#it's one thing to discuss his exhaustion with Living when he's. a literal corpse. but the fact that This is a thing makes it even more :((

[bravevolunteer]

it's been long enough that i can say this again, i firmly believe there was NOTHING holding michael there when he got scooped

[alyss01]

hihi! i thought abt this last night, but i fell asleep before typing jt lol-

so, non comfy cartel ask bc i'm dumb no plot

so just regular bb sykunno lol

alright now- reader lives with sykunno, no one knows this. reader says they have a boyfriend, and no one knows who it is. they also have explicitly said that they don't have corpse merch. so they're streaming, wearing sykunno's corpse merch, and sykunno peeks his head in after he did all of his among us tasks after being killed first and goes to hug them and be very clingy bc i feel like clingy-kunno would be so fricken cute, and then since proximity, he says, while chat's freaking out, something along the lines of 'can i have my hoodie back baby?' and everyone in the proximity just goes dead fricken silent and then reader and syk start laughing and explain themselves.

<33 have a good day!!

|[Relationship reveal]|

[Sykkuno x GN! reader]

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

Genre: fluff

Word count: 1.3K

Requested: yes

Synopsis: When you’re streaming among us, Sykkuno comes in to see you in his Corpse hoodie. Your relationship with him gets revealed and he stayes with you through the rest of the stream.

Warnings: 1 curse word, other than that just fluff

A/n: so guess who accidentally deleted the written one shot when it was nearly done? ..... I tried to write it again as accurately as the first time but I’m sorry for the hold up. I’m always down for some Sykkuno fluff though. Why do I feel like i only just figured out that's it's spelled Sykkuno instead of Sykunno??

Masterlist

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

You started up stream, greeting the people that streamed into the chat as you explained that you would stream among us for a bit with Toast's lobby.

It was hard to keep up with the chat as it raced past, your eyes scanning the messages as they raced by.

Multiple people noted on the black hoodie you wore. The black fabric with the red print was easily recognisable as they asked if your corpse hoodie had finally come in.

It had become somewhat of an inside joke within your community, you often complained that the post office was screwing you over on purpose because your hoodie was the last to come in out of all your friend group.

"Yea, I guess you could say that" you addressed it with a small smile on our face, entirely forgetting to change out of Sykkuno's hoodie you had pulled on that morning.

Leaving the topic what it was, you joined the among us lobby and discord call.

You could see that Sykkuno had also already arrived in the little space ship, a Corpse mask on his little avatar as he stood beside him.

A small grin formed on your face as you selected the green striped scarf for your little avatar to wear.

In the meantime you watched chat with a side eye before you'd have to stop reading as the round begun. You muted yourself in the discord call as you thanked some new subs and donators.

The chat flashed with questions about your boyfriend, you had announced your relationship only recently but left the identity of him in the dark.

Your fans didn't know it was Sykkuno yet, but the two of you had decided it would be alright to reveal your relationship relatively soon, the fans were bound to find out one way or another and both of you preferred it being on your own terms.

The game started as you wished the others luck, clicking away the chat as you focussed on your tasks around the spaceship.

Sykkuno's little avatar walked away with Corpse to another part of the spaceship as you joined Rae with her tasks.

It was quite a peaceful round in your opinion, you ended up sharing a lot of tasks with Rae so you walked almost the entire time with each other.

The two of you talked about the food you'd be ordering after the game, discussing different cuisines and deciding on your favourites and comparing them with one another.

That peace however was disturbed as a meeting was called, teleporting you to the meeting room. You looked to see who had died, only to see the small avatar of Sykkuno crossed out at the bottom of the screen.

"Who could do such a thing!" You gasped loudly as your group started discussing.

You accused Corpse since you had seen them leave dropship together, "We split up at medbay, it could've literally been anyone."

"His body was in specimen." Toast pointed out.

"Could've been a self-report." Rae continued as the two of you vouched for one another.

“If its in specimen and Corpse left Sykkuno in medbay, then it has to be an older kill right?” Lily asked as the rest of you hummed in response.

Sykkuno could hear your bickering as he approached your streaming room. He had died relatively early in the round and had enough time as a ghost to finish his tasks.

He knocked softly on your door, in response to Rae's newest argument you hummed in agreement.

Sykkuno opened the door in response, you couldn't see him approach but as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind you couldn't help but lean back into his touch.

"So there my hoodie went, I was looking for it." You pecked his cheek from the side as he rested his head on your shoulder.

Neither of you had expected the mic to pick up his words, but the way the among us lobby silenced immediately had said enough.

"Wait what the fuck? Is Sykkuno unmuted?" Lily was the first to break the silence.

Chuckles escaped your mouth as you started laughing, leaning back into your chair and into Sykkuno's hold as you laughed louder.

Beside you Sykkuno grew red as he realized what had happened, awkward chuckles joining yours as you explained to the group what was going on.

By then the meeting had ended, teleporting you back to the meeting room where you could hear your friends loudly talk over one another.

A smile was plastered on your face as you quickly turned around, pulling up a chair beside you for Sykkuno so he could stay in your room for at least the current game.

You couldn't see chat because of among us, but you knew they were most likely going insane at the news.

Sykkuno sat down beside you, his arm snaking around your waist as he pecked your cheek. As you handed him a secondary set of earphones that laid on your desk and connected them to your desktop, you repositioned your microphone to hang in between the two of you.

When your friends had congratulated you and calmed down you went on with the game, staying by Corpse's side this time as he spoke up, "So that hoodie was Sykkuno's all along"

"In my defence, it was cold and the sweater was warm. Simple math." He chuckled as Sykkuno laid his head on your shoulder, watching your monitor with a small smile on his face.

"I could've kept your hoodie behind as well and delivered it with Sykkuno's," he stopped mid-sentence as his avatar stopped moving as well, "wait but how come I didn’t see you when I brought Sykkuno's merch over?"

Sykkuno was faster to answer him as he spoke up from beside you, softly pulling you tighter against him, "Y/n went out with friends that day, didn't want to make you uncomfortable or overwhelmed or anything."

Corpse laughed softly, making a smile form both your and Sykkuno's face as you continued your tasks, "It would've been fine, but thank you for being so considerate."

You pulled Sykkuno's hand on the mouse on your desk so he could control the character on the screen partially so you could wrap your arm over his shoulder as your hand found his hair.

Your fingers tangled between the locks on the back of his head, gently messaging his scalp as a small satisfied smile formed on his face at the gesture.

"Don’t mention it, if anything you'll now have an excuse to come over again." Corpse chuckled at your joke as Sykkuno finished your tasks while you walked the character around.

It took you a few hours to finish your stream, Sykkuno by your side the entire time as he hadn't been streaming anyway, only leaving briefly to leave the lobby on his own computer.

Your hand was clasped in his as you finished the stream, saying goodbye to your chat before going offline. Leaning back in your chair, Sykkuno brushed some hair out of your face with his free hand.

"How much do you want to bet that Twitter is blowing up right now?" you warily eyed your phone which laid screen down on the side of your desk.

A small laugh escaped his lips as he hand left yours, instead cupping your cheek and gently positioning your head to face him, "No matter what Twitter says, we'll be fine."

You gave him a small smile, "I know, I know," streams were exhausting and you couldn’t wait to just be able to hang on the couch with your boyfriend, "I'm glad it's out there. Now we won't have to be so secretive about everything anymore."

Sykkuno stood up, pulling you along with him and guiding you to your living room, "we can just order take out and chill today?"

You nodded your head, smiling at how well Sykkuno knew you by now, "I love you" you muttered as he pulled you onto the couch, other hand grabbing the remote to turn your tv on.

"I love you too."

[marvus-xoloto]

wrote this self indulgent little drabble (while doing the dishes, if it's not obvious) because my week has been just. bleh. not much more to say about it.

unedited and written stream of consciousness style jsyk! in other words, don't expect mind blowing prose or super in character voices or anything lol. Just a comfort fic from me to me written in the same voice as my inner monologue. but fuck it cringe is fake live large do things that feel good and generally just be happy my friends <3

Don't forget to support your local content creators with a reblog <3 Fandoms run and thrive on sharing and discussion!

___

After a full sweep on Alternia, home is finally starting to feel like home. The dishes in your sink- though dirty and mismatched- are as yours as the dirt on the floor. Warm wind picks at your patchwork curtains through the window like a curious musician at a new harp.

And Marvus slithering up behind you completes the scene.

Between juggling all of your (many) friends, your fifty or so new found hobbies, and just general life itself, your limbs remind you of your own life-force with the rhythm of your heartbeat present at each extremity. And the god damned sore strain of each individual muscle fiber. When has living felt so much like dying?

Marvus lays his head atop yours, arms encircling you. He's not helping with the dishes physically, but his brain so close to yours seems to suck up a few extraneous, stressed-out brain cells.

With him, you feel at peace. He sways behind you, exaggerating his movements if only to force you into movement with him. He beatboxes to keep time with your own heartbeat.

God, you hate doing the dishes.

He nuzzles his face into the part of your hair, pulling loose a few strands. You always knew you'd start to go grey on alternia, but you suspected it would be your hair, or maybe an incident with some sharpies. Or perhaps in your skin when you inevitably magical girl transform your way into a pitiful little corpse. But you never imagined grey like this: love and comfort and your matesprit's full face getting smeared into your scalp.

"Everything thing frosty, baby? You're burning up," Marvus asks, voice low and rumbling like he's holding back a purr. "Acting brand new, like, literal-ways. Never seen you so low-key."

"Mm," you say, leaning back into him and letting him take some of your weight. "Tired. Burned out. I feel like shit but it's not a bad mood."

"Gotcha," he sighs into your hair. "Anything I can do?"

You bump your butt into his hip. "That a phone in your pocket?"

You can feel his cheek going taut against your scalp in a smile. "Gonna turn off the water and let me lay that pipe?"

"Gonna finish my dishes while you order delivery," you snort.

And he does, never removing his arms from your waist, peeking his head over your shoulder while he orders a veritable feast from no less than three of your favorite restaurants.

Perks of dating a baller.

"I like that about you, you know?" He says, pulling you closer. "I ask what you need and you just tell me straight. Makes my life easier."

"Mm," you hum, finally allowing yourself to close your eyes and lean back into him. It's like floating in the ocean: you're suddenly cool and weightless and rocking with the waves.

"What else is going down up in the big top?" He knocks his nose into your temple.

"I feel," you pause to think about what's exhausting you besides the sleep deprivation. "Guilty."

"Damn, baby, well call me His Honorable Tyrrany 'cause I'm about to eat you the fuck up then." You smile- which is more honest and less effort than a laugh- and Marvus gives you the sort of expectant silence that suggests you should keep talking.

"Just haven't been a good friend. Kind of an absent matesprit, too," you start, elbowing him in the ribs. "I've been cranky." You reflect upon your week: one hundred and sixty eight hours condensed into about 20 seconds. "I think Cirava thinks I was mad at them. I just don't want to talk to anyone." You sigh this great big sigh. "When I get like this, I'm afraid I get mean."

"Shiet, boo, if being tired of people's bullshizz makes you mean then I'm tha biggest bastard on the planet." He pauses to let you giggle at the absurdity; Marvus has never heard the word 'bastard' before he met you, and he seems determined to use it at every possible turn. "Everyone needs a break now and then. If you was happy to be around people all the got damn time, you wouldn't be-" he stumbles, briefly forgetting the name of your species, "-human, you'd be a talk show host."

"Maybe I am," you say. "I'm certainly always happy around you."

"Just means you got a lot more answers to wiggle outta me," he says, nipping at the top of your ear.

Suddenly, he picks you up from under the arms and you sort of just. Have to allow it. Arms sticking out at right angles. Limp. You're sure you look like a cat that's just been bodily removed from the comfort of your floor.

Then he deposits you on the couch. You're so limp and tired, the effect of your body is not unlike laying out a shirt.

Marvus sits across from you, straight backed and all silly business. He picks up your phone and plugs a tiny microphone into the jack. Bright pink and sparkly; his favorite.

"Marvus Xoloto here comin' at 'cha live," he says, with such practiced energy that you're certain he's not even aware he said the words at all. Then he passes the mic to you, and with it: the control of the show.

This time, you do find the energy to laugh.

After all, you always have just one more question, despite it all.

[iceafterdeath]

“arrows in the quiver”

I know a very small part of the WoW lore, and their writers are not even consistent when they write about Sylvanas hair color, much less about her characterization. So I won’t do mind gymnastics to understand their intentions with her story. It would be exhausting and useless, since they could always retcon everything to fit whatever new direction they want to take. But there’s something that her haters still bring into discussion when the loyalists complain about how Blizzard suddenly turned Sylvanas into a villain. They say that she never cared about the Forsaken, much less about the Horde, and their ‘proof’ is that she called them “arrows in the quiver” and “a bulwark against the infinite” even back in “Edge of Night”. And that part doesn’t require any mind gymnastics to explain, the meaning it’s quite obvious but they refuse to see it.

 So the first reference. The val’kyr give Sylvanas a memory from when she was alive and fought to stop Arthas:

 “Another memory flooded her senses. Now she crouched behind an outcropping of smooth stone in Eversong Woods. The autumnal foliage rustled above her, masking the sound of her companion's footsteps as he dashed forward and then fell into hiding beside her. "There are so many!" he barked, falling silent as she raised a finger. "We have only two dozen rangers up there," he said, his voice now a whisper. "They cannot survive that!" Sylvanas didn't turn her gaze away from the dark mass of shambling corpses crushing its way closer to the river ford. It was the height of the Third War, and hours away from Silvermoon's fall at the hands of Arthas's army.

"They merely need to delay them as we fortify the Sunwell's defense," she answered, her tone measured.

"They will die!"

"They are arrows in the quiver," Sylvanas said. "They must be spent if we are to win this."

She was brash. Empty? No—a fighter. She had a warrior's heart.”

 No, I don’t think that’s a warrior’s heart, I think it’s a military commander mindset. A fighter, but a military leader who must direct her troops towards a goal. You suppose that a commander stops to think about how their soldiers are their best friends who need protection and they cry each time one of them falls in the line of duty? Seriously, you lead those people, you’re there to win a war, or protect your people, as in the whole population. You are there to literally use your soldiers and that’s not a wrong thing, it’s a necessity.

The second mention of the “arrows in the quiver” is when she uses humans and Forsaken in her quest for revenge against Arthas:

"The humans will serve their purpose," she answered, her mind already calculating. "They believe they are liberating the city. Let them fight on our behalf and spend themselves for our gain. They are"—she stumbled upon an analogy she'd used before—"arrows in our quiver."

The heaving mass of undead clapped and coughed and hacked gleefully in assent. Sylvanas regarded the whole mob coldly. And so are you, she thought to herself. Arrows I will aim at Arthas's heart.

Still a warrior's heart? She had grown cold. No, she was the same. In death as in life.

 That’s after her death and rise into undead banshee. And it’s an answer to the question if she changed after her death. The answer is no, she hasn’t grown cold, she’s still a military leader. If you blame her for wanting revenge against Arthas after all she’s been through, go do that. But don’t use this quote to say she’s evil.

Next reference is when she stopped Garrosh to waste the Forsaken in his plan to take Gilneas:

"Who are you to countermand my orders?" Garrosh demanded, nudging his war wolf forward. The enormous orc now pressed his great girth into her space, coming up alongside her and glowering at her.

Sylvanas did not move or shy away. "I was once like you, Garrosh," she answered, her voice quiet and steady, loud enough only for the warchief to hear. "Those who served me were tools. Arrows in my quiver." She reached up and slowly brought down her hood, then directed her dark gaze at him. Her eyes were alive, their oversized jet-black pupils livid with rage, red embers glowing deep within.

At that moment, nobody dared look Sylvanas Windrunner in the eye. Nobody but Garrosh Hellscream.

What he saw was a great black void, an infinite darkness. There was fear in those eyes, but also something else. Something that terrified even the great warchief. His wolf began to edge away instinctively.

"Garrosh Hellscream. I've walked the realms of the dead. I have seen the infinite dark. Nothing you say. Or do. Could possibly frighten me."

The army of undead that surrounded and protected the Dark Lady was still hers, body and soul. But they were no longer arrows in her quiver, not anymore. They were a bulwark against the infinite. They were to be used wisely, and no fool orc would squander them while she still walked the world of the living.

 Here the haters are like ‘even she admitted she is like Garrosh’.  People understand what they want. But if you actually use your brain you see the change. Before Arthas’ death and Sylvanas suicide in Icecrown when the val’kyr bought her back, she used the Forsaken as offensive force against Arthas. But now that she saw something terrible after she died, she won’t let Garrosh use them and kill them in his war. They’re still loyal to her. She will use them as a defensive force, “a bulwark against the infinite”, and she will use them wisely. The same military commander, but with another goal. Apparently a selfish goal, to protect herself against eternal damnation in WoW hell. But they didn’t tell us what exactly Sylvanas saw after her suicide. “Darkness, agony, abject pain, cold., hopelessness”, all these are a little abstract and vague. What is the infinite she’s talking about? They intentionally didn’t tell us. A loose end to tie up later, maybe. Something that we know now they will use in the next expansion. But I don’t trust them to tell a good story. I’m almost sure they’ll choose the easy and most obvious explanation for her actions: she was working with the Jailer to kill everyone because she sees death as a liberation from hope and life, in her nihilistic view of the world caused by all the traumatic experiences she went through.

I’ll probably write at some point about the… rift, the conflict between writers and fandoms, because the first ones often sacrifice characters and logic to tell shocking stories, and the later ones focus on the characters, wanting a story that doesn’t destroy the initial characterization of their favorites.

[imagine-loki]

Atlas: Space, Moon

TITLE: Atlas: Space

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: 5/12

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine narrating episodes of Loki’s life with the Avengers based on the songs from Sleeping At Last’s “Atlas: Space” album. 

RATING: T-M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Welcome to my Sleeping At Last’s Atlas: Space challenge, aka Another writing project I do not have time for, but my brain insisted on doing.

This series will be less like a multichapter fic and more of a one-shot compendium, but that they all interconnect in one way or another. It will revolve around Loki and Becca’s relationship (Taking Turns, Glow, Helmet Heists–don’t worry, more Loki-Charlie stuff will be along) and I will use those one-shots as reference to the timeline. Each chapter will be one song, used as inspiration for the story.

Chapter 5: Moon

Summary: Hell hath no wrath like an out-of-the-loop Tony. Are you ready for this to get kinda soft? Because it gets kinda soft. (Happens previous to Taking Turns.)

Warnings include: Language. Loki wishing heat-stroke had taken him, soft and vulnerable frost giant fluff, and two idiots who just need to fucking kiss already.

=

[Instrumental track-really good reading music, btw]

Loki groaned pitifully as he awoke. His whole body felt like it had been dipped in lead and tossed to the bottom of the deepest ocean where he fell into an ever-deepening trench. Except he wasn’t dipped in anything. He wasn’t in the ocean. He was in the Med Bay, after, most likely, being pulled out of the mission, and, after the humiliation of passing out, he just wished he was drowning.

He tried moving his fingers first, opening and closing his fists tentatively to gauge the ache. He found the dull throb a reminder that he was, indeed, an idiot. His skin looked pale–well, paler than usual–and several lines seemed to have been placed directly into his veins with fluids. He wondered how Banner had even managed to get the needles to pierce his skin, but that was neither here nor there.

A noise of pages turning beside him, rustled. Loki bargained with the universe to end his miserable existence now, rather than have to face the person he knew was occupying the chair beside his bed. The universe denied his plea, as it always did. He wondered why he even bothered asking, anymore.

Becca looked about as tired as he felt. Though her hair was tied up in a sleek braid that was draped over her shoulder, and her clothes looked fresh and kempt, her eyes had dark bags beneath them. They were also rimmed in red. She had been crying. Surely it had not been over him, had it? With a groan, he sat up.

“Welcome back.” Her voice was soft, though hoarse and her face was littered in small, half-healed cuts. He must not have been asleep for too long. He was almost hesitant to break the calm quietness of the moment, though that was quickly solved. 

The sound of Bruce repeating Tony’s name in a plea echoed in the empty medical facility. A second later Tony, red in the face, was in front of Loki’s cot, pointer finger gesturing the Prince.

“Do you have any idea how fucked we could have been because of your little stunt?” Loki had the good sense to look down in shame, hair forming a dark curtain around his face to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “If Becca hadn’t been in position to get to you, we’d be retrieving your corpse right around now. Do you understand that, Loki? Dead! You would survived every other fucking thing the Universe had thrown at you and you would’ve bowed out because of fucking heat stroke!”

He growled, seemingly no longer capable of speech and knocked over a tray, making both Becca and Loki start.

“I had to pull Thor from his assignment because I had no idea if he was going to pass out, too. We had to scramble the whole roster to finish the mission because you weren’t bothered to tap out when you reached your limit! We nearly fucked this whole op because of you. You are in such deep shit, Mischief. I swear to God!”

With that sentiment hanging in the air, Tony turned tail and stomped his way out of the hospital room.

Loki turned to Becca, his eyes looked pained as he took her in. “I’m so–” She raised a finger, wordlessly telling him to hold his thought before she pointed back at the Med Bay entrance where Tony was rushing back in. She seemed almost amused by the man’s predictability. In reality, she was just used to seeing this song and dance routine being done with Peter.

“A frost giant in 110 plus degree heat? Really? You should have told us, Loki!” He roared and Loki stilled as his blood ran as cold as his species name. “You should have told us the second you started working here. Let me be clear. I don’t give a shit what the hell you are. You can be an ice giant, a fae princess or a goddamn opossum–you don’t keep that from us!” He raked his hair frustratedly, trying to swallow the rest of his yelling and barely succeeding. “I would have given you a different beat on mission. I would have given you both a different beat.” Loki opened his mouth to protest, but was promptly cut off. “Do you think I don’t know you went on that mission because of Becks? What kind of a moron do you take me for?”

“Not a damn word, Loki,” Becca warned, smirking. “This is not the moment to be clever.” Loki pressed his mouth to a thin line, glaring shortly at the woman for denying him his only defense mechanism at present. 

Tony rolled right through the joke, too keyed up to be amused. “You are grounded, do you hear me? Grounded! No more missions until I decide that you’ve learned your damn lesson. No more leaving the compound for pizza in the city. No special passes to Asgard. Completely grounded. Am I understood?”

Loki surprised himself by nodding effusively to the demands, back pressed against the headboard as though he intended to meld into the wall behind him. Tony stomped back out, muttering out loud about idiots who were going to give him a heart attack. Loki glanced back at Becca, who was sitting crisscross, book abandoned on the portion of her thighs left bare by her shorts. In the scratchy paper gown Loki felt entirely out-of-place in her presence. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to want to leave.

Despite her neutral expression, he could see something akin to hurt lurking behind her eyes. “I didn’t tell–”

“It’s fine,” Becca cut in, waving him off. “It was none of my business. I get it.” She sniffed delicately, her eyes dropping to the checkered floor of the hospital as if it help some great secret.

“Rebecca…”

She glanced up and unwound her legs, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. “I’m glad you’re OK.”

When she made to leave, Loki wrapped his fingers around her wrist and held her still. “It wasn’t because of you or because I didn’t trust you.”

The woman looked like she debated not arguing but thought better of it at the last moment, letting the frustration pour out of her every pore. “That doesn’t change the fact that I was the one who watched you almost die without knowing the reason.”

“I didn’t want it to change how you saw me,” he explained for reasons he could not comprehend.

Becca scoffed, leaning down to get eye level with him. He could feel her breath on his face and at any other point in time, he would have celebrated being in this position. Something in the back of his head told him he shouldn’t cheer this time around.  “Literally no one gave a shit what you looked like as we dragged your giant-ass, blue body onto the jet. We only prayed you wouldn’t die before we hit ally airspace, you fucking moron,” she explained slowly, voice trembling and eyes watering. “We work with a bioengineered, sentient gem–you’re not that fucking special.”

Loki swallowed thickly, suddenly terrified of the burning rage reflected in her warm eyes. It was bright, beaming, smoldering fear that fueled it. Fear that she would lose him before they managed to land somewhere that might have been safe to intervene on him. Fear that she would lose a colleague, a friend. Fear that she would never make him pay for keeping her in the dark for so long. Loki felt every last bit of that fear, magnified tenfold to become his own.

He leaned his forehead onto her clasped hand. “I didn’t want you to know who I really was and chance scaring you off.”

“Are you dumb or what?” She snapped, gritting her teeth in an effort to contain her tears. “Why would I judge you over something you have no control over? After all we’ve done? All we’ve lived? I thought I showed you who I was a little better than that.”

“It wasn’t about you–”

“Evidently it was or you wouldn’t care if I saw!” She snapped before sighing, brushing his tangled hair back with her free hand. “You worried me a hell of a lot.” There was so much held back in her voice, he could tell, but he was not about to try his luck and pressure her into revealing her secrets. 

“I’m sorry, Rebecca.” Loki had never apologized for a damn thing in his life, but he couldn’t help but let the words slip now, as she watched him with worry in her eyes and hurt in her soul.

“Scoot over, Evil Smurf,” she teased softly, and the words landed as painfully as if she had called him my love. He wanted this. He wanted this playful pain, but he couldn’t reason to himself why. 

Swallowing a groan, he shifted over in the hospital cot. Becca clambered in easily and draped her arm around his shoulders, feeling him tense momentarily. After a second, the warmth of her digits seeped into his skin, and he melted into her side. When he let out a small sad whine, she pressed a kiss to his temple and allowed him to hide his face into the crook of her neck. Whether their silent agreement to shelve their discussion was due to shock of their mutual vulnerability or pure exhaustion, it was unsure. They merely accepted the conditions and sat tangled up, with only the sound of their breathing.

That’s how Bruce found them, asleep, an hour later when he went in to change Loki’s IV bag.

[asgardianthot]

Aftercare (Steve/Bucky)

Dom/sub aftercare, angst

summary: Steve takes care of his sub, no matter how reluctant he is to it.

word count: 2996

warnings: mentions of BDSM (previous to the scenario), one unintended injury

Steve Rogers was known for many things, but kinky wasn’t one of them…

…one of the things people knew about him, that is, keeping in mind how he’d been working me with chains, spanking me and fucking the living breath out of me for the past hour.

Even though we’d both caught our breaths, I was left devastated on the bed, laying on my stomach as my bare ass was still heated red. I could have moved, probably, but taking in mind my recent submission and dedication, I believed I deserved to act as a ragdoll. So did Steve, who was already retrieving the soothing lotion and rambling about getting me some water or whatever.

“You okay?” he asked for the seventh time.

I sighed from exhaustion, given both by my sore body, and by his insistent question. No, I wasn’t perfectly fine, my back and arms were slightly hurting, my ass and butt cheeks were killing me, the marks left by the handcuffs in my flesh hand were burning, I had a small cut on my lip from biting on it that wasn’t majorly uncomfortable but I could still taste the iron in my mouth, and everything felt as if I’d ran a marathon. However, I wasn’t dying, he hadn’t done anything more than he’d done before and I had already answered to his question the other six times.

Plus, it’s what I loved more than anything. Being roughed up by Steve.

“I’ll have that water.” I mumbled, merely for him to shut up about it.

He nodded with a small smile, rushing to the bathroom to get me what I had seen myself forced to ask for. He came back with his boxer briefs on, still allowing me to stare at his sculpted body, glistening with the lingering of sweat sticking, and I thought to myself it wasn’t too much of a bad view to die looking at.

“Here.” He sat down on the bed where I propped myself on my elbow to drink from his a glass held by his hand, making myself useless.

I stared into his eyes while sipping it at first, thanking him with my gaze, then focused on gulping the water down as I was desert-like thirsty and hadn’t realized it before. Once I was finished, I fell back on my side with a loud puff of air.

“Better?” Steve’s puppy eyes smiled down at me while his hand, one that had been choking me minutes earlier, was now caressing my shoulder with extreme care.

A small grin made its way into my face although I was doing no effort to conceal my tired eyes. So I just closed them and nodded, practically getting ready to take a nap before Steve started to kiss my cheekbone over and over again, with the cutest caring pecks a grown man is able to give. I enjoyed the moment for as long as it went on, until he stopped to check the red marks on my ass.

“Looks painful.” He commented when his palm grazed the irritated skin, and I knew he was hinting the possibility of putting some lotion on it.

“It’s fine.” I groaned, then motioned behind me by tilting my head a little. “My back’s not, though.”

It was meant to be a witty comment, even if there was some truth to it. The sore feeling in my ass and cheeks wouldn’t even become bruises, and I had probably mildly bruised skin somewhere in my body, but the scratches on my back meant my flesh was exposed and therefore the feeling was a bit worse at that specific moment.

Steve hovered over me to check, immediately standing up to circle the bed and examine me from behind. “Damn, I’m sorry.” He said in a low voice, not really feeling overwhelming guilt, to be candid.

His fingertips ran through the red trails, the burning sensation immediate but bearable. The Captain ended up massaging some lotion into it, anyways, even though I told him it wasn’t necessary. And good thing I didn’t try and stop him, for it truly was soothing after all. After laying a few kisses right under my nape where my hair stopped, he covered my corpse-like body with the blankets and returned to his original spot, where he sat next to me.

“You know, you’re kinda pretty.” I mumbled. “When you’re not unbearably annoying.”

Steve rolled his eyes with a smile, moving some sticking hair off of my forehead. “I just take care of you, you masochist.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You seem to love when I’m a masochist.” I said in a high tone, mocking how hypocritical he could be when it come to an activity performed by two people, and one he enjoyed so much, sometimes I forgot it was me who offered it in the first place and felt like he bribed me into it. “You just love being a pain in my ass after… well, literally being a pain in my ass.”

The blonde burst out laughing in reaction to my comment. He always was easy to embarrass, he would blush at the slightest joke or dirty comment, yet turned into something completely different when I kneeled in front of him, mouth open. I’d beg for release and he would spank me to shut me up, but sure, laugh like a toddler when I mention butt sex.

He went to kiss my wrist, lovingly caress the marks left by the cuffs, as he always did, yet this time it wasn’t as easy to move my, up until that moment, motionless limb. When he took a hold of my right wrist, the one arm I hadn’t moved merely out of instinct, the one made out of flesh and bone, the scorching pain made me hiss loudly.

“What?” Steve let go of my wrist, a terrified expression plastered on his face and wide-opened blue eyes piercing through mine, searching for answers.

I avoided his gaze, having trouble putting on a false worry-less face which ended up looking just confused. As I grabbed my own wrist with care, I sensed how absolutely wrecked it was, however being now prepared for the sensation, the pain didn’t take me by surprise and I was able to conceal any outer representation of it.

“It’s fine.” I lied, giving him a small smile, rubbing the skin with harsh metal fingers, which didn’t help.

Steve’s eyes were going nuts, scanning my face, scanning my hand, scanning my body, as if there were something else he’d missed, like a sword dug in my back or something. I could see the worry building up for he didn’t buy my poor acting.

“Let me see.” He insisted, his voice now a little sterner.

I shook my head and turned on my back to rest my head against the pillow, trying to forget about my wrist. I knew he would make a big deal out of it, blame himself, treat me even more like porcelain, as if it were possible. I only needed to heal the bone in question, not discuss it with an overprotective mess of a dom.

The man sat up straighter, still examining my face and torso. “Buck, let me see.”

“Mind grabbing me a sweatshirt?” I asked to derail the topic.

He held a serious and concerned expression, that was beginning to turn into anger, but complied, as he physically couldn’t not spoil me in aftercare, which implied accepting my every request, which were usually little to nothing. When he came back with the item, I received it with my good hand, however had trouble putting it on.

“Let me help.”

“I’m fine.” I raised my voice a little on exasperation, having already said those two words around twenty times before.

Nevertheless, I was not fine, taking in consideration the trouble it meant to slide my aching arm through the sleeves. I made a grimace that was impossible to control, followed by a grunt. Now he was definitely worried.

Not minding my opinions anymore, he walked up to me from the side of the bed and gently lifted my arm, concentrated on the hurting articulation, which happened to burn like a bitch when he held it in his hand. This time the noise that escaped me sounded much more like an annoyed grunt, mostly from holding back the pain but also out of real annoyance towards Steve’s stubbornness and hero complex.

“I hurt you.” He let out, examining the articulation.

I simply sat there, legs dangling off the bed, that big sweatshirt covering me all the way down to my thighs and a dead look on my face. It felt as if he were to yell at me like this was somehow my fault, which excessively-technically, it was; I was the one to always push myself to the limit, but those kinds of things don’t necessarily matter when you’re full of superserum and heal rapidly. Still, the image made Steve extremely upset.

“Was it the cuffs?” he questioned, still not facing me.

“I guess so, it’s where you put it last, didn’t you?” the words came out a tad too sarcastic for anyone’s liking, but I didn’t mean to take them back.

He closed his eyes. “I’m serious, Buck. You’re hurt.” Steve then let go of my hand smoothly to avoid any pain and rested one hand on his hip, more angry-pose than anything, even thought it was hard not to picture him as a model with such a sight. “Not fun-sex-hurt, but actually hurt. I hurt you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Hand me my underwear?” I extended my arm, ignoring his overreaction.

He turned around to fulfill my command, not shutting up though. “This shouldn’t have happened. How did it happen?” he ranted while handing me the item.

“It was just an accident.” I said in a low voice, receiving the boxers and doing my best not to grimace while sliding it up my legs, but failing miserably. “It’s not- agh- a big deal.”

The ridiculous contradiction in my sentence made Steve tilt his head with a sad frown, a mixture between frustration and desperation for my refusal to let him do everything for me, or at least recognize the injury as important. He kneeled in front of me.

“Here, let me.”

“Go away.” I said unironically, however I felt like he received the words lightheartedly.

He insisted, which only made me feel even more humiliated as he tried to hold onto my boxers.

“Gimme.”

“I said go away!” I pushed back, hitting the back of my legs with the bed end and therefore falling on my butt; Steve stood back up and stared at me with a frown that had become much angrier, to which I cooled down and lowered my voice. “Can you stop acting like this? It’s insane.”

“No! What’s insane is whatever you’re doing!” he yelled down at me all of a sudden. “I broke your wrist, Bucky, how the hell do you expect me to react? I broke your fucking wrist!”

The scolding I was enduring had me looking down with shame, and I took the opportunity to lift the item of clothing that still laid right below my knees. I pushed it up my bum and accommodated myself, using my hand as little as possible.

“I didn’t notice.” I mumbled under my breath.

The way Steve’s voice rang across the room like a bark had me frowning up at him with something I couldn’t quite decipher, but walked along the lines of embarrassed and sad.

“What’s next? I choke you to death because you didn’t make me to stop?” he threw his hands out in the air, making a loud slapping noise when they fell at his sides. “I thought you were aware of a thing as simple as a safeword!”

Truth be told, the man had a fair ground to stand on regarding the why he was so disturbed. It was very easy for me to care little to nothing about my well-being. Hell, if Steve hadn’t been there to reach into my post-Hydra emotional hole and pull me out into his arms, I probably wouldn’t even be there in that room to receive his yelling. And my actions only confirmed it to him, the way I copied how reckless he was when it came to missions, how I didn’t mind leaving a wound unattended, the amount of times I forgot my body was mine and not the machine they had told me it was.

Technically, yes, this was somehow my fault for not noticing. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to apologize for something that held me as the primary victim. I was the one who got hurt, meaning Steve shouldn’t had been so tough on me for it.

He broke the tense silence with a puff of air, not raising his voice anymore. “Goddamn it, Buck!” he sighed, followed by his face falling on both of his hands in frustration.

I wasn’t entirely sure if it was caused by a fair mixture of my negligence and his decision to yell at me, or if one of those two weighed more than the other. Yet everything in my body pushed me to comfort him, not allow him to wallow by himself. I stood up slowly, contemplating his still body which barely shook his head a little, and walked to him where I could grab his arm tenderly.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” I gave in, the slightest hint of annoyance in my voice. “I’ll be more careful. But I really didn’t notice.”

Instead of arguing back, Steve pulled me into a hug, which I reciprocated while avoiding any rough motions with or near my hand. He pressed the sides of our heads together and sighed again, this time more painfully.

“I can’t hurt you. I just can’t.” the way his thumb ran up and down my shoulder let me know he was apologetic more than anything. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t wanna yell.”

I remembered when I first told him what I was into, and he had thought he wasn’t capable of doing it, cause he didn’t wanna lay a finger on me if it was going to be painful in any way. But then we tried it, and he realized it was a different kind of pain and it very quickly grew on him. He liked playing like that, pretending to enjoy watching me suffer when all he really enjoyed was hear me beg, because it made him feel needed and in control.

He might have been the captain out there, but when it came to us both, he always said he had no say in his feelings or actions whatsoever, like I could ask him the world and he’d steal it from the entire population just for me. I never wanted to exceed those limits, never wanted to take advantage of his will. I even sometimes pretended he never confessed such thing to me.

“You didn’t hurt me, I hurt myself.” I did my best to ease the moment and comfort him. “And it’ll heal tomorrow.”

Steve kissed my forehead, then my temple, then cheekbones, until it led us into a sweet kiss. After staring deep into my eyes, as if we could read each other’s minds by doing it, he led me to sit down on the mattress, where he took a seat right next to me.

“I love you.” He said seriously. “So much, if anything were to happen to you…”

I simply stared down to my hands. “It’s already happened, remember? I can take it.”

Whatever torment he thought he was capable of unwillingly, was nothing compared to the things I had actually endured, and nothing Steve could ever do would even approach anything done by Hydra. He meant safety. I never had wanted to draw the psychological link between Hydra and my kinks, but I was pretty sure it has to do with catharsis, perhaps allowing the person I feel most safe with have their way with me in a healing manner.

He, however, didn’t enjoy any idea that compared him with the people who abused me. I could see it in his eyes when I peaked then looked back down to my hands, which he grabbed with utter care and held in his own.

As he pressed our hands against his chest, I could feel his voice buzzing. “I don’t want you to. I’m supposed to take care of you, not the opposite.” Suddenly, there was a hint of a smile in his pink lips. “You gotta let me take care of you, no matter how annoying I can be.”

We both smiled, him pleased with his reference to my complaints earlier, and me, giving into his warmness. Sometimes I had a hard time fathoming the idea of a person being the embodiment of the concept of haven. He kissed my metal arm, a gesture he didn’t do often but it reminded me he was the only person who knew how sentient it was, how much of a part of me and not just a weapon.

“I’ll get you some painkillers, okay?” he leaned to drop a kiss in my forehead before tugging a strand of hair behind my ear. “A heating pad and some hot chocolate.”

I frowned at the last addition, however a small smirk escaping me. “What’s the chocolate for?”

Steve only smiled as he got up. “To spoil you.”

Somehow he still got away with his own, for I gave into allowing him to pamper me without a single protest. And I figured, I wouldn’t care being looked after like that. When he got back with the promised, I laid in Steve’s arms while he pressed play on our old TV that we could barely use despite being a dinosaur for the likes of everyone else in this century.

And sure, I also figured there was nothing else I would rather be doing.

[glatisants]

Albion: The Legend of Arthur (Part V and VI of XIII)

Part V: The Wolves of Faramir

For the record the Saxons are literally so funny in this. For some reason they yell all the time in loud booming voices, and they’re very fond of chanting in unison.

***

We start where we left off, with our boy Medraut of Dumnonia! He goes to see Faramir, who is boasting with his men about his successes over the years.

When Faramir calls him a foreigner, Medraut points out that the Saxons were the invaders, and thus the true foreigners. Faramir tells everyone about how back when he was a young warrior, the Saxons were invited to the island, to provide aid for Vortigern in his fight against the Picts; Vortigern promised to reward them with land, peace and prosperity, but he reneged on his promises.

Medraut argues that Ambrosius is a mutual enemy, but Faramir says all foreigners are enemies to them. Medraut says his father was the rightful ruler before Ambrosius took his title, and that he wants to see justice done. Faramir responds that Medraut is well known to be a traitor and a coward who has consistently broke his oaths and betrayed his allies. He says that while the Britons may think of him as a monster, he is a good king, a ring-giver, and then he tells the story of how he earned his name with his first victory as a boy: when the smoke of battle cleared, he stood there black with blood and ash from head to toe.

Medraut tells him about how Ambrosius and Arthur have united the people of Britain, but Faramir believes that the alliance will not last for long, and mentions how Wulfdag is drawing their attention away as they speak.

Arthur, Owain, Griff and Rhodri are riding along to the Saxon fort, keeping concealed off the road, and stop to camp for the night. Before bed, they discuss some rumors of Wulfdag being a giant and legends of the Saxons being “turnskins”—men who can turn into wolves.

Rhodri takes first watch. When everyone’s asleep, he creeps over to kill Arthur in his sleep, but Griff awakes and sees him with his knife out. Rhodri tries to attack him, but Griff fights back and kills him. Arthur and Owain awake and think he killed Rhodri in cold blood; Arthur is about to kill Griff, when Owain connects the dots back to Cynon and proves Griff isn’t at fault. Arthur is furious that his cousin betrayed him, but Owain calms him down. Owain then tells Griff he must keep everything that happened that night a secret, for it could be dangerous knowledge in the wrong hands. They leave Rhodri’s corpse out to be eaten by wild animals.

The gang reaches a point where they can no longer travel under cover and must go on the main road. They arrive at the fort, but find it deserted and in poor shape. Upon entering, they find that everyone stationed there has been slaughtered. They leave their horses behind and continue on foot, and find the Saxons camped on the beach; Arthur agrees with Owain’s assessment of their odd behavior, and agrees that it must be a trap. They plan to wait until dark, then strike Wulfdag directly. Meanwhile, Wulfdag grows impatient, but his witch warns him that his enemies may already be in his midst.

As the gang is starting their strike, they find themselves in a deep mist, and hear wolves howling in the distance. They see something that appears to be neither wolf, nor man, and as the pack descends the trio flees back to the fort. Arthur kills one before they close the gate, and they see that it’s a man wearing a wolf pelt, but Arthur’s uncertain he was a man when he killed him. The pack surrounds the fort, and Wulfdag demands to see Arthur and challenges him to single combat. Arthur accepts, but he has a plan; Owain dons Arthur’s armor and pretends to be him, while Arthur takes the wolf pelt and poses as one of Wulfdag’s men so he can get close enough to strike.

Griff and Owain topple the gatehouse and bury all of Wulfdag’s men, and Owain-as-Arthur goes out to fight the Saxon. Wulfdag tells him all about Faramir’s plan: he’s gathering Saxons, Angles and Jutes to his side, and coming for Albion. Arthur runs Wulfdag through with his sword as he’s talking.

Searching the camp, they find the witch. She offers to give them knowledge of their futures, and Owain is interested in talking to her more, but Arthur kills her, convinced that she was just manipulating them. The three get ready to leave, making haste to return to tell Ambrosius about Faramir.

Medraut’s been roughed up a bit by Faramir’s men, but he’s nonetheless good-humored and charismatic. He is hated and hunted, but still determined to rule; luckily for him, he caught Faramir at an opportune time, and Faramir decides that even if he is just Vortigern 2.0, they could still be useful to each other.

***

Part VI: The Storm Gathers

We start with Myrddin praying that Arthur is, indeed, the symbol of hope that he’s looking for.

The trio comes home, and they deliver Wulfdag’s head to Ambrosius, who is pleased. But they tell him about the butchery at the fort, and about Faramir’s plans, and Ambrosius is troubled, so they prepare to go meet Gwenhwyvar in her city in order to be closer to the impending conflict. Owain goes to tell the men the news, while Arthur goes and tells Cynon that Rhodri was eaten by squirrels, and hints that he knows what the two of them were planning.

Meanwhile, Medraut is not terribly impressed by Faramir’s united forces, but the latter claims they will unite them together.

There’s a nice reunion between Griff and Cled. They fill each other in about the impending Saxon conflict, and about news from the North. There have been rumors from Gododdin about pestilence sweeping the land. People think it’s the work of an enchantress; there’s a sickness in the water, the moon has risen red over the mountains, and animals have gone mad. And Cled’s been talking to Myrddin, who really wants to speak to Arthur.

Cled goes to see Myrddin, and brings him to meet Griff, who gets Owain. Myrddin tries to make his case to meet Arthur, but Owain doesn’t believe his prophecies, asks him to go away, and requests that Cled and Griff keep a lookout for him.

Cynon needs a new attack dog, so he goes to the prison to speak to Rhun, a disgraced former commander who has committed crimes such as theft and murder. With some effort, he enlists Rhun to be his bodyguard, among other things. Arthur is not terribly impressed by Rhun’s release.

Ambrosius and his people head out to Gwenhwyvar’s realm, the City of the Legion (Myrddin is stealthily following the troops, careful to not be spotted by Owain). She welcomes the incoming throng, and wants to verify Ambrosius’ intelligence before she puts her men’s lives on the line. Once she has ascertained the truth of their intentions, she graciously escorts them to her city.

Faramir presents Medraut to his allies, and forces him to kill a Briton prisoner to prove that he will not hesitate to kill his countrymen. Medraut is not happy about the whole thing, but puts aside his emotions for the sake of his ambitions. The chieftains are satisfied, though, and they send summons to their men, meaning Medraut has an army at last.

Meanwhile, everyone’s having a good time at Gwenhwyvar’s. Her men are great fighters, but she is nonetheless reluctant to put their lives on the line. Ambrosius and Arthur try to reassure her, but she has concerns—she inquires after Lewdwn in the North and his conflicts with the Picts. She’s interested in the stories about this enchantress, but thinks she could just be an invented personifcation of the pestilence the people are suffering. Owain asks for more details, and Gwen explains that people say the enchantress has awoken the Black Army (an army of phantoms, allegedly cursed men of Northern legends) with a spell of necromancy, and this has emboldened the Picts.

A scout from Cantware arrives with intel about the Saxons’ whereabouts. Ambrosius wants to head south and make a stand to drive them out of Britain. Gwen isn’t happy about the constant warfare; she’s lost her father and other family to battles over the past few years, and while some would say that she gained a kingdom as a result, she would say that she’s kept Ambrosius in power by sacrificing her own blood. She eventually concedes that her men and herself are exhausted of their strength, but Ambrosius shall have whatever strength remains. Her one condition is that she rides out with them.

[wojtekbc]

D&D Session Summaries for 8&9

So there were some things that needed to be sorted out, which is why these two have been bundled together. Details of what actually happened will be listed later in the post.

When last we left our heroes... Returning to the city of Octin after defending Ravenhome from a detachment of Warbreed, the heroes arrived in time to celebrate their victory with a festival. Fun was had, drinks were imbibed, Shura won the axe of the antediluvian war spirit Gonzo in an arm wrestling contest... you know how festivals go! All went well until our heroes encountered a procession heading through the heart of the city; the daughter of the Duke Fabron and an eastern noblewoman are to be wed in a couple days! Oh? It’s Naoise’s @bluethegirl​ wife??? Well, we were planning on crashing a wedding in the east, and it seems to have appeared in front of us... All the more reason to disrupt political marriages if it’s linked to the party! Saturday morning starts like all others do for our brave heroes, with a hearty breakfast at a table in the closest thing we have to a home right now, the Affable Undulate, and a long discussion of what we are getting up to today. We have a wedding to crash, a meeting with our benefactor to attend, drugs to sell(???), typical day for the lads, really. Now, we know that we need to figure out where Allavara is actually being kept, and we’re waiting for night to rescue her, so discussion quickly turns to what to do about Guinevere Greysteel, our powerful councilwoman contractor. We have done jobs for her, sure, but we did kill Galen/The Wizard formerly known as Ketracel (at this point Cerna @pantographicclone​, who had been off on Cerna Business, manifests behind the party and tells us that we could just kill them all) so maybe we don’t lead with that? Maybe we sell her the drugs? Ellie @xynnos​ wants to bury it in the forest to keep it away from everyone, but we all pinky promise not to drink the orc juice and let him have some when he wants to Get Feral. So we finish up with food and show up at the Greysteel manse in the wealthy district of Octin so to meet with Guinevere early in the morning. We’re all introduced and then she begins to ask us about our contracts, namely what happened in Ravenhome. Shura tells her that yes, another force of Warbreed were demanding tribute from the town in livery of green and purple, that of the Duke Fabron, and that we forced them to move on by beating their leadership in combat. Jawbones @darkseldarine​ mentions that they were summoning demons, to which Greysteel says “I might need to make up with my cousin if magic is involved.” Shura, being a dumbass without an off switch, ounce of charisma and no impulse control in situations Like This, asks “Who is your cousin?” every one of the party and players knowing damn well it’s the fucking corpse we buried in a shallow grave in Ravenhome after Rowan @krunk-mcdunk​ brained the poor fucker less than a week ago. Ellie quickly realises there’s no easy way to shut Shura up without cutting him off, so we’re stuck with this lie. You know the drill, “What’s your relationship with this dude?” “Oooooh he’s missing??? That sucks, man” “No we haven’t seen him!” Strangely enough, it’s not Shura who almost fucks us up at this part, but our lovable ranger Jawbones(Jawbones!) saying “Hey! Didn’t Rowan...see a wizard? And clobbered him??”  Yet THAT doesn’t do us in either! What does is us talking about the orc juice and Shura lying through his fucking teeth and saying no. Greysteel:“Hand it over.” Shura: “And why should we.” Greysteel: “Well, name your price.” Shura: “We have a few vials left, alright, and we will hand it over on one condition. Our friend here, miss Naoise, is gonna need protection very soon, and she won’t be the only one. She needs to lay low, and we know the Greysteels can help us with that. If you want this potion, you will help us.” Greysteel: “Two vials for your protection, and you take another job, and you set up a meeting between me and the Kingless.” Shura: “Yeah that’s reasonable, but what’s the job? I’m not signing everyone up for it.” Greysteel: “I have intel on cults within the city.” Shura: “Sounds like my line of work.” Greysteel: “You’ll meet with my informant at 2, at this address. It’s possible this potion came from my cousin.” Greysteel tells us that the Baron and his entourage are staying at the Duke’s old castle, just outside the city. We get our pay for the contracts and move on. Some of the party go and say hey to the musketeers in their coffeehouse to tell them they have a meeting with the councilwoman, nothing really comes of that. Ellie and Cerna go to the library to see if Ellie can learn about the castle and any secret entries. So the rest of the day is basically relying on a Rowan/Jawbones stealth mission to figure out the defenses and state of the castle for the night operation we’re planning on pulling. Rowan and Jawbones manage to spot the tower Allavara is staying in while completely blanking on what the guards are up to. Jawbones also spots a room in strangely pristine condition not too far from the tower. The group meet up and discuss this and Ellie sends a message by way of bird to tell Allavara to prepare for a rescue mission, and OH YEAH YOUR WIFE ISN’T ACTUALLY DEAD :DDDD The team show up and avoid guards under cover of night to the base of the tower with Allavara. We discuss how we’re gonna get up there and down safely with Naoise’s wife and child, and eventually Cerna tells us he can spider climb up the tower with a rope! So we do that! And climb up! And get them out! Now this is where we have some things to talk about; we have a timeline that was kind of retconned because the decision the party reached was too impulsive for some of us. I’ll recount the story as we have decided it happened, not as it actually did, because this is revisionist history and you literally can’t fucking stop me. Allavara tells us she has heard strange noises from Fabron’s room down the hall, and has seen all manner of grim things surrounding the Duke. She notices the Wren necklace on Shura and tells us she fears he is a demon worshipper, or perhaps that he may even be communing with something grim right now. Some of the party decide to go with Allavara back to Octin, for her safety; Shura, Rowan, Jawbones and Cerna prepare to kill a cultist. We arrive, and he’s tranced out with occult knowledge and symbols lining the room in peculiar patterns. Out of his armour, with no guards left to protect him, Shura takes the Axe of Gonzo and decapitates Baron Fabron in one fell swoop. We turn the room, take the body and all valuables, and disappear into the night. Fuck that guy. End session. (I will mention for posterity that the way the Axe of Gonzo worked was that Shura could burn mental stats for a bigger crit range and extra weapon die on one crit. Auto crit on a sleeping target, and I rolled a crit anyway, coming to 8d12+2d6+9 because of Zealotry and Half Orc feats etc. This was supposed to be something of a combat encounter but for the second time in this game a named villain was killed in a single hit in their sleep.) We pick back up outside Octin where the group is prepared to split up just in case we have been followed; Naoise and Allavara go back to the Affable Undulate with baby Atticus, Rowan and Shura are headed for the Bloody Cup after a visit to church, Ellie and Cerna head to another bar and Jawbones goes off on her own for her own business.  Naoise spends a night with her wife and kid at the bar, just catching up. Shura and Rowan show up at church and he goes in to check with Belruel, making sure that what they had just done was the right call. He feels a hand on his shoulder and that definitely lightens his mood because yeah, in that situation he knows he would have done it even if it wasn’t the right call. Belruel does not tell him if Fabron is linked to the cult Shura has dealt with in the past, so that’s rough, but no matter! Fabron had a dark longsword in his room, and this lad  loves trophies, so in proper fashion, why not try and see what’s up with it in a church? In his little prayer circle, he tries to attune to the sword but it hurts him to do so, and then something strange happens. The metal creaks and takes on a lighter hue after burning red hot and literally screaming. Shura, and Ya Boi, being dumbasses, do not equate this to any real change, so he does not try and attune again in case it literally kills him. Rowan says her prayers to Winthrop the merry and laughs as Shura’s cursing at a sword across the room. The two of them go to the bar they chose, and a drunken exhausted Shura collapses in bed before he can attune to the sword. Jawbones (Jawbones!) makes herself less conspicuous and heads to a bar. She just listens in on the crowd, eats some stew, but there’s nothing too interesting; news hasn’t spread yet. One of her old friends lived here, so she talks to this lad Welrick, just checking in on an old friend. She asks for Arc, but there’s been no sign of him. In Arc’s room, the window is open and the room is empty, there is nothing interesting beyond a black rose coin. She pockets the coin but falls asleep as she’s waiting for someone to return. It’s from her pocket by the time she wakes up. Now Ellie and Cerna immediately head to a bar; Ellie tries to meditate and eventually he can sleep for a bit but the scars on his chest begin to open. Panicked, Ellie runs for the gates and out into the woods. Mr. Shiny has left him, his powers are fading and he is winded. Ellie lies down in a riverbed, as if embracing death, certain that Fyena, the pagan spring goddess who is all but confirmed to be living inside him has left, or is perhaps wounded? Cerna seems to have a nice night by himself, commenting on his weird fucking roommate. We all meet back up in the morning at the Affable Undulate; Jawbones and Ellie show up first and Ellie’s a bit fucking rocked by the events of last night. The rest show up not too long after, and Shura decides to attune to the sword; there is no psychic damage, so that’s neat! Fabron’s blade, once known as Barbspawn, has been reforged in the light of the church as a gift from Belruel to this boy; the sword is now Brightspawn. Cerna takes The Axe of Gonzo, and the team agrees to go and tell Greysteel she needs to help Naoise/Marcella and her family right now!  We show up and Greysteel is understandably shocked to see Allavara here and requesting hiding, but she agrees to uphold the deal; we’ll be taking Marcella out for drinks later this evening, but she can stay here now. We also have something to tell Greysteel, and we have no idea how to break the news to her; Shura fumbles for words, until Rowan’s flair for the dramatics takes over, she billows her cloak, takes a bow and the decapitated body of Fabron rolls out onto her floor. She is none too pleased with this, although she’s kind of glad we didn’t tell anyone but her. The news can’t leave the room, though, and we’re not getting a pat on the back for it, which sucks. Oh well! But we leave the mansion and the wedding procession is... still happening?? We see carriages, and we see Fabron alongside his daughter? We see Allavara in a wedding dress? We know they’re illusions or body doubles, but still, why are they keeping up appearances? Wild.  The contact is met, and enter @bluethegirl‘s new character! We show up at an apartment; the door is half open and the walls are lined with notes and scraps of paper. Lazing on a couch is a tiefling flipping through a book, with the cultist symbol of Arioch on a necklace. The investigator stands up, introduces himself as Ashe, and quickly notices Shura’s Wren necklace, tearing his own cultist one off with a strong “It’s not what it looks like!”  End session.

[storyunrelated]

Reality Matrix

The Reality Matrix was a device of dubious provenance with which you could - should you so desire - alter the very weft and weave of existence itself. You know. One of those sorts of things.

This made it somewhat desirable to those of a frame of mind which led them to believe they knew better how things should be arranged. Villains, in the main.

By an odd twist of cosmic fortune a knot of such villains all happened to approach the Reality Matrix more-or-less at the same time. Exhausted from having just beaten off their own rival heroes or bands of heroes, further fighting was beyond any of them. So discussion broke out.

“Hang on hang on, let’s just try and get it straight here,” said Captain Evil, a straightforward chap, holding his hands for calm. “What do we want here? Maybe we can figure something out.”

“I wish to end the suffering inherent in life itself, by ending all life. My act of ultimate mercy, my love of-” said a wafty gentleman with an improbable haircut, before Captain Evil cut them off.

“Wait, what? Fucking seriously? What are you, a fifteen year-old boy? What the fuck kind of shithouse logic is that? You have a bad time or something? A rough patch? Figure that if you were miserable everyone else must be too? And then from there you decide that it’s a good idea to just end everything? For everyone? Everywhere? Fucking what? Your decision that life is too hard is a questionable one from a personal standpoint but to then apply that to everyone is just fucking stupid. No, no more from you. Adults are talking now. How about you, sparky?”

This Captain Evil directed to the betentacled, squid-like robot hovering nearby.

“We seek to utilise the device to euthanize all sapient organic life in the galaxy, thus sparing it from being destroyed by its synthetic creations.”

This took Captain Evil a second or so to work out in his head.

“You’re...killing everyone to keep them from being killed by robots?”

“We are only mostly killing them so that they are not completely killed,” the robot said. This distinction was, in its mind, important. To anyone else it was not. Captain Evil just made a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp.

“I’m sorry, what? They’re still dead though, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but organic life will continue,” the robot pointed out, smugly.

“...what? I must be missing a few steps here. How are you valuing life? Indeed, if this is your solution why bother keep it going at all? Have you done this before?”

“The cycle is eternal.”

“Well clearly it’s not because you came from somewhere but that’s as maybe - your whole motivation is jacked. I can’t even - I can’t even wrap my head around it. So robots will always turn on non-robots? Is that your argument? And wipe them out completely unless you do this controlled extermination?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve seen this happen, I take it?”

“Our predictive simulations show it to be an inevitability.”

Captain Evil took a moment to digest this. He then exploded:

“YOU’RE GUESSING?!”

“The simulations run by our posioptic hyper-brains are-”

“The best simulation in the fucking world is still a simulation! You’ve run this genocide game how many times based on fucking GUESSWORK?! And in so doing - and I can’t believe I have to point this out to you, oh bearer of a posioptic hyper-brain - you’ve become a self-fulfilling prophecy. You are robots killing organics! And I don’t care if you fucking smallprint your way around it by saying ‘Oh but we leave enough alive to evolve again’ that’s a shitty excuse. The fuck is wrong with you? I have a lawnmower at home that realises when it’s wasting its time on something pointless HOW DID YOU MISS THAT UPDATE?!”

Getting increasingly red in the face Captain Evil rounded on the next Villain along, a lumbering cerulean fellow known in the evil community as Big Death.

“Big Death, what was your deal again? What did you want to do?”

“By killing exactly half of all living being in the universe I will bring balance to nature, ensuring that life does not extinguish itself through over consumption,” said Big Death, with the pride of one who plainly thought he had a cast-iron position. Captain Evil just goggled at him.

“Balance? Fucking balance? What the fuck even is that? There is no balance in nature! Equilibrium, sure, I’ll grant you that, but you don’t get there by halving populations! Equilibrium is arrived at by constant struggling settling at a point where no-one can really out-compete anyone else! You can’t FORCE that! If you do you fuck the whole system up! It doesn’t work like that! What the fuck even is balance? Life isn’t a fucking set of scales! Are you insane? And for what? Resources? This thing can rewrite reality! Write more resources! Or literally ANYTHING ELSE! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“My plan was for half of everything to die…” Big Death mumbled.

“So?” Captain Evil asked and Big Death shifted uncomfortably.

“Well if I don’t follow through on my plan it kind of looks like I’m admitting my plan was wrong,” he said, lamely, as anyone admitting something they’d rather not might.

“It is wrong! It’s so wrong! How did you not work that out?!”

Big Death did not answer, and just looked a little sheepish. But Captain Evil wasn’t finished.

“What fucking timescale was this plan on? You’re talking about galactic extinction due to lack of resources. Wait, not even that, you were talking universal, weren’t you? That’s so far in the future my brain can’t even hold a number that big! And you think halving the population NOW will avoid this?! DO YOU GET HOW POPULATIONS WORK?! Fuck, do you understand BIOLOGY?! When an organism and another organism love each other very much - you following this?!”

“You don’t need to shout…”

“I kind of feel I do! Fucking hell! You’re all unmoored!”

Captain Evil, now bordering on open despair, turned to Baron Von Murderpants, who had yet to speak.

“How about you? What’s your ridiculous scheme?” Captain Evil asked. Baron Von Murderpants shrugged.

“Me? I just want to kill a lot of people. Because I find it gives me a feeling of sexual release. I literally cannot climax unless there is a pile of corpses somewhere in my sightline.”

Throwing his hands up above his head Captain Evil then gestured to Baron Von Murderpants while glaring at all others there gathered.

“Jesus, finally. I mean it’s a bad reason but at least it makes SENSE! At least the logic TRACKS!”

[alivesomehow]

2018

what. a. year.

two major things happened:

1) i changed jobs.

2) i started online dating seriously.

and i am by far much more happy, way more social, and, frankly, cured of the depression i had been dwelling in for the prior 2 years since graduating college.

1.

leaving the modern day corporate equivalent of slavery has honestly been the best decision i have ever made for myself, by myself. thank you, dear self, for finally doing what you had spent 2 years telling yourself you would do one day. thank you, me, for choosing a role that wasn’t glorified accounting. a role that looked to be a bit of a challenge. and, thank god that that role exists within a team of amazingly kind, warm, welcoming, and helpful individuals who actually have a life outside of work. who don’t care about what time you come in or when you leave or what other commitments you have as long as you do the work. who understand that we don’t live to work, but we work to live. and that we might as well learn something while we’re working and make something out if it. to whom family and health are #1.

i went to my ex-company’s holiday party as my bff’s plus one 3 months after quitting. i was barely recognized by an old manager. another told me that leaving was probably the best thing i could have done for myself. and every single person told me i looked so happy. thanks, friends, because i am happy.

i have so much emotional energy after work and during work nowadays. some people say that your job is just a day job, that it’s all about what hobbies you have and how you spend your time outside of work so long as you’re able to bring in the money to put food on the table. no. no. you spend all your time at your job. commuting to and from your job. thinking about some deadline or problem related to your job. if you don’t at least somewhat enjoy what you’re doing, you’re not living. you’re just slowly dying, your life force draining out little by little until you’re just a corpse trudging through life by mere muscle memory. but when you actually enjoy what you’re doing, suddenly the traditional concept of “work” doesn’t exist anymore. yes, you still have to show up at x time in the morning. and drive back and forth. but after work, i don’t need to lose myself in mindless activities to numb myself from the pain. i haven’t watched a kdrama by myself in probably 3 months. i rarely watch youtube anymore.

all i want to do now is try new experiences and grow myself. talk to as many people as i can. feel like i’m learning something. color my life as brightly and elaborately as i can in the limited time i have. 

time is so precious.

2. 

two winters ago i dabbled a little in online dating. i was so bored. i wanted to escape from studying, from work, from my actual real life.

but how could i have ever have hoped to gain anything from it if i was using it as a means of escape and not as a tool to expand my existing life?

this time, i dived head first (okay, there was a bit of prodding from friends) into online dating with the systematic mindset of someone who had just successfully emerged from the job search process. let’s connect with anyone i find remotely interesting, regardless of whether i would actually date them or not. let’s go on a few dates with men who i don’t find attractive as “trial runs,” just in case this is like an interview and i need some practice to edge out my nerves and gain some experience.

the job search process is exhausting and at times bleak and unfruitful. no surprise, online dating is very much the same. the initial rush of seeing new guys, new possibilities, every day, of starting new conversations, of new beginnings, of the whole damn game, was quickly replaced by emotional drainage.

thank god for that newfound surge of emotional energy, huh.

i valued, and still treasure, each date i went on. these conversations lasted for anywhere between 3-9 hours. i practiced and grew all my social skills. i learned about people who grew up in different environments, who view the world in different ways. who spend their days completely differently than how i do. it’s amazing how easily knowledge and ideas transfer from one human to another. now i understand the power and strength of the spoken word and it’s persisting important through centuries of human history across multiple cultures. one day, i was listening to a third year medical school student recounting his opinion of the current trajectory of practical specialties. the very next day, i regurgitated all he had told me to a friend whom was also a third year medical student as part of a discussion about the role of artificial intelligence in our lives and it’s possible future impact. another date, now friend, imparted wisdom on preventing hangovers that i have shared and will continue to recommend for as long as people in my life continue drinking (it’s to take charcoal pills, in case future me forgets). 

but it’s not all fun and games. i experienced crippling loneliness after one date that i have not experienced in possibly all my life. maybe i’m lucky to be surrounded by friends and family at all times, or to have enjoyed each moment spent alone, but the constant jump between person to person, interaction between interaction, made me realize that you can have a 3 hour conversation with someone and still feel incredibly lonely. maybe it was the sense in that particular situation that i had really enjoyed our conversation but knew, and felt that it had been accepted mutually, with a certain finality that i would never see or speak to that person again. the feeling that you can meet as many people as you want but it won’t help fulfill a void in you.

i became both addicted to the all consuming rush of constant online dating and exhausted by the neverending interaction with multiple people. at some point (possibly when i had gotten to the point that i had created a legitimate spreadsheet of my dates and was categorizing them by attributes) i realized that i was dangerously slipping into the mindset of someone who would be never satisfied, but would always find something to pick on for every match with the false sense of security that, just one swipe or match away, i could always find someone better so why settle.

then a man rose from the underdogs (literally, as i had literally interest in him from the first date) who would ultimately make me experience many firsts. and i still am, even today as i figuratively “rang” the new year in with him.

but, online dating made me realize that meeting new people isn’t scary. it’s actually easy. don’t they always say that we humans are social creatures? we’re made for connecting. it’s how we thrive and build, how we evolve and continue to exist. and it’s okay if those connections don’t last. memories make us who we are, and we can always make new ones. the best part of memories is making them.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 6

Ituralde has a battlefield chat, Leane attempts Extreme Stone-Swimming, and Egwene would like the Tower to rediscover some structural integrity, both literal and metaphorical.

Chapter 6: When Iron Melts

(Happy second birthday to this liveblog...I’m not sure whether to be proud or vaguely horrified).

I like this chapter icon.

Oh hey Ituralde’s also been promoted from the prologues.

He’s on a battlefield, and he’s alive so I’d say the odds are good he won.

Indeed he has. So now his prize is that he gets to stroll through this lovely field of corpses.

What would be written of this battle? It would depend on who was writing.

This is good on its own, but it’s made better by the fact that it’s in the beginning of the first book by a different author. Which makes it weirdly meta-appropriate.

Soon a blanket of darkness would cradle the bodies, and the survivors could pretend for a time that the grassland was a grave for their friends. And for the people their friends had killed.

I like these sorts of aftermath scenes, when the chaos and adrenaline of battle has turned to a soft and weary reflection, and enemies and allies alike look the same in death.

The Seanchan general is not quite dead yet, so Ituralde goes to have a chat with him, and this feels almost like a scene out of one of Mat’s borrowed memories.

It felt odd to be out of uniform. A man like this General Turan did not deserve a soldier in drab.  […] “You’re him, then,” Turan said, looking up at Ituralde. […] “I am,” Ituralde said.

“They call you a ‘Great Captain’ in Tarabon.”

“They do.” 

“It’s deserved,” Turan said, coughing.

I love this as well, the mutual respect between two men who, only minutes or hours ago, were enemies. Two men who played a game against each other in which the pieces were other lives – including, now, one of theirs – and yet there is no resentment. Just acknowledgment of a game well played, and respect given to both the victorious and the fallen.

It definitely continues the ongoing trend of humanising the Seanchan, as well as adding to the sense that this is, to some extent, nonsensical. The Seanchan are invaders, and there’s the little matter of slavery, but then there are scenes like this, or like Perrin with Tylee, or Mat with Karede, in which there is respect and sometimes even friendship across what could turn in an instant to battle lines. But they all accept the inevitability of ongoing war as a given. Tylee says she hopes not to face Perrin on the battlefield…but nor can she make any agreements regarding the lands he claims to protect. Mat tells Tuon that she is not his enemy, but her empire is, and next time he sees Seanchan it will likely be in battle. Ituralde and Turan respect each other – though they’ve never met – but have this conversation surrounded by the dead. Ceasefire and accord should not be impossible – both sides are human, after all, and there is a far greater battle coming – but that’s sadly not how it works.

Turan wants to know how Ituralde managed this victory, and Ituralde just…tells him. They’re so calmly having this conversation, when one of them is about to die and so many already have, and even so there is far more admiration than anger. This is who they are, and this is what they do. It’s nothing personal; not really. And in other circumstances they could well have been friends.

Clever strategy, though. A decoy army – Patroclus would be proud.

Turan shook his head in disbelief. “You realise what you have done,” he said. There was no threat in his voice. In fact, there was a fair amount of admiration. “High Lady Suroth will never accept this failure. She will have to break you now, if only to save face.”

And it isn’t a threat. It’s not resentment. It isn’t even a warning. It’s just a fact, one general to another.

Though of course High Lady Suroth doesn’t exist anymore. But Turan doesn’t know that.

So now they’re just calmly discussing Ituralde’s plans and how to defeat the Seanchan and there’s nothing personal in it; they’re just talking trade. On a bloody battlefield. With one of them stabbed.

“You know you can’t beat us,” Turan said softly. “I see it in your eyes, Great Captain.”

Ituralde nodded.

“Why, then?” Turan asked.

“Why does a crow fly?” Ituralde asked.

Well that’s…admirable but also very sad. He fights because he has to; because they are an enemy and this is what he does and he can’t not. But it also adds to the feeling of inevitability, the feeling that Tarmon Gai’don may be little more than a punctuation mark in this ongoing conflict. And it’s sad because of the resignation here, the notion that fighting even when there seems to be no way to win, without ever truly considering that there could be any other option.

Turan himself must have known from the moment those gates opened that he was doomed. But he had not surrendered; he had fought until his army broke, scattering in too many directions for Ituralde’s exhausted troops to catch. Turan understood. Sometimes, surrender wasn’t worth the cost.

Fighting to the last, even when there seems to be no hope of victory – the whole idea of you surrender when you’re dead – has its place. But here, it’s shadowed by the question of if it truly has to be that way. If they should not instead be on the same side, because here they are talking calmly and not hating one another, and Tarmon Gai’don is coming, and they are both on the side of the Light. Which should be enough, and isn’t enough.

Anyway, I really like this whole conversation.

And Ituralde.

Abandoning one’s homeland to invaders…well, Ituralde couldn’t do that. Not even if the fight was impossible to win.

Except he very well may have to. For now, at least; who’s to say what may come after.

Again, it’s an admirable sentiment, and an admirable mindset to be able to take, but the question is whether or not it belongs here, in this particular fight. To which there may not be a simple answer.

It’ll be a good attitude to have when humanity is fighting for the entire world, though, so there’s that.

He did what needed to be done, when it needed to be done. And right now, Arad Doman needed to fight. They would lose, but their children would always know that their fathers had resisted. That resistance would be important in a hundred years, when a rebellion came. If one came.

I really like that. He’s not fighting a losing battle out of nothing but stubbornness or habit; he’s fighting a losing battle because he recognises that it may pave the way for someone else, for a future, for a chance to win even if he doesn’t live to see it. He’s fighting so that that chance can exist.

Turan struggled, reaching for his sword. Ituralde hesitated, turning back.

“Will you do it?” Turan asked.

Ituralde nodded, unsheathing his own sword.

“It has been an honour,” Turan said, then closed his eyes. Ituralde’s sword – heron-marked – took the man’s head a moment later. Turan’s own blade bore a heron, barely visible on the gleaming length of blade the Seanchan had managed to pull. It was a pity that the two of them hadn’t been able to cross swords – though, in a way, these past weeks had been just that, on a different scale.

Ituralde cleaned his sword, then slid it back into its sheath. In a final gesture, he slid Turan’s sword out an rammed it into the ground beside the fallen general.

A last honour, between two enemies who are enemies by duty rather than hatred, and who know each other all too well, despite never having met until now.

This is such a lovely scene, just the right flavour of bittersweet.

I’m vaguely surprised Ituralde is a blademaster, though. But I like the thought that he and Turan have been crossing swords, so to speak, this entire time.

[Ituralde made his way back across the shadowed field of corpses. The ravens had begun.

What a great line to end on, with its double meaning.

Is this a Leane POV? Cool. I like Leane.

Leane would like some better laundry options, or maybe a wardrobe, but otherwise she’s more or less okay witih her cell. Except, of course, for the fact that it’s a cell.

Her voice does come through here as being very practical and down-to-earth, which suits her.

The Amyrlin sat on her stool, expression thoughtful. And she was Amyrlin. It was impossible to think of her any other way. How could a child so young have learned so quickly? That straight back, that poised expression. Being in control wasn’t so much about the power you had, but the power you implied you had.

Perception and illusion. And also a dash of Egwene Is Just That Awesome, of course.

Leane acknowledges that last factor as well, because Egwene looks exhausted and Leane knows she’s being beaten multiple times daily, but she still visits without fail, and looks like the Amyrlin she is, and promises Leane she will free her.

Um?

Frowning, Leane looked at the bars, and was shocked to see Egwene’s handprints on the iron.

“What in the Light—” Leane said, poking at one of the bars. It bent beneath her finger like warm wax on the lip of a candle’s bowl.

Yikes?

When iron melts. And I doubt it’s because the Pattern wants Leane to be free. And now the stones are melting. So much for the Tower being strong…

Egwene grabs Leane and shouts at the Yellow guards to get off their arses and do something because seriously, does she have to do everything around here?

Leane is saved. And out of her cell. So that’s an improvement, though her dress might disagree, unless partial lithification is the next big thing in fashion.

“These sorts of events are more frequent,” Egwene said calmly, glancing at the two Yellows. “The Dark One is getting stronger. The Last Battle approaches. What is your Amyrlin doing about it?”

Damn. Calm, collected, and no doubt at least a little bit terrifying. And right.

Egwene 1 – 0 Other Aes Sedai.

Actually Egwene’s probably at several hundred by now but I lost track halfway through Honey in the Tea so let’s just say she’s wiping the floor with them. (Though actually it seems the floor is perfectly willing to wipe itself now).

And now Egwene. Who is, unsurprisingly, rather frustrated with the Aes Sedai’s collective inability to get their shit together.

If even the ground itself could not be trusted, then what could?

Cuendillar, maybe? Elaida’s ability to fuck everything up? Rand’s inability to tell a joke? Yeah, I’m running out of certainties, too, Egwene.

Oh and it seems the shitfuckery hasn’t finished. Pattern, go home, you’re drunk.

Maenadrin folded her arms, regarding Egwene with a set of dark eyes. Negaine, tall and spindly, stalked up to Egwene. “What business have you here this time of night, child?” she demanded. “Did a sister send for you? You should be back in your room for sleep.”

Wordlessly, Egwene pointed out the window. Negaine glanced out, frowning. She froze, gasping softly. She looked back in at the hallway, then back out, as if unable to believe where she was.

Egwene definitely deals with these incidents well. There’s no response she could have given, really, while maintaining dignity – trying to explain would have sounded like a mess. But this way she retains her composure, and they are the ones thrown into uncertainty and confusion. And she ends up looking calm and unshaken by contrast. Not like a novice at all, and more like an Aes Sedai than any of those who wear their supposed serenity like a brittle mask.

It appeared that two sections of the Tower had been swapped, and the slumbering Brown sisters had been moved from their sections on the upper levels down into the wing. The novices’ rooms – intact – had been placed where the section of Brown sisters had been.

That seems…geometrically improbable, to say the least. But sure, okay, no Aes Sedai were harmed in the making of this horror show.

That would leave the Browns divided, half in the wing, half in their old location – with a clump of novices in the middle of them. A division aptly representative of the less-visible divisions the Ajahs were suffering.

Thanks for explaining; I’m sure I would never have understood the metaphor on my own.

It is fitting, though. (Even if the rooms really shouldn’t fit).

The chapters seem shorter on average in this book thus far than in several of the previous ones, and I can’t say I’m complaining.

Next (TGS ch 7) Previous (TGS ch 5)

[les-bi-katamari]

SESSION 12

We pick up right there in the middle of the road. The carriage-driver has taken off - Brianne tells Ghorza her demon book was in it.

Ghorza turns to the soldiers, unarmed, and says, “I hope you can believe that we are not your enemies.” We start talking about the undead in the forest - the soldiers were entirely unaware of them, saying it sounded impossible since ranger captains regularly patrol the forest. We started asking them more about Theris, and tell them the real story, and ask if any of the rangers have gone missing. They suddenly start to remember many, many, many people who have vanished, that they hadn’t been thinking of, how could they not have realized -

Ghorza suddenly remembers the thing Megs had saw, that had stolen their memories of it. When she brings it up, Megs doesn’t really know much, but says that it’s very “out of sight, out of mind.”

While Ghorza tries to comfort them, Apphia and Brianne go to investigate the Purifier’s sword. Apphia managed to pick it up, with no adverse affects aside from getting a faint sense of the violence inherent in it.

Brianne examines the sword more. The Abyssal text is similar to what we’ve seen before; only the gold in the runes is different. Gold is, of course, a metal associated with purity - and Lyrae’s scales and leaves were also gold. It seems to be significantly associated with more powerful monsters. This transformation was also instantaneous, with no prolonged ritual necessary, and produced a much stronger creature. The ritual may have been prepared ahead of time?

Reminder note: one of Galaias’s epithets is ‘the golden-scaled’

Most of the people the soldiers have been talking about are outriders, rangers. Apphia recognizes a couple from her friendship with one of her dad’s guards? Brianne retrieves the fake warrant from the ground; Ghorza talks soldier talk with the remaining elves and invites them back to Vassarein, where their patron might help protect them.

Apphia asks Ghorza to carry the body of the fallen soldier over to her. Since the fire, everything smells like blood and fire and Ghorza… likes it. When she approaches the corpse, broken and bloody, torn by the Knight’s jaws… GOD it smells good. She’s hungry again. She carefully avoids drooling, sets the body down, and backs the hell off. Apphia lets the soldiers say their goodbyes and give last rites before the pyre.

We start discussing plans for getting to Vassarein. The soldiers have two horses; Cadence is a third. That accounts for six riders: we have the three elves, Ghorza, Apphia, Brianne, Megs, and Nemeth. Nemeth (and then Megs) offer to stay and wait for the next carriage.

“Megs says, ‘We’re basically best friends now!’ Nemeth stares at you like she’s on the Office.”

We also decide to leave the sword with Nemeth, since it doesn’t seem magicky any more. She’ll bring it and we’ll have it melted down.

[I, OOC, insist that Ghorza should ride with one of the elves, since that will leave Apphia and Brianne together on Cadence. Plus she’s like bonded with the soldiers and stuff.]

There’s a LONG discussion between Gwen and Megan about which of Brianne and Apphia should be in front, whether animal handling proficiency would be necessary to ‘steer’ Cadence (Lin: “CADENCE IS NOT ACTUALLY A HORSE!”), and land vehicle proficiency (Lin: “yes, she would count as a land vehicle”) before we finally set out.

We get back to Vassarein and track down the carriage pretty easily - it’s more Fantasy Amtrak, it’s a public service, core infrastructure of the Marches thing - and tip him very heavily as we retrieve our stuff. I give the elves some money for a meal, send ‘em to the Orcish Forge and tell them to tell her moms that Ghorza sent them. It’ll be an hour until the next carriage arrives.

While waiting for the tieflings, we read up on demons:

“Bloody-Handed Galaias was once summoned at the behest of a sadistic elven warlord who desired the subjugation of another elven city that had resisted his assaults up until then. Having long nursed his hatred and arcane power from the depths of the Abyss, she answered his call and led an army of elves and demons to reduce his enemies to ruin. Then the Purifying Light tortured the elf to death, trapped his soul, and forced him to watch her devour his family before devouring him as well. Drunk on the blood and terror of her summoner’s former subjects, she was later banished by an alliance of powerful heroes, and the tyrant’s nascent empire collapsed in her wake.”

…Ghorza’s resolve to not give in to Galaias is strengthened because WHAT THE FUCK.

We wonder if this might be the history of Isvanir and Tarjanir, the ruined elven city where the Oneiric Lens was found? It is NOT, according to Apphia; this is something else. That said, it IS kinda similar. “Two is a coincidence, more is a pattern.” Galaias ‘the Feybane’ seems to be targeting elves again, and places linked to the Fey like Azure Glade.

The fall of Tarjanir: it was besieged by the dwarves, and the desperate elves did… something. The dwarves vanished from their mountain halls shortly after - at least, they haven’t been heard from since, and they are presumed dead. The site of Tarjanir is abandoned now, said to be haunted by the ghosts of elves and dwarves, and people Do Not Go There. Tons of refugees from Tarjanir settled in Vassarein, living mostly in slums.

[Various ooc quotes: “Yeah, I’ve plotted Apphia’s family all the way back to the dragon and the dragon-fucker.” “Dragons are too powerful for gender” “True vers / Neutral bangin” “With Ceremony, I could only marry humanoids within 10 feet of me, so we’d be limited to a 25-person marriage.” “Unless… we create new geometries in defiance of the DnD rules…” “Okay so how many wives could we stack into a 10-foot cube?” “Well, a dome is a more stable structure.” “Okay, so for the stability of the WifeDome…” “You know, in the Astral Plane there’s no gravity, so we could make it a complete sphere, maximize the number of wives in the spell’s volume.”]

OKAY BACK TO THE BOOK “Galaias was a giant in life - a Fomorian. She is a patron to them, but is a minor power, despite her immense strength, because the Fomorians were cursed by the Archfey to lose their beauty, their magic, and their minds. There are few Fomorians remaining who have the mental capacity remaining to understand Galaias, let alone worship her. Thus she reaches out to the lesser races.”

The next carriage arrives after an hour with the Tieflings - Megs is riding on top, sprawled and clinging to a luggage rack. We hear laughter from inside - a older gentlewoman in fine clothes, middle merchant class, is blushing and saying “Oh, you’re TERRIBLE!” Nemeth says, “Oh, you have no idea yet how terrible I can be. I’ll see you again.” She flirts a lot more as the woman leaves. Ghorza gives Nemeth a high-five.

It becomes apparent that no one else remembered that The Orcish Forge is a bakery, so we just stash the sword there for now, and do not melt it down in the bread ovens.

Megs suggests that she could probably sneak in, like, you know, she could. Apphia says her plan is to Alter Self into a specific maid, get to Ivandra, and get her to bring Silenne with her. Megs says “okay, well, I was just saying I could. I don’t have to or anything. I’ll just go try to swipe some food-” “Did you literally just tell me you’re planning to go steal from my parents.” “NO, I’m not going to steal from them! Just like see if they would give-” “You said swipe!” “I just meant, like, they might give me some, cause we’re friends now!” It was beautiful. Lin plays Megs REALLY well.

We head off - the rest of us are going to go into the castle too, but try to hide in the conservatory to ambush not-Silenne. Apphia will get a head start.

[She heads up first - the servants’ entrance is unlocked. She enters, holding a cloth bundle that is actually her cloak. She heads up to Ivandra’s room - it appears to be just the two of them. Ivandra looks exhausted, her chambers disorganized. Apphia’s plan goes off without a hitch and she heads on down to meet us.]

The rest of us just kinda headed on up to the servant’s entrance and didn’t know what to do. We don’t know the way to the conservatory. We decide to just walk in and act like we’re supposed to be there. Ghorza absolutely talks chummily to the chefs and offers to help them out, and there’s no problem. I chat with them a bit. Apphia comes to fetch us and we go to hide in the Solarium, waiting for Ivandra to bring not-Silenne. It’s empty and beautiful. We all take up positions.

Megs tries to hide behind a flower arrangement and Ghorza herds her back to the wall. M: “I totally had it under control, and it was fine, and you just had to cramp my style-” G:“Yeah, I hate fun.” M: “You kinda do?” G: “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay?” A: “Please keep quiet!”

As not-Silenne walks in and the doors shut, Apphia immediately charms her. We start investigating and discover Silenne is alive, locked in a cupboard in her room. We convince her Ivandra is on the cult’s side now to keep her talking, making allusions to killing off Aren.

Spy: “Well, he is busy - facing the Hordes of Ardazhan alone - if I was facing them down alone I’d be worried”

Uhhhh. We press for more, what the fuck?

Spy: “Whole lot of nasty characters went dormant after a failed conquest of this region. And now… they’re waking up. Dwarves, from the north. They’ve fallen to demons. You know. Aron’s gone up with soldiers to try and stem the tide. He’s hoping Isvanir will send help, but I think we both know it won’t be coming! Soon Cyric will have what he wants.”

G: “…and what does our God want, again?”

Spy: “Heh, you should ask this one [Ivandra]. It wasn’t too long ago you were playing for the other team.”

I: “No more! No more talk! We need to stop her, now!”

And it’s a fight, as a teal-green light builds up in Ivandra’s hands and she hurls a spell at the spy. “Silenne” flickers, and the illusion drops, revealing a gaunt woman with messy brown hair and a twisted scar across her cheek and jaw, dressed in studded leather armor. We drop her EXTREMELY fast, nonlethally. Ivandra says, “What are you doing?! Finish her!” but we talk her down. Ivandra rushes off to find the real Silenne, and we loot and tie up the spy.

She had some standard armor and shortsword, as well as thieves’ tools and a poisoner’s kit. We decide to keep the tools as a spare (Ghorza will carry them). Then there’s this exchange.

Ghorza: “Is Megs gonna take the poisoner’s kit?” Megs: “Uh, NO? Why would you think I would want that?” G: “Um, sorry, I just - you pick locks and stuff-” M: “That doesn’t mean I KILL PEOPLE! … I mean, I do, but like, it’s not one of my favorite pastimes or anything! I don’t go looking for new fancy ways of killing people! Arrow does just fine.” G: “Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” M: “Tell you what. Bake me something good, and we’ll call it even.” G: “Deal”. Megs raises her hand. Imp: “Ok, Ghorza goes in for a- wait was Megs going for a fist bump or a handshake? (Handshake.) Okay, Ghorza goes in for a fist bump, but then switches to-” “Megs also switches.” They sorta give up. (beat) Brianne: “So if noone else wants it, I’ll take the poisoner’s kit!”

We tie up the unconscious spy and mull over the new revelations.

End session.