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fourovcups · 2 years

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I've been reading Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire as research for a project of mine, and it has certainly been an experience.

Desert Solitaire was one of these titles I'd heard bandied about in American nature literature growing up (the kind of thing teachers recommended once you finished Hatchet), but I don't here his work mentioned as much anymore. I recently re-encountered the title on a literal ecofascist reading list. While Abbey doesn't sound like an ecofascist himself, I can easily see why nature Nazis like him.

The book chronicles Abbey's time as a seasonal park ranger at the Arches National Monument in Utah There is a kind of uncertainty and inconsistency in the way he writes, even in the way he acts towards his surroundings in the desert. Silent Spring had only been published a few years before Solitaire was, and the eco-cultural revolution was not yet in full swing. Abbey writes lovingly about his desert environment. He describes in stunning detail, for example, the everyday beauty of a bumblebee alighting on a cactus flower, and decries the reckless "development" initiatives of the Bureau of Public Roads. But on the next page, he will say something like this: "...it's a foolish, simple-minded rationalism which denies any form of emotion to all animals but man and his dog. This is no more justified than the Moslems are in denying souls to women." Sure dude. Okay, fine, he was writing in the sixties. Some insensitivity is par for the course. But then, after pages and pages of decrying humans driving desert flora and fauna towards extinction, he describes with glee an instance where he stones a rabbit to death for no apparent reason.

It's a bizarre passage, and shows Abbey at his most unhinged. He describes the rabbit as "cowardly" for running away from threats, unlike the brave mountain lion, who stands and fights. He throws the stone and hits the rabbit's head: "He crumples, there's the usual gushing of blood, etc.," and the creature is dead. "I continue my walk with a new, augmented cheerfulness which is hard to understand but unmistakable [...] I try but cannot feel any sense of guilt." Reflecting on the incident, he concludes that his killing of the rabbit has made him a part of the desert, a membership bought by killing or being killed, being "predator or prey". Even so, he decides not to eat the rabbit, which he says is probably diseased anyway. He also describes using his walking stick to crush and stir up an ant colony, also without any reason beyond not liking ants. "Don't actually care for ants. Neurotic little pismires." These are far from the only times that Abbey violates his personal philosophy of reverence for all living creatures.

It's clear that Edward Abbey came to Arches National Monument already dissatisfied with the outside world, and with some authority issues to boot (some quick googling on his background shows two demotions as a military police officer for clashing with higher-ups). The freedom of the desert, its simplicity and balance, is a significant part of what makes it appeal to him. But its harshness, the hostility of its sandstorms and lurking rattlesnakes, draws him in just as much.

Edward Abbey is not an ecofascist. If anything, his ill-defined political beliefs can be vaguely defined as anarchistic, if they can be defined at all. Deleuze and Guattari write in A Thousand Plateaus that fascism is "a cancerous body rather than a totalitarian organism". It is fluid, mutable. Sometimes it lies latent, benign; at other times it rushes outward, colonizing piecemeal and erratically, in "flows capable of suffusing every kind of cell". Elements of Abbey, and of Desert Solitaire, contain such microfascisms.

Let's turn back to the linchpin of it all: the killing of the rabbit, which he sees as a joyous, cosmic act; one that links him into a (circular? pyramidal?) chain of being he was previously alienated from, in the atomized world of civilization. His joy is only augmented when he realizes he is not guilty for killing the rabbit. In per-modern hunting customs across the world, the taking of animal life is never free and unmediated. Thanks may be given to the spirit of the animal itself, or to the unseen powers that led the hunter to their quarry. Naturally, the sacrifice of an animal to a god was just that: for a god, not the human involved. What Abbey describes in the killing of the rabbit is something utterly different.

In Federico Finchelstein's Fascist Mythologies, Finchelstein says that in fascism, "consciousness was not a repression of inwardness (as Freud understood the workings of the Ego and the Id) but its actual distillation. [...] [Fascist consciousness] was not contemplative but similar to that of a sublime sensation of ecstasy."

The fascist subject is most "conscious" precisely when they loose themselves in the ecstatic abandon of the act. Such fascist consciousness is the foundation of the free, easy violence it facilitates.

When Abbey describes casting the stone at the rabbit, it is in a Meursault-like twilight of awareness. He sets up the encounter as a game, one in which he is a scientist experimenting on a rabbit that has been "volunteered" to him, and whose death is justifiable through its natural cowardice. He hardly realizes that the action he is carrying out, and when the rabbit dies he is shocked out of his reverie for a moment.

"For a moment I am shocked by my deed [...] but shock is succeeded by a mild elation."

For Abbey, primordial violence is what at last allows him union with the sacred world of the desert.

"No longer do I feel so isolated from the sparse and furtive life around me, a stranger from another world. I have entered into this one. We are kindred all of us [...] Long live diversity, long live the Earth!"

By carrying out this act of bare violence, Abbey frees himself from the civilized world and achieves union with the world of Nature, in which violence is a simple act: one that creates its own order rather than supporting existing ones. It is this union that, while the moment lasts, allows him to rejoice in his newfound "innocence and power".

That is where I will leave things for now. There are other, more overt themes that Abbey explores that are the chief reason Desert Solitaire appeals to many ecofascists, such as its characterizations of industrial society and "Progress". Abbey's later work, such as The Monkey Wrench Gang, set even more explicit examples of direct action and sabotage that inspired right-wing accelerationists as well as left-wing environmental activists. This is my first long-ish post; if you're interested in these kinds of posts on ecofascism and ecocriticism, let me know and I might make more in the future.

#Desert Solitaire #ecocriticism #ecofascism #books #Edward Abbey #fascism

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leiawritesstories · 1 year

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A Visit to Orynth

Rowaelin Month, Day 24: How Rowan Knew "Fireheart"

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: canon has been edited because i said so, Maeve, royal politics, references to the blood oath and other canon fun

Enjoy!!

@rowaelinscourt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The prince first visited Orynth when he was a young male, barely twenty-four years old. His parents frequently traveled for diplomatic reasons, and they’d invited him to accompany them for the first time that year. We won’t ask you to do anything, they promised. Just come along and get a sense for what the world of politics is like.

Prince Rowan Whitethorn had never been a fan of politics. He preferred steel to statecraft–give him a broadsword or a pair of hatchets any day.

But he went to Orynth that spring, and for some reason that he couldn’t name, he felt oddly at home in the sprawling city with its unusual but somehow perfect blend of stone buildings and patches of greenspace like little meadows dotting the cobbled streets.

He left most of the diplomacy and politicking to his parents, who spent most of their days holed up in council chambers with Queen Elena and King Brannon and their court. The first couple of days, he had to attend the sessions, and he paid as much attention as he could before resorting to drawing little battle diagrams on his note sheets. His father noticed, but said nothing, only muffled his knowing smile and quietly directed Rowan towards the training yard. So Rowan spent the rest of that visit with the palace guards, sparring and training and exchanging technique and tactical notes with the highly skilled military.

That was the last time he visited Orynth for nearly three centuries.

Upon his return to Doranelle, Rowan entered the legions, and he barely saw his home or his family for the next three hundred years. He rose swiftly through the ranks, ascending rapidly to the rank of captain before he was seventy-five years old. His queen took notice of his prowess, and he was inducted into the bloodsworn legions, an honor granted to precious few warriors. The decades he spent serving closely under the queen’s command honed him into a warrior of near-impossible capacity, and honed his heart into a block of ice, as impassive as the glaciers of the far north.

Prince Rowan Whitethorn was three hundred and thirty years old the second time he visited Orynth.

Erilea had been casually discussing their relations with Doranelle for the last century, and it had finally reached a point where the rulers of the Erilean kingdoms decided to host a summit and invite representatives from Wendlyn and Doranelle. Wendlyn, of course, sent a delegation of Ashryvers, who were relations of the royal family of Terrasen. Maeve called together her bloodsworn and chose two of them to accompany the five selected Fae delegates.

“I trust you will keep your Queen aware of the discussions,” she purred, a deceptively soft smile gracing her lips as she handed Rowan and Vaughan their notes for the talks.

Rowan dipped his head in acquiescence. “Of course, Majesty.”

Three weeks later, as he stepped off the ship and set foot into Terrasen for the second time in his life, he drew in a lungful of the crisp, clear mountain air, and found that its scent comforted a part of him that had been empty and aching since his parents passed away.

He pushed that thought to the back of his mind, occupying himself instead with the concerns of the discussions. Maeve had sent him–her legendary warrior-prince–for a reason, despite his lack of diplomatic skill, and he intended to prove that he could hold his own at a meeting full of human royalty. And if things went poorly, then he could fall back onto Vaugahn’s quiet, diplomatic tact.

King Orlon Galathynius greeted the Doranelle contingent as they entered the council room on the first day of the summit. The human king was aging, but the lines around his eyes and the gray of his hair only strengthened his image as a capable, compassionate leader. According to what Rowan knew, Orlon had ruled Terrasen for nearly twenty years and showed no signs of abdicating soon, although his younger brother, Crown Prince Rhoe Galathynius, worked closely with the king.

“Welcome to Terrasen,” King Orlon said warmly, clasping Rowan’s hand in a firm handshake that proved he retained his physical strength. “It’s an honor to welcome Doranelle back to our land.”

“The honor is ours.” Rowan dipped his head in a bow to the king. He bowed lower for his own Queen, but the courtesy was still due.

Inside the meeting chamber, a dark-haired, younger version of Orlon approached Rowan and Vaughan and exchanged greetings. “Rhoe Galathynius. Pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Prince Whitethorn, Lord Recorre.”

“Please, leave off the title, Highness.” Rowan shook Rhoe’s hand, noting the insignias the human prince wore on his jacket–military rankings. “We’re all just delegates for peaceful relations, aren’t we?”

“Indeed.” Rhoe smiled. “Let me show you to your seats; this room is rarely used, so it’s always a nightmare to navigate. I keep telling Orlon we need to use the throne room, but he–ah, Evalin!” A stately, golden-haired woman with the distinctive turquoise eyes of the Ashryver family and a slender silver circlet around her brow had walked up and laid her hand fondly on Rhoe’s arm. He tucked her arm into his with a soft, tender smile. “Vaughan, Rowan, allow me to introduce Princess Evalin Ashryver, my lovely and far more talented wife.”

“Welcome back to Orynth,” Evalin smiled. “It’s been far too long since we hosted Queen Maeve’s people.”

In that moment, Rowan knew two things with absolute certainty. First, Princess Evalin Ashryver knew that he and Vaugahn were bloodsworn–he didn’t know how she knew, but she did. And second, if her lineage (and her scent) were correct, she was a direct descendant of the Fae Queen Mab, Maeve’s sister, and therefore was most likely the Fae Queen of the West.

Suddenly, he wondered if he’d been sent to Orynth to view Evalin with his own senses and bring knowledge of the Ashryver princess back to Maeve.

The sonorous peal of the great brass gong tore Rowan away from his thoughts.

“Ah, we’re about to start.” Rhoe dipped his head at Rowan and Vaughan. “It truly is an honor to host you in Orynth. Please, attend dinner with Evalin and I.” He flicked a half-grin at his wife. “We’d better get to our seats, Fireheart.”

Fireheart.

“You and your misleading nicknames,” Evalin teased as she and Rhoe walked off. Rowan’s Fae hearing picked up their conversation. “I don’t have the fire gift, my love, only the water. Fire is Brannon’s line’s gift.”

“You have the fire in your heart, my love,” Rhoe returned. “And who knows? Perhaps someday the gift will manifest in one of our children, if we’re so blessed.”

“It’s a slim chance.” Evalin’s whisper contained an ocean of sadness.

“It’s still a chance, Fireheart.” Rhoe kissed his wife’s forehead.

Rowan stopped listening then, overcome by what he’d just learned. The fire gift. It wasn’t a myth after all–the gift of fire magic laid dormant in the royal bloodline of Terrasen, and the intersection of the Ashryver and Galathynius lines with Rhoe and Evalin’s marriage just might be enough for the near-mythical gift of Brannon Galathynius’s fire to manifest again.

Fireheart. So the prince’s affectionate name for his wife was more than just an endearment–it was a wish for their future. For their kingdom’s future.

Fireheart.

Rowan went to Orynth again ten years later, but this time, he went uninvited. He shifted into his hawk form when his small ship had docked in the harbor, and he remained in that form for the entirety of the next few days. He went to Orynth not to negotiate or pay a formal visit, but to linger on the parapets of the castle and pick up conversation.

He went as a spy.

On his last night in Orynth–a blustery, rainy night–Rowan perched on a window ledge and pressed his hawk body as close to the window glass as possible without making a terribly loud noise. He stretched his Fae senses down and out, into the dining room below his perch, and strained to hear the conversation taking place in the room. The royal family of Terrasen was hosting the royal family of Adarlan, and rumor had it that relations between Adarlan and every other Erilean kingdom were tense, if not outright hostile.

Rowan couldn’t make out much of the conversation, but he heard enough. Bits and pieces of politely veiled threats, the sneer behind the king of Adarlan’s tone, the uncomfortable shifting of the staff and guards who stood at the edge of the room–it pointed towards looming conflict. He hopped off his perch and flew up to a window he knew was in Rhoe and Evalin’s chambers. Perhaps he’d hear something worthwhile from them.

It wasn’t long before the prince and princess came wearily into their rooms, speaking in hushed tones about the poor signals from Adarlan.

“I’m worried, Rhoe,” Evalin admitted. There was a soft clink as she laid her jewelry on top of the dressing table. “There’s something bigger than just Adarlan at play here.”

“Something magical?” Rhoe asked.

“It’s possible. I…I don’t think it’s purely magical, though. That ring of Adarlan’s…I can’t describe it, but I felt like it was looking at me, almost like it wanted to claim me.”

Rowan gripped his perch with all the strength of his taloned feet, determined not to slip despite his shock.

“Fireheart,” Rhoe breathed, coming over to embrace his wife, “are you certain? I trust your judgment–I have no way of detecting magic–but…” He took a deep, measured breath. “A wrong move from Adarlan could constitute war, and if there’s magic at play…”

“It could end us all,” Evalin whispered.

Rowan had heard enough. Quietly, he hopped off the window ledge and launched himself up into the wind and rain, his thoughts churning as rapidly as the storm. Adarlan. Magic. War. He hadn’t known what his Queen had wanted him to discover when she sent him to Orynth, but he’d bet his broadsword that it wasn’t rumors of magical war.

Three weeks later, when his ship docked back in Doranelle, Lorcan delivered the news, and the information he’d heard while spying suddenly clicked into place.

Adarlan had performed some kind of ritual that banished magic. The King of Adarlan had armies marching across Erilea to root out magic-users, and everywhere his army went, he claimed dominion. Melisande and Fenharrow had capitulated. Eyllwe seemed on the brink of collapsing. The Western Wastes and the Witchlands had separated.

And the entire royal family of Terrasen was dead.

Orynth was so different from the first time Rowan had set foot in the city, but the mountain breezes still smelled the same. The ancient and modern buildings and the winding cobblestone streets bore scars from the war, but new green life had begun to creep across the slashes and scuffs and scorch marks, blanketing the damage of war. The grand stone castle still crowned the city hill, but its doors were no longer barred. Instead, commoners and nobles and Fae–both full and partial–filtered in and out of the castle grounds, uniting the crown and the city.

The continent was healing, and his wife had made it all possible.

Speaking of…Aelin’s voice sounded in his mind. Is the castle really that bad, buzzard?

He grinned. I find my skills better suited to the physical act of rebuilding.

I know a physical act or two that could use your skills.

I’m sure you do, Fireheart.

A surge of her love filled his mind. Where are you?

Near the western wall.

Solitary buzzard. He felt her bright laughter ripple through his blood, warming him through. I’ll be there in a moment.

And a few minutes later, she was there, her crown tipped sideways atop her messy hair. “Rowan.”

“Fireheart.” He set the one last stone into place in the section of wall he was working on, turned, and pulled her against his chest, reveling in the trace of embers that always followed her.

“You keep avoiding court when I need you,” Aelin teased. “Who else is going to scowl at the lords when they say something idiotic?”

“I’m sure you can handle that,” he drawled. “You are the queen, Fireheart.”

She chuckled and went quiet for a moment, gazing over the tumbled wall out into the evergreen hills. “I’ve been wondering, buzzard. Why ‘Fireheart?’ You can’t have known that’s what my parents called me when I was a child, even with all your centuries of knowledge.” Humor laced her last words.

“Are you calling me old, love?”

“Always.” She smirked. “Tell me, buzzard.”

Rowan was silent for a long moment, working over the story, wondering how much he could say before someone inevitably interrupted the queen’s private time with her husband. “I met Rhoe and Evalin, once, many years ago. I remember Rhoe calling Evalin Fireheart.”

Aelin stroked her thumb over the ruby of Rowan’s wedding band. “I never knew you met them.” I miss them, she murmured into his mind, muted grief shadowing her mind.

“Just once.” Cupping his free hand under her chin, he tilted her face up and kissed her, soft and tender, a gesture of both love and comfort. “You are everything they dreamed Terrasen would be.” I’m entirely sure they’re smiling down on you from the afterlife, he added.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He touched his forehead to hers. “I love you too, Fireheart.”

~~~

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#my writing #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month 2023 #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #ft aelin's parents because i said so #canon au #except we kinda ignored canon oopsies

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bjornironsidelothbrok · 11 months

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Bjorn Lothbrok, better known as Bjorn Ironside is the firstborn son of Ragnar with his first wife Lagertha, a famous and great shield-maiden. He is the half-brother of Hvitserk, Ivar, Ubbe and Sigurd and has a father-son like relationship with the boat builder Floki, who is an old friend of Ragnar and Lagertha. He's the former king of Kattegat and lost the election for King of Norway to Harald. He is a descendant of Odin, as are his father and brothers. Bjorn is a great warrior in all respects, just like his father. As a young child he tries to keep his parents from fighting. He also wants to become a man in society so he can go on raids with his father and uncle. Norse society adheres to the belief that a “real man” is a killer, so Bjorn is eager for the chance to fight to prove his manhood. This is evident in how when he’s asked what a man does, his first answer is, “He fights.” Ragnar approves of this response, but nevertheless reminds him that they do more as well. Like all children, Bjorn has his moments of being a bratty kid. This happens especially around Athelstan. Like most of Norse society, Bjorn scorns him for being a Christian and a slave. He is shown to be indifferent and even cruel towards Athelstan. Thankfully, Bjorn grows out of it, and openly laments Athelstan’s death. He thoroughly rebukes King Horik’s cruel words about the priest being a traitor and worthless individual. At times, Bjorn seems to be the reasonable one in his family. Unlike his father, he appears to be much more in-tune with the emotions of those around him, which becomes even more apparent when he grows older. As an adult, Bjorn is Ragnar’s most trusted lieutenant and right-hand man. He shows extreme loyalty to Ragnar even after years of separation. With the death of Ragnar, Bjorn becomes arguably the most renowned Viking in Christendom aside from possibly his mother. With his own people, him merely stepping into Kattegat was enough to shock everyone. The only person who is not frightened of him is Ivar, and even Ivar will later admit to Bishop Heahmund that he is a little scared of Bjorn.Like most Viking men, Bjorn yearns for glory on the battlefield and a place in Valhalla. He is passionate about fighting and eager to battle. He is a highly skilled warrior, even when he is young. He was strong enough to match Rollo in a drunken brawl and in his first battle is fast enough to get through without ever been struck. The true testament of Bjorn’s prowess as a warrior comes during his time alone in the wilderness. He survives for several months in the icy mountains, manages to track down and kill a bear with only a hatchet and knife, and outwits and overpowers a supposedly invincible Berserker who was sent to assassinate him. He calms down a bit after. Bjorn tends to be the most emotionally stable of the brothers. He is noticeably much more mellow and agreeable as an adult than he was as a child. Bjorn has a somewhat different personal code than most other Viking men. He refuses to rape women in raids or slaves. After his time living in the wilderness, Bjorn tends to act cold and distant to most people. While he still is a lot less willing than most Vikings to kill or throw away lives without need, he has definitely hardened since he was a kindly young adult. It’s clear that Bjorn doesn’t have his father’s intelligence or penchant for outside-the-box thinking. When he realizes that Ragnar doesn’t trust him to follow in his footsteps, this prompts Bjorn to strike out on his own and do some traveling to prove his worth to both himself and Ragnar. He takes great pride in his battle scars, bearskin cloak, and tattoos. His tattoos and hairstyle are clearly modelled after the ones Ragnar had in his younger years. Bjorn’s courage, deep devotion to his parents, and unshakeable code of honor are all similar to the personality of the god Baldr. He has been the new head of the family since his father's death and, like his father, sails under the Raven Banner.

#userfakevz #bjorn ironside #Ragnarson

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kayann9 · 6 months

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How to turn the tide.

I'm not even sure if I remember how to post? I literally have written nothing for 4 years and so I don't think it's great. I just thought, why not? Some bad language so rated M for safety; 893 words.

Takes place after the Elminster visit and is a little moment between my Tav (Serena) and Karlach; she is not dealing with the news very well. Gale doesn't feature but it is Gale X Tav (f).

I do not own BG3 or Gale of Waterdeep - even if I wish I did.

Serena flung the axe at wood, growling as it landed to the left of her target.

It was the tenth throw. The tree wasn’t going to last much longer whether she hit the mark or not.

“Fucking Gods.” She hissed, pulling the metal from the tree.

As Gale’s brown eyes filled with resignation and acceptance flooded her mind, he released the golden hatchet again and let it splinter the dry wood.

She was exhausted. She was so very exhausted: her muscles ached, her throat was sore but mainly, and most sadly, her mind was tired. The frustration of living in a World ruled by Gods and Monsters, of the good suffering at the hands of the powerful, was eating at her. This evening had been the final straw.

Serena sunk into the grass and pulled her knees to her chest.

She couldn’t do this – whatever this had turned into. What had started as a minor expedition to get back home and get a tiny invader out of her brain, had turned into a divine mission from a variety of notable sources, one that she kept being told had to take precedent above all else.

This was the life she’d left behind – the selfless life of righting wrongs – that had now crept back up onto her.

“Godsdammit.” Her dagger slammed into the dirt as if she were trying to pierce the soul of the ground itself.

Serena heard Karlach before she saw her; she heard the heavy boots and the gentle grunt of the metal in her chest. Another victim of the machine.

“How you holding up soldier?”

Serena let out a humourless laugh. “Collecting firewood. I’m fine.” Somewhere along the line she’d become a terrible liar, she couldn’t even convince herself anymore. She played with a dried splinter between her fingers before holding it up.

“I’m not sure that will keep a fire going for very long. I mean, that tree has taken quite the pummelling. It’s almost as if you’re pretending it is a certain Goddess’…”

Serena stood up gathering another blade in her hand, letting it fly through the air with a whistle.

“That tree is a lot of things to me right now….. Mainly firewood.” Serena braced her shoulders trying to release the knot of tension that sat between the bones given to her from the dirt floor and the stress of the day. When she heard Karlach’s sigh, she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. “Fine. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of these supposedly all powerful beings waltzing through our lives like unprompted lightning bolts, ignoring the destruction they cause, expecting our utter devotion just because they deem us somewhat noticeable.”

The Rosymorn Trail had been somewhat breath taking to Serena on her arrival through the Mountain Pass, a part of Faerûn that she had not seen before. No longer was she impressed with the vast and dramatic scenery; the vivid sunset bathing the valley in fire, all awe and wonder had been sapped from her body the moment she’d heard the words: use yourself as the catalyst that will burn it from this world.

“Sorry, I’m ranting.” Serena leaned against a tree and forced her gaze to the vast expanse of mountains.

Karlach’s intimidating size and stature hid a softer nature. The kind of nature that had made her follow her friend when she was trying her best to hide all the upset she clearly felt. She’d known she’d had to follow the moment Serena had declared she was going to find some food despite their camp being full of wine, cheese and meat and then found her stabbing a half- dead oak tree as if it were stray ghast.

“You’re not ranting…. Well, maybe ranting a little. But I get it. You’re upset. It was a shit thing to hear and it’s even shittier that he’s actually contemplating it.”

And there it was. The reason this had gotten to her so much. It hadn’t been that Mystra had dared to make such an obscene suggestion. Gods and their ilk were known, at least in her world, for making such grand demands of their devotees. By the Hells, it might not have even been the worst ‘sacrifice’ she’d even heard of on her travels. The thing that truly tore at her heart was the fact he’d accepted it. He’d said with such sad certainty there wasn’t another way.

Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but she soon forced them away. Even in front of Karlach.

“It’s just not fair.” She was aware she sounded like a child who’d not been allowed out to play after dinner but there was no other phrase that she could pick. It wasn’t. It wasn’t fair that his punishment was to willingly end his life. It wasn’t fair that he felt it was apt. It wasn’t fair that she now cared enough about Gale for it to hurt when he’d accepted it.

With another surge of anger, she threw the great axe at the tree again.

This time it splintered.

It creaked and groaned under the ferocity of the blade.

“There. Firewood.” She shrugged and grabbed the larger splints.

“Be a moon unto yourself, mate.” Karlach smiled as she grabbed the rest of the wood and hoped the elder wizard's more enigmatic words would bring her friend at least some comfort.

#gale bg3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #fuck mystra #karlach #bg3 oc #bg3 karlach #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate gale

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mannytoodope · 3 months

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Ranger Carl: If you get a splinter, also a job for Mr. Tweezers. Oh, and, uh, another topic, totally unrelated to safety: there may or may not be someone living in the woods nearby. The so-called "Windygap Hermit" he's not dangerous... Or, maybe he is, we really don't know. I mean, there have been some missing hatchets and some other things, but they could be anywhere. So if anyone notices anything suspicious, please tell...

Zeke: Mr. Tweezers?

RangerCarl: Uh, no. Me. Ranger Carl. Or Mr. Tweezers, yeah.

Zeke: I'll probably tell Tweezers. I get it.

Ranger Carl: Now, we're gonna do things a little differently this week because they're predicting rain for the next few days. There's gonna be a lot more indoor ed here at the Outdoor Ed Center.

Jocelyn: Wait, what?

Zeke: Come on. Yes? But we're still gonna team-build on the ropes course, right? No, the ropes course isn't safe in the rain. Ranger Rick: Yes?

Tina: But we're still gonna hike to the top of Mount Windygap for our nature-iphanies, right?

Ranger Rick: No, the last quarter mile of that trail is in a steep notch. It's like the mountain's rain gutter. Totally impassable in bad weather.

Tina: Really? But what if the rain stops before Friday?

Ranger Rick: Well, it's not supposed to.

Tina: But what if it does?

Ranger Rick: Well, I don't think it will.

Tina: But what if it does?

Ranger Rick: Well, there's no sense discussing that because it's not gonna happen.

Tina: Dang it.

Gene:( whispers ): Sorry, T.

Louise: At least we still get a few days of blowing off school.

Mr.Frond: For those of you who think you're just gonna blow off school while we're up here, forget it. You'll have your regular classwork, plus nature stuff.

Gene: Oh, man.

Louise: Crap on a cracker!

#Bob's Burgers

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captmickey · 10 months

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I'm going to post my Escape from Monkey Islan rewrite overview. And since I'm pretty much bailing (for now) the fic. Here's what was written so far.

Who knows, maybe one day I'll come back to it.

---

From the personal log of Guybrush Threepwood,

Sometimes, when it’s quiet, I can still hear the monkeys.

It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a few years since I first washed up on the beaches of Melee Island, armed with nothing more than a goofy name and an overpowering urge to become a swashbuckling pirate.

Who could have suspected that such a humble pursuit would lead me to cross swords with the evil Ghost Pirate LeChuck, the slimiest slug ever to plunder the seven seas? And who could have guessed that my battles with LeChuck would introduce me to the love of my life, Melee Island’s Governor Elaine Marley? Or that my efforts to win Elaine’s hand would repeatedly drag me to the mystery-drenched shores of Monkey Island? Or that I would finally end the scourge of LeChuck, burying him beneath a mountain of ice?

Not me, that’s for sure.

Back then, the only thing duller than my sword was my wit. Now look at me, I’m married to the most beautiful governmental official in the Caribbean, the entire Tri-Island area shudders at the sound of my name, and now my Plunder Bunny and I are returning to Melee Island, after the most incredible honeymoon in the history of--

“Guybrush, look out!”

The pen sharply skewed off the page, creating a thin black line across the sentence as Guybrush shifted himself away from the incoming projectile, hearing the whooshing of the hatchet fly over his head. He turned his head and spat out his pen to the side before looking over to his newly wed wife fending off a pirate with two weapons at once. “I could… really use your help right about now!” Elaine called out.

“Oh, I'd love to, but uh... little tied up…” Guybrush rattled slightly his restraints for emphasis.

Her eyes glanced over his way every few seconds before she pushed off the offender away, catching her breath. “Heh, you can't tell me that Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate doesn't have a trick up his sleeve. Speaking of which, any progress on the escape plan?”

“Ah… I’m working on it.” Guybrush admitted, pushing himself up the pole he was chained to. “Oh, on your left.”

“Thank you!” She quickly swung a fist at the enemy, watching them fling back against the others like a couple of bowling pins. “Alright, I'll fend them off a bit longer then. But do hurry, please?” She gave a smile before quickly gripping her weapons with renewed vigor to fight off the next round.

Guybrush watched in admiration as she went to fight two at once, a feat that he still could not comprehend how she was able to do with ease and began looking around at his surroundings. Okay, he thought, what is there to see. Well for one, there was a massive ship that was throwing pirates their way endlessly (and in fact dwarfed their own ship by comparison), there was a cannon with a cannonball lodged inside (at least, he hoped there was), and a brazier with some lit coal that was within range. As for himself, he was restrained rather firmly against one of the masts, his only movements around said mast was limited to just being able to move around and kicking his feet.

‘Cool, so either I could spin myself fast enough around the mast to free myself from my restraint or I could trip any poor unfortunate pirate coming my way… kick if I’m lucky.’ Guybrush thought. He looked at the cannon aiming perfectly at the enemy ship, wishing he could just light the darn thing. But as it stood, there wasn’t much he could do.

Light. Wait!

A thought clicked in his mind, he didn’t have to be the one to light the cannon necessarily, it just needed to be lit. He side eyed the burning brazier and grinned. Guybrush began shimming himself to face the brazier, giving it a bit of a kick once it was within range. He knew it could have gone one of two ways; either it would fall towards or away from him, but as luck would have it, it was the former. Quietly cheering to himself, he kicked a coal his way, balancing it slightly on his foot before feeling the heat begin to burn through his boot.

“Ow ow ow ow…!” Guybrush quietly cried out as he kept kicking the coal back and forth between one foot and the other, shimming himself to face the cannon. “Please work…!” He kicked the coal far from him towards the unlit wick, holding his breath as he saw it take light and slowly burn down. It would be truly terrible if the cannon didn’t go off. But to his relief, with a loud and ear-ringing boom, the cannon shot straight through the opposing ship, most likely igniting the gunpowder as it erupted into fire before sinking into the ocean. He watched the enemy rush to the side, watching in horror as their means of transport vanish under the sea. The sounds of the safety being pulled back from various guns clicked quickly as Elaine and the crew all took aim.

While the crew gathered the remaining enemies as prisoners, Elaine walked over to Guybrush, sighing relief and smiling his way.

“Oh, my little snugglecakes.” She cooed as she brushed back some of his hair and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. Guybrush, in turn, rested his head on the top of her’s, sighing with content that the ordeal was over. It was only the slight ache in his wrists from his shackles that brought him back out of his honeymoon bliss to his current reality.

“Um, hey Elaine? Could you untie me?”

“Oh! Right, of course.”

The sun had long since set as the ship made its way to port later that evening. The crewmate shouted from the crow’s night of the land approaching and the rest of the crew below helped the Threepwoods move their luggage from the hold to the deck (it wasn’t really luggage, Guybrush thought as he helped piled the packages on top of one another, they were more wedding gifts and other knick knacks they bought during their honeymoon).

"And the way you just took them down with not one but TWO weapons! Elaine, that was incredible!" Guybrush gushed, regaling the tale the two starred in.

"Yes, well, it would have meant nothing if you didn't cleverly think of that way to shoot down their ship." Elaine complinented, handing Guybrush a hat box. "Oh, make sure this goes on top, it's fragile."

"Right, of course." Guybrush nodded, taking the box and placing it with the rest of the collection. "By the way, are you excited to be back in Melee?"

"Of course." She said, handing him a heavier box. "It is my home." Elaine chuckled and shook her head. "My apologies, our home."

Guybrush paused for a moment, letting those words sink in: our home. A smile graced his face. "Yeah… yeah it is, isn't it? Our home." He placed the heavy box in the pile, hearing a sudden crunch beneath the weight of the gift and winced.

"What was that?" Elaine perked up, looked over and saw the sheepish blond. She sighed. "You put the hat box underneath by accident, didn't you?"

He nodded slowly. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "It's fine."

Elaine climbed out of the hole, patting her hands of any dust and walked over to Guybrush who slipped an arm around her waist.

#monkey island #mickey writes #the ship that literally sails itself

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ormir · 5 months

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@blightedmikhael location: on the road to Nornwatch, some weeks ago

Emerging from the birthing canals of the mountains was hardly the deliverance Iskaldrik’s people had hoped for. The light they’d yearned for was blinding and flesh-scalding as it reflected off the hardened snow. The air here formed in heavy, violent bursts that split lips and knuckles. The land stretched on into an unending wasteland rarely punctuated by trees or the odd jut of volcanic rock. The caravans shambled through the Stygian badlands, feet falling heavier and stomachs growing louder with every wagon wheel’s rotation.

The night was lethally cold, so camp was made early before the sun could slip the leash on them. A cluster of camp fires spit high in the air, their smoke channels buffered by the shiplike crag the Witchers had found refuge in. The interim king squirmed in its shadow. At least on the plains we’d be able to see danger coming. Worries soon to be surrendered to exhaustion. Ormir attempted to warm himself by a fire, fighting to undo the cold, even as it gorged on the remaining sensation in his extremities. The mead, what little they had left of it, was a necessary balm for the pain. He drank deep, and lowered his cup to find that a flickering figure had manifested on the other side of the flames. Beneath its layers, light struck upon armor of a make Ormir did not recognize.

Alarms immediately bellowed between his ears. An assassin? After a hair of thought, he shrugged the foolish notion off. Every second before the badlands would have provided an easier mark. He searched for the Guild’s heron brand on the stranger’s blade, but stopped short as he didn’t find a weapon to search on. An odd, conspicuous kind of mercenary?

The Raven-feeder closed the distance to investigate further. His fingers brushed the reassurance of his hatchets nestled at either hip. “You’re a long way from home, are you not?” Ormir started, congenially. Just another lost soul sharing purgatory. “You must have earned the wrath of a wicked god to have been sucked into all this.”

#(l. // hrimthurs wastelands. )#(c. // mikhael. )#troupe1 #closed.#you absolutely do not have to match length i'm just extra

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kookaburra1701 · 7 months

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WIP Wednesday - Aristeia

I was tagged by @dirty-bosmer @gilgamish and @tallmatcha last week so now I am queuing up my WIP Wednesday post for early morning so it is YOU WHO ARE THE TAGGED BWAHAHAHA

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence) Category: gen Genre(s): Adventure, Homer retelling Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, the Orcs of Mor Khazgur

Summary: Borgakh is a dutiful daughter of Mor Khazgur, an orc stronghold in a remote corner of the Reach that has existed since the Merethic era. Expected to someday become the shield-wife of a distant chieftain, Borgakh tries to uphold the Code of Malacath as best she can. But when her father, the chief of their stronghold, goes missing while on a quest for vengeance, the suitors that show up to vie for his place cause no end of trouble and threaten the strength of Mor Khazgur. Borgakh soon finds herself traveling far from home across the Druadach Mountains to find her father and save the stronghold.

The fic so far is here on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Borgakh stood, and Kharag lifted his head from the patch of clover at her movement. She looked around wildly. She could not un-hobble and hide Kharag in time to conceal both of them. The voices grew louder, and a branch snapped, echoing around the tall rocks that lined the clearing. The people coming down the path were not trying to be stealthy.

“If Forge-Mother hears you say that—” a young Orc, tall but thin, pushed through the brush on the far side of the little spring, saw Borgakh, and stopped dead in his tracks. They stared at each other: his mouth open around unsaid words and her hand hovering over her undrawn sword.

”Oof!” He staggered forward, pushed by another Orc stepping from the thicket.

“Hey, watch it Lurbuk—” This Orc was older, and instead of the tunic and jerkin of the younger one, he wore several skins around his waist and shoulders; his chest was bare. He too stared at Borgakh.

Both carried several rabbits at their belts; the younger one had a sling and a knife strapped to his hip, while the older had a bow at his back and the handle of a hatchet poked out from behind his quiver.

The younger of the two recovered first, pulled himself up to his full height, and spoke. “You stand on Dushnikh Yal terri—” his voice broke in a hoarse squeak, and a bronze flush bloomed on his cheeks as he continued, “—territory, identify yourself!”

Rolling his eyes, the other Orc pushed him out of the way and approached Borgakh. “I’m Nagrub, son of Arob, Hunts-Wife of Dushnikh Yal. This is Lurbuk, son of Hearth-Wife Umogza. Who are you? Why do you come armed onto our stronghold’s land?”

Borgakh lifted her chin, looking down her nose at the two, though it was challenging with Nagrub as he was at least a hand taller than she. “I am Borgakh Abbas, daughter of Bagrak, Shield-Wife of Mor Khazgur. I am on a quest from Malacath.”

Whatever answer Nagrub was expecting, it did not seem to be that. His brow climbed in surprise, but he recovered quickly.

“You can’t be an abbas,” Lurbuk interrupted whatever his brother was about to say. “You’re just a child!”

“Malacath thinks I’m old enough— I’m older than you!” Borgakh shot back as Nagrub kicked Lurbuk. Lurbuk scowled but fell silent.

#fic: aristeia #borgakh the steel heart #skyrim #wip wednesday #skyrim fanfiction #kb writes #mor khazgur #hot orc always #orsimer #lurbuk #nagrub #tesblr #orcs #hot orc summer

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altheterrible · 7 months

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Tag 9 people to get to know better or catch up with

Tagged by @jivvinjivvin, thanks!

Three ships you like: I have never really been interested in shipping, probably because I am on the aromantic and/or asexual spectrums. But I guess Science Bros was cute from the 2012 Avengers era. Clintasha, too; I always thought they were perfect for each other. Um. Then I guess Sailor Uranus/Sailor Neptune, for obvious reasons.

First ship ever: I literally have no idea. Like I said, I’ve never been really interested in that side of fandom. I generally find romantic relationships boring and derivative, both fictional and real tbh. Every time romance shows up in any media, I think it detracts from the story.

Last song you heard: “This Year” - The Mountain Goats

Favourite childhood book: Really depends on how you define childhood. As a tween, I read my copy of Watership Down so many times it fell apart. Younger than that, I adored Julie of the Wolves, My Side of the Mountain, and Hatchet--I don’t know why survival fiction appealed to me so much. Of course I loved the Little House books, especially Little Town on the Prairie. Even younger than that, I read basically every Babysitter’s Club book.

Currently reading: Nothing, because I am a failure of a human being.

Currently watching: The Sopranos, bad true crime documentaries

Currently consuming: Citrus Cherry Bubly; it is not goodCurrently craving: Diet Coke. I’ve been out for days, and I am an addict.

Tagging: @skylarkblue @hollie47 @westgateoh @notpotable @severinw93 and uhhhh all of my other mutuals!

#about me

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book--brackets · 2 years

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Future Competitions

In light of recent requests and submissions, once this competition is over, we'll be starting back up again with a whole new set of books! If you'd like to submit a title, check my pinned post and the list below to make sure your submission is eligible. I can no longer add to this list. Any further titles are being kept privately by me, but there are there, I promise! I am now tagging asks with the titles submitted.

A to Z Mysteries

Abhorsen

A Dog's Life

Adventure (Blyton)

Adventures of the Bailey School Kids

Adventurers Wanted

Alcatraz VS the Evil Librarians

Alex Rider

All-of-a-Kind Family

The American Girl Books

Amulet

Anne of Green Gables

Animal Ark

Animorphs

Applewhites

The Babysitter's Club

The Bartimaeus Trilogy

Beacon Street Girls

Beatrice Bailey

The Belgariad

Bella Sara

Betsy-Tacy

Black Beauty

The Black Stallion

The Blackwell Pages

Books of Bayern

The Borrowers

Bridge to Terabithia

The Boxcar Children

Captain Underpants

Casson Family

The Cat Club

Catwings

Charlotte's Web

The Chronicles of Ancient Darkness

The Chronicles of Chrestomanci

The Chronicles of Dragon

The Chronicles of Prydain

The Circle of Magic

Clementine

The Clique

The Cloak Society

Cobble Street Cousins

The Cooper Kids Adventures

Coraline

Damar (McKinley)

The Dark Hills Divide

The Dark Is Rising

Dear America

Dear Canada

Deltora Quest

The Divide (Kay)

Dork Diaries

Dragonbreath

The Dragonfly Pool

Dragonhaven

Dragon Rider

Dragon Slayer's Academy

Earthsea Cycle

East (Pattou)

Echo (Ryan)

Edgar & Ellen

Emily (Montgomery)

Emily Windsnap

The Enchanted Castle

Encyclopedia Brown

Esperanza Rising

The Ever Afters

The Faerie Realm

Fablehaven

Fairyland (Valente)

The Faraway Tree

Ferngully

First Light (Stead)

Five Children and It

Flat Stanley

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

Gallagher Girls

Geronimo Stilton

The Girl Who Drank the Moon

The Giver

Goddess Girls

Goosebumps

Graceling

The Great Brain

The Greenglass House

Gunnerkrigg Court

Half Upon a Time

The Hardy Boys

Hatchet

Heist Society

Help, I'm Trapped...

His Dark Materials

Holes

How to Train Your Dragon

The Hunger Games

Igraine the Brave

The Immortals Quartet

The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place

Ingo (Dunmore)

The Inheritance Cycle

Inkheart

Iron Hearted Violet

Island of the Aunts

Island of the Blue Dolphins

Ivy & Bean

Journey to the River Sea

Julie of the Wolves

Junie B. Jones

The Kane Chronicles

The Kid Who Ran for President

Kiki Strike

Killer Unicorns

Kingdom Keepers

The Last Apprentice

The Letter for the King

La Quête d’Ewilan (in French)

Legend (Lu)

Les Chevaliers d’Émeraude (in French)

Leven Thumps

Liesl & Po

Little House on the Prairie

A Little Princess

Little Women

Lockwood & Co.

The Lost Conspiracy

Macdonald Hall

The Magic Thief

Magic Treehouse

The Magisterium

Magnus Chase

Malory Towers

Matt Cruse

Maximum Ride

Melissa (Gino)

Merlin (Barron)

Michael Vey

Miri and Molly

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

The Missing (Haddix)

Mister Max

The Mistmantle Chronicles

Misty (Henry)

Molly Moon

The Moorchild

Mr. Lemoncello's Library

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH

The Music of Dolphins

My Secret Unicorn

My Side of the Mountain

My Teacher Is an Alien

Nancy Drew

Nevermoor

The Neverending Story

Nimona

The Ogre Downstairs

Out of My Mind

The Penderwicks

Pendragon

Peter and the Starcatchers

The Phantom Stallion

The Phantom Tollbooth

Pillage (Skye)

Pippi Longstocking

Pixie Tricks

Poison (Zinn)

Pony Pals

Princess Academy

Protector of the Small

Rainbow Magic

Rain Reign

Ramona

Regarding the...

The Roman Mysteries

Rose (Webb)

Rowan of Rin

The Royal Diaries

Running Out of Time

Sammy Keyes

Savvy

School of Fear

The Search for Wondla

The Secret Garden

The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel

The Secret Series

Septimus Heap

A Series of Unfortunate Events

The Seventh Tower

Shadow Children (Haddix)

Silver Brumby

Silverwing

Skullduggery Pleasant

Song of the Lioness

The Spiderwick Chronicles

Stardust

Stargirl

The Strictest School in the World

Swallows and Amazons

Sweet Valley High

The Swiss Family Robinson

A Tale Dark & Grimm

The Tale of Despereaux

Tales of Alderley

Tales of Magic

Ten Kids, No Pets

The Thief Lord

Tiffany Aching

Tillerman Cycle

Time Hunters

The Trumpet of the Swan

Tuck Everlasting

Tuesday McGillycuddy

The Two Princesses of Bamarre

Uglies

Un Lun Dun

Undertow

Unicorn Chronicles

Upon a Marigold

Upside-Down Magic

The Vengekeep Prophecies

The View from Saturday

The War That Saved My Life

Wayside School

The Westing Game

When You Reach Me

Where the Red Fern Grows

Wildwood Chronicles

Windsingers

Wings & Co.

Winnie the Pooh

The Witch of Blackbird Pond

The Worst Witch

You Be the Jury

#best childhood book #second competition

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whump-tr0pes · 2 years

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Hate in My Heart

(This was supposed to be an assignment for an anthropology class, but I couldn't help but make it whumpy. Hope you guys enjoy me being a goof.) Rhaeti (Ötzi the Iceman) thinks it would be a good idea to spend a few days in the mountains.

Contents: historical fiction, hand gore, neolithic field medicine, revenge, murder, major character death, spoilers on a 5300 year old murder

Rhaeti’s right hand stung. This cut was deep, far deeper than any cut he had suffered before. He cursed the gods, and his luck – but it wasn’t his luck to blame, it was his damned slow bones. And that damned boy Breun. Rhaeti had known the boy was going to get into trouble someday, he just hadn’t figured the trouble was going to be trying to overpower him. And over the ownership of a damned bow. The boy could make his own damned bow if he wanted one so badly, or just have Isar make one for him. He didn’t need to take Rhaeti’s.

Damn, damn, damn.

Still, it was good that Rhaeti was giving the boy a few days to calm down. Rhaeti had beaten him soundly after Breun had come at him with a hatchet, damaging his hand – his good hand, gods damn him. Staying away from the village was the careful thing to do. And you didn’t live as long as Rhaeti had by not being careful.

Gods, but his hand hurt.

He drew in a slow breath, pushed out a gusty exhale. The afternoon was warm, the sun beating down on the naked rocks around him, warming him through his leather clothes and bearskin hat. His grass cape kept off the breeze. He needed his cape this far up; the trees offered no protection. They did not grow, this close to the sun. Still, he liked it up here, where he could see the mountains stretching farther than any man could see. He didn’t mind waiting up here, where no one but the gods and the wind could hear him, while that damned fool boy cooled down from his stupid ideas of having Rhaeti’s bow for himself.

His hand was throbbing, though, so he settled himself down on a rock. His knees and back ached. He knew he would have to return to the healer to have more tattoos drawn on him to stave off the pain. The tattoos helped for less and less time, now. Still, he was grateful that he was old enough to have sore knees and a stiff back. It meant he was still alive.

He dug through his pack and pulled out the large, soft mushroom the healer had given him. He took a small bite and ground it to a paste between his teeth. Gently, he smeared the paste in his cut, wincing as he did. He pressed bog moss over the poultice to bandage it. Still, the medicine did nothing to stop the pain.

Damn that boy and his damned envy.

He stretched out his legs, groaning as he did, and reached into his pack again. A meal of deer meat, ibex fat, and bread would do him good after his hike up into the mountains. His legs were strong, but he wasn’t the young man he once was. As he ate, he hoped his stomach wouldn’t hurt after it so often did when he ate ibex fat. Still, it made him strong. He would not give it up, just because of a little pain. He sighed as he tilted his head back and let the sun warm his face, wondering how much farther he would hike today.

Venos’s heart leapt as he laid eyes upon his target. He ducked behind a large rock, grateful for the cover in this land of no trees. He peeked around the rock, hands tightening around the bow he held – his father’s bow, the one he had taken from his home, swearing to his father that he would take his revenge.

Rhaeti – the gods damned old man who had crushed Venos’s happiness in a single afternoon – was staring up the mountain, away from Venos, his foot up and braced against a rock. He was about thirty meters away, but Venos’s eyes were sharp; it was why he was celebrated as the village’s best hunter, why he came home with ibex, red deer, fox and beaver, enough to keep everyone well-fed and healthy. Enough to keep the old man standing on the slope above him clothed in his fine pelts, outfitted with tools he did not even know how to make. All so that he could take away Venos’s joy, then escape into the mountains as if it meant nothing.

Not today. If the gods did not punish Rhaeti for his sins, then Venos would. He blinked tears from his eyes as he nocked an arrow to his bow. The old man had not moved, but still looked upward at the terrain above him, as if looking for the best route up. Venos drew the string back. He took aim at Rhaeti as if he were an animal, ready for slaughter.

“For you, Breun,” he whispered as he let the arrow fly. It struck Rhaeti behind the left shoulder. The old man crumpled to the ground.

Venos leapt towards the fallen old man, clambering up the rocks and reaching him in what felt like a breath. Rhaeti lay on his stomach, his left arm collapsed under him. Blood poured from his forehead from where he’d struck it on a stone. He moaned as Venos grasped the arrow and twisted.

“My brother died from his wounds this morning,” he hissed, his voice shaking. “You killed my brother, old man.”

“Please,” Rhaeti mumbled.

“I have nothing but hate in my heart for you,” Venos said through his teeth, tears flowing freely now. He jerked the arrow from the wound he had made. It was fatal, he knew, but he would not grant the old man the relief of a quicker death than this. “And I’m not wasting one of my arrows on you.”

He turned to go, wiping his eyes on his sleeve so he would not slip on the rocks as he made his way down the mountain.

#historical fiction #Ötzi the iceman #field medicine #hand gore #revenge #murder #major character death #spoilers #I actually did an unreasonable amount of research on this so please be nice #I'm just being silly here

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imtrashraccoon · 1 year

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Crazy & Cold: Baston x Reader

~~~

Most people probably would've called you crazy. They were probably right too, as they often seemed to be. But you didn't care what anyone thought, you knew what you liked and you were never one to care about what others thought of you. Right now though, you knew you'd done something insane.

Three days ago, you'd made an impulsive decision to travel through one of the largest National Parks in the country - Ebbott National Park. Situated around the mountain of its namesake, the park was just about a thousand square miles and it was primarily all boreal forest. This time of year when the world was covered in snow, most of the wildlife was either hibernating or had migrated to warmer regions, but you knew there was still a sizable predator population regardless of the time of year. Timberwolf packs, grizzly bears, cougars, and more were sighted frequently almost year round.

But you weren't afraid, you'd been venturing in the wilderness for most of your adult life now, and one thing you'd quickly learned was that most predators were more scared of you than you were of them. Sure, you'd had a few close calls before, like that time you'd nearly come face to face with a mama bear and her two cubs or that time a cougar had stalked you for five miles before losing interest. Still, you'd learned from these experiences and were all the stronger for it.

Things had been going well, until the weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. A freak snowstorm formed midmorning on the second day while you were away from your campsite taking pictures. Visibility dropped to zero in moments and you were forced to take shelter in a narrow crevice between two boulders. By the time the storm had let up, six extra inches of snow had accumulated on the already snowy ground and evening was drawing nearer.

With daylight nearly none existent and temperatures dropping further, you were forced to make camp where you'd sheltered. Thankfully, you still had your rucksack that had the majority of the gear you'd packed. The little hatchet you'd brought wasn't ideal but it was enough to chop up deadwood and fallen branches, which gave you enough fuel for a fire that would last a few hours.

You ended the second day huddled up in your solar blanket next to a small campfire, eternally grateful you'd splurged and bought it last week. Hopefully visibility would be better in the morning so you could find your way back to your campsite. You only had a small package of beef jerky and a bag of trail mix for food but at least water wouldn't be a problem, so long as you could keep your fire going to actually boil some snow.

The weather on the third day was much clearer, although the temperature had dropped and you woke up shivering in the wee hours of the moment. After warming up for a little bit and eating a little of what food you did have, you set out to find your way back to camp.

Unfortunately, you were further off the trail than you'd originally thought and even with your compass, you were unsuccessful to get back and only ended up more lost. Still, you tried to stay calm, as there was no point in panicking. You only needed to travel East afterall and you would eventually leave the park.

Then you accidentally fell down a cliff. You'd only been trying to get a good look at the surrounding area, when the rocky ledge beneath your feet gave way and you were sent tumbling down a steep decline. While you were fortunate not to crack your head on a rock, you ended up with some major bruising on your torso and limbs. On top of that, your right ankle was incredibly painful to put any weight on and you were now even further away from your original campsite.

With your current condition, there was no way you would be climbing back up, so your only choice was to try to make your way around the mountain if you were going to get out of here. That is, if you even could get that far. Your ankle could be broken or at least badly sprained, which would make that walk twice as long.

For now, you managed to half hobble and half crawl until you found a sturdy stick that could support your weight. If you leaned on it, you could at least walk, albeit slowly. This was going to be difficult.

~~~

You walked for most of the day, only stopping to rest every few hours or if you spotted any decent fuel for the evening's fire that wasn't hard to carry. You tried to remain in high spirits and keep yourself distracted from the pain, but it was difficult.

You talked to yourself a bunch, both to distract yourself but also to keep any would be predators away. When you got bored of that, you resorted to singing some of your favorite songs instead.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, you began keeping an eye out for a place to make camp, ultimately deciding on resting near an old fallen tree. Since it would block the wind and help keep anything from sneaking up behind you, but it wouldn't protect you from the elements if it snowed again tonight.

You set about gathering more deadwood and anything that would burn good to add to what you'd already collected. The fire started pretty easily and you purified more water as well as eating more trail mix and jerky. You managed to cut some pine boughs with your hatchet to make a barrier between the snow and yourself this time, but didn't have the energy to attempt anything else. Having done what you could, you settled in with your solar blanket for another cold, restless night.

Just past three in the morning, you woke with a start to movement outside the glow of your campfire. You strained your eyes in the darkness around you, only to discover, to your horror, that there were multiple pairs of eyes watching you from between the trees. From the size of the creatures, you estimated they belonged to a small pack of wolves but you couldn't be sure how many there were. They appeared to just be watching you for now, but you knew they would likely jump at the opportunity if they thought you would be an easy meal.

You quickly added more fuel to the fire to create more light, hoping this would help to deter the beasts. But just in case the flames didn't, you grabbed your hatchet and walking stick, both of which were probably the best weapons you could use to defend yourself.

You kept surveying the woods and watching for any sign of the beasts should they approach. Whenever one seemed to decide to test you and step into your little circle of light, you shouted and smacked your walking stick against the fallen tree to scare it away. This worked for the most part, but the pack showed no signs of giving up just yet. You resorted to occasionally throwing chunks of snow and ice at them, hoping to spook them into running off, but that didn't seem very effective either.

As the hours stretched on, you were starting to become increasingly concerned that the wolves would never leave. You could count at least six individuals circling around the firelight and you didn't know what you would do if they decided to attack. You were tired, sore, and really wanted to just sleep. On top of that, you'd used all the firewood you had collected and your fire was about to die. When it did, you were afraid the wolves would no longer be held at bay.

Crack

The loud sound echoed throughout the forest and sounded like it originated from somewhere behind the fallen tree you were huddled up against. For a moment, you froze as your heart leapt into your throat. Even the wolves stood stock still, their ears flitting back and forth from something only they could hear.

Something else was out there.

Something big.

Something powerful.

Something that even these wolves were leary of.

You gripped your hatchet tightly in your left hand and using the sturdy stick, struggled to your feet. Whatever was coming, you were going to have to put on quite a show to even stand a chance.

But what could it be? Cougars were ambush predators and certainly wouldn't take on a whole pack of wolves. Bears were mostly hibernating during this time of year and they tended to only be aggressive over food or their young. There wasn't a single apex predator that you could think of who would have a reason to come after wolves.

You were barely able to comprehend what happened next. First, you heard something tearing through the snow off to your right. Then, a loud thunk followed by yelping from the wolves before they turned tail and fled for their lives.

You couldn't believe your eyes. Where there had been nothing but darkness before, there was the hulking figure of...something...hunched over a now very dead wolf with a massive axe embedded in what remained of its torso.

You didn't know what to do. This was no mere beast of the wild. No, you were looking at something far more monstrous. But now that the immediate source of his rage, the wolves, were gone, what would he do with you?

The hulking figure shifted and in one fluid motion, yanked the massive axe from the animal as if it weighed nothing. Dark liquid dripped from the edges of the blade, staining the pristine white snow with what you knew was the wolf's blood. The figure was breathing heavily and you glimpsed a sort of eerie red glow around his head as he turned towards you.

You gasped and a shudder ran through your trembling body. The figure in front of you was no man and he was no beast either. You were staring into the face of death itself.

A skeletal face stared back at you, unfeeling and uncaring. His right socket was blank and had splintering cracks around the edges. His left bore a singular, glowing, red eyelight that quivered at the edges and took up most of the socket it occupied. He had a wide, crazed grin that could rival the Cheshire Cat himself, but the most shocking thing of all, was the large, gaping hole that covered nearly half of his skull just above his still working socket.

And his attention was now solely on you.

You felt like how a mouse must feel when cornered by a cat. There was nothing you could do against the sheer display of power you'd just witnessed from this monster. So, you did the one thing you'd never done before when faced with a hostile predator.

You dropped your hatchet. It was a completely involuntary action. You'd just dropped the one thing you could reasonably use to defend yourself and all because you couldn't hide your fear. This wasn't anything like facing off against an angry mama grizzly. You would die horribly here.

You took half a step back but found your back against the old tree trunk. There was nothing you could do. You would've rather fought the wolves than endure whatever torture was awaiting you at the hands of this...monster.

The skeleton took a step forward, then another, until he was standing on the other side of your fire, that was now reduced to barely a few glowing embers. He kept hold of his weapon but slowly lowered it's vicious head into the snow.

"human..."

His voice was deep and guttural, rivaling the growl of even the largest of bears. Yet he spoke with no hostility, only stating the most basic of facts.

You swallowed thickly and inhaled a shaky breath. What did he want with you? He'd just saved your life, hadn't he?

"Th-thank you..." was all you managed to stutter. Immediately you felt stupid. A freak of nature just chased off an entire pack of hungry wolves and all you had to say was 'thank you'?!

He only grunted in response. Either he was a man of few words or he was feeling just as awkward as you were. You couldn't tell and his lack of conventional facial expressions wasn't making it any easier.

You could feel the way his singular eyelight was examining you. Although it seemed like he was merely assessing your current state rather than being perverted.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, "My name's (Y/N). What's yours?" You held out your left hand in what you hoped he'd only see as a friendly gesture.

A long pause. "baston," he answered in a quieter tone. He didn't shake your hand though, instead remaining stock still on the other side of your little camp.

You bit your lower lip nervously. "I see... Nice to meet you, Baston." You finally tore your gaze away from him and glanced down at the ground.

Oh right, your fire was basically out. You had spent all the precious fuel you'd managed to forage on keeping the flame bright enough to keep the wolves away. Without the warmth it had provided, you were quickly becoming chilled.

You saw Baston shift out of the corner of your vision and then he began walking away. "Wait! Where are you...?" Your desperate cries seemed to fall on deaf ears and his hulking figure disappeared into the darkness.

"Don't leave me..." You almost couldn't believe it, but with all the stress of the last few days, combined with the shock of what had just happened, you desperately didn't want to be alone any more. Even if your only company was a terrifying skeleton monster.

You sank to the ground and pulled your solar blanket around yourself. You had nothing left. Your energy was spent and you felt too overwhelmed to even begin to cope with this anymore.

~~~

The next thing you knew was warmth.

You smelled smoke and you could hear the distinct popping sound from a large bonfire.

You sat bolt upright, only to find yourself in some sort of makeshift shelter made of tented pine boughs. Barely giving yourself time to question this new development, you crawled out of the shelter and quickly glanced around.

Other than the roaring flames of a campfire that dwarfed any of the fires you'd ever made, your gaze immediately fell on your mysterious skeletal benefactor. He sat on a log that definitely hadn't been there earlier nearby the fire, patiently cleaning his weapon. Every now and then, he'd bring it close to his face and examine the edge, then resume his ministrations as if it wasn't sharp enough already.

He paused and then slowly turned his skull towards you, as if sensing your gaze. There was no emotion to speak of in his face but he didn't seem dangerous right now either. His red eyelight had shrank to about half the size of earlier which you weren't entirely sure what that meant. He seemed so relaxed right now, downright domestic even.

"Baston?" you asked quietly.

He tilted his skull in a questioning sort of way, but said nothing.

Taking that as the go ahead to continue, you decided to ask something else. "You helped me...again?"

"yes," was his straightforward answer.

"Why? What do you want from me?"

He seemed to consider this for a moment, before shrugging his massive shoulders and resuming wiping down his axe. You were wondering if that was all you were going to get out of him, when he finally responded.

"you were hurt...in trouble too. i just helped, not sure why."

You frowned slightly, "How'd you know I was...?" You trailed off, not entirely sure if you really wanted an answer to that question.

He had an indescribable expression on his face at that. "i tracked you...for a while. not hard to track humans, you make so much noise..." he murmured.

"How long is a while? I've only been out here for about three days, Baston." You weren't sure if you really wanted an answer to that question but it would drive you crazy just wondering about it.

He seemed to think for a moment. "about two days." He said it so casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to admit to effectively stalking someone.

You felt a chill run down your spine. All this time...he'd been nearby all this time. He could've killed you at any point and yet he hadn't.

"Why were you tracking me in the first place?" you asked cautiously.

"had to make sure you weren't up to no good. many humans come here. some are good and only look. some are bad and make a mess." He laid the axe down against the log, seemingly satisfied with it, before looking sharply back at you.

"but none come here in the winter. you're a crazy one, huh?" His permanent grin seemed to quirk at the edges and his working socket crinkled at the corner in what you thought was an amused look.

You felt your cheeks heat up and you looked away in embarrassment. Ironic, even he thought you were crazy. "Yeah, I am crazy. I like the snow and I like the forest. I even like how quiet it is compared to the busy city. It's just...freeing in a way, if that makes sense."

He studied you for a moment before saying, "yeah, the city's too busy. humans move too fast, nature takes its time. it's better that way." You got the impression that he was speaking from experience, but he didn't seem willing to elaborate further.

Now that it was brighter out, you could see him properly which certainly helped him seem less scary. His clothing was very obviously handmade and it was sewn from a myriad of furs and skins. While the craftsmanship was rough, you could see it was also skillful and rather creative.

Baston had a dull blue coat that looked like it had been dyed with a homemade dye and a large hood that was trimmed with what you suspected was wolf fur from the colour. Otherwise, he was also wearing pants, boots, and mittens although neither of these were dyed and were instead made from hides and trimmed with fur. Overall, his clothing looked very warm and comfortable which, while you had decent winter gear, you were still slightly jealous of him.

Baston made a sound like he was clearing his throat before asking, "are you hungry?"

You felt like you were starving and nodded. "Yeah, I haven't eaten much solid food ever since the first day I got out here."

Baston nodded and stood up. He moved to the other side of the fire and drew a large hunting knife from a sheath on his belt. To your surprise, there was a makeshift roasting spit with cooked meat on it. He carved a decent sized chunk out of the roast and approached you again. If you weren't so hungry, you probably would've thought the idea of plain meat was boring, but your body was craving protein and you weren't about to be picky.

You took the chunk of meat and ate it without thought or complaint. It was a bit tough and definitely tasted gamey, but you didn't care. It was good. You didn't notice until after you'd completely consumed the meat, that Baston had stayed put, simply watching you intently. He continued to stare and you were a little more than intimidated.

"Um, thank you, Baston." You frowned thoughtfully and asked, "Was that...the wolf from last night?"

Baston blinked and you realized he must've zoned out. He nodded and his permanent grin widened slightly. "yep, it's not a good time of year but i hate wasting a kill."

"I would've eaten it regardless, but again, thank you." You paused and looked away from him. Your gaze landed on his axe still leaning against the log and you had another question. "Do you hunt often?"

He shrugged, "whenever i can, especially this time of year when food is scarce..." His expression darkened significantly and his eyelight shrank further.

Feeling slightly alarmed, you tried to stand up to comfort him, but stumbled and nearly fell over. Before you could faceplant in the snow, strong hands caught your shoulders and kept you from falling.

Baston had actually caught you, and for a moment, neither of you seemed to have the ability to speak. His grip was like a steel trap and you could feel the sharp points of his phalanges even through his fur mittens.

You knew you were blushing from how embarrassing this whole situation had become. Of course you would forget that you were injured and make a fool of yourself by being clumsy. "Th-thanks," you murmured softly and looked away from him.

There was a long pause before Baston grunted in acknowledgement and hesitantly relaxed his grip on your shoulders, although he didn't let go entirely. Probably to keep you from falling again.

"i almost forgot you were hurt," he stated. "you should be resting or you'll make it worse." His voice had taken on a sterner tone and you couldn't help but feel like he was scolding you.

"I know, but I'm fine. I probably just sprained my ankle or something like that. It's not the end of the world, okay?" you retorted.

The look Baston gave you seemed like he didn't believe you. In fact, he actually seemed a bit shocked that you had brushed him off so quickly like that. "let me look at it," he said in that same serious tone, not even giving you a choice in the matter.

You huffed and crossed your arms, "You really don't need to. I told you I'm fine..."

Baston cut your protests off by suddenly picking you up like a sack of potatoes, eliciting a shocked gasp from you. He moved back over to the log and sat down, setting you in his lap as he did so. "i need to know you're okay and not just pretending to be, (y/n)," he murmured quietly.

You could feel his breath against your face as he spoke and inadvertently shuddered. Besides feeling rather intimidated right now, you were also a bit confused to put it simply. Why was he so insistent on helping you? What was his ultimate motive? Did he even have ulterior motives?

You sighed, "Fine, but be careful, promise?"

Baston hesitated for a moment but slowly nodded. "alright, fine. i'll be careful...i promise..."

You reluctantly took off your boot and sock, letting him take a look at your ankle. It had definitely swelled up a bunch since the fall, no wonder it hurt.

Baston took off one of his mittens and for the first time, you got to see how rugged his hands were. Unsurprisingly, he seemed to be made completely of bone, but more surprising, the structure was different from any human bones you'd seen and the bones that made up his palm were fused together. There was also a concerning number of noticeable divets and nicks in several of his metacarpals but you didn't feel comfortable asking about them

With a surprising amount of gentleness for a creature of his size and strength, Baston carefully traced the injured area, paying close attention to the joint itself but also the ligaments. You couldn't help but tense up a bit and while your ankle was sensitive, the pain was tolerable. He seemed to become engrossed in the action of touching your skin the longer he did so, but eventually he pulled away, seemingly satisfied.

"there's a good chance it's only sprained but you still need to be careful," he said as you slipped your outer layers on again.

You nodded, "Yeah, yeah, I know." You wanted to get off him but didn't know if he'd let you right now since he clearly didn't want you moving around too much. Besides, he was oddly warm...maybe you could stay here a bit longer, so long as you didn't overthink this whole situation.

Hoping to distract yourself, you tried asking another question, "Do you live out here alone, Baston?"

He grinned and looked down at you before answering, "nah, i live with my brother, hemlock. he's more of a home body so i take care of all the outdoor tasks. like hunting, trapping, and collecting firewood or other things."

From the sudden but pleasant change in his demeanor, you immediately gathered he cared a lot about his brother. It was sort of reassuring to know that for someone that looked so terrifying, he really seemed like a normal person under all that tough exterior shell.

Maybe things would be alright. Baston hadn't really done anything to make you mistrust him and now that you weren't struggling on your own, you felt a bit more at ease. At least you weren't in a hurry to get home just yet.

#undertale #horrortale sans #sans x reader #Baston #big monster #Baston is supposed to be mildly unsettling #Reader doesn't have a defined gender #I may continue this if I think of any other ideas #x reader #reader #oneshot #raccoons drabbles

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marypsue · 1 year

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hi mary! do you have any book recommendations for fans of the indian lake trilogy and/or horror books in general? i love your writing (followed way back for your gf fics lol) and would love to hear if theres anything in particular you'd recommend ^^

Oh hello hello hello! You've activated my trap card.

Honestly, I read less horror than I let on, and have started reading it more recently than not, so this may be a rather short list. But yeah I absolutely have some recommendations! If you enjoyed My Heart Is A Chainsaw (I really have to read the sequel) and you like my writing, I think our aesthetic and narrative sensibilities should be pretty similar, so hopefully these will be books you'll also enjoy.

First on the list and most obvious is of course My Best Friend's Exorcism, by Grady Hendrix. It's perfect companion reading for My Heart Is A Chainsaw, also being about two teenage girls navigating a difficult period in their friendship, complicated by the fact that something supernatural may or may not be trying to kill them and everyone around them, and may or may not, in fact, exist. Abby and Gretchen and their friendship are so wonderfully drawn, the absurd humour only underlines the helpless horror of their situation, and the climax made me bawl like a fucking infant. 11/10 no notes.

I'd also recommend We Sold Our Souls, also by Grady Hendrix, for some of the same and some slightly different reasons. If you were drawn in by Jade's girl-alone-against-the-world situation and her punky, horror-movie-obsessed alternative vibe, you'll like Kris Pulaski and her heavy metal quest to get her life and her music back. Another one that made me cry, and it's only getting more timely and relevant with every passing year.

I really liked Nick Medina's Sisters of the Lost Nation, about an older sister looking for her younger sister after the latter disappears from their reservation after a secret rendezvous at the recently-constructed casino. Anna and Jade share a certain 'nobody else is going to fix this, so it's up to me' sensibility, the way the author pulls together ancient mythology and modern horrors is well-crafted and spooky, and there's a deeply intentional queer thread running through this one from start to finish. Warning, though, this is a deeply, deeply sad book.

In terms of meta horror about horror, Riley Sager's Final Girls surprised me with how good and gripping it was. I picked it up expecting easy-reading paperback fluff, and got sucked right in. If you crossed over Halloween: H20 with Twin Peaks, you might get something like this book. I never see anybody talking about it anywhere ever and I have to strongly recommend it. (Unfortunately, it didn't focus as closely on the relationships between the 'final girls' as I wanted it to, but I still wasn't disappointed.)

Joe Hill's N0S48U kicked my ass and made me say 'thank you'. This one's pretty tragic, so maybe give it a miss if you don't want to read about bad things happening to characters you like, but, well, this is horror. Notable because the antagonist is Christmas-themed, and honestly, I've never seen anyone else so effectively harness the crawling feeling of Wrongness that seeing Christmas shit in July gives me.

And, going wayyyy back, one of the first horror novels I actually read all the way through (on the advice of a friend), Stephen King's The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. If you were a My Side Of The Mountain / Hatchet kind of kid, this is the book for you. And if for some obscure reason you haven't read Carrie yet, what are you waiting for.

I also read Paul Tremblay's The Pallbearers' Club, which somehow didn't quite manage to deliver on what I was hoping for, but which you might enjoy if you liked some of the other books on this list. If you like punk music and/or characters who like punk music, meta conceits, and New England folklore, give it a shot. (I think I knew a little too much about the subject matter going in for some of the big ~surprises~ to actually surprise me.)

I've also got on my TBR list Edgar Cantero's Meddling Kids, Stephen Graham Jones' The Only Good Indians, Jessica Johns' Bad Cree, and Riley Sager's The House Across The Lake and Survive the Night. I can't speak for any of them yet, though.

(And tossing a movie onto this list, you might really enjoy Netflix's The Final Girls. It's a lot fluffier than My Heart Is A Chainsaw, but for a fun meta slasher horror-mostly-comedy, it was a solid good time. With an ambush sequence that was pretty clearly inspired by Joel Schumacher's The Lost Boys!)

#to read #chatter #grady hendrix is the terry pratchett of horror. to me.#also did I say thank you for the compliment to my writing? because I don't think I said thank you for the compliment to my writing #thank you!!!

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