#Go watch Legion everybody

[tomthefanboy]

Today was the day I learned that Cary Loudermilk from Legion (the taller, whiter Loudermilk, pictured here on the left) ...

was the "other guy" in the video for infamous 80s earworm Don't Worry Be Happy.

I had always been vexxed by his inclusion in the video, not as an insult to his talents as a clown and dancer, but because he was being given equal billing alongside the performer themself and superstar ROBIN WILLIAMS.

Bill Irwin had not even played his most famous part at the time! It wouldn't be until 1999 that he played Mr. Noodle in Elmo's World.

I'm glad that I can not only put a name to that face, but that it's a name that is associated with such high quality programming.

[luveline]

maybe could I ask for miguel seeing spider girl with a bruise on her face and getting protective (when in reality it was just over something dumb) thank youuuu <3

ty for requesting! Finding his Spider-Girl is never easy. He’ll assume you’re wearing your watch and find it forgotten in his room, or under a chair in the cafeteria, or twitching and loosing smoke at the bottom of a garbage can, nowhere near your actual location. 

Today, he checks all your usual haunts and decides he might break up with you if you don’t start leaving him clues as to where to find you. Not that’s he’s your boyfriend (of course he’s your boyfriend), but he’d put an end to your… relationship, should he have to. 

He’s getting annoyed at his own thoughts and, by extension, you, when he finally finds you lying casually across a couch in a common area otherwise abandoned. You’ve projected your phone game onto the ceiling, music leaking from the cans of your headphones, with your socked feet dangling over an armrest, a drinks bottle by your head.

“Where are your shoes?” he asks loudly. 

You glance his way. “Hi, Miguel.” 

“Are you walking around without shoes?” He bends one way and another looking for them. They’re on their sides under the coffee table among a legion of dust bunnies. 

“What?” 

“I said–” He hates playing this game. “Take the headphones off, and then we’ll talk to each other.” 

“I’m gonna take my headphones off,” you say. 

He rolls his eyes. You stop projecting your phone, snapping it closed on your chest and struggling up into a sitting position, legs retrieved from over the armrest and crossed beneath you as your headphones slip around your neck. You’re in sportswear with a jacket too big for you over your shoulders, cute cargo pants he adores and potentially would love to take off of you, and he’s so busy noticing your uncharacteristic outfit that he misses the huge bruise on your face, the yellow, red and purple like a stain under your eye 

He has amazing vision. “What happened?” he asks, practically diving for you, bending down to take your unbruised cheek into his hand. “Who did that to you?” 

You haven’t been on a strike mission in weeks, and your combat training is all but done. 

Someone laid their hands on you. 

Miguel goes into a fugue. “Sweetheart,” he says, his voice flat, almost cold, “who hit you?” 

“Miguel, I’m a superhero–”

“I don’t remember the last time you went home,” he says, immediately brushing this possibility away. You don’t fight crime in your dimension, Spider-Girl a poorly received vigilante. “You haven’t been in training, I didn’t send you on the strike this morning because you didn’t want to go.” He touched you with extreme care, thumb barely pressed to your skin, but he talks with precision. “So I’ll ask again. Who hit you, cariño?” 

“Miguel,” you laugh, pushing his hand off of your face to wrap your arms around his neck. He covers your back instinctively. “I’m fine, what’s wrong with you? You’re acting all macho.” 

“You aren’t answering my question.” 

“Oh my gosh.” You cling to him. He could stand up at full height and be sure you’d come up with him. He’d quite enjoy that, to his secret pleasure, you with your legs wrapped around his hips. You don’t like being carried is the kicker. “Miguel, I hit myself. My hand got caught when I was taking the suit off and I hit myself in the eye, it’s fine.” 

Your back is soft. His hand less so as he rubs your back in surprised, short lines, up and down and up again. “Idiot,” he says, his voice turning to rasp at such a low volume. 

It must hurt, even if you did it to yourself. Miguel peels you away from his neck and stations you gently on the couch. “I’ll take you to the medbay,” he promises, giving your shoulder a little push. “What’s wrong with you? You hit yourself? You’re like a kid.” 

“I am not! It happens to everybody.” 

“Never happens to me.” 

“You cheat. Your suit flashes on and off.”

“It does not.” Miguel decides he is going to carry you whether you like it or not. You aren’t wearing shoes —he doesn’t need you getting any more injured. “Alright, hold on to your phone, my brat.” 

“Your what?” you laugh, though any humour you hold is lost when Miguel grabs you up with ease and cradles your full grown body to his chest in a princess carry, “Miguel! Stop, put me down! You know I hate this.” 

“You might hurt yourself again. I’m taking necessary precautions.” 

You sigh and drop your face into his shoulder. “Well, I guess I’ll allow it. You got so, so mad thinking somebody hit me, I think you deserve to carry me around like a large cantaloupe.” You draw a heart into the base of his neck. “Will you grab my shoes?” 

“I’ll circle back.” 

“Thank you. How’d you even find me? I was hoping I’d be healed the next time we saw one another.”

“At bedtime, you mean?” 

He resists the urge to kiss your cheek, or tell you how he’d found you (mindless combing of the building, seduction of your most likely location, and dumb luck). You don’t need the ammunition. 

[d34dg1rl5]

Saviour

Opening your eyes you take in your surroundings. You're in Ormond. Quickly you decide to look for a totem since you're running Inner Strength.

After some while of running sround you finally find a totem in the corner of the killer shack. But you weren't alone. Mikaela also just arrived at the shack and started to work on the totem, she probably runs a Boon perk.

"Uhm, Mikaela... Could I maybe have this totem? I have Inner Strength, I could-" She glances at you and grunts. "Why don't you go find another totem?" You tilt your head. She never has been so mean, but maybe she had a bad day. You nod. "Yeah true..." You sigh and decide to work on a gen for now, you're sure you'll find another totem somewhere else on the map.

Just as you work on the gen, Jake rushes towards your gen - he's injured. Quickly you get up and try to heal him, but he backs away. "Don't touch me, I don't need your help!" You raise an eyebrow. "But. You're injured?" He starts to work on the gen and continues to groan in pain. You decide to also continue working on the machine. "Jake, I really hate to bug you, but you really should-" "Shut the fuck up and leave me alone!"

Quietly you let go of the issue and shake your head. What's up with him? Did he also have a bad day? A bad trial? More than one bad trial? Well, you didn't want to push any further... The gen is repaired and Jake takes off, leaving you behind, confused and thinking.

After some time you see a totem behind some crates and you quickly destroy it, unlocking Inner Strength. Well, at least something positive!

After some while the killer had downed it's first victim - Jake. You didn't feel to bad... He didn't want to get healed after all! Soon after Jake got hooked another scream erupted from within Ormond. Mikaela also met her demise. She also got hooked. You didn't meet the fourth survivor yet. Let's just hope they didn't have a bad day aswell...

Just as you were thinking that you run into said survivor. It was David. With a thud you fell on your butt. "Oh David! I'm sorry, I didn't see you-" "Quit the bullshit! Everybody knows you're working with the killer!" Your eyes went wide. "What? What are you talking about? I never worked together with any killer!" How could he say that?? What did he mean by 'everyone'??

He pushed you out of the way and makes his way over to the hooked survivors. You look after him as you could feel hot tears starting to run down your cheeks. "What the fuck..."

You trot over the map. Mikaela and Jake had been saved a while ago but you had lost your fighting spirit for this trial already. And you didn't meet the killer yet.

Let's analyze this! You were friends with some of the nicer killers like Susie, Rin, Anna, Carmina, Trickster and even Danny.

Susie is a nice girl, always listening to you and talking to you about all kinds of stuff. Like the rest of the Legion she is always down for the weirdest shenanigans.

Anna is a big woman, her hugs are almost bone crushing yet she always takes care of you outside of the trials telling you different russian fairy tales.

Even though you were friends with Rin, she is more reserved than Susie or Anna. You love to style her hair and learn more about japanese culture. But most of the time she rather wants to be alone than have any company. In all honesty she is ashamed of how she looks. Poor girl...

Carmina is a nice company. Sometimes you chill in her realm, watching her feeding the crows and paint new pictures. One time she surprised you with a picture of you she drew. You liked it alot and she was happy, letting out a proud croak.

Trickster. A hard case. Yes, you were some kind of friends with him. He LOVES talking about himself, his incredible shows, his murders and everything involving him in general. This man is in love with himself and sometimes it's annoying as fuck but you stick around because you're the only survivor he still kind of tolerates.

And the last person - Danny. Infamously known as Ghostface. He is really something. A deadly and quiet stalker, always there when you need him. He also is narcissistic but not as much as Trickster. He likes to talk about the murders he commited when he wasn't in the entitys world. You couldn't see his face but everytime he talked about this topic you could swear he has a big ass smile plastered on his face. And to admit this you kind of have a weakness for the masked stalker.

Looking around you decide to go for the gen in Ormond. Someone has already started to work on it but the killer has destroyed it. Just as you sit down Mikaela comes running towards you and groans in pain. "Heal me!" You get up and look at her. "You could ask me nicely instead..." Not waiting for her answer you still start to patch her up as she backs away and pushes you back, running out of the house.

You gasp as you fall against a hard thing. Immediately an arm wraps around your neck. "Hey doll... What's up? Didn't see you all trial, it was about time, don't you say?" Danny. Of course. Why didn't you notice that sooner...

"Please hook me. I want this trial to be over." He huffs. "You're no fun." He removes his arm and puts a hand onto his hip, making him look a little bit like a Karen. "Hm... I'll get back to you."

After some time Danny downed Jake, Mikaela and David, having them laying on the floor. You were still working on the gen in Ormond, not able to concetrate. The gen had blown up many times even though you were REALLY trying to make it work. Maybe todays events just got to your head...

Danny comes back and grabs your arm. Without questioning him you follow and see your fellow survivors laying on the ground, whincing in pain losing a lot of blood. David looks up to you. "(Y/n)! Heal- I fucking knew it... You're working with the killer! I fucking knew it!!" Mikaela and Jake look at you with looks of disapproval, annoyance and hate. All mixed feelings, but not good ones.

Danny grins and kneels down in front of David. "Heh.. I'll be right back." He brings Jake to the hook and then Mikaela. They get sacrificed immediately. Like promised, Danny comes back. You were still standing there, not knowing what to do. You WANTED to heal David, but after him being an asshole and just treating you like shit you were starting to question things.

Danny chuckles and hands you his knife. "Now (Y/n)... Why don't you show David what you think about his mean mean behaviour earlier? I think he needs to be punished..." He puts his head on your shoulder. "C'mon... Make me proud..."

You look at Danny and grab the knife tightly in your hand kneeling down in front of David. "David...", you start. David huffs. "You're a fucking traitor... You're the reason we always lose when we're teamed up with you... Sometimes I wish you were fucking dead. Forever."

Those words hurt. Like someone plunging multiple needles in your heart. David was always a guy who loved to brag about his fights but he was there when needed in trials. But now. You despise him. You really do.

You look at the knife in your hand, knuckles white from gripping the knife so hard. David grins. "You're weak... I knew you-" Before the brit could finish his sentence you plunged the knife in his neck, making him bleed even more. He gurgles for a few seconds before closing his eyes. Now he was really dead. Not sacrificed and not mori'd... At least not by a killer.

You slowly get up and look at your now bloody hands. From behind you you could hear slow claps. Slow claps. Just like a villain in a superhero movie. You turn around.

"Damn... I really didn't think you would be able to do that... Yet you proofed me wrong. Interesting..." He smiled and takes the knife from you, cleaning it from Davids blood. Danny sighs. "Saw how they treated you earlier... I couldn't let that go 'unseen'." He sits down on one of the benches, manspreading. Quickly he pats his thigh. Not even knowing what you're doing you sit down on his thigh and let your head fall against his shoulder.

"I didn't even see you.." Danny nods. "Of course. I am Ghostface, I am a master at staying hidden." He sighs and puts his hand on your head soothingly caressing your hair.

"I didn't think survivors could be like this... Y'all are supposed to stick together when a killer is trying to. Well kill you." You sigh audibly. "I was confused and then I thought they were referring to my friendships with some of the killers including you... I didn't even know you were the killer until Mikaela pushed me into you."

"Yeah, what a move."

The wind is blowing and you shiver. Danny notices this and holds you closer to him. "Cold, are we?" He move his free hand to his mask and. Removes it?! You have never seen Danny without his mask and he looks really pretty... You look at him.

"You must trust me a lot to remove your mask..." He smiles a cheeky smile. "Think whatever you want about this. You should get the hatch as a little reward. For killing David and basically doing the dirty work for me." You just nod and get off his thigh. He grabs his mask but isn't putting it on just yet.

After a while of looking for the hatch you finally find it in the killer shack. "I'll see you around. If you want it or not."

With that he pushes you into the hatch grinning. Just before you get engulfed in the black fog, you see him putting his mask back on.

What will the others think?

[petrifiedforests]

No, pressure, of course, but perhaps Waxer/Boil and 💛? 😘

💛 reunion kiss / relief for you @cacodaemonia without any angst. Just fluff.

Everybody knows it's Waxer and Boil. Boil and Waxer. WaxerandBoil.

They have become such a fixed entity in their squads minds that the shinies always seem surprised they're not attached at the hip.

Okay, so sometimes they are, but off-duty bunk arrangements non withstanding, they are ARF troopers.

They are among the best in what they do and so they are loaned out to other legions or sent out alone quite often.

Which is to say, Waxer is currently waiting for Boil's shuttle to set down and he can't stop from bouncing slightly on his feet.

He missed him.

The shuttle circles lazily above the landing area and finally with one last burst of the thrusters, it sets down gently.

Waxer knows Boil is fine, he's been at the kriffing debrief where Boil commed in what he found. 

So, this is the time to implement the plan that has been in the making ever since Boil had become so flustered watching that kitschy holo a few weeks back.

He's got one shot at this and he's going to make it count.

He watches carefully as the ramp lowers and Boil emerges, blinking rapidly against the glaring sun.

Perfect.

With all the grace Kamino's training has brought him, Waxer quickly closes the distance between them and knocks Boil's feet cleanly out from under him.

Boil yelps loudly, arms windmilling and Waxer grins as he catches him and dips him deeply.

"Hi darling," he grins, "welcome back!" 

The deep flush spreading across Boil's face up to his ears is utterly endearing. 

Waxer simply must lean in and kiss him for all he's worth.

It's proper romantic. Just like that holo.

[dead-by-mending]

Legion headcannon : source material night

Once per week, everyone at Ormond decides to watch a movie / play a game that's the source material for a licensed character. Here's a few comments that could come out of it (one for each license, try to guess them, easy difficulty) :

Joey : Damn, Michael started killing even younger than us, that's crazy

Frank : Eh, this game's not as hard as Feng said- *gets jumped by a Hunter* OH FU-

Susie : Aww, no wonder Bubba is so deranged with a family like that

Julie : Ugh, I already hated Freddy, but now it's even worse

Frank : He's not gonna cut off his own foot, ri- Holy shit, he is !

Joey : Thank god he didn't get to bring his chainsaw or his gun in the realm, we would be so fucked if he did

Julie : "Everybody's a suspect"... God that line is so powerful...

Susie : Oh my god Mike is finally kissing El ! They're so cute !

Julie : Honestly I would have rather left that kid for dead than go against...whatever this is... Especially since she'll become Cheryl...

Frank : How many bullets did I put in this zombie ?! Stay down, motherfucker !

Joey : That's where survivors are sent after his mori ? Damn, Pinhead is really a freak...

Susie : Yoichi was so cute when he was little I can't believe it !

Julie : Wesker is an idiot for many reasons. Not tapping Excella was one of them

Joey : Damn, was Ripley the only one with a functionning brain in this damn ship ? No wonder she's the only one who survived

Frank : *Bites his own fingers off while trying to look respectfully at how Tiffany looked as a human*

Joey : Damn, I underestimated how much Rose is simping for Alan

Frank : If I roll a 20, can I invoke a gun ? No ? This game fucking sucks...

Julie : What the shit ??? I get that the graphics are limited, but tits don't look like fucking pyramids !

Susie : Even in pixels Alucard is so pretty !

And finally...

Julie : Guys... We already watch a dozen of Nic Cage's films... I think we should stop...

[kingofsummer93]

Northern Lights in Our Skies

Summary:

Two years after the war with Hybern, a looming conflict once again threatens Prythian's fragile peace. With the safety of the human lands at risk, Elain jumps at the opportunity to act as emissary to a distant, mysterious realm.

That she will get to expand her horizons along the way is a bonus she'll gladly take.

That she'll have to do so while masquerading as Lucien Vanserra's wife, on the other hand, is something she'll need some getting used to.

Ao3 | Masterlist

Chapter 3

At first Lucien assumed he must have misheard. An image slid into his consciousness despite himself- Elain, wearing a white dress in the draped, breezy Day Court style, walking towards him down an aisle carpeted with flower petals. Except when she reached him, instead of beaming at him, her expression was a mixture of defiance and resentment.

“What?”

His incredulity was barely noticed as the Night Court erupted in protests, Nesta going so far as to wrap an arm around her sister. As if Lucien was about to jump out of his seat and drag her to an altar as they all watched.

“Everybody calm down,” Rhysand drawled. “He’s obviously joking.”

“I don’t know,” Thesan cut in, looking at Helion with an uncharacteristically wicked gleam in his dark eyes. “You might be onto something. A political marriage is hardly a foreign concept in the human realms.”

“Forget about a political marriage. Nobody outside of this courtyard has to know the truth,” Helion continued. “As far as the rest of Prythian is concerned, you’ll be the perfect symbol of unity between fae and humans. Brought together by fate, stayed together for love.”

Lucien choked on a bitter laugh. Stayed together for love. What a farce. Jesminda’s face appeared in his mind, open and trusting and so full of unconditional love, even as his father’s sword had lowered towards her neck. She had stayed with him for love. She would have followed him anywhere, and it had only gotten her killed.

Suddenly he was enraged.

“Hilarious,” he spat at Helion and Thesan. “Absolutely fucking hilarious.” He jumped to his feet, not caring how disrespectful it would seem, or how it might hurt whatever tentative progress they had made. “Find me when you’re ready to discuss serious matters.”

“Sit down, Lucien.” It was Feyre, her tone gentle enough that he paused. “That’s enough of that,” she added, her gaze turning steely as she faced the other two High Lords. “It’s getting late and we still need to talk logistics.”

Lucien reluctantly sat back down, diligently avoiding the eyes he felt trained on him. There was a gentle, almost imperceptible tug against his chest, and it was so surprising he almost gasped out loud. When he turned towards his mate she offered him a small, shy smile, and then quickly averted her gaze.

The negotiations went deep into the night, until Thesan agreed to ready a small aerial legion to dispatch to the eastern coast of the Spring Court and human lands, should they be needed. Meanwhile, a host of Helion’s soldiers would be placed along the Spring Court’s land borders. At the first sign of movement from Beron’s armada, Cassian would be bringing a legion of Illyrians to the human territories on the continent- but only if Lucien was unsuccessful in convincing Bharat to come to their neighbors’ aid. Nothing more had been said about Elain accompanying Lucien, and she didn’t bring it up again.

But there was more to discuss, and he wouldn’t be leaving for days still. There was still time to talk to her in private, and find out if she truly wanted to go with him. Her reasoning had been sound, however, Lucien couldn’t help but admit that. Not to mention that he might finally get a chance to speak to her for more than a few awkward minutes. But despite that, he couldn’t help but dread the idea of being alone with her for so long. There would be no running out of the room to escape the pull of the bond, no leaving Velaris in the early hours of morning to avoid dealing with the complicated emotions dredged up whenever he saw her.

His friends, it turned out, were just as conflicted about it as he was.

“You’re not actually considering bringing her along, are you?” Vassa asked scornfully from her perch on the low wall of his balcony.

Lucien sighed, draining his glass of fizzy white wine (citrusy and dry, one of Day Court’s more profitable exports) and refilling it from a chilled carafe. It was late, but the three of them were no strangers to late nights, given Vassa’s schedule.

“I don’t know. She brought up some good arguments.”

“She can’t even say hello to you like a normal person!”

“Claws in, tigress,” Jurian drawled with a grin.

“It’s not just her,” Lucien replied defensively. This was an argument they’d had multiple times. “It’s not like I’m the picture of eloquence around her, either.”

“That’ll make for a fun trip!” Lucien threw Vassa a stern look, but she only raised an eyebrow.

“I’m shocked her sisters and Rhysand haven’t whisked her back to Velaris yet,” Jurian mused. “Or the shadowsinger, for that matter.”

Lucien held back a snarl at the mention of the male he’d seen sniffing after his mate on more than one occasion. It had been unbearable last Solstice, to the point that he’d made his exit before dawn to avoid having to see either of them in the morning.

He didn’t blame her for it- he’d had centuries of dallying with any female (and occasional male) who caught his eye. It would hardly be fair if she wasn’t allowed to do the same. Still, the fact that she’d apparently moved on from Nolan only to fall into the arms of one of those overgrown bats…It made his blood boil with jealousy just to think about it.

And it made the fact that she apparently wanted to come with him to Bharat even more puzzling.

“Maybe she’s had enough of them treating her like a child. Sometimes I think Feyre forgets that she’s the youngest.”

Jurian snorted and drained his glass before getting to his feet with a groan. “Well, my offer stands, if you’d like a different human escort. Albeit a less pretty one.”

“Careful,” Vassa teased. “You wouldn’t want your throat ripped out by a jealous male.”

Lucien smirked at his friend as he passed, making sure to flash his slightly elongated canines. Jurian barked with laughter, a sound that always sounded more canine than human.

“You’ll wake the whole palace!” Vassa scorned.

“Yeah, yeah…”

Lucien could only laugh and shake his head at his friends’ familiar pattern. He had never known two people who were more oblivious about their feelings than those two. Sometimes he had to restrain himself from locking them in a room and not letting them out until they acknowledged their feelings.

Leaving him forever the third wheel.

Once his friends had left he leaned against the railing on his balcony and stared out at the glittering city below. There was no city like it in all of Prythian. It was different from the bustle of Adriata’s busy harbor, and the quiet, artistic elegance of Velaris. More beautiful than the industrial cities of Dawn, more serene than the loud markets of Rask.

The white-washed streets sloped up the sides of the hills that surrounded the Citadel like a natural wall, giving the impression that the palace was surrounded by a cocoon of marble and gold. Parks, greenhouses, and gardens stood out even in the moonlight, sending sweet scents on the salty sea breeze. Countless libraries dotted the streets, their cerulean blue domes like beacons against all the pale stone. Many of them still bore signs of Amarantha’s wrath, though Lucien wondered if the visible damage was left intentionally. A reminder, perhaps, of what could happen if power and knowledge landed in the wrong hands. A fitting message, from a court known for its depthless well of knowledge. The city was beautiful under the moonlight, but it came alive when the sun shone high in the sky and all that white stone reflected light and warmth.

Lucien’s blood thrummed just looking at it. He knew trying to get some rest was hopeless, even with the late hour. Sleep wouldn’t find him, not with that foreign magic vibrating inside him, mixing with his flame until it felt like lightning buzzed through his veins. He had been to the Day Court countless times in his life, of course, and had even stayed in this palace before. But not since Amarantha. Not since laying eyes on Helion, newly crowned High Lord, Under the Mountain, and having his suspicions turn to gut-wrenching realization in less than a heartbeat.

Not here, he swore to himself. Not here, not now, in this palace. This was not the time to ponder on what his life could have been like, had things been different. Had Beron not been the monster he was, had his mother waited for Helion just a little longer.

Had Helion known he had sired a child- or even cared.

What Lucien needed was a drink. Something stronger than the fizzy wine, to dull this restlessness inside him and lull him to a dreamless sleep. Once upon a time he would have simply found the closest dance hall or pleasure house and lost himself to a haze of lust, but of course those days were over. All for a female who didn’t seem to share the same scruples he had. If she rejected him, would he be free to desire other females once more? He didn’t often let himself wonder about that outside of the darkest hour of night, with nobody but the gods to judge him.

With one last glance at the city he chucked off his tunic, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and left his room. Nobody stopped him as he walked through the marble palace. Though the sun had set hours ago, the marble walls and columns seemed to glow, as if they had absorbed the full power of the sun during the day. The effect was warm and somehow cozy despite the sheer size of the place. Lucien hated Helion for it.

The audacity of that ridiculous male. His anger from earlier returned in full force. Stayed together for love. As if he hadn’t done the exact opposite, if the rumors were to be believed.

He walked blindly until he reached the top of those wide marble steps, leading down into the column-lined courtyard. The air was still warm, tinged with salt from the sea and spices from the nearby harbor-front market. A few sentries looked at him curiously as he walked past, but Lucien barely noticed them as he strode towards the city.

The magic in his veins seemed to glow in delight, and Lucien followed the call into a city that could have been his, in another life.

---

Elain had thought that the River House was opulent, but it was nothing compared to the Day Court palace. The halls and courtyards she had walked through should have been indication of what the rooms would be like, but she still gawked in delight when a servant had shown her to her rooms.

Rooms was the accurate term, for it was not so much a guest room and more of a suite consisting of a sitting room, a bedroom, a vast bathing room, and a large balcony with a view of the ocean on one side and the city on the other. The sitting room was dotted with plush couches and floor pillows, all in bold, jewel-toned velvet. There was a massive four-poster bed draped in plush white linens, and a wardrobe full of clothes in the Day Court style. Fae lights shone from gilded sconces on the walls, giving the space a warm, welcoming glow.

But Elain’s favorite thing was the bath. There was a large sunken pool on one side of the balcony, designed so guests could bathe under the stars, or under that incomparable Day Court sun. Trellises built into the sides of the balcony offered privacy, the structures crawling with vines dotted with bright purple blooms.

As soon as the door had clicked shut behind the servant, Elain had stripped off her ridiculous black dress and walked right into the clear, fragrant water. The water was deliciously cool, and for a while she simply floated there, looking up at the stars. The Day Court bordered Night, and yet the stars looked different here, somehow. She wondered how different they would look on the continent.

If she ever made it there, that is. Her sisters hadn’t said anything about it after the meeting with the High Lords, simply wishing her a good night before disappearing to their own rooms. To discuss the situation with their mates, no doubt. Leaving her out of the discussion as they always did, even when it concerned her. Perhaps they were hoping that she’d forget about it by morning, or that she had simply been feverish from the heat.

The thought of the shock on their faces almost made her laugh. Come to think of it, they’d be shocked to even see her like this, bathing under the stars. It wasn’t exactly a public bath, but still. Every time she showed any indication of adapting to the fae’s disregard for propriety, she was met by disbelief and shock. It wasn’t her sisters’ faults- or, not entirely. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t allowed them to treat her like a precious, breakable thing her entire life. But she was tired of it.

Here, finally, was an opportunity to do something. To go somewhere, even if it wasn’t exactly a vacation. And even if it was on the arm of her mate, play-acting as his loving mate.

A mate he didn’t want. She understood that now. It all made sense- the looks of barely concealed longing and sadness she glimpsed, combined with that inability to act normally around her, or be next to her for more than a few minutes before drifting away towards someone else.

He had loved someone else, and she had been taken from him in such a tragic and horrible way that it broke Elain’s heart for him. She had never known- had never dared to ask, lest it be misconstrued as showing interest. If she had gotten over her stubbornness and dared to ask earlier, things might have been so much less awkward between them. Of course the bond made him desire her, but he didn’t actually want her, not really. He didn’t love her, or even want to. It was clear from the way he spoke about Jesminda that nobody would ever compare.

Elain felt strangely jealous at the thought. It was absurdly inappropriate, to be envious of a murdered female (murdered by his father, no less) but she couldn’t help it. She wanted someone to love her that deeply, for centuries on end. Meanwhile, all she’d gotten was Graysen, who had chucked her aside at the first sign of trouble and married someone else without a thought.

She squashed the thought. She was immortal- it wasn’t as if there was any rush. And if she couldn’t have love, then at least she wanted to see the world.

Her fingers were pruny by the time she finally climbed out of the bath, her thick curls immediately frizzing in the humid air. The towels next to the bath were thick and somehow warm, and Elain wrapped one around herself before plopping down onto the lush white bed. It felt like lying on a cloud, especially with the wicker fan on the ceiling sending cool air through the room.

But Elain couldn’t sleep. Not with this shining white city brimming with life around the palace- a city she had seen in her dreams. After a while she gave up entirely and sat up in bed. She wasn’t brave enough to go into the city on her own at night, but surely she’d be safe inside the palace? On her way to her rooms she had spotted what seemed to be a greenhouse built into the palace itself. A brief glance in passing had revealed such a variety of plants, many of which Elain had never seen before, that she had almost asked to stop to look.

Maybe she’d just have a quick look to satisfy her curiosity, and then surely sleep would find her. With her mind made up she walked to the wardrobe and peered inside. It was full of dresses in bold colors, all cut in a draped, loose style. Elain selected one in a cheery, sunshine yellow shade. The material was light and airy, and slipping it on felt like being kissed by a cool wind.

She blushed as she looked at her reflection in a mirror. The fabric swooped low down her back, and a high slit exposed more of her leg than she had ever shown in her life. It was so revealing that she almost took it off, but she reasoned that there wouldn’t be anyone around to see her, except maybe for a few sentries. And surely if this was the popular style here they wouldn’t bother being shocked at the sight of her leg.

The airy hallways were mostly empty as she tried to remember the path towards the greenhouse, though she could hear the sound of revelry from one of the lower levels. From what she knew of Helion, she wouldn’t be surprised if there was always some form of party happening somewhere in his palace. This place was the complete opposite of the Court of Nightmares- filled with sunshine and warmth, its people carefree and happy.

Elain had loved reading fairy tales as a young girl, stories where maidens went to live in castles and fell in love with the handsome, gentle-hearted prince. This was the sort of palace she had always pictured, while reading those stories- not a dark, festering court built into a mountain where chaos and violence reigned. Those palaces had always belonged to the villains.

The palace was so vast that she got turned around several times, but finally she found what she was looking for- tall double doors with intricate doorknobs of solid gold, fashioned into the shape of snakes. There were no guards, but as Elain pushed one of the doors open she had the odd sensation of walking through a wall of thick, buzzing air. Some type of ward or shield, perhaps.

The air inside the greenhouse was heavy with humidity, and so warm she was glad she had opted for such a light dress. Walking into the greenhouse felt like stepping into a bath. The vegetation all around was lush and thick, reminding her of the jungles of the southern continent her father had once told her about. There were plants with large, vibrantly green leaves, vines that snaked up any available surface, and so many varieties of flowers that she didn’t know where to look. She wondered how many of these would grow in the Night Court. Perhaps there was something different about the sunshine here that gave them life, and even if she managed to grow them in her garden in Velaris they would never grow as beautifully as they did here.

She meandered through the paths, the vegetation growing so thick in certain areas that she had to brush the thick leaves aside. Something brushed against her skin, and she looked down to find a large butterfly landing on her shoulder. Its wings were gossamer thin and iridescent, glowing almost like opals in the fae lights that illuminated the greenhouse. She extended her palm and two more butterflies swooped down, one yellow, one pink. Elain giggled, and then her heart lurched.

Not her heart, she realized- it was the bond, a coiling of that golden rope that only ever happened when she was near her mate. She looked up and gasped in surprise.

There he was, eyes wide with the same shock she felt at seeing him. She had been so distracted by the greenhouse that she hadn’t noticed him leaning against the side of a bridge curving over a little creek that had been built into the greenhouse floor. He was wearing a loose white shirt rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his hair unbound and curling slightly at the ends. She’d never seen him dressed so casually, and something about it felt oddly intimate.

“You look like Snow White,” he said, clearly having recovered from his shock faster than her.

“I- what?”

Lucien smiled ruefully. “You know, from the fairy tale? The one who attracts animals? I think she even wears a yellow dress. Or am I mixing her up with another one?”

“You’re mixing her up with Belle. The one who falls in love with the beast.”

“Ahh, that’s right. That would be Feyre, then.”

A laugh bubbled out of her throat before she could stop it. She clapped a hand to her mouth. “That’s not funny. At all.”

He winced. “Sorry. I’m a little drunk. I always forget how strong this stuff is.” He motioned to a bottle resting next to him. The liquid inside was a bold cobalt, with a bright yellow lemon on the label. Elain had never seen or tasted alcohol that color before.

She noticed Lucien’s eyes dip to her exposed leg and linger there for a beat as she walked onto the bridge. He cleared his throat and looked away, a faint blush on his cheeks.

“That look suits you much more than that funeral dress you were wearing earlier.”

Elain almost choked. “Excuse me?”

“You look like a Day Court princess.”

The sincerity in his tone took her by surprise. For a moment his eyes shone with such intense longing that she had to look away. The urge to run away kicked in- away from those eyes, away from bond thrumming in her chest, away, away.

“I should-”

“Sorry,” he blurted. He reached out a hand but froze an inch away from her arm, his fingers clenching and unclenching before they dropped to his side- like it was an effort not to touch her and yet he didn’t dare to. “I have no filter when I’m drunk.”

Elain peered at the bottle of blue liquid curiously. “Give me that.”

Lucien chuckled and handed her the bottle with a flourish. The liquid was thick and sweet, bright and citrusy- and so strong she nearly choked as she swallowed it.

“Oh, gods!”

“It’s better mixed.”

Elain took another small sip, all too aware of Lucien’s eyes on her. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the solitary, morose drunk type.”

Lucien chuckled. “And I wouldn’t have pegged you as a lonely walk in the middle of the night type.”

Elain shrugged. “I have trouble sleeping sometimes.”

He was silent for so long that she finally looked up at him, and the gentle understanding in his eyes almost took her breath away.

“How do you know human fairy tales, anyway?” she blurted, desperate to change the subject. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that for once he wasn’t being awkward with her, but Elain found she was no longer in such a hurry to escape him.

He blinked in surprise. Understandable, she supposed, considering that she had never asked him about himself before. “I spent a lot of time in our family’s library when I was a child. It was one of the few places that my brothers never bothered to go.”

It sounded like an admission, as personal as what he’d said earlier about Jesminda. Elain’s chest ached as she pictured it: a small red-headed boy, curled up in a corner of an ancient library, ready to bolt at the first sign of one of his brothers. She and her sisters had their differences, but the thought of that level of animosity between siblings was something she couldn’t imagine.

---

Touch her, that thing in his chest taunted him. Smell her, taste her….

His mate. She was so beautiful that it knocked the air clean out of his lungs every time. He had even found her beautiful in that ridiculous dress she had been wearing earlier. But now, in that dress that looked like liquid sunshine, surrounded by plants that seemed to lean towards her as if she was the sun- she was a vision. Her usually smooth honey-brown curls frizzed around her head, a few strands plastered to her neck with sweat. He had to look away as a bead of sweat rolled down her neck and he had a sudden, almost irresistible urge to tug her towards him and lick it off.

Silence fell, and he searched his mind for something to say before she could try to run off again. Her closeness always erased any thoughts from his mind and rendered him tongue tied, like some pathetic youth. He didn’t often let himself wonder how much of his attraction was due to the bond, and how much was simply because of her.

He’d never had this problem with other females. But then again, he wasn’t used to females shying away from him as if he repulsed them. Even with the eye and scar, even during those first few years when he had barely been able to look at himself in the mirror, he’d never had a problem talking to females- or getting them to fall into his bed. He didn’t even mind when they pitied him, because he hated the pity less than he loved having a warm body against his.

But somehow when it came to his mate he was an awkward youth again, unable to string three words together, afraid of coming across like a fool.

You don’t know this female, he reminded himself. She doesn’t want you.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, so softly he barely heard her.

He looked at her in surprise. “For what?”

She was wringing her hands, apparently unable to meet his gaze. “For suggesting I come with you. I didn’t…I’m sorry it upset you. After what you said, about…” She swallowed thickly. “I should have known it would upset you.”

Lucien stared at her, dumbstruck. “You think I’m upset with you?” She looked up at him shyly, her gaze so uncertain he could have punched himself. The haze of alcohol addling his mind seemed to clear slightly. “I’m not mad at you, Elain.”

She shivered visibly, and some idiotic, male part of him preened. Did she like hearing him say her name? Some instinctual part of her, perhaps. One that she very much resented, clearly.

“I shouldn’t have asked to go, it was silly-”

“No!” Her eyes widened at his tone. “No, there was nothing silly about it. It just…wasn’t how I expected the conversation to go, that’s all.”

She said nothing to acknowledge she had heard him as she idly picked at the label on the bottle.

“I’m surprised Nesta hasn’t cut my head off yet,” he admitted.

Elain laughed, a bright, tinkling sound. “She’s probably sharpening her knives as we speak. I’d lock your door if I were you.”

He clapped a hand to his chest in mock alarm, and she laughed again.

“Actually,” she said with a wince, “they’re probably all holed up together, trying to come up with a reason for me not to go.”

Lucien felt a surge of anger on her behalf. Not for the first time he wondered what other decisions she wasn’t in charge of, or consulted about. Perhaps that had been a motivation behind volunteering to travel with him to the continent.

“I’ve never been anywhere like this,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. I’ve been to plenty of gardens and greenhouses, obviously, but…” she looked up at the mist-coated vegetation growing thickly above them, and the butterflies fluttering lazily in the air. “Never somewhere like this.”

“Is that why you want to go to Bharat with me?” Lucien made sure to keep his tone carefully neutral, to not betray the hope that she truly wished to accompany him.

Her cheeks turned pink. “Partly,” she admitted. “I’ve always wanted to go. But I also meant what I said. I might not be human anymore, but I still remember how they operate. What their customs are, what they might respond to. The social season is not exactly the same as centuries of diplomatic work, but…”

She was trying to sell the idea of her accompanying him. As if he needed convincing. He was so distracted by the realization that she truly meant to go with him that he didn’t realize he was staring at her.

Elain blushed even more, lifting her chin defiantly. “If you don’t want me to come you can just say so. I won’t take it personally.”

“Of course I want you to come with me,” he said quickly.

“Even if we have to…pretend?”

Pretend- because it could never be real.

“Would you be ok with that?” he asked carefully. “Everybody thinking that we’re…”

Her gaze went hard for a moment. “If it can help stop this war from happening, then yes.”

Pride flared in his heart at the determination in her eyes, the proud lift of her chin.

Who are you, he wanted to ask.

There would be time for that now, he supposed, if they were to travel to the continent together. And pass off as a couple in love.

“You’re staring again,” she mumbled, fiddling with her skirts.

“Sorry!” He laughed ruefully. “It’s just…I think this is the most you’ve ever spoken to me.” He felt idiotic as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Lucien expected her to mumble some apology, or drift back into silence, but to his surprise she let out a puff of laughter. She almost seemed to deflate a bit, like some weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

“It’s easier to talk to you when you’re not desperate to run out of the room.”

“Well, maybe it’s easier to talk to you when you’re not cowering on the other side of the room.”

Her jaw dropped open. “I don’t cower from you!”

There was that spark that he had first gleaned in Rhysand’s office. Why did he like it so much?

“What are you smiling at?” she demanded.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about what kind of ring my wife would like.” He looked at her left ring finger pointedly.

Elain sputtered in indignation. “I didn’t agree to be your wife. You almost ran out of the room when it was suggested.”

Touché. “Well, I’m not suggesting we ask Helion to throw us a wedding. But we will have to pretend, and a ring on your finger will be necessary.”

Elain was quiet for a beat. She’d worn the ring Nolan had given her for months after he had ended their betrothal. Was she thinking about him, and the life she perhaps still wished she could have had with him?

Or was the idea of him giving her a ring too much for her to handle? A physical reminder of the shackle that would always bind them together, perhaps.

“And on yours, as well,” was all she said, giving his finger a pointed look.

Lucien forced a laugh, though his gut twisted uncomfortably at the thought.

Not real, he reminded himself. Not real.

“Just for the trip,” she added quickly.

“Just for the trip,” he agreed. “And then you can tell the world I’ve displeased you, somehow.”

She scowled at him. “Don’t be crude, Lucien.”

“If you think that’s crude you won’t survive a trip with me, Elain.”

She bit her lip, though he could have sworn she was trying very hard not to smile. “You’re going to make me regret this, aren’t you?”

Lucien couldn’t help a grin. Even with the danger, even with the uncertainty- he couldn’t help thinking that this might turn out to be fun, after all.

Elain smiled back at him, and he let himself stare, let the thread around his ribs warm his heart. He let himself indulge, just for a moment, in a different sort of magic.

Taglist: @elucienweekofficial @areyoudreaminof @separatist-apologist @tuzna-pesma-snova @labellefleur-sauvage @corcracrow @autumndreaming7 @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @vulpes-fennec@sunshinebingo @asnowfern @hallway5 @thelovelymadone @screaming-opossum

[ladymariayuri]

your m+ posting always makes me wanna try it but it still scares me so hard as someone who rarely does dungeons and has never done m+ before (even tho i’ve raided a lot and am fine w that). do you have any tips on how to get started w m+ or anything for people new to it?

OMG YAAAAY okay i can actually give you tips that helped me because i didnt do a single m+ dungeon until late bfa, and i didnt do anything above a 10 until shadowlands season 2 which was also the first season i started doing like "high" keys if you want to call it that. but i always really wanted to try it all of legion and most of bfa i was just so scaredpilled and terrifiedmaxxing. ok anyway AUTISM BLAST READMORE OF DOOM

#1 thing i would recommend is doing a youtube binge of a bunch of guides for the current season's dungeons thats aimed at newer players or people unfamilliar with the m+ environment and then going in on a regular mythic or a +2 until you personally feel comfortable and think you have a grasp of whats going on. you can watch as many guides as you want but nothing's going to teach you like throwing yourself in there and doing it for yourself. idk if youve done dawn of the infinites before it was turned into m+ (or at all) but it had a few more mechanics and quirks for some bosses and they were a LOT harder at the time (morchie, chrono lord deios, and manifested timeways come to mind). my first time doing it my friends literally summoned me after the first boss because their tank dropped group and needed one and i had to learn everything on the fly with them explaining it over voice and while it was horrifying it was a good learning experience. for this season specifically, this video is a decent "cheat sheet" for all of the bosses and their mechanics that you can just skip through for a general idea of things, and this playlist consists of videos for each dungeon that are super in depth and basically explain what's going on from dungeon entrance to dungeon end. trash packs, dangerous abilities, what each role should be focusing on, bosses and their mechanics, etc

you said you already raid so i don't have to preach the whole "know your class" thing but m+ is an entirely different beast from raid requiring a different mindset and your personal responsibility pretty much skyrockets across the board. tank is pretty chill in raid but in m+ it's much harder because you have no cotank and you're the one calling the shots and setting the pace and you're sort of expected to know exactly what you're doing and how you're going to do it and if it deviates at all from what they expect you better be able to prove it wasn't a bad idea. i dont heal in raids so i dont really know how it is but i can't imagine that going from 5~ cohealers to none makes you feel any better and being able to compensate for everybody else's mistakes that aren't a literal 100-0 oneshot is pretty much required and very much not for the weakhearted. as dps you go from one in a million to expected to do your job because a dps in m+ who doesnt do their job (ccing, not getting hit, using defensives) is a lot more noticeable and problematic than a dps in raid who doesn't do their job because a bad dps in raid is just mildly irritating but a bad dps in m+ can make or break the run

across the board for all roles i think the #1 mindset change to adopt is a much heavier focus on mob control and having the proper utility to survive both mobs and bosses. this usually boils down to taking every cc talent you can spare the points for and sometimes sacrificing damage to take a talent point in being able to dispel diseases, or purge etc. you can usually get away with not taking the right utility talents in raid unless it's something like stampeding roar or darkness because you probably have somebody else who can do it for you. you can't really get away with that in m+ because you're running into situations where you have to interrupt or stun or purge or slow or knockback or run away or heal yourself or press your immunity button from the moment you put the key in until the last boss dies and you often have to exhaust every button available to you as soon as it's ready. sometimes its not enough, sometimes everybody's all out of buttons, and you just have to survive until things die. if you watch m+ streamers at all then you already know things are just constantly happening all the time and it never stops but most streamers play in coordinated groups with voice chat which reduces the difficulty of these dungeons by like 50% imho. if you're pugging then you have to play the game like everybody else in your group is a fucking idiot (which is just going to be true most of the time) and plan around the possibility that you have to do the job of 5 people

if you want to know what other people are running or what the best setup for your class is in m+, i recommend cross referencing between the m+ sections of both icyveins and wowhead, your class's discord, and subcreation.net and seeing what seems to be a common denominator between all or most of them. emphasis on cross referencing because most of these have their flaws. class discords are objectively super helpful and up to date but are usually full of freaks detached from reality who are physically incapable of doing anything except circlejerking. subcreation is a data website that just shows what most people are rocking irt talents/gear, and while i personally use it religiously many people advise against data websites because they don't give the big picture on why people are running x and/or y. i dont see a problem with that, it's just best used in tandem with other resources. i don't have any negative things to say about wowhead or icyveins, they're just authored by different types of hosts (wowhead guides are often maintained by one person who's really good at what they do naturally, icyveins guides are the product of class discords and thus are sort of a group effort). i personally like to refer to wowhead more because there's a lot more little comments and notes by authors explaining the rationale behind why x is good and y is bad or maybe if you're this type of player you'd prefer this instead of that. again, you might know all of this as a raider, but idk the extent of your raiding experience and it doesn't hurt to bring it up just incase. here's the subcreation page for havoc dh, which is my main, to give you an idea of what that website provides. i think an underrated benefit of subcreation stems from it "hiding" all of the talent points that are taken 99% of the time, so anything that remains is usually a flex point for a reason you have to figure out through the other resources listed. to use havoc dh as an example, the flex points in the class tree are usually just different choices made with utility (aoe fear, longer throw glaive or throw glaive that slows enemies, longer spectral sight etc), but in the spec tree there's only one flex point, and there's 3 different options that all fill the same niche (your burst aoe button) but are WILDLY different in how they play. i know why theyre picked and when, but if i didnt, id probably look at icyveins and wowhead. and to use havoc dh as an example again, glaive tempest is rarely mentioned on those websites compared to fel barrage and essence break, and if i wasn't very familiar with the class i'd be a bit confused. so that's where i'd go into the class discord and literally ctrl-f "glaive tempest" lol. i think this is honestly more relevant in m+ than in raid because raid is going to be focused on single target builds 99.9% of the time, but you need a mixed damage profile in m+ and that just naturally leads to more diverse builds that do different types of damage. the same thing can apply to healing and tanking though. m+ healing has a higher emphasis on "on-demand" spot healing, 1-5 target group healing but no more than 5, and damage is going to be more relevant here than in raid. m+ tanking will start to prioritize generating as much threat as you can in a very short amount of time to multiple targets, anything that will help specifically make you tankier vs multiple targets for an extended period of time, and crowd control, which is usually not something you see in raid.

do it scared. if youre scared to do it bad you still have to do it scared. there's no way to stop being scared than to do it scared. tell people you're still learning mechanics in a +2 and they will either not care in the slightest or be more than happy to explain things

a quick "shit, thats my bad" is like an irl soothe. will instantly diffuse any potential conflict unless somebody's just a cunt. then they're not worth your time. make a macro to say "oops mb" if you have to. it shows that you're not a dick and you are cognizant of your own abillity to fuck up and are therefore aware of what the correct thing to do was

in turn, dont be the cunt unless somebody is a cunt to you first. flaming people is worth it approximately 1% of the time. you probably aren't inclined to do this while you're still scared but wanting to punch your monitor because some dipshit just failed the easiest mechanic in the world is eternal in both raiding and m+ once you know what you're doing. there will come a point where somebody dying at a bad time to stupid shit is going to ruin the key. (thankfully you don't reach that point until the mid 20s, but people will act like that's true much sooner than that). they probably know they fucked up and you likely don't have to say anything more than "gg". there is also a point where it is expected of everybody to be able to do things with a moderate amount of intelligence. if somebody dies to a very easy to avoid ground aoe multiple times that most everybody in your group forgot could even one shot because it's that easy to avoid, yes, a little bit of "wtf are you doing you idiot" could be warranted. if you're the one dying to stupid shit, pull out the "mb dunno whats up with me right now" and clear your head. if somebody else is the one dying to stupid shit, accept you can't do anything about it besides be mildly irritated.

build good habits for mechanics early. unfortunately in a +2 and honestly for most keys until the high teens / low 20s depending on your gear, shit is just going to tickle and you're not really going to notice it. other people also just aren't going to do mechanics most of the time unless it is an actual intentional pass/fail that will most likely kill you or wipe you on every key level. i think the best way to circumvent this is to treat every swirlie like it will kill you, like every frontal will kill you (unless it's a designated tank frontal and you're the tank, and even then, treat it like it will kill you and mitigate it), like every unkicked cast could kill you, so on and so forth. obviously this is much easier said than done.

sort of related to the previous point, i also believe that you don't really learn to respect a mob or a boss until it turns around and slaps you for 2x your health bar. it's like a fun hidden reputation bar. you start a +2 tyrannical black rook hold with the risen arcanist being at 0/10000 "what does this guy even do" and one day in your first +25 bolstered fortified black rook hold the risen arcanist will arcane blitz you for 7 million damage when you have 800k hp and suddenly you're 10000/10000 "im going to have nightmares about this mob for the rest of my life" and you will have learned a valuable lesson. then, and only then, do you understand on a fundamental and atomic level why the risen arcanist must be treated with the respect that it demands, and what cooldowns you have to reserve for it in the next run. this is just a part of putting in the reps and doing it scared and just jumping right in. you will learn over time what mobs you HAVE to respect and which ones are allowed to get a few casts off or live a bit longer in favor of the more threatening ones. you will also learn which boss abilities are just a rough slap across the face and which ones are Literally 9/11 which will just instantly fucking kill you with no hope of ever surviving without pressing your biggest defensive, which sometimes means you just have to rawdog the slaps across the face so that you dont get instantly fucking killed by Literally 9/11. guides will always tell you this sort of thing and what to watch out for but just like how you dont really learn mechanics from reading about it, you dont learn that a +25 tyrannical iridikron's stonecracker barrage is just going to fucking kill you if you dont do something about it and it probably will kill you even if you DO do something about it and that's just the reality we live in and your next step is to find out if you cuold have done anything more to prevent it.

ok thats enough typing from me. if you ever have specific questions you can always send an ask again. i wish u luck i lov dis game mode i hope u enjoyed my autism wall of text <3

[bibuckaroo]

you’re eren jeager. you’re eight years old and trapped inside walls your entire life and hate every second of it and then your best (and only) friend shows you there’s a possibility of more, of the outside world, of freedom. you're nine years old and you just killed someone for the first time because what they were doing was wrong and as much you like to pretend it didn't affect you because they were just filthy animals, you still get nightmares about it. you're ten years old and you dream of joining the scouting legion so you can finally see the outside world because they represent freedom for you due to their symbol, but oh the titans just broke down the walls and your mom got eaten right in front of you and suddenly it's much bigger than that, it's not just a dream, it's a goal, so you can get rid of every last one of them. you’re twelve years old and people keep on telling you, you’re not gonna make it, you won’t last in the military and you’ll never achieve your goal, and you prove them wrong, every. single. time. you’re fifteen years old and you finally made it, but you wake up and there are a thousand guns pointed at you and the two people you love most in the world are standing between you and danger (as always, and you hate yourself and you feel so guilty and you feel so useless) and they’re asking you if you’re human or a titan and that makes absolutely no sense, because of course you’re human but that does not matter. you get hated on, you are experimented on, you get tortured and through all of this, you push forward because you believe you’re making a difference and you’re helping humanity survive and if you’re suffering through all of this? it’s okay, because you deserve it, i mean, look at how many people die so you can live, look how many times your friends get put into dangerous situations, look at how mikasa and armin’s lives keep on getting shittier because they continue to care about you and through all of this, people treat you as humanity’s hope or as a weapon, but never as a person, because that’s not what you are for them and they keep on saying that if you want to save anybody and make a difference, you have to learn how to control your powers and how to make sacrifices, to let go of your humanity in order to do it. you’re sixteen years old and you know everything you’re going to do, and you want to tell it to the people you trust but you don’t want to burden them with that knowledge because they already have enough on their plate as it is. you’re eighteen years old and you tried to change the outcome from the things you’ve seen multiple times, but every single time you fail because every decision has already been made for you and you’re helpless to do anything but watch, you try to find a different solution, however everything you think of, brings about the doom for your people. you’re nineteen years old and you abandoned everything you cared about in order to reach your goal, everybody hates you, but not as much as you hate yourself, but it’s okay because at least (most of) the people you love will be safe and you will die by the hands of the woman you love, it’s more than you deserve because now you truly are the devil they’ve always accused you of being. and in the end the boy who longed for freedom, was the most entrapped of them all.

[sarifel-corrisafid-ilxhel]

I got Tagged

I got tagged by @evolutionarypsyche. I don't get tagged in stuff too often, and usually when I do, I never know how to respond. This one seems easy enough though!

Last song you listened to: Waiting On The Sky To Change by Starset, feat. Breaking Benjamin

Favorite color: Green, especially the greens of late spring/early summer. It makes me happy. Orange is a close second, also a very happy color. Blue is third, it's relaxing.

Currently watching: Helluva Boss, Hazbin Hotel, The Acolyte, and a million daydreams.

Sweet/savory/spicy: Sweet or savory. I generally don't do spicy because I hate the taste of peppers. Not the heat, but the actual taste.

Relationship status: I haven't been in a relationship in ten years. I've had crushes in that timespan, but just about everybody I've ever crushed on is already in a relationship, and I'm not a homewrecker. I stay far away when I find out somebody I like is already spoken for, and eventually the crush fades.

Current obsession: I've got three, all based on fan characters for the two franchises that are currently occupying my three braincells: Animorphs and Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel. Long story short, I want to write long fanfics centered around OCs that serve as a way to play with the settings I love, but I have the attention span of a goldfish and the commitment of a moth. Always drawn to the next shiny idea before I can get the current ones down. Ima list the ideas here: -Future Andalites play keep-away with the Time Matrix because one of the future Andalites has ended up in a Jake Situation where their dear older brother turned out to be a puppet for an alien, only this time instead of Tom, the bigger brother is Aximili, and instead of Yeerks, the main threat is a malprogrammed Chee doing their best impression of the robots from The Matrix. That's my explanation for TOWIM. Caretaker robot gone bad, wants to end all suffering forever past present and future.

-Animorphs AU where, because of Ellimist shenanigans, a group of OCs get dragged into the events of book 20 and become Animorphs with David, and subsequent strangeness that ripples through the rest of the franchise. Currently I'm stuck on a big Megamorphs-sized idea involving these OCs getting whisked away to an Andalite listening post in the Alpha Centauri system and helping figure out the Yeerks-On-The-Homeworld plot that never got resolved.

-Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel stuff mostly focused on a young Goetia OC named Phenex, a Human OC named Cal, and the shenanigans they get into. Notable conflicts include: Phenex is 18 or 19 and has just been put in charge of 20 demonic legions, but would rather spend time helping Cal pick classes for his next semester of college. Cal finding out what Heaven and Hell are really like, and not knowing where he'd like to go when he inevitably dies. And family drama on both sides.

Last thing you googled: Pictures of doves to use as a reference for a picture of Cal holding his pet dove.

I don't know who I would want to tag. I'm sorry. I've been on Tumblr off and on for over 10 years and still don't know who I'm allowed to tag for things. :C

[justdancekid]

There's No Place I Rather Be - A Just Dance Fanfiction

Series: Just Dance 2023 Edition

Characters: Brezziana (Physical) and Mihaly (Rather Be)

Rating: T

Type: Song Lyrics, Fluff, Adventure

Mihaly was just studying the environment around the house of the Danceverse 5, but their eyes fell on a certain girl

Here we see the house of the Danceverse 5, where we see Mihaly doing their usual thing, meditating. They decided look around and study what the other 4 are doing.

Sara is sitting on the couch petting Discoball

Wanderlust is to Sara's right, practicing his dimension hopping skills

And, Jack Rose is at the center of the room, singing his heart out, and pretending to live the life that Night Swan refused him to live

All and all, a pretty normal day (Well, as normal as a day for 5 people with different personalities that live in the same house)

But, when Mihaly looked outside, they saw Brezziana exercising and filming a video for her millions of fans. But, for some reason, Mihaly couldn't take their eyes off of her. She was just so carefree and bubbly, but the best thing about her is her spirit, just a kind soul lighting up a room whenever she walked in.

"No! Stop that, Mihaly! She doesn't love you in that way." They told themselves, but it's no use. They loved Brezziana, they always had, from the moment they saw her. And it's not like they didn't have a reason to, she just took their hand and brought them with Wanderlust and Sara to stop Night Swan and her legion.

They was in deep thought for a while, Imagining Brezziana and them going on a private resort, playing around in the water, running in the sand, telling eachother that they love each other. And sharing a passionate kiss.

They was so in deep thought, they didn't noticed Jack calling them

"Mihaly! Mihaly! Mihaly!"

They snapped out of their trance and respond to him "Sorry, yeah?"

"Geez, I know you have a crush on Brezziana, but love really makes you deaf, huh?"

Mihaly blushed as they regret telling Jack their secret

"Come on, don't get mad, I was mearly joking."

"Okay, what is it?" Mihaly asked

"Oh, I figured out where my mom's next attack is"

"Where is it?" Sara asked

"The Golden Hall. She heard that's where everybody's gonna be at, so we need to stop her before she captures more people for her army."

"Okay, so what's the plan?" Wanderlust asked

"Simple. We got dressed as our best, and strike every mysterious shadow we see!" Jack answered.

"Now, we need somebody to tell Brezziana the plan. Mihaly, would you mind doing honors?" Jack pointed towards Mihaly

They held their breath and blushed, then answered "Y-y-yes, I could do"

"Perfect! Now go out there." Jack told them as they closed the door.

Mihaly sees Brezziana sweating as she dries off, she sees them "Oh, hey Mi! What's up?"

I love it when you call me that

"Oh, Jack told us that Night Swan is planning to attack The Golden Hall"

"Ooohh! I love that place! I love to dance!"

Mihaly just watched as she went on and on about The Golden Hall, they loved it when she gets like this. They just wanted to listen to her talk all day.

"Anyways, when's the mission again?" Brezziana asked

"Tonight"

"Okay. I'll get dressed!" She said as she ran into the house

Then a familiar song played in their head

If you give me a chance, I will take it

It's a shot in the dark, but we'll make it

Know with all of your heart, you can't same me

When I am with you, there's no place I Rather Be

All they could do is just stare up into the sky as that tune plays in her head. That is until they heard Sara calling them

"Mihaly! Mihaly come back inside!"

They snapped out of their trance and went back inside

Wow. Jack wasn't kidding

[supernovasilence]

Since tumblr ate my ask apparently, let's try this again. I just remembered that the Title Tag Game exists, so if you're still doing that I request scatwot1 because I know what the acronym *means* but I have no idea what the fic is about

(For everyone that isn't Aub, "scatwot1" is the first fic I am writing for the movie Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. You'll never guess what "scatwot2" is. I am so good at titles.)

Basically this is a getting together fic for Joe, Polly, Dex, and Franky. It's set immediately post-movie, in a mostly canon 'verse, except that Joe, Franky, and Dex have an established, on-and-off Something that they very carefully don't label. Featuring: everybody being stressed by running around almost dying/watching their friends die; Franky and Joe being protective over Dex because he got captured and excuse you, he's small and squishy, he's supposed to be ground support while they fly off and get shot at; inappropriate use of the phrase "Good boy, Dex"; ruminations on friendship and romance and relationships and careers and futures and lines; and Polly and Franky furiously challenging/negotiating with each other while Joe and Dex sit very very still because maybe if they do they won't get killed in the crossfire.

“Good,” Franky said. “None of us are particularly good with words, and a reporter’s tongue will help us sort it all out. And you need to know what this is beforehand.” “Before I act like some sort of mediator for the mess that broke up my relationship?” Polly turned back to glare at Franky, incredulous, and Franky arched an eyebrow at her, not smiling, but…daring. “Before we invite you to join us.” Polly gaped. Cap spluttered, and if this weren’t the most uncomfortable situation Dex had ever been in, including that time he got kidnapped by robots, he would have laughed at how adorably flustered the commander of the Flying Legion got when forced to talk about relationships. “Before we what?” Dex asked weakly. “I don’t like repeating myself,” Franky said, and—was she smiling? God, Dex loved this woman, but she was going to get him killed someday. Possibly today.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Five drinks to get to know me…

Thank you for the tag @bonheur-cafe

(I have done this in the style of an American British Gothic as a little writing exercise.)

She watches the steam of the kettle rise and fog the pint glasses on the shelf above. Heavy night-time rain hits the kitchen window that is cracked from where a pigeon struck weeks before. Some cracks you have to live with. Silver rivers obscure the view of the wheelie bins in the car park in a way that seems deliberate. Rain has always been there for her. Green waits in the rain. It is nearly spring. She opens a fresh box of Yorkshire Tea and breathes in.

They dance at the Silver Bullet in Finsbury Park. The club will close down two years later. Everybody stares. They are in a chalk circle. The ritual is their own making. Devils get fed up and leave. A DJ mixes Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty with Moloko’s The Time is Now. How this is possible, nobody can say. Gin and tonic used to be the drink of old ladies with lavender rinses at the British Legion. Now it is the drink of them. One friend throws up in the street; five Irish girls on a hen party form another circle of protection. London is full of mayhem and love.

July heatwave. Air like a fever. The girls at the sleepover are thirteen, nearly fourteen. At 2 a.m. they go downstairs and make hot chocolate in silence and take it into the garden. On the grass, they sit on the Twister mat and drink, gazing at the only stars that are visible this close to London. Vega is blue. Arcturus is orange. Over the next ten years these girls will speak less and less. Impossible to imagine. In some ways, there will never be another bond like this.

Box wine for the parents who see the school play. In the years before the global recession, the school over-buys. One boy sneaks a box into the drama room unnoticed. Twenty theatre kids drink red from the same chipped mug. One girl spills wine on her costume. She is playing an angel. Two other girls grab her and take her into the toilets. Soap does little help, but they’re laughing, bending her beneath the retro hand drier that stutters on and off. The school corridors are strange without people in them. The wine-stained angel flies down these empty corridors to get to the stage.

The old woman dies in the year 2000. Her son finds a bottle of brandy from 1983 in the back of a cupboard. Years later he will give it to his son who does not yet open it. On New Years’ Eve 2020, a global pandemic has crawled across all lives and a couple who are isolating have run out of booze. The man remembers the brandy of his grandmother’s. The first sip is decadent. It is honeyed, warm. The couple Googles the exact brandy so they can obtain another bottle in the future. Here, they find they could have sold it for over £300. There is no going back.

I know this has been floating around for a bit and I'm not sure who has been tagged or not/who hasn't done this yet - so tagging @actuallysara @howlingsaturn and @thisbuildinghasfeelings if you haven't done it and want to?!

[n00b-vegas]

I am holding out my hands for any Tibbs and Regis lore you might have and be willing to share 👀💖

I would be happy to share some of my Regis and Tibbs lore!

Sorry this ended up being so long

TLDR: Regis is Tibbs dad whether he likes it or not

Some Regis HC to set the scene.

I’m not sure where the idea came from, maybe his in game demeanor, but I just get a very calm rational vibe from Regis. Semi Spock vibes if you watch Star Trek. Like his role as Papa’s enforcer is his job and he does it diligently because that is what is required of him, but on his off time he’s all about chillin and contemplation. Like it’s a big deal when he goes into enforcer mode because that’s not who he is in his everyday interactions with the rest of the Khans.

Papa is a charismatic bombastic leader who lets emotion occasionally get in the way.

Regis is a contemplative second in command who can separate his personal feelings from the job he has to do.

So that’s the vibe

Then Tibbs, a traumatized, bitey, 11 year old shows up. They don’t like anybody but the 7ft tall ghoul they showed up with, who intends to leave them there because taking a child scavenging and dealing drugs is not a good idea. There are fights, and many bites, and a lot of meetings with Regis, who is doing his best to try and keep the peace.

He figures out eventually that Tibbs just needs to be left alone sometimes. And even if doing a task diligently, if approached by too many people, or from the wrong angle, will go into fight/flight mode and more often then not they fight.

At some point it’s decided that only a handful of people should deal with Tibbs until something can be figured out. Both Regis and Papa were there to talk to Silas, so they are immediately okay in Tibbs’ book. I have a HC about Tibbs getting a hair cut when they first arrive in camp because their hair was not well kept in the legion camp, so the khan who helped Silas with that is probably also a safe bet to supervise them.

In the end, since Papa has a lot to do, and Regis, has less to do, he ends up supervising Tibbs most days once Silas is back on the road.

Eventually he teaches them to read when they admit they’ve never really learned.

Regis thinks he’s just doing a job, baby sitting basically, and Tibbs decides that Regis is their dad.

Basically Regis thinks he has to babysit a kid until they settle down or the traveling ghoul can find a more permanent home for them, and Tibbs has chosen him as their new dad.

Eventually Regis sees Tibbs as his kid.

Some bullet points of when tibbs is a bit older

-getting in minor trouble a couple times so they have an excuse to see Regis if he’s been too busy to spend any time with them

- tibbs makes a herbal tea and takes the pot to Regis, they share the drink over a game of checkers.

-Tibbs getting their first tattoo and excitedly showing Regis

-Tibbs sharing the hard decision they’ve made about going out and traveling with Regis first and the long discussion they have afterward

-Tibbs hearing about good springs while traveling with Silas and the two of them rushing back to The Khans camp to check on everybody.

-Regis stoically reintroducing himself to Tibbs after their emotional reunion with Papa Khan in the long house. He knows they don’t remember him and wants them to know his name but saw how hard it was when Papa Khan insisted they remember him.

-Regis softly smiling when Tibbs returns after the battle at Hoover Dam hoping to make a future with the Khans and the Followers and a free new Vegas.

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted’s Opinionated, Non-Consensus Guide to the 1990s

The Fatima Mansions

The 1990s. Some of us lived through them. A few formed our musical selves during this pivotal decade. We watched hip hop emerge and swell to vast commercial proportions. We wondered what indie meant…and if it meant anything at all. We pondered whether lo-fi was charming, or just made it harder to hear the flaws. And mostly we listened to records that moved us, a few of which turn up on the decade-defining consensus lists, but most of which don’t. Here are a few albums that made us who we are. We chose one each and refused to put them in numerical order (they’re alphabetical by artist). Feel free to add your own in the comments. Everybody’s 1990s were different, after all.

Contributors include Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Andrew Forell, Bryon Hayes, Christian Carey, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Ian Mathers and Justin Cober-Lake.

Bark Psychosis — Hex (Circa/Caroline)

Perhaps most famous for prompting music writer Simon Reynolds to coin the term “post rock,” Hex by Bark Psychosis still sounds oddly timeless — and certainly unlike many bands who would come to be described by the phrase. While legions of post-rock bands would emerge during the late 1990s and early 2000s with a lamentable dependence on dramatic shifts in dynamics, Bark Psychosis used rock instrumentation in more subtle and unique ways. Hex has more in common with bands such as Talk Talk and The Blue Nile, who prized atmosphere and texture over more direct songcraft. As a result, the album’s seven tracks take a long time to go nowhere, elegantly prowling around in the shadows like a stray cat. While Graham Sutton is far from a conventional singer, his disaffected vocals sound right at home in these ink-black, urban expanses. “Absent Friend” is perhaps the album’s most dub-influenced track, dappled with melodica and pinned to terra firma by a stubbornly simplistic bassline. “Fingerspit” is an eerie jazz nightmare, as if the players in some subterranean club have forgotten to play their instruments, so instead resort to hammering away at a single chord. The band’s commitment to maintaining a desolate tone makes the moments of levity all the more gorgeous, such as the woodwind textures on “A Street Scene” and “Eyes and Smiles.” The magnificent instrumental closer, “Pendulum Man,” eventually delivers some lasting reprieve from the gloom.

Tim Clarke  

The Bevis Frond — Son of Walter (Flydaddy/Reissued on Light in the Attic)

Son Of Walter by Bevis Frond

Already a decade into his run as the Bevis Frond, Nick Salomon pulled back from the full-band, studio-produced aesthetic that culminated in New River Head. He recorded Son of Walter by himself, at home, but “bedroom pop” this is not. It sprawls. It rears. It rages. It surges in inexorable waves on the strength of spiralling guitar solos and delicate, folk-derived melodies. From the opening blare of fuzz in “Plastic Elvis,” through the wistful jangle of “Goodnight from the Band,” I love every song on this album. Sure there are highlights, the blistered, caterwauling romance of “Red Hair,” the Neil-Young-into-Jimi fireblast of “Barking or False Point Blues,” the lilting, surprisingly earwormy chorus of “Raining on TV,” but it’s really all good. As a young mom in the late 1990s, I found solace in spidery “Forgiven” about a love sanded down by life (“She’s always…exhausted”). The tune is worn down to a thread but still lovely, and it leads right into the black hole swirl of “All Hope Is Going Without You.” Spare beauty and psychedelic overload, cheek by jowl and wonderful.

Jennifer Kelly

 The Fatima Mansions — Valhalla Avenue (Kitchenware)

On The Fatima Mansions’ 1992 album Valhalla Avenue, songwriter Cathal Coughlan (who passed this last May), sets his sights on corruption, religious extremism and human stupidity like Flann O’Brien’s furious younger brother. Moving between a Scott Walker croon and the coruscating intensity of a barroom preacher with Ministry on the jukebox, Coughlan and his bandmates create moments of poetic beauty (“North Atlantic Wind,” “Purple Window”) and maelstroms of indignant chaos (“1000%,” “Go Home Bible Mike). The fierce irreverence of their musical juxtapositions — lounge, industrial, sampling — and their no-fucks-given attitude remains singular today and Coughlin’s intense romanticism, mordant wit, political satire and apocalyptic imagery marks him as one of great lyricists of his time. Valhalla Avenue spent a week at the low end of British album charts, was not released in America and made nary a dent in Australia. Thanks to an Irish workmate in Germany who ceremoniously presented me a cassette of their early singles “Only Losers Take the Bus” and “Blues for Ceausescu”, Valhalla Avenue is still on regular rotation round here.

Andrew Forell  

  Flying Saucer Attack — Further (Domino / Drag City)  

Flying Saucer Attack was the flagship band of that other 1990s Bristol scene, the one that didn’t revolve around trip hop.  David Pearce and his friends favored a blend of coruscating noise, delicate drones, and airy folk over downtempo hip hop beats. With its DIY aesthetic, FSA championed home recording and a “less is more” attitude to music-making, paralleling that of contemporary acts such as Windy & Carl.  Further was the band’s sophomore release and stripped away much of the razor wire-laced bombast of its debut.  FSA, which at the time was a loose collective centered around Pearce and then-girlfriend Rachel Brook, began to incorporate more acoustic guitar into their songs, and took a measured approach to noise and feedback.  Pearce allowed his deep and resonant voice to drift above the misty haze of the music; Brook uncharacteristically emits rays of vocal sunshine on “Still Point”.  The resulting album is one of raw grace, a careful balancing act between tranquility and chaos.  Further is as bleary and beautiful as its cover art, and it stood out elegantly amidst the various frayed threads of 1990s underground music.

Bryon Hayes 

John Hiatt — Walk On (Capitol)

John Hiatt’s 1995 recording Walk On is an under sung masterpiece. Two collaborators that he would continue to keep in his band, until they were purloined for more lucrative gigs, multi-instrumentalist David Immerglück and bassist Davey Farragher, join drummer Michael Urbano and several backing vocalists, Bonnie Raitt noteworthy among them, to support Hiatt and supply versatile arrangements. “Cry Love,” “You Must Go,” and the title track provide a kick-off of catchy singles. Deeper in the release, Raitt and Hiatt duet on “I Can’t Wait,” a song that, if there were any justice, would have charted higher. Hiatt is prescient about the endless investigations and rise of militia groups during the second term of the Clinton administration in “Shredding the Document” “Native Son,” and “Wrote it Down and Burned It.” A hidden track hearkens back to the height of CD distribution. 

Christian Carey

 Peter Jefferies — The Last Great Challenge In A Dull World (Xpressway/Ajax/De Stijl)

In retrospect, the musicians who joined forces to form the Xpressway collective can be recognized as aesthetic game-changers. Not only did they unleash the forces of sonic resistance in their native New Zealand, raising clouds of gilded splinters as they pushed against the grain; they issued a permission-granting challenge to every subsequent wave of refuseniks determined to freely fuse noise, rock, and anything else at hand. But their success was by no means a given when Peter Jefferies made The Last Great Challenge In A Dull World on borrowed gear in a drafty old house on the edge of a container port at the end of the southern winter of 1989. At the time, the Xpressway crew were just the losers who were left behind when Flying Nun Records chased the brass ring north. Jefferies, like Alastair Galbraith, the Dead C, Peter Gutteridge, David Mitchell and the Terminals, had given Flying Nun some great music, and subsequently found himself ignored. A gifted multi-instrumentalist, singer, and sound recorder, he became the scene’s four-track documentarian, and he called on key associates to help make what he then felt might be his last testament. On Last Great Challenge he synthesized Cale-derived balladry, early Ubu rock, and post-This Heat sound manipulation into a singular statement of intent and reproach so acute that it, and everyone associated with it, could not be ignored. The album, which has been issued by three different labels, is currently out of print, but not that hard to find. It remains a stern condemnation of every lazy record out there that can’t be bothered to reach past the sky.

Bill Meyer  

 Nausea — Extinction (Profane Existence)

More and more, metal is moving out of its subgenre-specific silos and beyond its backward-gazing obsessions with hidebound traditions. But from its start, crust was a hybrid form, combining the politically motivated anti-aesthetic of anarcho-punk with metal’s swaggering muscle. It makes some sense, then, that this influential American crust record emerged from the Lower East Side, where hardcore punk was already cross-pollinating with metal; see Cause for Alarm (1986), the second LP by Agnostic Front, a band dominated by Roger Miret, then husband of Nausea’s singer Amy Miret, nee Keim. By the time Nausea made Extinction, its only LP, Al Long had joined the band, filling out the dual-vocal, female-male attack in a nod to Crass. And while “punk” usually follows the word crust in discussions of the style, Extinction is crucially informed by metal: “Butchers” owes much to Motörhead; “Clutches” rumbles like early Saint Vitus; the opening minutes of “Blackened Dove” could be from a Witchfinder General record. For this reviewer, “Inherit the Wasteland” is the key song, full of dystopian dread, replete with an enormous breakdown section and Vic Venom’s enthusiastic shredding. It’s an unhappy, unstoppable blast. Other metal and metal-adjacent sub-sub- and microgenres had formed by 1990: goregrind was already a thing, and the Slap a Ham crew was busily birthing powerviolence. Bandana thrash was just over the horizon. But few of those modish musical notions have had the substance (grimy, grotty and grave as it might be) and staying power of crust. Exhibit A: Extinction. It still stinks up the joint.

Jonathan Shaw

 Readymade — The Dramatic Balanced By (No Records)

By 1997 shoegaze had ebbed back significantly from whatever high tide mark it had attained, and nobody was particularly looking towards Vancouver for it, if they were looking at all. And yet out of what sounds like a combo of ennui, political unrest, movies (particularly, from the cover on down, Mean Streets), “taking speed in Germany,” drum machines, insomnia, rain, power grids, airports, four-track recorders, windows, and urban sprawl, enigmatic trio Readymade created one of the great lost epics of the era and genre. They didn’t stop here, absorbing members of the sadly even more obscure Pipedream and producing two excellent, gleaming and ambiguous records in the next decade, but only on The Dramatic Balanced By was their rougher, fuzzier, more expansive side given free reign. The result, whether the craggier, more anthemic likes of “Bloomsbury Boxcutter” and “Dreamt I Fled,” the crepuscular trudge of “Following a Typewriter to Sleep,” or the mournfully lambent “Hamburg,” holds together as a great example of the kind of record that forms its own world, one you can get lost in. That record climaxes with “Head Falls to Shoulder,” one of the most overwhelming storms of sound and feeling anyone was making in 1997. The band may be long gone in 2022 (although blessedly for anyone wanting to check them out, all three LPs can be streamed), but their expansive opus of city-bound alienation endures.

Ian Mathers

 Spaceheads — Spaceheads (Dark Beloved Cloud)

Spaceheads by Spaceheads

On first listen, Spaceheads' self-titled 1995 album can feel like a throwaway. The record contains a fair bit of silliness and didn't come about as a deeply theorized piece of art. Trumpeter Andy Diagram and percussionist Richard Harrison had been playing in various jazz bands together when they started recording some duo improvisations and playing with the tapes. Early release Ho! Fat Wallet sounds as indebted to 1980s hip hop as anything, and its mix of brass and beats would still make for great backing tracks. Spaceheads followed with a weird twist on, well, just about everything. It can sit not uncomfortably on an EDM shelf, but that term doesn't accurately capture what they were doing. Stretches of the album are funky without being funk or industrial without being industrial. Some moments are abstract enough to be almost incoherent while others could play in a Hollywood soundtrack; “Down in Outer Space” sequencing into “Joyriding” provides all of that in a short burst. Spaceheads sound like a group that could have been any number of things or that could have floundered with pointless fiddling and experimentation. Instead, they pursued the only thing they seem to have any interest in being: exactly themselves. In doing so, they created an album with quirks and surprises that continue to provide as much joy and listening pleasure as anything going on around them (whatever that field might be).

Justin Cober-Lake

[the-light-finds-its-way]

K so here's how I fall in love with Ghaul.

While Papa Dumak is training all of us Guardians in the way of leadership, he brings attention of the Traveler's Legion to Ghaul, who's a Guardian now. Papa Dumak wants the Dominus to approve of his efforts, provide funding, etc. So Ghaul comes by to check out if this is truly worth it.

And I'm Primus of the Legion, alongside Papa Dumak. So naturally, it's him and I who welcome Ghaul. And upon me seeing him, I immediately am flustered. Gigantic alien beefy AF Titan. I'm blushing madly, but try to hide it and act professionally. This man could crush me with his pinky finger if he wanted to. I'm literally less than 1/5 of his size.

Anyway. Ghaul is lead around to see the Legion base, to see us all training. Papa Dumak shows him how we fight, and when Ghaul sees me fighting, he's astounded. I'm the smallest Guardian, I'm a whole whopping 4'11" (149cm), but I beat everyone. And Ghaul is like, "That one. I want that one to lead."

"Good thing is, he's already leader," Papa Dumak says.

Ghaul sees me wielding a sword, and a Cabal shield, and notices I never die. He's impressed by this. He wants a word with me after the sparring match.

We go to a private room, and Ghaul says how much he thinks I have going for me. He starts speaking in Ulurent, and I respond in the language fluently. Ghaul is once more astounded, and he says I have the will, heart, and soul of a Cabal, only the body of a Human. He would like to see me do more.

Ghaul draws his guns, and starts fighting. I go in, blocking with my shield, and deflecting bullets with the blade. Papa Dumak is panicked on the other side, thinking oh my Traveler, my son is facing off against the Cabal king, and he's gonna die. But I fight hard, and never back down, and eventually, I pin Ghaul down with the sword to his face, and he bows in defeat. He's impressed once more, and clearly blushing. We back off, and now I'm blushing, too.

Ghaul excuses himself from the room before making a fool of himself.

He goes to Papa Dumak, and asks for his permission to bring me on a date.

Papa Dumak is like, "You don't need my permission, my Dominus!"

Ghaul says it's only polite.

Papa Dumak says yes, absolutely he can ask me on one!

So Ghaul does. And I'm just silent in awe, blushing madly, and say I accept. Ghaul and I go on our first date, and it's perfect. He's a gentleman, he treats me with such respect. We finish off the night by going to the Crucible, but instead of watching, Ghaul says we'll be fighting. In a Crimson Days match. As partners.

We defeat everybody. We're the kings of the arena, and even Shaxx doesn't know what to say. He gives us crowns, and Ghaul leans down, picks me up, and gives me a kiss.

It's our first kiss.

Everyone cheers.

And that's the start of my self-indulgent, self-insert relationship.

[realityhelixcreates]

By Talos, This Can't be Happening pt 15: The Black Horse Courier

Something politically significant happens, and Helix realizes they aren't when she thought they were.

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions @whocares-idont

?~?~?~?~?

People scurried to and fro in the streets, greeting each other quietly, embracing, rushing back to their homes. An atmosphere of hushed anxiety hung over the city. Something had happened while he was inside the Fire and Steel, but people merely hurried past him, paying no attention to the stranger in the street. The area around the Great Oak had cleared out, and he hastened into the mages guild.

Every mage in the guild, as well as several guests were all gathered around Teekeeus, who held open a bulletin, reading aloud.

“-Emperor's murder, and the murder of his three sons, is a terrible crime, and a great tragedy for the Empire. Battlemage Ocato assures us that all the resources of the Elder Council, the Legions, the Guard, the Arcane University, and the Imperial Battle College are being employed to bring the assassins to justice. But, in the meantime, the greatest tribute we citizens can offer to the memory of our beloved Emperor is to go earnestly and diligently about our daily affairs, honoring the life of the great Empire he loved so much, and served so faithfully for so long.”

Oh. That sounded...kinda bad.

“Stendarr's mercy...” Alberic whispered. “What are we going to do? The Dragonfires...who will...”

“May Arkay guard their tomb.” Teekeeus rumbled. “We must go on. We may be called upon at any time.”

Everyone looked shocked, distressed. But Helix...Helix looked absolutely bewildered. Swag sidled up next to her, took her hand.

“Hey.” he said quietly. “Lets go downstairs and talk, alright?”

Helix nodded.

“Yes.” Teekeeus said. “Everybody...take these moments with those close to you. I am closing the guild to visitors for the day.”

Swag led Helix downstairs, sat her down next to her alchemical experimentations. She was shocked near silence, consternation carved between her eyebrows.

“Talk to me, Starlight. This is something big, isn't it? Bigger than maybe they know?”

“It's...the Emperor is dead.”

“I gathered.”

“Uriel Septim the seventh has been assassinated.”

“Okay. Real sad. Tragic. Is that gonna cause us any problems?”

“I-I don't know how this could have happened.”

“Babe, anyone can die. I didn't know you cared.”

“No! It's...”

She gestured, spinning her hands in confusion.

“When I was here before...Uriel Septim had been dead for two hundred years.”

He leaned back, trying to figure that out.

“You mean we're in the past?”

“I don't know! You know, not all worlds are contemporary. They don't always line up. I mean, Bambi's world is almost twenty years behind yours. Verdancy is only eight years old. It doesn't even have a calendar. If this world really forgot me...We could have been dropped in at any time, and it would only be the 'present'. But I read about this. This assassination is hugely significant, but it's been so long, I can't remember exactly what it was. A major war, I think. I didn't read the whole book, I should have read the whole book...”

“You didn't know it was gonna ever be important. I mean, two hundred years?” Swag swung his hand in a circle. “It would be like watching the White House burn and lamenting that you hadn't studied the War of Eighteen-Twelve enough to know it was gonna happen. When was it ever gonna come up?”

“Maybe more like just now learning about atomic weapons because you never finished a book on world war two.”

“Happened on your world too?”

“Nope. Well, the war definitely did, but the atomic weapon thing didn't. We were only in the earliest stages of understanding nuclear energy when I was young. I'm talking like, the radium paint stage. The things you can do...with your cellphones, and satellites, and computers? That looks like magic to me.”

“It that why you text so shitty?” he teased. She rolled her eyes.

“There's not even any buttons!” she protested. “You live in a cyberpunk dystopia!”

“Sure do! But, seriously, do we need to run?”

Helix shook her head.

“There's nowhere to go. This thing spreads out over the whole continent. It wasn't a war of succession, it was something else, some kind of invasion. I really should remember this. Something that was biding its time. Why don't I remember?”

“Don't worry about it.” Swag shrugged. “We'll find out eventually.”

“That's what I'm worried about.”

He looped an arm around her shoulders and she huddled against his side.

“So we navigate this together. Just like everyone else is gonna have to. Grab up whatever spells you can, and me, I got some armor on order. We just try to make ourselves as safe as possible. Oh, did I tell you? I saw the best armor while I was out. It was green and shiny. I want it.”

“Oh, glass? Of course you do, you magpie! Have to trawl around in the ruins though. That stuff don't come cheap.”

“So I hear. Well, there's a lot of adventurers around town right now. Maybe we could get some advice. Not this moment though, I think everyone's taking an evening to themselves, and I think we should too.”

“I think you're right.”

She retrieved a small vial of pale oil from where it was distilling, swirling it around in the light.

“Lavender oil.” she said. “Would you go get us some food?”

“Sure thing.”

He opted for more simple finger foods, taking a guess at what she had in mind, though he nearly tripped over Teekeeus in the process.

The lizardman looked a bit rough, at least as far as Swag could tell. Argonian expression was something of a mystery to him, but the slumped shoulders were readable in any body language. The normally bright patches of neon green around his eyes were pale. Even his horns seemed to be drooping a bit.

“Oh.” he rumbled. “You are still here.”

“Should I be gone?” Swag asked, still holding up the plate. Surely he hadn't run out his welcome already.

“No, I mean...No one would blame you if the two of you sought to return to Skyrim. Or High Rock. To be with family.”

“Ah. Well, lemmie be straight wit'chu then. We don't have any. It's just us against the world.”

And how!

“Wherever you lay your head is home? It's a terrible kind of freedom, isn't it?”

The weary Argonian seemed a little different in that moment. For all his cushy job and strict attitude, he hadn't always been here, had he? Helix had thought they were rare in the Empire, and why might that be?

Helix hadn't mentioned prejudices, but why should she have to? People were people everywhere, and Swag didn't have the same optimistic outlook about them as Helix did.

“It's not ideal, no. But we've lived like this for some time.”

Helix, a multiversal nomad. Himself, setting up little rat's nests all over the city. Eventually settling down into something that pretended to be routine, only to have it all ripped away, if only temporarily.

It had to be temporarily.

Helix would get herself around to all the cities she needed to. She would get them into the University. And she would find what they needed to get home.

All while there was a major war going on. While an empire was in the throes of a huge political upheaval.

Shit.

“You may be better suited to survive the next little while than the rest of us then. But do remember; while you are here, you are one of us. We will not abandon you. But we expect the same treatment, to the best of your ability.”

“That is...incredibly fair.”

It really was. Helix might fit in just fine, but he was no mage, and no warrior. He was kinda dead weight, if he was to be brutally honest about it, but he didn't want to think about that for too long. Helix would deny it up and down, and she would never even entertain the thought of leaving him behind. It was good to know these folks might feel the same.

Maybe people weren't always what he expected them to be.

“Go on.” Teekeeus waved him away with his russet claws. “She awaits, no doubt. Tell her I wish to see her potions tomorrow. Make things feel...normal.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

Man he was taking this hard, wasn't he? Maybe Swag should pretend to actually care, if people loved this dead emperor so much. He did not want to become a target for other people's grief-anger.

He snagged a jug of water on the way back downstairs, past Angalmo, a very tall elf who didn't even take a moment from staring despondently out a window in order to acknowledge him, down into the cellar.

Helix had a new solution distilling, and the lanterns draped with thin cloth, dimming the light.

Their clothes must have come back from the cleaners, because she was wearing his purple shirt and...next to nothing else.

He took a deep breath, and set the food down on a small table.

“Sure you wanna eat first?”

She nodded once, all kinds of hunger in her eyes, so he brought the plate over to the bed and cuddled up with her on top of the blankets. There they traded bits of fruit and kisses, until some slight little nagging curiosity broke his silence.

“What are we gonna do if we can't get back home?”

“We will.” she insisted.

“I know, but what if we can't?”

He plucked a salad tomato from the plate and popped it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully.

“You and I have both built new lives before. We can do it again. We both have skills that are useful in this world.”

He gave her a Look.

“I call bullshit. I'm a drag on you and we both know it.”

“You're not! Maybe you aren't much of an adventurer, but that's just because you purposefully buried or excised most of the parts of you that had any adventurer experience. For, you know, Reasons.”

He wasn't sure he'd call being a homicidal terrorist 'adventuring experience', but...actually, maybe it wasn't all that different. Crawling around in weird places, always on the move, making contacts, making enemies, bashing things in the head, annoying the shit out of local authorities...Yeah, okay she had a point.

“If it became clear that there is no way out, we could easily settle down basically anywhere. I'm an herbalist, I can make potions and medicine, I can heal people and animals. I even know a bit of midwifery. That knowledge is valued literally everywhere. There is no city or settlement that would refuse someone with those skills.

And you know how to do so many different things! Beyond your incredible sewing and styling skills, or being a fashion influencer, you also know how to run a successful business. You get the logistics, the strategy, you know finance, you understand economics. That's why you handle the money. You know how. I look at numbers, and they tell me to go fuck myself. You look at numbers and they dance for you. You're charming, you have presence, and you know how to work people. You're a genius, and it still shows. So I think, whatever happens, we'll be okay.”

He squirmed under the compliments, unreasonably pleased. Of course, he knew all of those things, but damn if they didn't become somehow more real coming from someone else.

“Now why don't you let me get some of that stress out of you? Get out of those clothes.”

He growled playfully.

“You're so forward! You too. Although, you look cute in that shirt. Who's your tailor?”

Actually, his shirt fit her very poorly. It was too long at the hemline and cuffs, too tight around her upper arms, and would never be able to close over her breasts. But that wasn't the point. The point was that it was his shirt, and she was wearing it.

“Oh, just some guy!” she laughed, retrieving the little vial of lavender oil she'd showed him earlier. “This first.”

“Some genius, you mean. You just said it, too late to take it back!” He stripped out of the nice new clothing pretty easily, but he drew it out once he noticed how her eyes lingered on him. He knew he cut a good figure for the body type he had, and he did everything possible to keep it that way.

Considering the amount of damage that body had taken over the years, it was as much a matter of health as it was vanity.

He slid back into bed as she shucked his ill-fitting shirt, and she shoved him over onto his stomach, straddling his rear.

“Okay.” he said, amused.

It was always a little funny when she got physically rough with him, considering what she could usually do with her magic. All the amazing, terrifying, sexy things she could do with her magic.

Total spacial control. Think about it.

She drizzled the oil onto his back, its clean floral scent floating through the room, and spread it over his skin with warm, slightly rough hands. Helix was a clumsy masseuse, but she put her whole body into it, and she didn't need to be a professional for her touch to be soothing.

There was something better about knowing they could get by. Even if they were stuck forever, as awful as that would be, she was right. They had both rebuilt themselves from the ground up before, and as hard as it was, they could do it again. It was all about survival. They were good at survival.

And this time, they wouldn't even be alone. He would follow her lead, and she would never leave him behind.

Her lips brushed up his neck, into the short hairs at the base of his head, drawing out a delicious shiver. Now was the time to forget about things.

He flipped over beneath her, spreading her oiled hands out over his narrow chest. Then he grasped her by the hips, and they went to town.

?~?~?~?~?