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uplatterme · 1 year

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alright, going to bed. sooo, here’s an aether thirst from yours truly!

—sub!bottom!aether, top!dom!amab!reader, consensual somnophilia, stomach bulge. needy aether w mischievous reader!

aether’s breathing stutters, feeling your chest on his back. it’s warm, and the closeness between you two is making his body heat up which puts the temperature he endures when fighting the pyro regisvine to shame.

he shouldn’t be feeling this hot, considering the fact that he’s not even wearing a shirt. the only thing covering him is his pants and his locks that gracefully flowed down his body.

aether should get away, that’s what the logical part of his brain says. unfortunately, his body seems to disagree.

to be fair, how could he? especially when he feels the way that your cock presses just right on his entrance, teasing him and driving the outlander insane.

god, he wants you. he needs you to make him a mess on the same sheets that you were sleeping on, to have him drool on the pillows as you push his head down on the cushion, muffling his screams, knowing you don’t like loud noises during nighttime.

the blonde carefully slips down his pants. he swears he’s not going to do anything out of line, even if you’ve said that this kind of thing was fine before.

he calms himself. technically, it’s less embarrassing since he didn’t have you spouting out utter nonsense in his ear about how he’s such a good boy, or sometimes, the degrading names you call him while pulling on his braid as if it was a leash.

that doesn’t stop the way his chest thumps heavily or his previously limp cock getting hard when you finally nudge yourself onto his bare skin.

he doesn’t do much. he only grinds himself on your sleeping body, rubbing your cock with his cheeks.

he just wanted to know what it felt like, that’s it. he’s satisfied.

aether cups his mouth as your hand lays on his waist, sitting there neatly.

…

he covers his face with his hands. all logical thoughts going out the window when he stretches out his rim with the tip of your cock.

“j-just the tip…” he whispers. right, no more than this. he’s already edging himself with humping on you earlier, anything more would be ridiculous.

he breathes deeply, trying to remain focused. his walls feel empty, but he’s not going to give in. this is fine, he tells himself.

he bites his bottom lip, stroking his own cock with your tip inside of him. he can finish on his own, he just needs to feel your warmth.

but as he does this, his whole body shrivels up when your arm on him tightens and you push yourself all the way in without warning, hugging him. the hand that he was using to jack off finds its way to his mouth, covering it as he lets out a silent scream.

you have somehow put your entire cock in, leaving him speechless from the action.

“oh god, oh god.” he utters, trying to be as quiet as possible.

he sees the way your cock outlines itself on his tummy and the mere sight of it is enough to make him burst.

he didn’t even prep himself that much. however, your sleepless body also acts like you when you’re awake, being as savage and ruthless when it comes to breaking him apart.

“no, no, no, no—” the outlander chants, he’s so close. he’s so fucking close that he doesn’t care anymore.

his body starts moving slowly. it’s hard to do this on his own when he’s so used to you doing it for him. still, he pushes through.

it’s as if his walls refuse to remove itself from your length, hugging your cock as tight as possible. how the hell do you even pound into him at such a speed?

his entire body is trembling. just a bit more to send him over the edge, please.

and as he thrusts himself at an abnormally slow pace, crying at the lowest volume he possibly can. he feels your fingers grab the sides of his waist and extract yourself before proceeding to push the entirety of your cock to the deepest part of him that he feels his body actually breaking.

“slut.”

your voice sends aether to an orgasm, his cock spilling as much as possible, his pants being ruined and his thighs quivering on yours.

his breathing skips, surprised at your movement and the way you degrade him. he wants to cry even more.

this is so embarrassing, how long had you been awake?

he flinches when your teeth bites on his neck, marking his tired body as he relaxes from his orgasm.

“since you pulled your pants off. you’re not exactly discreet, nor can i ignore the way you whimper like a pathetic whore.” you answer, as if you knew exactly what he was going to ask.

he flushes red at that, looking deeply into your eyes, shame disappearing wholeheartedly from his vocabulary.

“m-more?” aether stammers out.

“of course, sweetheart.” you kindly obliged.

#sub genshin impact #dom reader #dom!reader #sub genshin #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #plattered writings #sub aether #sub!aether #aether x reader

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spinnysocks · 2 months

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TLG Outlanders Jumanji AU that i have suddenly become obsessed with :) buckle up

i'm mainly basing this off of the 2017 movie, with elements of the 2019 one too

wema, tunu, dogo and kijana are playing when they find a hidden cave, they go in and they find lots of weird paintings on the wall and the floor. ever the inquisitive one, dogo steps into a circle in the middle and they all get sucked into... Jumanji?? or maybe in the TLG universe it's called Mchezo

the adults look for them. the leaders (plus kenge and sumu) and the idiots (plus mwoga, nne, tano and neema) go in two groups to search since the kids were missing for a while. the leaders find the hidden cave first as sumu noticed it in his small size. they get sucked in, and eventually the idiots find it after them

they turn into human versions upon entering the world. yeah they're pretty freaked out lmao

the premise is that they go through trials to "prove" themselves, at the risk of their 3 lives, to get to the final task of saving the kiddos. i'm thinking each of them get a task focused on their skills but all of them are at the will of it, aka any of them could lose a life in any trial

i think the Strengths & Weaknesses bit would be funny. kiburi has no weaknesses, he says smth like "I'm too good to be weak 😏" and then 'Pride' pops up hfgdhdh. tamka's weakness would be cake because i think it'd be funny. nduli's is picking up cool rocks. i would say goigoi's would be sleeping but he'd lose all 3 in an instant. the list goes on

reirei is mad because she gets the boring map-reader job lol, despite that she saves everyone's asses so

i imagine sumu is like Milo, he gives them the information in a really deadpan tone lmao. it's like "... Oh no..." "Spit it out, will you?!" "... Mandrills. We should go" and he just continues spilling knowledge while they're running for their lives lmao

you know how in the second movie Bethany/Milo is a horse? yeah nne and tano are straight up just themselves- they're hyenas but realistic, like they didn't change 💀 they're just there doing hyena laughs and absolutely savaging people in the fights

the ostrich scene from the second movie would be funny. maybe the hyenas are the drivers 👀 NONE of them trust their lives with janja, chungu or cheezi but somefuckinghow.. they don't die

in a trial where the leaders are really trapped, guess who sneaks in and saves them? Ushari!!! that was actually all of their reactions as soon as he spoke and they knew it was him. shupavu hugs him on impulse and then gets awkward about it lol, they're happy to see him

ushari explains how he didn't actually die when scar was destroyed but he escaped the volcano and happened across the hidden cave. he's been trapped ever since and obviously presumed dead. he's been stuck with 1 life because he needed the others to complete the rest of the trials :(

there's a dance fight where kiburi has to defeat the guards without being all guns blazing about it. literally the same as the scene with Martha. it's so funny at first bc he doesn't know what the fuck to do - i hc him as demi, he can't flirt with someone he doesn't know😭 - but when a song (prolly rap?) starts playing he beats their asses easy

little did they know the exact same thing was happening on the opposite side of the building, just with the idiots. tamka, nduli and neema also get their cool moment of beating people up, dance fight style! it's mainly tamka because he actually DOES have a strength in acting :)

the leaders and the idiots enter the building at the same time and it's an "Oh Shit!" spiderman pointing meme moment lmao. from this point on they do the trials together

the vultures fly the helicopters. you can imagine how well that goes. it's just like in the movie where something immediately breaks 😭 i think it'd be cool if kenge was the one to fix the helicopter, giving him a hero moment! imagine it

"Kenge, you did it! :D"

"Guess I did"

"Um... Oops"

"What Janja?"

"I dropped the jewel 😶"

"YOU WHAT?!?!"

janja loses a life in that scene from the rhinos 😭 do i wanna traumatise mzingo that much? idk. i just feel like that is such a janja thing to happen. fridge's character is janja-coded lmfao

"YOU PUSHED ME OUT THE HELICOPTER! >:("

that scene where fridge pushes spencer off a cliff? yeah that obviously happens. i'm thinking reirei and janja squabbling. would be funny if janja pushes reirei off impulsively and he just stands there, in shock, waiting to get yelled at when she respawns 😭

there's one of those Step On The Right Pieces trials. kiburi is being all cocky, steps on the wrong one and loses a life- bro gets absolutely humbled lmao. i think the skinks would be good at that trial for some reason

some random trial ideas: a "sleeping lions" type trial for goigoi. a "follow (copy) the leader" trial for mzingo. a food temptation one for the idiots??

jasiri definitely has a trial where she helps someone or shows that the "bad guy" NPCs can be good or somethin. that's probably the last trial before the finale

at the last trial they all work together to save the kiddos! it's really wholesome at the end because they saved the kids, they actually achieved something, they worked together, AND they got ushari back! :)

bonus:

based on the second movie, i was considering a different version of this au where janja purposefully enters the game to prove himself and it's more of a lesson of how it's not just about his strength, but the strength of all of them

janja just thinks he ain't good enough, especially not being leader of his clan anymore, but it's through working together when the others come after him that he realises that ain't true. just an extra thought i had :)

might make a follow up post because i came up with this in an afternoon just for fun 😭

#the lion guard #tlg #tlg outlanders #tlg au #jumanji au #been too long since i made a long tlg post <3 #hello hello i am back

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dailyadventureprompts · 1 year

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Villain: Madoc Marhand, He who Bled the World

“ I did only what was in my power to save the innocents in my care, the gods have deemed that I shall never be forgiven for the sin of my compassion

Remember that, hero, next time they call your name.”

Once a mage in service to the crown of a besieged kingdom, Madoc ripped out his soul and unleashed an army of demons in the hopes of saving his home. For this selfless blasphemy he was damned by the gods and imprisoned within a fortress high in the mountains, unable to die or pass on and forced to endure over a century of frigid agony.

Things have changed however: a new evil has broken the locks on Madoc’s cage, and promised the wizard revenge against the gods in exchange for the creation of a new army, an army that will descend from the peaks to raze villages and temples as they carry out the old man’s spite.

Adventure Hooks:

The party are likely to hear about Madoc long before actually encouring him, as the infamy of his crimes lives on in sorrowful songs and the many memorials to the causalities of those he summoned. Stragglers from this fiendish warband are likely lingering in dark places of the world, occupying ruined fortresses and other defensible locations as they protect the spoils they reaved during their hayday. These locales are heavily fortified, and frequently bear murals of some storm-laden hell that the fiends see in their dreams.

Blood shed in violence is the medium by which Marhand summons his fiends, working rites over a cursed cauldron bubbling with cruor to give shape to new warriors corresponding with the strength of the blood given. His own has long turned to dust, so he starts with animals and when one of his first models escapes the party are called to stop the rampage of a fiendish ram terrorizing the mountain’s foothills. The beast is said to grow in size and strength each time it is killed, and is already the size of a cottage by the time the heroes face it. They must be careful in their hunt, lest they create a creature too great to contain.

Few give heed to the mountain tribes, considering them savages and cattle thieves, so few will be paying attention when the folk of the peaks begin to circulate rumours that their people are disappearing, hunters and trailfinders being taken in the night. This is one of the only preludes to Madoc’s army rising once again, and the party might only hear about it in mawkish tavern talk or if they lend an ear to a shunned outlander.

The climb to reach the Worldbleeder’s prison is perilous, with steep slopes giving way to blizzards and sheer cliff faces that could spell disaster no matter how cautious the party might be. They’d be better off seeking a means of flight, perhaps carming a wind-elemental to lift them aloft or seeking aid from an isolationist eyrie of aarakokra who live in the region, and could be convinced to see that Madoc filling the peaks with demons is just as much a threat to them as the lowlanders.

#dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #5e #villain #wizard #mid level #high level #monster hunt #fiend #barbarian #diplomacy #aaracokra #warfare #demon #mountain #highlands

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tribbetherium · 9 months

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The Middle Temperocene: 150 million years + 1000 years post-establishment

What Measure Is A Moouk: An Army Of Almost-People

Evolution was not a straight line. It was a tree, that sprouted at a root, and branched off many times, some branches lower down the stem splitting off earlier than others, some continuing to grow and split further, others staying where they were.

None were more or less-evolved than any other. Some merely changed more, others stayed the same. On this world of unimaginable diversity, some creatures have changed little from the first pioneers released upon the world, small, scurrying rodents akin to the first forebearers. Others had changed beyond recognition, shaped by the forces of the world around, pushed by the quest to survive, not to become bigger, better, stronger or smarter, but merely to better pass on their genes, whatever worked.

And the diversity of the planet was but a mere side effect of that.

It comes as not any surprise thus, when thinking minds arose for the third time in the planet, minds capable of perception, of thought, of belief, there was no clear division between being and beast. There was a spectrum, a very blurred line, between a thinking person and a very smart animal. A hazy boundary that had much potential for darkness.

----------

Ashfall overlooked the gathered masses of his pack, still fresh from a crippling defeat. His forces numbered at but less than a hundred, perhaps less given the casualties. And the Thems numbered more than twice that.

Thems, united. Combined, with all their complementing strengths synchronized to devastating effect. Would they come to the valley? The valley of the Us? Would the Us be trampled should the Them come to siege in turn?

Ashfall glanced at his pack, many wounded, and still recovering.

He looked at his mate Wildwind, her shoulder wound still swollen, and at his son Darklight, whose wounded eye might never see again.

He felt a hint of regret.

He didn't see them the way he had seen Wind-Storm and Whitesmoke. But now, he didn't want them to be another Wind-Storm and Whitesmoke.

To the Thems, he was a monster.

To the Us, he was a leader. A protector.

"Not enough. Us, few." noted Goldeye, one of his higher-ranking fighters.

"Them, many. Too many!" Ashfall growled. The urgency to destroy them now, now as they were deadlier, posed more danger to his pack than ever, was never more evident. Yet how? If he attacked again now, it would be a massacre.

He had shown Them no mercy, and now the tide had turned, he did not expect any from Them.

"Us need more!" he barked in frustration. "Not enough!"

"Us need...Them." Goldeye suggested.

Ashfall's ears perked up at the suggestion. "Other Them? Make fight? For Us?"

"Them fight one another," Goldeye added.

"No. They together! Them is one now! As one!"

"Some pack, other pack, enemy?"

"Too smart now. Them...learn."

Ashfall knew that trying to sow discord in the foe was not an option.

Their ideals were strong, and as word of the coastfolk's victory spread, more and more packs began to band together.

Lies and deception were never the Outlanders' specialty. They fought with brute force.

What they needed was more brute force. More jaws, more teeth.

And it was a wild idea, perhaps even an insane one, but Ashfall and Goldeye knew where he might find what he sought.

---------

"They are Thems?" asked Wildwind, as Ashfall spread his word to the rest of the pack, the following morning.

"They are moouk."

Moouk was a term they reserved for a particular kind of Thems. The other Thems that looked even less like the Us. Dwelling in the forests in great numbers, preying upon the wild horn-herders that lived there.

Hideous, malformed things, snouts too long, heads too small. Vile creatures, savages, who ate their dung and and scavenged their dead and mated with their own kin.

Smarter than other beasts in their own right, yet still servants of instinct. Devoid of morals, like a wild child.

And perhaps, with a show of dominance, servants of the Us. Taught like child.

"Make moouk fight for Us? How?" asked Darklight.

"Simple things. Stupid things," Ashfall mused.

"Wild things," Dungstain cautiously chimed in.

"Exactly!" Goldeye exclaimed. "Better than other Thems."

"Smart enough...to follow. Not smart enough...to question."

Ashfall gave Dungstain a bitter aside glare.

"How? How plan them? How call them to us?" Wildwind asked.

"Fight them. Fight their strongest. Until they obey."

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

The saddled baskerville occupied a very precarious place in the houndfolk's culture. For it was a not-quite-person. An almost-person. A beast that was too being to be considered beast. A being too beast to consider being.

Some could call truces with them, by learning their simple words. Yet they told no stories, pondered not the world with tales, or expressed deeper feelings.

They used tools, but did not invent or improvise, at least not to such a degree.

They solved problems, but did not imagine or speculate.

They cared for their kin, but of instinctive duty.

Like grown pups who could not learn any more.

To some tribes of the dark-ears, they could be spoken to to some extent. Yet they could not be fully accepted or trusted. They still were wild creatures, slaves to basal urges, unpredictable. They knew not right or wrong, good from evil. And it was a fact the dark-ears respected.

That their wild kin would always be wild, and left to live their lives in their own devices.

Yet Ashfall had other plans.

-------

The red-sun shone alone in the dim crimson sky, casting its bloody hue over the needles of the conifer trees of the southern woods. There, their pointed shapes and darkened trunks cast irregular shadows upon the forest floor, where unusual residents trod about in the cover of the sanguine dusk.

The leader of a moouk-pack had just returned from an unsuccessful hunt, concerned only with reaching his den,resting and recovering his strength from the exertion for the next hunt. He gave a momentary pause, and glanced up at the sky--not to ponder its mysteries, or to dream of tales of forces and beings unseen, but merely judge the position of the red-sun to help him find his way.

He was simple-minded and practical. Imagined thoughts would not feed him today.

He had no name, for the moouk knew not what names were. They identified themselves with simple calls of "friend" to their packmates to signify they were not a threat.

His mate greeted him at the entrance of the den.

"Food," she called.

"No food," came the reply, and she ducked back down to continue digging out the den.

That was the extent of the moouk's conversations. Brief exchanges of concrete information. Alarm calls to warn of danger, sharp barks of mothers to call their young, courtship calls to impress a potential mate. No songs speaking words, or stories of gods and spirits, or puzzles or riddles or jokes. Just a simple straightforward fact with no other meaning.

The den the pair resided in had once belonged to another moouk with pups. They had driven her out by force, and her pups as well, out alone to who knows where to brave the dangerous outside world and whose fates were unknown.

Were they cruel, or evil, for doing so? They knew not even the meaning ot the word. It was something they did, without regret. It was just what they must do, always done, to survive, and they never thought otherwise.

They were but agents of nature's neutral indifference.

They were no more cruel or wicked than flyer-beasts snatching sea-creatures from the waves, hauling them to their nests to strip them of flesh while they squirmed and struggled for breath in the dry air.

They were no more malicious than the scaly-creepers that slithered into the burrows of small digger-beasts and pumped their squealing quarry full of venom.

And to the moouk, to drive off a a rival to wander homeless and hungry, was but a natural thing to do.

Had they gotten the chance, they would even have preyed upon her pups. For the sake of reducing rivals to their own pups in the future.

They had just enough brain to anticipate those effects and what good it would do them-- but not enough to understand why that would be wrong.

They were creatures of habit, who hunted when they hungered, who courted when the time came to mate, who reared their young and gave them care, only to drive them away without further concern when the next pups came.

Agents of a cycle, that was never broken, until now.

There was movement in the distance.

A terrible howl broke the air, sending the moouk pair into alert. There were intruders in their territory!

They stood their ground, snarling, ready to attack mercilessly whatever it was that threatened them. Perhaps a rival of their own kind, or the fold-paws that too were their enemies.

But this time, it was something far beyond their simple comprehension.

Other fellow hunt-beasts, more numerous than ever before. Creatures like them, yet strange, yet wrong, with flat short faces and big bulbous heads, who made noises more complex than what the moouk could understand.

They came from all directions, rounding them up. From further away, others like them, other moouk, were rounded up, whose presence in their territory would have been unwelcome, had the big-headed invaders not been harrying them too.

They resisted, snarling, as strips of ropy hide were thrown over them, tying them in place.

What did they want?

What did they need?

The moouk did not understand. All that crossed his moderate brain was the thought of escape and retaliation.

The thought of survival.

He resisted, crying out, as he was bound by the invaders. He howled for assistance, but none came.

In the distance, his mate had fled. She paused, looked back and cried out. In a simple, primal, momentary way, she cried in grief.

But the instinct of self-preservation overrode her loyalty, and she fled, deep into the forest, where the attackers did not follow.

In days to come, she would concern herself less of his disappearance, and again more with finding food. In time she would court another again. And she would forget.

The beasts of the wild did not dwell on the past.

-------

Atop a small raised hill, Ashfall surveyed his pack, as they commenced their latest conquest.

Dungstain, surprisingly had joined the fray eagerly, despite his growing contempt for Ashfall. He was here but for the chance to gleefuly wreak brutality upon the hapless moouk.

"Do not kill them." Ashfall warned. "Need...alive."

Dungstain paused in momentary disappointment. At least he got to partake of the twisted joy of war, somewhat.

Around them, Outlanders ran rings around the fleeing moouk, forcing them to gather, some bringing torches, to frighten the moouk with flame.

Like the dark-ears, the Outlanders had eventually learned to make use of the inedible gut and sinew of the horn-herders they had rustled from the highbrows. Drying them in the hot sunlight, tearing them into long, thin strips, to make collars and ropes.

Yet not for their use. These were not for protection, but for control.

Some Outlanders left the woods, towing tethered moouk with them, two for each captive. Some, which struggled defiantly, others, which complied meekly, their wild spirit broken, too exhausted to resist any longer.

And aside from crafting the ropes, there was one other thing some of the Outlanders could do like the dark-ears did.

"Follow." Goldeye said, as a large male moouk was brought before him. Not in his own words...but in the simple, rudimentary tongue of the moouk, of but few vocabulary of barely a hundred "words".

Simple, infantile words like "follow, stay, leave, friend, fight, run, food."

"Leave!" the moouk cried in retaliation.

In response, Goldeye pounced on the captive, restrained by rope by two other Outlanders. He sank his teeth into the moouk's shoulder, who cried out in pain.

"Follow!" He demanded again, through bloodstained lips.

"Leave," was again the reply.

Thus came another painful bite.

And another, and another, each time the moouk resisted. Each time he defied.

Until, even in his primitive brain, he made the connection.

"FOLLOW!" roared Goldeye.

There was a pause.

"...f-follow..." the moouk whimpered at last, knowing it was the only way for the pain to stop.

Goldeye pinned the captive's head to the floor with his forepaw, in a display of dominance, and sprayed him, as one would spray a tree to mark ownership, branding him with their scent.

He belonged to them now.

-------

The moouk were plentiful, for they lived wild, and bred often. When they came in heat, they would mate without a second thought. Every two seasons they came to heat and bore a litter in the spring and in the fall, bigger than those of the houndfolk, four to six apiece.

A failsafe. Because many did not survive.

But if made to survive, beyond the wills of nature, there could be many of them.

Born into a world where they will never know freedom.

Goldeye and Ashfall watched, as some of the Outlanders came forth from the woods, carrying moouk-pups by the scruffs of their necks. It had been their breeding season.

"Young ones. Easy to teach." Goldeye remarked.

"Teach fight. For war." Ashfall responded.

Taught to know that to obey would be in their best interest.

Taught since puphood to feel helpless against their masters.

Their owners.

Ashfall did not want any more of his pack, of his Us, to fall against the Them. No more Wind-Storms, or Whitesmokes, to befell them.

But these nameless beasts were not Us.

They were Thems, the lowest kind of Thems, and they were many.

They could die, and he would not care.

They could fall in place of his people, and there would be many more.

The Outlanders, though vicious, valued their own, their fellow people.

These were not their own.

These were not people.

They were moouk.

--------

#speculative evolution #speculative biology #spec evo #speculative zoology #hamster's paradise #the calliducyon saga

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kjzx · 4 months

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The Russian translation of the first funger is generally fine, some misspellings and things similar to confusing you're and your aside, as a translation it's generally pretty good

But, and I'm trying to be as open minded as possible here, why the fuck did they translate Outlander as Дикарь. In the original, Ragnvaldr is referred to as a savage exactly once to my knowledge, and only by D'arce if you murder the love of her life in front of her.

Чужеземец is right here. I'm trying to, but I don't see any reason for this change of wording. This both lessens the impact of D'arce getting mad at Rag for what the player can do and also makes the player have completely wrong assumptions about the character, when this wasn't intended by the creator. He's arguably a better, more humane and "civilised" person then Cahara, while D'arce and Enki don't even come close

#Funger bpt #Sure I'll maintag this why not #Funger #Fear and hunger #If you have any nice interpretations of why outlander was translated this way please do let me know #This whole thing is annoying me because I dislike it when translators change stuff to make the source material sound more derogatory #But maybe I'm missing smth here tbf #//rambles #Funger spoilers #Just in case

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gotham-ruaidh · 1 year

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Outlander 31 Day Challenge: Day 21

Welcome to the Outlander 31 Day Challenge!

Today is Day 21: Favorite Jamie + Claire quiet moment

One of the early scenes in 04x05 "Savages" - Jamie is looking for his hat (which Ian finds in the custody of the White Sow); Claire is preparing for a trip to visit patients; Jamie and Ian are preparing for a trip of their own; and Jamie helps Claire into a wrap.

I love all of this because it's so...normal. And domestic. They're talking about everyday mundane things, in the new home they built together.

It's a simple, quiet, everyday conversation that by all rights shouldn't have happened. For Jamie and Claire never thought they'd get this beautiful, improbable life together.

They fought so hard for it. Which is why I love it so much.

#outlander #outlander 31 day challenge

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thunderjawsandlightning · 1 year

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Power in a Name: Nil and Aloy parallels

I've been thinking about the inverse parallels that Nil and Aloy have with social dynamics with their names, and how it gives them a level of understanding that is completely unique to them and how they regard each other. It's something that is unspoken between the two of them, and yet mutually understood, and it gives a level of emotional depth that is immensely cathartic upon the acknowledgement of each other by name.

**spoiler discussion for Horizon Zero Dawn and Horizon Forbidden West**

---

Aloy has only ever wanted to know her mother's name; there's connection and lineage and community in the name of your family. For so much of the "tutorial area" in The Embrace and the events leading up to the Proving, her name is not important to identifying her: she is simply known as "motherless" or "outcast" or both. Lansra wants to deny her even being given a name during the opening cutscene -- it's only through Teersa's kindness and calm, firm insistence that she be named facing the sunrise with a Matriarch's blessing.

Across the games, Aloy is given a number of titles from the various tribes: Anointed of the Nora, Savior of Meridian, Hekarro's Champion. All these titles laud her accomplishments and put her on a pedestal of respect; the complete opposite end of the spectrum to when she first interacts with the tribes.

To the Nora, she has gone from the lowest social status in the tribe as an outcast, to Anointed in one fell swoop-- given a sacred status of near-worship and unquestioned acceptance due to the belief that she has spoken directly to All-Mother within the Mountain. This sudden switch is so jarring for her, and also a stark realization that while she thought she was looking for acceptance, she never wanted it like this.

The Carja have always held arrogant views on the other tribes; their advancement in technology and their organized militarization have given them a distinct advantage over all the other tribes, and with it, a sense of superiority. Their culture and their religion reinforce the idea that the Nora are simply savages, with the upper classes seeing them unfit to even deign faux-civil conversation (as seen in the Hunter's Lodge). In the face of the oncoming destruction led by HADES and the Eclipse, Aloy's victory is seen as heroic and put onto both a figurative and literal pedestal in a display of zealous admiration for her accomplishment at slaying Helis, Terror of the Sun, and saving Meridian from certain doom.

The Tenakth, viciously protective of their land and people, are already disinclined to allow outlanders to walk their Clan Lands in the aftermath of the Red Raids. Fashav tells us that without proper right of passage the Tenakth would attack Aloy on sight, no questions asked, regardless of the importance of her mission. Following the Embassy, the events at the Bulwark, and the defense of the Kulrut, Aloy quickly gains a fearsome reputation and accompanying moniker of Hekarro's Champion -- again, a title of her accomplishments.

Throughout all of her journey, she does her very best to be known by her own name, not by any grand title or reputation of great renown, but simply as the huntress Aloy. She rebuffs most greetings of her monikers with "Just Aloy." in a clear and direct attempt to be met as a person instead of by the sheer force of her reputation as told by others.

So much of her life has been under the weight of other people's perceptions of who they think she is: a larger-than-life-figure, a mysterious huntress with second sight, a formidable warrior even by the standard of great warriors. Even her perception of herself in shadowed by the width and breadth of Elisabet's legacy and sacrifice. Is it too much to ask for her to simply be seen and known as herself, and just as that?

---

Nil, conversely, has been known by many names, most of his own choosing. Names are evidently important to Carja culture, as many have epithets or titles to indicate their standing or calling, like Mournful Namman, Studious Vuadis, Javad the Willing, or Well-Traveled Aram. Nil seems to shed names as easily as Aloy does armors, changing and adapting and letting go of past personas quite easily. A name to the Carja is connection, power, and reputation. As we meet Nil, he introduces himself and is then known by a name of his own choosing: one that literally means "nothing". Every name we know him by is one made to embody a new persona, with no connection to his lineage.

Upon first meeting, he introduces himself by telling Aloy to "…call [him] Nil." Notice the wording: "call". Not "My name is…" His phrasing is distinct and deliberate, and majority of the conversation you have with Nil after completing the Devil's Thirst bandit camp is vague in terms of his origins, skirting around clear details and speaking in obfuscated references to past events. Through Janeva, Warden of Sunstone Rock, we learn that "Nil" is not his first name, although it remains uncertain if he was known by his true name or another during his time at Sunstone.

ALOY: Do you know a…hunter…named Nil? He told me about this place. JANEVA:Nil? That’s what he calls himself now? Is he well?

2. To the Carja, he is known by reputation and rumour, war stories and whispers; renowned enough that he is recognizable by common Carja Guard, and feared enough that they do not speak his name. It is likely he was given some kind of moniker or a name of near-boogeyman-like status, given the prayer of protection the guard mutters after Nil offhandedly addresses them.

CARJA GUARD 1: Isn’t that…him? From the battle of the Daunt? CARJA GUARD 2: Can’t be. Cinnabar Sands was before that, and there were no survivors. NIL: Well, I don’t like to boast. CARJA GUARD 2: O Sun, keep the shadow from falling upon me.

He knows his reputation carries further than where he walks, and while he acknowledges its connection to him, he still would prefer to be somewhat removed in its association, of the elaboration and hyperbolic storytelling of past deeds and, perhaps, misdeeds.

3. Addressing the animosity held by the neighbouring tribes from the events of the Red Raids, there is one tribe Nil holds to a status of respect and equal regard: the Tenakth. He highlights a kinship and mutual understanding of the need for a fight and the desire of spilled blood; one that Fashav echoes as well:

"As you may have noticed, violence is the native tongue of the Tenakth. To survive, one must master it."

He sheds the skin of Nil the Bandit Hunter for Red Teeth the Racer, to meet the Rebel defectors on equal ground, to fight for respect on their chosen battleground the way Tenakth warriors of the past had fought their way into his respect with their martial prowess and skill. The name he gives them is, again, one he chooses, with no obvious attachment to the past, only embracing the change and growth that is to come with reinventing yourself. Nil chooses to be perceived by the world in a way that is not derived from or reliant on his family name, the heritage that comes with it, or the socio-cultural weight it carries to be recognized as Carja.

---

Aloy is given many names by the tribes and people she meets on her journey, but only wants to be known by her own name, to know her own heritage and lineage. In seeking that out, she is both empowered and staggered by the knowledge, and it changes her perspective on who and what she feels she has to live up to -- her tribe's expectations, her predecessor's hopes and wishes for the future world, her own expectations of herself. In the face of that knowledge, she doesn't leave herself the room to consider herself, but still wants to be acknowledged as an individual. Nil does so, and savours the knowledge of her name like a gift:

ALOY: …Nil? NIL: Aloy. They told me your name, I said hair like a splash of blood, tenacious as a Scrapper’s jaws. [Main Quest: The Looming Shadow]

Nil gives out new names to be known by --names of his own choosing -- in an act through which he is deliberately shedding the weight, status, and legacy of his birth name, leaving it behind. Instead, he transforms into a different version of himself, one unburdened by birthright and tribal ties.

RED TEETH: That was a well-earned win. One that merits speaking face to face. ALOY: Nil?!? NIL: You have to admit, I put on a good show. [The Stillsands Gauntlet race, Condition: Win]

Nil knows implicitly that he can share this secret with her -- the secret of his identity as Carja, a danger in hostile Tenakth Clan Lands. And Aloy still trusts him, still respects him, to keep his secret, even with the secrecy of his bloodied history hanging in slight tension with the circumstances and the environment he's found a home in. Even so, she still calls him by the name he asked to be called by:

ALOY: I’m glad you found your thing, Nil. Relieved, actually…I think.

And what a catharsis it is, then, to be known and recognized by the name you yourself value, by the only other person who could understand the weight and power in a name:

NIL/ RED TEETH: I’ll leave you to it. See you when you feel the need, Aloy.

#cor writes #cor's meta analysis #horizon zero dawn #hzd #horizon forbidden west #hfw #aloy #nil #hzd nil #hfw nil #horizon meta #no i will never shut up about this #they're parallels 👏 they're character foils 👏they're narrative reflections of each other👏#there's power in a name and names have power #but that's also another meta i will get to eventually

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thisweekinfandomhistory · 3 months

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Hey Scottish person here who also hates outlander and gabaldon. This probably won't hit too deeply for you guys but the way she treats Scottishness is kinda weird. Like. Not to equate it with weird exotifying racism but it's very much playing on tropes of Savage Men in a way that's uncomfortable, especially as along with the irish, scottish people were sort of treated as non white white people for a long time. She's also weird about kilts, and it's just never fun to have clueless idiots sexualise your culture. Just giving you more stuff to hate about her.

Listen in our heart of hearts, we are little haters. So yes, please give us alllllll the things to hate about Diana Gabaldon.

I (Emily) will gobble that up like a little feast.

Personally, learning how Scottish people are giving no quarter and taking her to school for all the things she so confidently gets wrong about their history, culture, geography, etc. was just absolutely delicious.

Nothing like basing your life's work on one single place and seemingly doing nothing at all to research or understand it.

#anti outlander #anti diana gabaldon #answered asks

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the-littlest-kojin · 1 year

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The Heretic And The Legatus

"So, Tara. Tell me about your war? You know all about mine, but I must confess, my education didn't really cover the wars in Ishgard." Cradled in the Elezen's arms, Vergilia Corculum looks up at her girlfriend's face, a gentle smile on her lips.

A heavy sigh escapes the Ishgardian's lips. "I'm not even sure where to begin. You really know nothing of the Dragonsong War?" Snuggling closer to Taraine's warm body, Vergilia shakes her head. "Nothing. My Legion was posted in Garlemald proper. I know that Regulus's Legion was deployed to Ishgardian lands - he likely knew more."

"Alright. I will give you the history, from my perspective. Least I can do to try to educate an outlander like you," Taraine teases, her voice light.

"How kind this savage is!" Vergilia mocks back, eyes dancing. "Truly, I have found the kindest savage in all this lawless land."

Laughing, low and sardonic, Taraine pulls her lover closer. "Alright. So as a child, I was taught that the War began after Nidhogg - unprovoked and unjustified - attacked Ishgard, and King Thordan and his Knights Twelve..."

"So, having drank the dragon blood... You can now assume a draconic form?"

A pillar of smoke enshrouds the Elezen's form, resolving into the shape of a large, scaled figure. Vergilia stares upwards, her eyes wide, as her mouth works silently.

"So... You're still Taraine?" A laugh - much deeper, shaking the ground - escapes through draconic fangs. "Yes. I am still Taraine. But you remember how I told you I was genderfluid?" "Ah - You are male in this form?" "Yes. And female in my Elezen body. Both are equally my 'real' body, but I am a man like this and a woman like that." "I understand, dearest Taraine. Do not fret."

The silence stretches for a moment before Vergilia steps closer, gently resting a hand on her boyfriend's scales. Silently, Taraine reaches one of his claws out, gently running it along Vergilia's arm.

Silence surrounds the couple as they stare at each other, the cool air surrounding them as they gaze at one another.

~~~~~

These screens were a gift from my off-tumblr friend! I wanted to explore this ship more.

#ffxiv #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv writing #taraine brightshield #vergilia van corculum #the legatus and the heretic

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readinthedarkpod · 1 year

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You know us and our sad, wet boys. But now it's time to dive into another one of our favorites - sad, sarcastic, charismatic, and downright dashing. We also discuss regency romance, our memories, the ideal length for series and much more!

you can follow the hosts at @adxmparriish @figonas @laequiem and @hazelsheartsworn

➡️ follow the link in our bio to listen to the entire episode!

Books Discussed:

💀 Stalking Jack the Ripper by Kerri Maniscalco

💀 Ten Thousand Stitches by Olivia Atwater

Books/Series Mentioned:

🌹 Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas

🌹 Codex Alera by Jim Butcher

🌹 Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon

🌹 Modern Fairies Tales by Holly Black

🌹 The Folk of the Air by Holly Black

🌹 The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss

🌹 Kingdom of the Wicked by Kerri Maniscalco

🌹 All of the Stalking Jack the Ripper series by Kerri Maniscalco

🌹 All of the Regency Fairytales series by Olivia Atwater

🌹 The Captive Prince by C. S. Pacat (always)

🌹 The Single’s Table by Sara Desai

🌹 Wicked like a Wildfire by Lana Popovic

🌹 The Savage and the Swan by Ella Fields

🌹 Ghosts of the Forbidden by Leanna Renee Hieber

#book club #book club podcast #book podcast #podcast #spotify #stalking jack the ripper #sjtr #hunting prince dracula #escaping from houdini #capturing the devil #cressworth #thomas cresswell #audrey rose #kerri maniscalco #ten thousand stitches #olivia atwater

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apocalypticavolition · 7 months

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Let's (re)Read The Great Hunt! Chapter 10: The Hunt Begins

This post probably has spoilers for the entire Wheel of Time series, so if that's not what you're into, don't keep reading.

This chapter starts us out with the Horn of Valere icon again, which... hell even if you shouldn't be reading this post because of the spoilers, you can probably piece together why a chapter called "The Hunt Begins" has it.

He kept his mouth shut, though. It was Lord Ingtar’s command; as friendly as he had been to Rand, he still would not appreciate a shepherd giving advice.

Rand demonstrating his keen leadership skills by being aware of the limitations of horses is both a good jibe at fantasy novels of the time (where horses needed less rest than the average car and had better range and mileage) and a nice way of contrasting how towards the end he won't be giving a fuck about anyone's limitations and push them all much harder than Ingtar is pushing these poor horses.

Rand tried to ride with Mat and Perrin, but when Rand let his horse drop back to them, Mat nudged Perrin, and Perrin reluctantly galloped to the head of the column with Mat.

I feel like this little bit of Mat being extra petty about this carries a lot of people's dislike of early Mat, because without the dagger he's actually not that bad even now.

Uno looked at Rand with his one eye, then shrugged and climbed into his saddle.

Uno isn't afraid to voice his opinion to his superiors 'cause he's a cool dude. He also is pretty convinced Rand is a lord too and thus could put Ingtar in his place - and probably has noticed the glances Rand's been giving the horses and is well aware that the boy agrees with him. I wonder how many of this ranging party specifically think that Ingtar being in charge is just the convenient fiction for this outlander lord who wants to pretend to be a shepherd. Like obviously Ingtar doesn't think that but Uno might...

“Do you like to run, Rand?” Loial laughed. “I do. I was the fastest in Stedding Shangtai. I outran a horse, once.”

That poor horse must have died of a heart attack shortly thereafter, what with the whole running at top speed and also having a huge thing like an Ogier keeping up with it.

It was not hard—there were few personal bundles among the supplies—but when he had it open, he let out a shout that brought every man in the camp erect with sword in hand.

Everyone of course just thinks Rand's bitching about the coats is him being pissy that Moiraine won't let him play at being a shepherd.

Also it's adorable how Moiraine thinks she's fulfilling prophecy with the heron-marked jackets.

I can always go naked, he thought bitterly.

*desperately presses random symbols on the nearest Portal Stone to find the nudist!Rand Mirror World*

“We didn’t bloody bring enough for you to be spilling it on the flaming ground.” The one-eyed man looked at Rand and left. Masema rubbed his ear, but his glare followed Rand.

So Masema's obviously pissy about this upstart foreigner Aiel-look-a-like putting on airs and terrifying everyone in the camp, but Uno's just doing whatever it takes to get a chance to challenge Rand to a friendly duel.

“I ask no questions, mind. If Lan Dai Shan and Moiraine Sedai want to say you are from Andor, from the Two Rivers, then you are. But Masema can’t get the look of the Aiel out of his head, and when he sees you. . . .”

It's really fascinating how Masema's perspective on Rand does such a huge 180. Bruh is an absolute fanatic about whatever his beliefs are, they just aren't necessarily logical evolutions from each other.

“I grew up with him, though you’d never know it now. You put this Aiel nonsense in his head on top of what’s already there, and the Light knows what we’ll have. An Aiel lord, maybe.”

Mat: Absolute savage and accidental prophet.

But they do let the Tuatha’an, the Traveling People, cross the Waste. And they don’t see Ogier as enemies, either, though I doubt any of us would want to go out into the Waste.

It's also a nice bit of realism that as soon as someone tries to simplify the Other as seeing the world purely in terms of themselves and their enemies, someone else can point out that no, it's not really that simple. It's not even really the case that the Aiel see the Wetlanders as enemies exactly, since they clearly could have engaged in warfare against them long ago and won.

When Rand finally settled down for the night, his head hummed with unwanted thoughts. Image of an Aielman. Moiraine Sedai wants to say you’re from the Two Rivers. Aiel ravaged all the way to Tar Valon. Born on the slopes of Dragonmount. The Dragon Reborn.

Bro can't even stay in denial anymore, though he does try a little. At this point it would literally take one more person calling him Aiel for him to snap though.

“Is this what a Darkfriend camp looks like? Smells a bit, but I can’t say it looks any different from anybody else’s.” He kicked at one of the ash heaps, knocking out a piece of burned bone, and stooped to pick it up. “What do Darkfriends eat? Doesn’t look like a sheep bone, or a cow.”

The one way in life that Mat isn't lucky is that if he can lose his dignity in literally any way, he absolutely will. It's where all his bad dice rolls go.

“We’ll waste no time burying Darkfriends,” Ingtar growled. “We ride south.” He suited his own words almost before they were out of his mouth.

Oftentimes, truly hateful vehemence comes from those who are closest to that which they despise. Just saying.

He reminded them of the charge the Amyrlin Seat had given them, to recover the Horn of Valere, and let nothing bar their way. He spoke of the glory they would have, their names remembered in story and history, in gleemen’s tales and bards’ songs, the men who found the Horn.

Ironically, we don't know the names of the whole party, so that didn't really work for them.

“I don’t like the smell of this place,” Perrin muttered as they came among the houses. Hurin gave him a look, and he stared back until Hurin dropped his eyes. “It smells wrong.”

Perrin the Yellow-Eyed Wolf Boy: Don't think we're the same, nose freak!

“Don’t frighten her!” Ingtar shouted. “Uno, we need information. The Light blind you, Uno, don’t frighten her!” The one-eyed man disappeared through the open door. Ingtar raised his voice again. “We will not harm you, good lady. We are Lord Agelmar’s oathmen, from Fal Dara. Do not be afraid! We will not harm you.”

I wonder if Lanfear really meant to be seen here to increase the sense of unease or if she was totally just going, "It won't hurt if I take a little peak at Lews through the window, these dumb third agers probably don't even know what up is, oh crap!"

“I fear the Darkfriends took them, Rand,” Loial said slowly. He grimaced, almost a snarl with his broad nose like a snout. “For the Trollocs.” Rand swallowed and wished he had not asked; it was never pleasant to think on how Trollocs fed.

Rand: They're okay right?

Loial: They. Were. Eaten. By. Demons. We're. Hunting. Demons. DEMONS!

He's so patient with the country boy.

“My Lord, you must see for yourself. The big stoneoak, fifty paces south from the landing. I cannot say the words. You must see it yourself.”

Jesus, it's like a Star Trek episode.

Mat waited until the last minute, when one of the Shienarans was untying the ferry, before he kicked his horse and crowded aboard. “I have to come sooner or later, don’t I?” he said, breathless, to no one in particular. “I have to find it.”

It's kind of a shame Mat didn't get any POVs in this book, because whatever the hell is going on in his head has to be a lot more interesting than the fandom gives him credit for. This is one of at least two big internal struggles we hear almost nothing about. Is he extra unhappy with Rand because he thinks that unlike him and Perrin, he's only benefiting from the adventure they're on? Does he think Rand's being selfish by being all, "Fuck you guys, I'm out" while Mat desperately wants out (he always does) but is forced to admit here that he has no future that doesn't pass through the Dagger?

“This is how we left home,” Perrin said suddenly. “At Taren Ferry. The ferrymen’s boots clunking on the deck, and the water gurgling around the ferry. This is how we left. It will be worse, this time.”

Likewise it sucks that we don't get any fun Perrin POVs just yet because he too is clearly going through all kinds of bullshit and Rand's even less aware of it than he is of Mat's stuff. "How can it be worse?" he asks, as if there's a Baerlon waiting for them only a week out. As if they have the world's most competent Aes Sedai/Warder duo at their side. As if Egwene is there, and Nynaeve to join soon, to help them think of home. As if all three boys aren't already changed permanently by what's happened but are nowhere near done with their transformations.

Rand's hilariously oblivious sometimes, you know? And so's Mat, since he agrees.

Then he recognized the two faces. Changu, and the other man who had been on guard with him. Nidao. Eyes staring, teeth bared in a rictus of pain. They had lived a long time after it began.

Poor bastards.

“Cut them down,” Ingtar said harshly. He hesitated a moment, then added, “Bury them. We cannot be sure they were Darkfriends. They could have been taken prisoner. They could have been. Let them know the last embrace of the mother, at least.”

Even Ingtar's had character growth this chapter! Is he already realizing that his extremism means he deserves the same ignominy and is softening himself in the hopes of mercy for himself? Is he genuinely uncertain as to Changu and Nidao's affiliation (perhaps they weren't in his sect of Darkfriends or even really were innocent) and thus erring on the side of kindness? Hard to say!

“Shienarans believe we all came from earth, and must return to earth. They never use coffins or shrouds, and the bodies are never clothed. The earth must hold the body. The last embrace of the mother, they call it. And there are never any words except ‘The Light shine on you, and the Creator shelter you. The last embrace of the mother welcome you home.’ ”

The Shienarans seem to have a very prototypical Earth Mother belief that will no doubt blossom into that very concept given enough time. It seems pretty early for that though; either Jordan thinks Earth Mother is very universal or he expected that there'd be some extra steps along the way (perhaps eventually the descendant organizations of Aes Sedai / Wise Ones etc. become the monopoly on the Singing?)

“Then who shot the arrow at—at the Amyrlin?” Rand swallowed. Who shot at me? Loial said nothing.

Lucky for Rand, Loial's not street smart enough to realize that his stuttering isn't a natural effect of the horrifying treatment of the corpses but because of a near slip. He's also not street smart enough to realize that Ingtar did the Dog Gate slaying, which further points to the innocence of these two poor bastards. But on the other hand I already said they were guilty so they're definitely burning in hell. Can't change my mind. Looks weak.

“They saved Lord Agelmar at Tarwin’s Gap,” he said. Several of the lancers nodded.

Ingtar's probably extra uncomfortable about this because his Darkfriend orders at the time were to get Agelmar killed or something.

Occasionally Rand saw what might have been a farmhouse in the distance, and once what he thought was a village, with smoke rising from chimneys a few miles off and something flashing white in the sun, but the land near them stayed empty of human life, long swathes of grass dotted with brush and occasional trees, with now and again a small thicket, never more than a hundred paces across.

Fascinating that the villages of Shienar, which presumably face all kinds of population problems what with the state of eternal warfare and all, manage to be denser and more prosperous than people living in this relatively decent grassland where there's no military pressures on them at all.

“It is not there any longer, Builder. When Hawkwing died, the ones who fought over his empire could not bear to leave a monument to a victory of his, even if it did not mention his name. There’s nothing left but the mound where it stood. In three or four days we can see that, at least.”

Maybe the bad juju of tearing down a perfectly good monument mixed with all the contaminating Trolloc blood led to them all dying out en masse, you know?

“I’ve seen an old map,” Rand replied in a tight voice. “I know about the nations that aren’t there anymore. Maredo, and Goaban, and Caralain. But there wasn’t any Hardan on it.”

Well that's very confusing, because all of those nations collapsed before Hardan. Must be a shit map.

Crops failed, or trade failed. People failed. Something failed in each case, and the nation dwindled.

I wonder if the Dark One's been able to affect the weather to some degree or another this whole time and only once the first seal broke was he able to pull out the "eternal winter over the whole land" gambit. It would explain just how badly humanity's been doing the past thousand years, with the long game finally paying off.

We are being swept away, humankind. Swept away like flotsam on a flood. How long until there is nothing left but the Borderlands? How long before we, too, go under, and there is nothing left but Trollocs and Myrddraal all the way to the Sea of Storms?

And so Ingtar explains why he fell to the Shadow - but even without all of the upheaval Rand brings, we've already got some clear rumblings that the game was going to change and that Ingtar's giving into despair was a personal failing. Elayne was being set up to be an Aes Sedai queen of Andor, ruling for hundreds of years and hopefully keeping the land unified. Pedron Niall wanted to restore Almoth to its former glory - under his hand, but still. The Seanchan invasion would have, without interruption, restored "civilization" to a good deal of the wilderness.

Also points to Ingtar for some realistic blind spots in another way: he assumes the Borderlands will be the last to fall even though the most recent national failing was Malkier.

There was no gate in the one opening he could see in the wall, but he supposed it could be blocked easily enough with a cart or wagon.

Honestly with population density and armed banditry being as rare as it is, blocking the gate may genuinely not be something these people feel they need to resort to.

Cairhien did claim this land, once the last King of Hardan died. All the way to the Erinin, they claimed it. They could not hold it, though. They gave up the claim nearly a hundred years ago.

Well if the Cairhieniens wanted it, and the former Hardani wanted it, what exactly was the issue? Were the tax collectors just unable to make it this far north consistently?

The table was set for a meal, ladder-back chairs gathered around, some plates already served. A few flies buzzed above bowls of turnips and peas, and more crawled on a cold roast sitting in its own congealed grease. There was a slice half carved from the roast, the fork still standing stuck in the meat and the carving knife lying partway in the platter as if dropped. Rand stepped inside. Blink.

Look I'm just gonna say it. The blinking and the flickering is some of the top tier Wheel stuff and people would have been infinitely more forgiving of the slog if it involved more of it. Even if the only thing flickering about Elayne's bath scene was that every time she blinked the fragrance of the soap she was using changed, people would have eaten that shit up and rated Crossroads of Twilight 7 out of 5 stars.

Rand could not move. The flies buzzing over the table sounded louder. His breath made a cloud in front of his mouth.

The flies are pretty strongly emphasized in this sequence, which make me wonder if they're connected to whatever weird magic Fain was using in this scene.

Also worth noting that originally this was supposed to be Lanfear's trap, but that this got changed. Frankly it's a damn shame she couldn't take time out of her stalker ex practices to quickly kill Fain before he became an actual kerfuffle.

Suddenly he was tearing at . . . something. He did not know what, or how. Cobwebs made of steel. Moonbeams carved from stone. They crumbled at his touch, but he knew he had not touched anything. They shriveled and melted with the heat that surged through him, heat like a forge fire, heat like the world burning, heat like—

Fain really breaks the magic systems, doesn't he? It's way less coherent than the established magical systems And yet Rand's use of saidin manages to take care of things.

Those black clothes, blacker than black, had never been worn by any human. The wind flapped an end of the cloak caught behind the body—which it did not always, he knew too well; the wind did not always touch those clothes—but there had never been any eyes in that pale, bloodless face.

I love how terrifying this early Fain stuff is, which really just makes it all the more frustrating that he completely loses all relevance as the series goes on. Book 7 Fain could never be this cool. Book 14 Fain couldn't even get into the same sentence as. These other Fains. What was Jordan planning on doing with him? Why did he lose the plot so thoroughly? Will we ever find something in his notes that makes it make sense?

We'll probably never know. Oh well. Next time: more hunting!

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #rand al'thor #ingtar shinowa #hurin #mat cauthon #perrin aybara #uno nomesta #loial #masema dagar #lanfear #ragan

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redyn-nerevarine · 11 days

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Chronicles of an Outlander

Chapter 21: Always Fatal

Redyn is stricken with corprus, incurable and always fatal...

Then he tore his helmet off, and sporting a wide grin, turned to celebrate with the rest of his friends, but was cut short by a sight that made his stomach drop. Redyn laid prone on the ground, trembling and coughing violently. Lyrus kneeled over him and spoke soothing words; the quaking in his voice made it clear something was very wrong. Redyn replied with a coughing fit followed by a ragged, miserable groan. Silver-Star slipped out of Lyrus’ robes and tried to paw at Redyn, but Lyrus pushed her away. Julan’s heart sank as he feared the worst. “Oh, gods... Redyn?” He and Secunda rushed to his side just as Lyrus carefully removed Redyn’s helmet. They drew back in horror when they saw his face. Hideous blisters, lesions, and boils marred his frightened face. His grey skin was now the color of pale ash in a spent campfire. His eyes, listless and fighting to stay open, had faded from bright crimson to the color of diluted blood. “... R-Redyn?” Secunda croaked. “Can you hear me?” His breathing grew faster. Finally, he managed to croak, “W-what’s happening to me…?” Lyrus spoke almost in a whisper, wiping a tear from his face. “Redyn… you. Ah… I’m so sorry… but you have corprus…” Julan could only stare, dumbfounded and heartbroken. He remembered what his mother told him about corprus. Before he left on his mission she made him drink concoctions for weeks to make him immune, or that is what she told him. Maybe he was immune, or maybe he was just lucky. He thought back to the corprus beast they killed in the store and the lumbering monsters that wandered the Grazelands, spreading the disease, even sometimes wandering into his camp. He gulped. Would Redyn soon be reduced to one of those beasts? No longer a mer, only a zombie covered in festering growths, until slain by some adventurer like some savage beast… “Oh—oh, no…” Secunda gasped and clutched onto Julan. Redyn’s sickly eyes grew wide and filled with tears. He blinked them away as they ran in rivers down his face. “There… there has to be a cure!” Julan cried in defiant anger. “My mother might know. There must be a way!” “We’ll try everything, Redyn,” said Lyrus. “We won’t rest until we’ve found the cure.” Silver-Star wailed a heartbroken meow and nuzzled into Lyrus’ chest. He hugged her tight. Redyn’s heart raced in his chest as Caius’ words echoed in his head over and over. “There is no cure, and it’s always fatal…”

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#morrowind #tes 3 #julan kaushibael #tes fanfic #tesblr #the elder scrolls fanfic #morrowind fanfic #chronicles of an outlander #k's writing

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magnetar1 · 1 year

Text

Bright Desolation

They did not see where I went on the day I left them. They howled inside their desiccated skulls as they stood proud. They waited for the stars to change hoping they’d regain the sight they lost.

I took them to be beggars in the end. War manipulated their fears and crushed their memories. They could no longer see beyond the burning fields as their spirits were feasted on by black legends and force-fed the treacle of wasted years.

Still, I moved past it like a fish slicing through the water. Slashing their minds and cutting out their hearts, suffocating them where they slept so they wouldn’t have to wake up again. I took pity on them in the end which only a fool can trust, begrudging them the sacrifice of their own peril.

Instead, extracting the essence of what they gave me: egg, bile, chance, transmissive host, aligning through fluidic means, yet never fully coalescing. Traveler or ghost over gray, lonely roads, only not so lonely to me. Enraptured by the filamental guise shuddering between grief and isolation never too far from the obliqueness of space.

I change, and go, how I must. Metamorphosis of a star is the dark art of annhilation, either considered a blessing or a curse among nature’s rabble. Whether letting in the martyrdom of an age or trailing mysteries to their scintillating edge.

Where the Black Sun radiates with disorder and reunion. I don’t remember dying, yet wander through realms of the dead. Out of the smoking abyss to one cavernous retreat under the mountains. Gold of the world dims, blinding any who stay behind. Haunted evidence in their vacant eyes as they’ve lost far more than their sight.

In a ritual of separation and departure. The likelihood of entering another domain without making it back as those who came far and have died many times due to sorcery, plague or war can attest. Chameleons in the darkness. Black Sun portends to them rival worlds and other vistas of infinitude.

***

I float away until I’m nowhere. Like the Taar I once smoked in reeking dens I am orbiting down.

Weightless companion to my heavy burden as the universe reminds me: that somewhere, out there, lies its center and wherever I go I’ll be reminded of you.

Returning, instead, to a budding, chaotic world, where sands have not yet set and winter never comes. Cascading fields of green untrampled by human feet. Unsullied tide of spring-water seen clear through to the Serpent’s Eye.

Looking back.

I feel its heart in mine, cold at the bottom of a lake. A vision within a vision ensconced by phantom sediment. Proof of my existence. Ardor in the face of blight and confusion.

However, surviving aeons, its footprint remains. World swims around its form with radiant devotion. Substanceless depths come up for air as I watch myself drown. No matter, I was born here, where flesh meets sky.

I am just a man, I realize, crawling toward the Idol. I am my own frozen shadow under a dead moon.

The Idol is silent, too, and has been for some time. And even while the war is long over we’re afraid to go outside. Still, if I am a traveler – a true, wayfaring outlander cordially self-exiled – I’ll need to move past this, too. If only to hear that voice again, guttural, announcing itself with brute alienage.

***

I can give you that much at least: that I’ve lived like some pagan savage. I’ve fornicated with witches and bled for necromancers before locking myself away.

Or is it one of the many nightmares I’m only now awakening from?

Eyes, once tearful, brimming with devotion, now arid as the Desert of Glass, penetrating with sharp onism, clarity, no longer afraid to let go. Supine before splintering futures as a necromancer, clad in hoary robes, scried my heart for telling palpitations. While ages dwindled ahead to points of corrugating light, sun spilling its seed above the constricting meridian with no more room to breathe.

A demon, I was, spared to live truly, irrevocably, dead. And yet, alive, fuming with boreal consciousness while experiencing the tension of the world itself as a lashing scourge of fire and judgment . . .

Twisting, writhing through charnel streets as the blackness of my thoughts reveled in the clamor of doom. Resurrected to witness the night of nights when you are finally put out of your misery as, under these collapsed ruins and toppled halls, nothing remains.

Like the distance I feel which fills you with dread by the end. Another relic for the march across dead seas. Banners held high in defiance of madness to come: that you’ll go nowhere in the end, rotting on your throne.

Voice loud and clear, even over the clamor of war. Churlish words of a demon’s curse enraptured by the destruction.

***

I became lost on the solitary road. Deeper into the mountains. I’d been cold before, but never like this. Sky like an ashen cowl rendering me invisible against the expanse of glaring, white drifts.

I am reminded of another life.

People of the Black Sun.

Gaunt denizens, flesh worn only to still the waters of the thing inside, warming their bones inside a spectral furnace as they come to terms with the ghost inside. Situating musculature over stone as they are transformed into worms and ghouls who haunt, yet are never haunted, in void-like realms, considered revenant when spied from afar.

All that mattered was they were waiting for me.

What do you know, or care to know, as you fade from view? As this feeling remains, which is no feeling at all? . . .

World itself decays, gathering flies of its own. Festering reunions in the depths of holocaustal memories. Behind a veil of indifference, rising and falling of flame, blatant futures spew from exhausted oracles. Pineal eye slams shut to the Fall and deprecation of valor.

It’s okay, a Voice assured me, to end it like this. It was their voice, our voice, echoing through the illimitable chamber where we congregated: where the demonic wailing of the world could no longer be heard.

#CCParker

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