#IC things

[sunsandwolves]

This book was foul.

Yelena agonized for hours after she and Syred returned to his home, cracking open the book for a moment before snapping it closed. Whatever inside of those black leather bound covers contained.. it was a different kind of darkness that she wasn't sure she liked.

It was a kind of darkness that set an unnerving chill down her spine, the kind that threatened to swallow her whole.

"What you want to do.. there will be no going or coming back."

"I know, mama. I'm ready."

"No, baby. You are a fool. What you seek to do now took me years of.." Juliana trailed, a distant look glimmering behind emerald eyes.

"Father told me of his trials.. briefly." She protested, and Juliana tsk'd, flicking her forehead.

"Ha.. his were a far different pain than mine, Lena.. I wouldn't subject my worst enemy to that kind of conditioning, much less my own flesh and blood. I towed a dangerous line.. one misstep, and I would have been crucified. Your father knew it, and your aunt knew it. Do you know what kept me going?" A loud silence filled the clearing as Juliana studied her daughter.

"Faith. Their faith in me, my faith in the order.. and eventually, you." Juliana said quietly after a moment. Her hand cupped Yelena's tear-stained cheek. "Use your faith to keep you centered. Forget the bullshit about 'there cannot be shadow without the Light', Yelena. Yes, there can. There is. Bottomless and endless darkness that the Light refuses to tread. You are a smart girl, baby.. keep your head." Juliana said with a smile as she swiped more of Yelena's tears away with her thumbs.

"Would that it were me teaching you instead.. I would refuse to see you rot to madness by yourself." She sighed, and Yelena scoffed after sniffling.

Blinking away the memories, she wiped away the tears that had rolled down her cheeks. Would that it were her mother here instead..

"Father would sooner burn this place to ashes than entertain the idea at all.." came distantly with a half-smirk that didn't quite meet her eyes. The soft azure flame of the hearth fluttered at her side as she slowly pulled the book back into her lap. Taking a steadying breath, she wiped her eyes dry and cleared her throat. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Syred's methods were effective, and she appreciated his forward methods. She said she wanted to learn how to get into someone's head.. he delivered.

Delicate fingers curled around the cover once again. Flipping it open, she stared at the first page.

Chapter I

Shadow Word: Pain

Right... here went nothing.

[gowithplana]

@spymeister

Oop Pede touched.

It zoops back under blankets...

Other leggy sticks out.

[pinklocksoflove]

"Why didn't anyone tell me that nerd shit was so awesome? Some of the things Jilyra has shown me are fuckin' incredible!"

[therangerswail]

It wasn't a profound ache. Merely a dull one. It happened every now and again, when the Ranger was alone with her thoughts. Thoughts that plagued her, much like the plague she'd choked on as she lay dying.

Piercing claret hues pulsed with the memory. Her head had been propped up against the warm stones of the hearth, hood drawn. Her body chased the warmth out of instinct, and she felt the inklings of comfort and familiarity ebb and flow in the back of her mind, buried deep within her chest.

It was supposed to feel nice. Like a hug from a family member or loved one.

Falithel squeezed her eyes shut, dark lips twisting to one side. She didn't force herself to chase that feeling, and simply tucked it away for later. Her knees were tucked up to her chest, cloak pooled around her to trap the heat of the flames within. The warmth continued to seep into her skin, her bones, but the sensation was gone in an instant.

Duskwood had become somewhat of a quiet haven for her. It had been bustling for weeks, some musings about Stormwind being on lock down because of some... Treasure-Goblin wreaking havoc. There was a group of people, Knights, that served a House Sunshield. Knights and noblewomen. People that would sooner see her arrested or her head on a pike rather than deal with her.

It was as it always was in the human kingdoms. Ignorance, fear, and hatred. Though two of them... their eyes had a kind twinkle behind them. A glimmer that made Falithel think they understood the nature of monsters and weren't afraid of them unless they had to be. It made her curious at times, but not curious enough to venture out and hold a conversation with them.

The distrust ran thick in some of their bones, and were particularly protective of the Ladies that wandered the Darkwood supervised. Or, sometimes unsupervised. Though it wasn't her place to tattle. But it had been some time since she'd seen them and their banner, so Falithel escaped from the confines of her cold, shadowy prison and was left to her own devices.

Hunting horrors that threatened these people. Monsters. It didn't matter if the monsters came out of a child's playbook or wore the face of a neighbor. Either way, they made good food for the spiders. She even befriended a Widow deep within the rotting orchard. A large creature, but simply wished to be left alone.

"Oi, Miss?" A gruff voice had caught her attention, jerking her out of her daydream. Falithel's eyes blinked blearily, dry from staring within the fire unblinking for some time. It was a wrapped parcel in his hands, and Falithel had turned on her backside on the hearth's stones, standing. She brushed the soot off of her leathers and drifted over to the tavern keep with her chin angled close to her chest.

"There y'are. Don't go attractin' those damn ferals closer to the Square, y'hear?" A stare accented by crow's feet squinted curiously at the Elf as pale digits reached out from her sides to collect the parcel; it reeked of raw meat, haphazardly wrapped. Bear and direwolf shanks and slabs of meat.

"None to worry. Where this is going, the ferals shouldn't be much of an issue due north." Falithel said softly, dipping her head politely as coin was exchanged for the parcel. Turning, a dark cloak swirled around her ankles and a free hand's index and middle finger hooked under the string of a bow and the strap of a quiver, hoisting it over her shoulder. Exiting the Scarlet Raven, Falithel dipped into the Shadows and out of sight.

The journey through the shadows and to the rotten orchard that was nestled in a cliffside was... quiet. Per usual. Though there were some wet noses upturned in the air as the scent of fresh meat was too alluring to pass up. She didn't have much time, but that was alright. The orchard had been mostly cleared out, a wasteland of corpses and picked-clean bones... and outrageously large spider webs. A new development, and perhaps she was to blame.

Glancing over her shoulder, half-gloved digits curled into her hood to pull it back. With a little shake of her head, onyx hair fell free around her face and long, pale ears were detached from her hood. The blackened tips twitched with their freedom and the bulk of her thick hair was caught at the base of her neck with her hood and cloak.

The dead boughs and canopies of the trees above her shifted, but not due to the wind. There wasn't a breeze to shift the heavy, dank air around her. Sets of beady black eyes glimmered above her, and a thin trail of venomous saliva dropped down in front of her. Falithel sighed softly, but not without a familiar little quirk of her lips.

"I'm sorry I'm late." She remarked quietly, flatly, shedding her shadowy guise to showcase herself completely. If any passersby weren't careful, they'd think she was a ghost in the middle of the woods. The parcel was produced and unwrapped, and with a flick of her wrist hunks of fresh meat and bone were gently tossed in front of her. The cloth, bloodied as it were, was tossed unceremoniously behind her for the worgen hot on her trail to sniff out.

Falithel hadn't a second more to blink before long, spindly legs had shot down from their webbed home; sharp as daggers and just as long as any broadsword the best of Knights could wield, snatched up hunks of meat via a surprisingly careful spearing. Bits of web fluttered about her before the meat was gone, leaving a bloodied imprint on the ground in front of her.

Sounds of snapping could be heard, bones crunched between mandibles hungrily. Shortly after, a quiet trill of happiness rustled the dead branches and leaves overhead, and Falithel smiled softly, fondly.

"The rest of your dinner shouldn't be far behind." Falithel remarked with a curious stare being flicked above her head. The Widow's shadow moved this way and that without so much as another rustle of a branch; impressive and frightening. The Ranger wiped her hands on the discarded cloth before giving an underhanded toss back to the ground. Scaling an abandoned building was child's play, and Falithel had dropped unceremoniously into a sit atop a wilting roof, leaning back against a broken chimney chute and crossing her ankles before her. Long and lithe legs stretched languidly in front of her, and her hands folded into her lap.

Content to watch for now, her face never moved once from it's forward facing direction, but her eyes had slanted down and to her right. A worgen with eyes just as bright and red as hers skulked out from behind a dead trunk, giving a wet snuffle into the air. Drawn immediately to the bloodied cloth in the center of the orchard, it's nose nudged the cloth with a little growl, a splotched tongue swiping out to taste the fresh blood. Frustrated with the lack of food where the promise was in it's paws, the air grew cold and quiet.

Falithel's eyes had followed the beast until it stopped, waiting patiently. A spindly shadow darted between the webbed canopies, easing into a crouch above her target. She smiled again, though it was always a gesture that never met her eyes, the pads of her thumbs brushing against another in an idle twirl.

Daggerlike legs had snapped down from the shadows at once, piercing the worgen to the ground by the shoulder and hip. A pained and strangled yelp left the beast before the bulk of the Widow's body emerged from the canopies. Hulking and lithe all in the same breath, fangs pierced into the neck of the worgen. A series of strangled and pained whimpers and snarls left it as it struggled in the spider's grip, but eventually, the venom ran its course and the worgen stilled.

Falithel's eyes flicked up as the body was sprang back into the trees, listening to the sounds of various gore chorusing through the Orchard. Snaps, hisses, and tears. The blood attracted more unsuspecting worgen, and the feast continued like clockwork.

It was her dose of entertainment these days. Dinner with a friend.

[korosenseilover]

Koro sensei I have made short bread cookies do you want some?

@just-a-gremlin-lol (finally getting to this lsdkjfgsd)

That got his attention quickly, beginning to drool a little. "I would love some!" he seemed eager to have a taste.

[eldrylva]

The drums of war sound... but I am a wife before I am a Shield-Maiden. My place is at his side while his battlefield is the recovery bed.

[sympathy-for-thedamned]

When was the last time someone opened the door for you?

Bradford: What I was arrested.

[time-woods]

ice king pipeline ig

[hinamie]

surprise it's yuri!!!in 2024

[solidwater05]

Apparently this needs to be said so

Forgetting things is morally neutral! Memory issues are morally neutral!

You're not a bad person if you...

forget things quickly

forget people

can't remember entire stages of your life

can't remember important things

can remember some things very well and forget other things all the time

can't remember things (or anything!) about your interests

forget to eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, etc

forget to reply to texts

remember things and immediately forget them again

can't remember birthdays, events, etc

frequently answer 'I forgot' to questions

can't retain new information

forget things you used to know

only remember things when it's too late

have vague, distorted and/or unreliable memories

depend on others to know how an event you were in played out

have other symptoms that are worsened by memory issues and vice versa

... and anything else I might have missed!

[sunsandwolves]

The first time, it made her sick. Black-stained bile bubbled past her lips and out of her nose, to which it was vomited into a bush near the cemetery. Every attempt after that triggered a violent gag reflex and caused a migraine to tear through her skull. She was half-blind with pain by the time she fell back into bed at Syred's home.

The second time, it was after breakfast. It shouldn't have been. The second time, she had made eye contact with the squirrel near the front porch as she left, and that was her own mistake. Thinking about harming an innocent little creature like that made her lose her breakfast in Syred's rose bushes. Sorry.

There were frustrated rage cry sessions with Godric in the City, and he either pretended to not understand what she had meant by 'putting theory to practice' when it came to shadow studies, or he let it go in one ear and out the other. Her hair had grown out, and he enjoyed admiring the way an errant curl tucked itself away against her earlobe. It was cute.

The Third time, she was given a more sustaining meal and snacks that followed in case she vomited for most of the day again. Syred might have been a massive prick, but she was losing muscle mass and color to her cheeks because she was stuck in her own head. That, and, he was tired of cleaning up his shrubbery whenever she had a mental breakdown.

The third time saw her meander out towards the cemetery again. Yelena had grown familiar with the presence of the Light and the absence of it, what it felt like to be with her and what it felt like to be without. The cemetery was.. clearly still hallowed ground in the Cathedral's shadow. Perhaps that's why she threw up when trying to mentally mindfuck a squirrel. This time, her jaunt carried her across the Dwarven district, and towards the Embassy.

This time, she'd do it. She had to. Part of her wanted more of the tincture that Evelynn had given her to speak with her mother again. Better to hallucinate someone that had a foggy idea of what she was going through than to struggle by herself. Yelena had grown accustomed to leaning on her family for support over the years. But this wasn't something she could lean on her family for this time. Learning practical shadows from a rogue and learning about the void... that was something entirely different. The more she didn't want to lose what shadow she had, the more it felt like it was being warped into something else.

Something violent and dark. Cold and endless. Infinite. Something that predated the entire human existence... and that was terrifying.

Getting lost in thought made her journey go by faster. Stars glimmered in the sky, and moonlight filtered through the trees.. this was one part of the city that felt cultivated and lived in. A little corner of the world cut out for the Kaldorei before they had moved to Bel'ameth. The fruits of their labor still lingered in the woods around her. It felt alive, and it felt... homey. In a way. Pushing through trees and bushes, there was a quiet little copse of trees that had a perfect nook for hiding. She was to be here a while, she surmised.. many critters were scared of her, moreover, the wolf that hid in her chest. But if she stayed still enough, they'd come around.

Bullying the nerves out of her belly, Yelena took a slow breath. Her head dipped back against the trunk of a tree, and her ankles crossed in front of her. Not too far away, a few years ago, her father and Evelynn had told her that she doesn't need to be protected like her sister does. But don't be an idiot. The memory brought a half smile to life as she stared at the sky.

Nothing really changed.

Flexing bare digits at her side, her hands folded in her lap. She was sat like this for quite some time, and the moon had shifted in the sky by the time the bush rustled to her right. Yelena heard it before it happened, and keen eyes snapped to where the sound came from. It took a moment of steeling her nerves before she felt the cold dark creep up her spine. Focusing the shadow into a singular point, letting it gather in her neck and chest. It felt so cold she feared her heart might stop if not remedied soon.

A fuzzy little head tentatively poked out from the bush. Hop. An innocent little rabbit, staring at her with those wide, beady eyes. A nose wiggled, and a tentative hop was given towards her. It was adorable. And it probably smelled her snacks. The gag reflex began, and her stomach churned. Remember her focus. Sharpen her anger and wield it. Syred made a fantastic mental punching bag.

Fuck you for making me do this.

It was rudimentary and crude, but somehow she felt the shadow coil and tense like a loaded spring or a serpent ready to strike.

And then it did.

Yelena's expression darkened into a muted sneer, pushing her anger out towards the rabbit. The serpent struck. She felt the shadow spring free of her skull and dig straight into the little brain of the rabbit. It dug and twisted as if she were sinking her worgen claws into prey. A pained shriek left the creature, giving a series of stressed out hops away from her and in circles.

The cold pulsed in her skull. Rage. Rage. Rage. It wasn't a rabbit anymore. She was imagining it was Syred's face she was inflicting this pain upon. She imagined Malcom. The rabbit continued to scream in pain and hop in frantic circles around the clearing, and a cold grey stare bled into an inky black. Pulses of shadow continued to feed into the little creature; insatiable and starved for sustenance.

Eventually, the rabbit stopped pacing. It simply gave up. With a final wheeze, the critter flopped over. Unmoving, unbreathing, lifeless. The claws of shadow were sated. Reeling back into her skull, the euphoria radiated through her limbs like warmth from a fire. Yelena gasped, her head light, her heart fluttering as if she were in love. Catching her breath, she leaned forward slightly while her head spun. Blood stained her shirt and she wiped at her nose. It was a single trickle of darkened blood that was swiped away, but...

"Holy shit." She gasped, slumping back against the tree trunk. Did she want to do it again? The night was still young.... maybe it'll feel different each time.. more precise, more controlled. Less erratic, more specific. Glancing to her blood-smeared digits, she decided against it. Just in case she went mad and/or bled out in the forest.

Carefully, Yelena stood. She didn't feel any different, truthfully. Just the rush of euphoria afterward that had made her head light. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Glancing to the corpse, her lips compressed. She could bring it home for stew later.. there was a lesson from Astrid or Varsen in there somewhere. Sighing, Yelena tied the rabbit corpse to her belt, and off she had gone to sleep and study. The next chapter was mind blast...

Hopefully, she could practice on a pumpkin first.

@sinsofaconfessor

[gowithplana]

Optimus is flopped in berth...one leggy out from under the covers.

[inbarfink]

When talking about the distinction between Simon Petrikov and the Ice King,  it’s important to remember that originally, the Crown wasn’t trying to turn Simon into Ice King -

It was trying to turn him into this guy.

At the time, the Ice Crown - or rather the Wishing Crown - was programmed with Gunther’s wish to become Evergreen. So everything related to making the current wearer like Evergreen is a very direct result of the Crown’s Magic. The physical changes -

And the obsession with the name ‘Gunther’ -

And maybe some of the irritability and anger issues -

That is something the Crown is very directly forcing unto its current wielder. 

But everything else?

Ice King, personality-wise, was not much like Evergreen at all, or even like Gunther's view of him. And Ice Finn of the Farmworld Universe was also pretty different from the both of them.

At the time, I remember people assumed Ice Finn’s behavior is more indicative of what the Crown is actually trying to do with its wielders. That Ice King is so different because of Simon’s subconscious resistance against the Crown - while Finn’s much younger and dumber brain is a lot susceptible to the Curse’s influence to become some sort of mad world-conquering emperor of ice and snow. 

But, with the context of the Crown’s actual backstory. That doesn’t seem very likely anymore. I think what’s actually happening there is that the Crown is just trying to make its wielder an Ice Wizard on par with Evergreen (who was the Actual Goddam Ice Elemental) and that means pumping the wielder’s brain so full of Magic, Madness and Sadness to a level that is bound to overwhelm anyone.

And Simon’s and Farmworld Finn’s very different behaviors after putting on the crown is indicative, more than anything, of how their psyche reacts to Madness and Sadness in general. You know, Finn has a very proactive and kinda aggressive personality - and you add Crown-induced-Madness-and-Sadness and a compulsion to use Ice Magic as much as possible and you get all of…. this 

Meanwhile, for Simon, the compulsions of the Crown originally filtered exclusively via the language of protection 

As his madness always manifested as romantic obsession 

And using goofy humor to try and deny the pain he’s going through 

Because that’s how Simon’s mind specifically reacts to being flooded with so much Madness and Sadness.

That’s why there’s so many parallels between Ice King and the sort of mistakes and screwed-up stuff Simon does right now! He’s even kidnapping people again!

Because the Madness and Sadness of Ice King might’ve been induced by the Crown, but now Simon has plenty of personal home-grown Madness and Sadness inside him - and it’s no surprise that Curse-Induced or not, his mind reacts to it in a sorta-similar way. (Although obviously not as intensely, again, there was a LOT of MMS in the Ice Crown).

Now as for Ice Thing, and the fact that he seems to be actually rather well-adjusted under effects of his version of the Wishing Crown. I mean... not by the time of the 1000+ Era, but that’s literally eons in the future and also maybe more Gibbon’s fault. Even if the Crown will eventually take some sort of toll on him, for now he seems to be doing pretty well considering his wish. I mean, there's still some sort of Loss of Identity stuff going on

But everything we've seen of Ice Thing (in the present day, at least) shows him as a friendly and cheerful individual that gets along well with others. A far cry from how maladjusted every single wielder of the Ice Crown acted.

At the very least, if there's any notable amount of Sadness in him, we really haven't seen it yet.

There might be several factors here:

First things first, I should acknowledge the possibility that it’s just that Orgalorg’s eldritch brain is better at intaking all that MMS juice. That could play a part, but I think it’s probably more important, at least thematically, to look at the distinction between ‘I wish to be Evergreen’ and ‘I wish to be Ice King’. 

First in the sense that while Ice King was occasionally mean to Gunter at times - he was generally much kinder than Evergreen ever was for ‘his’ Gunther. So, like, pretty much the one Personality Flaw of Ice King that you can directly link to the Ice Crown’s attempt to mimic Evergreen is the occasional anger issues.

And how they relate to Gunther’s view of Evergreen, so grumpy and controlling and constantly saying ‘NO!’

(Both Finn and Simon’s demonstrable not-crown-induced trauma responses can make them pretty short-tempered as well. So I’m not going to say this is purely the effects of the Crown. It still probably plays some sort of factor at why the wielder of the Ice Crown is Like That).

And that is not a factor in how Gunter views Ice King. For him, Ice King was a doting and loving father figure - so if the Crown was ever trying to implement any sort of specific negative personality traits, this is absolutely no longer a factor. Because the original Ice Crown was a reflection of Evergreen’s abuse, and now Ice Thing is a reflection of Ice King’s fatherly love.

Which is, itself, probably an echo or remnant of Simon’s own strong parental instincts. 

Secondly, while the Crown was trying to make the Ice King just as powerful as Evergreen…. Ice King was obviously not as powerful as Evergreen. Because he was already a second-rate copy of the Ice Elemental’s power, and because Ice King was often just too doofy to use his powers correctly and probably because some remnant of Simon’s original sensible self is subconsciously holding his powers back.

Either way, being ‘like Ice King’ as Gunter sees him requires less Magic than being ‘like Evergreen’ as Gunther saw him - and therefore less Madness and Sadness. Leading to the wearer or, um, the eater being a lot more well-adjusted from the get-go.

And I think that the implication that Ice Thing has fused with the Crown, so there's never going to be another poor sap who puts on the Crown and gets Ice King'd. But if there is one somehow... at least the process is going to be less mentally detrimental that time around?

Maybe one day Simon could look back and appreciate how much he (or Ice King, or both of them, or however you want to look at the situation) is responsible for basically neutralizing the Crown that ruined his life in the first place.

[therangerswail]

How long have I been like this?

The war was a bloody one. Countless soldiers of the living had died, only to be raised as a weapon against their brethren as she had. Arthas had his plans for the dark rangers that he had raised in Quel'thalas; assassinate and destroy, but from the shadows. There were only a handful of her sisters raised to enact his quiet wrath; elves could be quicker and faster and quieter.

Though they were all dead anyway, and served just the same.

Unlike his ebon soldiers that were prized within the walls of Acherus, a necropolis of the damned being reprogrammed into the perfect remorseless killing machines, the Dark Rangers operated solely within the shadows. Seek and destroy. That was their purpose.

It was a difficult transition, some of her brethren struggling with the acquiescence of the Shadow as opposed to Nature, and the Wild Gods they once so loved before. Some adopted the shadows as easily as their unlife. Falithel had been quietly torn in twain about it. Everything she had known was warped and twisted before her.

She was a creation of horror and tragedy, and the shadows are what kept her together, not her heart. Not a pulse. Not a soul. Though she couldn't find a place for anguish, not anymore. Every inch of her begged to be outraged, but the rest of her was simply a tool with the skillset of a killer.

She served.

That is what wrought her confusion often. How many of her siblings could fight. Some lashed out and drove themselves mad, taught a lesson and were forced to serve in another form of death. So much of her fight had been lost, and there was a grand understanding that she was alright with that.

Have I made peace with my death? How many more must die by my hand for me to accept this fate?

It was oft her that dealt the killing blow; the last thing many of the mad see are the tears of a fallen Quel'dorei that couldn't save her people.

Falithel also remembered the day she regained consciousness. It was a strange feeling, as if the cloud over her mind had disappeared and the marionette strings were severed. She remembered the day she looked at her hands and saw her hands, not the hands of the monster she was made. Though that didn't make who she had become any better.

Her and her siblings were lost. She was on a mission when it happened, when the Lich King had lost control of his puppets, both Dark Ranger and Death Knight alike. Such pain in their eyes, they were truly lost souls, damned to this prison.

Until their General returned. Sylvanas Windrunner had gathered her newly founded Forsaken, given a home and purpose under her banner once again. It was no Kingdom of Quel'thalas, but it was something. She was no longer Quel'dorei.

She was Forsaken.

I will never be free again.

[eldrylva]

"We will 'scissors, paper, rock'..."

"I am not sure what that is, my Lady.."

"Let me show you."

Three days ago.

It was a horrible string of losses. Agonizing betrayals. And the worst part? Rosemarri was laughing! It was an infernal game, infuriating, confusing... there were no patterns to memorize, simply luck!

Loken's bloody game. The next worst part?

Astrid was addicted.

Rosemarri had won two hands against her in their wager, and by the time they had finished, they'd played about six, the pair tying each time after Astrid's losses. There wasn't really a goal there... the Shieldmaiden was prepared to wager a gold coin or something material, not fancy hand shapes.

The ride back to Southwatch had the Huntress practicing those hand motions. One, two, three... paper!

It wasn't as fun by yourself.

The night was young still as far as she was concerned as she led her steed to the stables, tending to the mare with careful brushing, food, and proper rest. Astrid hurried to her room, praying her husband was already there and warming the furs for her arrival. The Jarl almost pouted when he wasn't, and she huffed but continued her nightly ritual of cleaning herself after a long day.

Her hair had begun to dry in their wild array of curls by the time the door had carefully opened, her Knight careful in case she had been sleeping. Blood stained his armor, caked partially in a wild lion's mane of blonde hair and braids. His expression warmed when he saw her waiting expectantly at the edge of their bed, her leather bindings waiting to be collected in his palms when he'd settled.

Astrid grinned when he saw her, and a hand had lifted wordlessly for him. Varsen's hands had planted themselves on either side of her as he bent down at the waist, and Astrid brushed the side of her nose against his affectionately.

"Verr." She hummed, and he issued a throaty grunt in response. They shared in a kiss before her knuckles brushed gently against his jaw.

"Lady Sunshield introduced a game to me." Astrid began, grinning when his lips ghosted over the corner of her mouth, then her cheek and jaw, and her nose crinkled playfully at the tickle of his beard against her face.

"Did she?" Varsen rumbled, peeling back just enough to fix that bright blue stare onto his wife's face. He noted the excitement glimmering behind her eyes, and his lips twitched in a grin as he straightened to loose the armor from his body.

"Aye. It is called 'rock, scissors, paper'." She began leadingly, and he fixed a curious and amused stare over his shoulder to her beaming face as he peeled his tabard off first.

"And it is a game?" He asked again, and she could hear the crinkle in his brow though his back was to her.

"More like a wager. I thought that's what we were doing until I realized this wager had no fists or coin involved..." Astrid grinned, then shrugged. Ladies didn't use their fists to settle brawls down south anyway it seemed. She laughed when his head tilted, watching the gears turn.

"A wager with no coin... nothing else?" He was just as perplexed as she was. Astrid laughed again as he finished disrobing, turning to fix her with an incredulous stare. That deepened when he saw she was displaying her hands, one closed fist over top of a flat palm.

"Let me show you. Best two of three?" She challenged with a fanged grin. He scoffed quietly at her, though amusement danced behind a timeless stare, and he settled next to her, mimicking loosely her hand positions.

"Paper beats rock, scissors beat paper, and rock beats scissors." She nodded, making the hand motions as she explained them, and he grunted in response, squinting.

"Rock is rock, kván.." Varsen rumbled, and she shook her head. He assented with a shrug.

"Against scissors it is. The same shapes are a draw and we try again. Go on three." Astrid grinned, and it was hard to beat her confidence. She practiced the whole ride home, after all.

"One, two.. three!"

His paper covered her rock. She blinked.

"Is that it?" He asked, furrowing his brow.

"... yes. Again!" She nodded to their hands.

"One, two.. three!"

His scissor hesitantly clamped over her paper. Astrid stared at their hands. What the fuck. He saw her bewilderment and grinned like a madman.

"One two three." Astrid counted quickly.

His rock smacked her scissors, a fist gently swatting her fingers.

"That's three, my love." He grinned, the utmost of shit eating grins she'd ever seen. Astrid simply stared, compressing her lips.

"Five out of six." Astrid huffed, pinching her brows together. Varsen barked out a laugh at that expression.

"What's wrong, Little Wolf? This is fun." He chimed, lifting his hands between them again. He still wore that grin.

"You can't win every time after I showed you the fucking game!" She cried in her outrage, boggled at the outcome, and he laughed again.

"Come on then!" Varsen challenged.

"One, two, three!" Astrid tried again, exasperated.

Once more, his scissors clamped over her paper. Laughter filled the Northmen's room, mingled with her sounds of frustration.

"You are cheating!"

"How do you even cheat?!"

"I DON'T KNOW, VARSEN."

Some say the games continued until the wee hours of dawn, the Knight-Captain having the Gods and luck on his side... Astrid didn't win a single fucking round.

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[sameboot]

Simon petrikov coping FAIL compilation