind). And I have a much larger, 3.5-way reference speaker on order which will stress the Valvet's drive and current capability far more than my current 2-way monitors. In the meantime, if you value beautiful, engaging yet truthful reproduction, I strongly recommend an audition of the Valvet A4 Mk.II - it's captivated me enough to earn a long-term home in my system.

[beccarooni]

Thulk cuddles 3 - featuring Bruce!

AN: in this house we love both hulk and Bruce equally (and so does thor)

The thrumming of the Statesman's engines was an odd comfort to Bruce. So far away from home, but it honestly reminded him of Starks labs. The sound of machinery creaking and beeping provided the same calming ambience, although for once he was asleep in a bed instead of at a desk. The relief and exhaustion of coming back had knocked him into the bed almost as soon as he'd gotten there. He wasn't even sure if Hulk would let him back when he jumped out of that craft. 

But Thor had needed him. Asgard had needed him. 

The look on Brunhilde's face when he'd turned back had almost been worth all the worry anyway. She'd wanted a lengthy discussion about what in the hell she'd just witnessed, but Thor had insisted on Bruce getting some rest. Deals were made to continue the revelry at a later date, and soon enough everyone had retired to their rooms to gather their frazzled nerves.

Bruce was so close to sleep, his first good sleep in months. It seemed only on course for his luck that something would change that.

The thrum of the machinery beneath his pillow grew into a churning, shrill shriek that sent him sitting bolt upright from the bed. A loud crack echoed from somewhere down the corridor, and he felt Hulk's alarm in the back of his mind. 

But it wasn't a gun that had made that noise.

It was a sound Bruce knew all too well, the same sound that had blasted through Asgard as it began to burn.

It was the sound of thunder.

It didn't take long for Bruce to be out of his bed, making a half asleep effort to pull on shoes while running down the hallway. Blue light reflected off of the paneled walls, the distant sound of cracking electricity growing closer with every turn. Bruce rounded a final corner, and his stomach clenched at what he found.

Thor was hunched in the center of the room, arcs of lightning ripping from his body. His whole form was taught, tight, clenched like a fist in the midst of a battle. 

Bruce caught a whimper, and his feet moved forward before he could stop them.

"Thor? What's happening?" He tried to keep his voice gentle, to limit it to quiet, soothing tones. But he couldn't hide the slight tilt of panic beginning to creep into his voice. Fear, but not for him.

Thor's single eye flickered up towards where Bruce was standing, the look on his face like a stray animal that had been cornered by a hunter. He raised his hand towards Bruce in a warning, pain and terror cracking his voice.

"S-Stay back. Please. I can't-" 

Thor was cut off as a particularly vicious arc of lightning tore through his body, and a cry of pain escaped his lips before he could muffle it.

Bruce swallowed nervously. He'd never seen Thor like this. There were faint memories from Hulk's side of the equation that clawed at his sleep addled mind, but nothing like this. That storm was an impressive feat of battle, a controlled force made to strike down droves of enemies. 

It wasn't supposed to hurt.

"Just stay calm, alright?" He took a cautious step forward, arms extended out in front of him in a gesture he hoped was placating. "Tell me how to help you."

"I can't control it, Banner." Thor looked at his fists, and the arcs of light that darted in-between his fingertips like it was the product of a nightmare. "I can't..." His voice petered off into a sob, and Banner caught his knees shaking with strain.

"Easy..." Banner tried to take in a measured breath, careful and slow, hoping Thor would follow his example. He knew about losing control. He knew so much about it that he was shocked he hadn't achieved an 8th PhD on the subject. Even now he could hear Hulk's voice poking through the back of his consciousness, addled with sleep as it was.

'Friend hurt?' The gruff tones of his monster were tinged with worry. 'Hulk help?'

'No.' As much as their relationship had improved through the last couple of days, Bruce didn't fancy bringing Hulk out to deal with an out of control demigod. He was all for experiments, but mixing an aptly described Green Rage Monster with a bucket load of uncontrollable lightning wasn't a formula he was about to engage with. 

He could deal with this on his own.

"What happened? Can you remember?" Specific things were usually the catalyst of Banner's worries, be that nightmares of destruction or real world dangers in the form of Thaddeus Ross. 

There were any number of these things that could've set Thor off, and he cursed himself for not bringing these up sooner. Hiding emotions was practically the slogan of the Avengers. Thor was never going to be an exception, as good at it as he was.

The question seemed to still the panic at least for a moment as Thor focused on it. Bolts stopped ripping from his body, limiting themselves to the occasional spark and an eerie glow surrounding the demigod. 

His breathing was ragged, loud against the silence left by the thunder. 

"I... I don't remember..." Thor's voice sounded vacant, far away as he finally answered. His next few words dropped to a pained hiss, and his huge form was visibly shaking now. "Everything hurts, Banner. I don't know why."

Bruce nodded, taking another few steps forward. The storm seemed to be lulling, giving him a chance to get a proper look at the demigod. Still in the soot-stained armour he'd been wearing since...God, since Sakaar. The man himself didn't look like the picture of Asgardian elegance, either. His forehead shone with sweat, skin pale against the harsh lighting of the ships systems. 

'Friend sick' came the discontented grumble of his Other. Bruce shushed him down, but it was a plausible theory. One that he didn't mind exploring.

He hadn't seen the bigger man see a medic for anything other than his eye. Originally he'd put it down to Thor being, well, Thor. But battling the goddess of death must have resulted in a lot of injuries. Ones, perhaps, he was hiding.

"You're not well, Thor." He was close now, and he could hear the faint wheezing as his friend took in breath. He saw the puncture wounds underneath the armour, angry and red, clotted with something sickeningly black. "You need to see a medic."

"No."

Well, at least that reply was immediate. If not the typical brand of irritating stubbornness that came from asking a member of the Avengers about their well-being.

"Look, your wounds are obviously infected. They're just gonna get worse if you don't get them at least cleaned up a little."

Thor shook his head, dragging his vision up to look Bruce in the eye, to summon what little authority he presumed he had as King. "My people need them more. They have suffered worse than I."

"Jesus, dude..." Bruce ran a hand over his face. 

Maybe a long time ago the authoritative tone coming from the 6"3 actual God of Thunder would've worked, but he'd seen this guy in boardshorts. He wasn't going to take orders from his friend, who was sick, and needed help. Even if that meant being a little...harsher, with his bedside manner.

"They'll suffer even more if they wake up tomorrow and their freakin' King is dead. I know on earth you're the big, strong God of Thunder. But right now you're just my friend, and you're hurting. So are you going to go to the medic-bay walking with me, or do I have to ask hulk to carry you there?"

A moment of silence passed between them, with Thor's eyes finally losing the faint blue glow left behind by the lightning. Now they were filled with something close to shame, his gaze cast down to the floor as his hands nervously toyed with his nails.

For a moment, Bruce thought he had gone too far. Thor had been through a lot these past few days, and here he was, yelling at him. But then he looked back at the angry wounds on the gods arms, shoulders, back, seemingly everywhere. He couldn't let this go on. He cared about Thor too much to let him go down a path of self destruction that he himself was all too familiar with.

"I'm sorry." Thor finally replied in a voice that was quiet and timid, but he seemed to be relenting, at least.

Bruce's shoulders lost some of the tension he didn't realise he'd been carrying. "It's okay, w-"

"I'm sorry, because I can't go to the medics as you've asked." He drew his arms around himself, taking a steadying breath before continuing. "I have tried to avoid the throne for as long as I could, but now it's here and I can't run away from it. And if the first thing my people see of my reign is my weaknesses..." 

He shut his single eye briefly, turning his face away to focus on the star-speckled space just outside of the viewing window. 

"That can't happen. I will deal with this alone."

Thor turned away from Bruce, trying to burn the sight of the scientists pained expression out of his mind. He'd caused that. Bruce was stranded on a spaceship, thousands of miles from home. He'd turned back into the Hulk to save Asgard, a decision that he didn't know he'd come back from. 

Bruce Banner had plenty to worry about, but now he was choosing to worry about him. His intention, for now, was to head down the corridor and deal with the wounds himself. He wasn't as skilled as the medics, or Loki, in healing magic, but he knew a thing or two. Enough to seal the wounds and hope for the best, at least. He'd retire to his chambers, and allow sleep to stitch him back together.

At least, that had been the plan.

Hulk's hand clamped around his arm faster than he could register, stopping him in his tracks and causing him to yelp at the jolt that ran through his injured shoulder.

"Thor go get help." Hulk's voice rumbled from somewhere above him as the green giant tugged Thor back along the corridor.

Thor dug his heels in as far as they could go, knowing that it was futile. At his strongest, fighting Hulk had been a challenge. Now he was weak, much weaker than Sakaar, and Hulk knew it. 

His only hope was bargaining.

"Unhand me!" Thor grabbed onto a piece of piping sticking out of the wall, causing Hulk to turn around with a grunt of frustration.

"Thor being stupid!" Hulk turned around to face him, attempting to pry Thor's fingers away from the pipe. For a moment, Thor was anchored, and it seemed they had reached a stalemate. At least until a particularly harsh pull had the unfortunate side effect of ripping the pipe itself from the wall with a sickening clang, sending Thor careening into the Hulk's chest.

Hitting into the expanse of green muscle was what finally pulled the strength out of Thor's protests. The air was knocked from his lungs, and while he made to argue further, he instead collapsed to the floor with a pathetic wheeze.

Hulk looked down at him, heaving a soft sigh that sounded close to pity which only served to make Thor's stomach turn further. 

"Come on, Blondie." The green figure stooped to the floor, scooping Thor into an uncomfortable bundle into his arms.  "Thor done now."

"This is ridiculous." Thor turned, mumbling into Hulk's chest as they passed the viewing window.

"Hulk have to do everything here."

"I didn't ask you to do this."

"Said no to Banner." Hulk shifted Thor in his arms, making the position a little more bearable. "Baby arms make Hulk do this."

Thor sighed softly, finding his strength to argue quickly failing. It would have been a fruitless attempt anyway- and not just because of the toll of his injuries. If he was being honest with himself, and only to himself, it was a strangely welcome feeling passing through the halls, cradled in arms larger than his own. It may have been undignified, and certainly far from king-like behaviour, but it was comforting. 

And after the events of the past few days, he needed some comfort. He felt Hulk's hold around him grow a little tighter, and he settled a little further into his grip, his eyes slipping shut, just for a moment. At least that's what he told himself.

In actuality Thor was asleep long before Hulk reached the med-bay, and thankfully stayed that way as he was dumped unceremoniously onto a bed. To his credit, Hulk had tried to be gentle, but it was difficult when the God was so puny. 

Hulk felt Banner stir in the back of his mind as he turned to leave, but the feeling was what stopped him at the doorway. It was praise, at least it felt like it. 

Banner was pleased with him. Not disgusted, not traumatised. 

Pleased.

'Thank you, Hulk. I can take it from here.'

Hulk grunted in response as he felt Banner start to re-emerge.

'Banner welcome.'