#the lich & i were screaming 'say sam!!! say sam!!!'

[junewild]

game changer season 6 episode 7, beat the buzzer

[dreamtofswallowingcoins]

all this talk and nostalgia about the Cecil polls reminded me of this draft I never got around to finishing and posting 

tw for trans and queer phobia and discussion of a violent scene in a movie (nothing visual shown)

--

so I'm not saying that we’re finished or we’ve made it and we’re done. but in the midst of a project I couldn’t stop myself from crying a little because queer characters either didn’t appear or were used for fear-mongering and demonizing us to hell and back. I am not saying it’s all perfect now, but we have come so far. 

Silence of the Lambs has a scene where a character who tortures, murders, and skins women to make a “woman suit” puts on makeup, jewelry, and a victim’s scalp and hair before tucking their penis between their legs and dancing with full frontal nudity. This scene is shown INTERSPLICED with a victim screaming and begging for her life from a literal torture chamber. 

*putting on makeup* 

*camera cuts to the victim crying* 

*putting on and touching jewelry* 

*she is sobbing for her mother* 

and that was recent! The book was from 1988 and the movie came out in 1991. guys that was 32 years ago! 

I know it’s a horror movie, I know, but it’s not like there was a lot out there! Certainly not for weak-stomached audiences just looking for casual viewing. I’m reminded of reading about Horror as a genre often being a reflection of what a majority of people fear at a given time. 

I don’t want to get all blorbo-y about taz but just. Lup is a trans woman and she’s so good. Her trans-ness is mentioned a whopping one time and it’s not even done in the narrative. Just a quick aside during her introduction so the players and audience would know she was there. She’s played just the same afterward- she’s powerful, driven, funny, goofy and charismatic, capable, opinionated, and caring--she fought the team to save the robots! And, guys, she’s SO loved!!! They all love her so much. 

Barry just adores her. They spent 50 years slowly falling for each other and then he spends his time as a lich just working to find his way back to her and bring their group together again. 

Taako, upon remembering her, feels her absence SO MUCH. It’s overwhelming how much he misses her, how hollowed and hopeless he is without her. 

And when she does come back, Griffin Describes her as “phantasmal and resplendent.” He speaks to Taako, describing how he finally hears his sister’s voice again. And the moment is a little silly but it has a lot of weight to it. She’s been with him this whole time, she’s missed him so much, and they’re finally back together. She’s finally out. 

Gah, just. I was having feelings and they’re back again. 

Taz is a pretty niche example. Unlike 30 years ago, we now have shows and cartoons and books and, yes, podcasts, and they’re not rated “mature” (for simply having queer characters) or canceled by the network for deigning to show two girls holding hands and imply something (Korra is not to be blamed, the creators worked hard, helped future representation, and the decision was out of their control). 

.. 

My first podcast ever was Welcome to Night Vale. And Cecil, within the first episode, swoons over Carlos and his perfect hair the moment he shows up in town and doesn’t ever really stop. (spoilers, okay) They get married! They have a kid! They’re still together! They love each other! 

Night Vale, the town, is full of all sorts of other characters, and (as far as I remember of the episodes I listened to) they’re all made with care and tact. Cecil talking about Sam was one of the first times I had ever heard of someone being referred to with they/them. I don’t remember really liking the character all that much, especially at first, but I always got a little thrill in my chest when Cecil talked about them. I used to rewind and re-listen to Cecil talk about them several times over. I use they/them now, myself. 

The first episode of Night Vale came out in mid-2012. That’s a mere 24 years after Silence of the Lambs decided a trans-coded character would make a smashing serial-murderer on the big screen. 

And we’re fighting and we’re growing. We’re making progress. Think about how many people are seeing and understanding themselves and others so much better. Beyond those of us who seek it out and know about obscure background characters and decide podcasts about DND and strange purple towns are worth listening to over and over-- I mean kids! Award fanatics! general viewers! We’ve made our way across genres, across mediums! 

Everything Everywhere has a mother trying to reach her daughter, who happens to be queer, and it’s had eleven (11)! Oscar nominations. 

Blue’s Clues, which has been around since 1996, put on a pride parade hosted by a drag queen! This is a preschool show! 

Heartstopper is a staple in (some) middle school and high school reading and viewing. How fucking cool is that?! 

My list can go on and on. 32 years is not a lot of time, and look how far we’ve come. Look how much we’ve made. Not without a fight, of course, but by golly, we’re fighting. And looking back through recent years, as far as I can see, we’re winning. 

I don’t really have a big conclusion to this, I mainly just want to put down somewhere that I started tearing up over how much they were allowed to openly hate us and how much better it has gotten. ‘S pretty cool 

[writingsbychelle]

Not Your Fault

Summary: Your boyfriend blames himself after the events of Infinity War.

Pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

Request: /

Warnings: sad Thor

Word Count: 1.278

     With a deep sigh, you stood up from your position on your bed in the Avengers headquarters, making sure to not put too much weight on your injured leg as you limped out of your room to search for your boyfriend. You had only recently arrived back in the United States after the tragedy that went down in the kingdom of Wakanda and Thor had disappeared shortly after your arrival, saying he wanted some time for himself. 

     To say you were worried about the God of Thunder would’ve been an understatement. You cared deeply for him and seeing him isolate himself, not being his cheerful and bubbly self, hurt you more than you wanted to admit. Turning a corner you entered one of the many hallways, empty of any people, so continued to walk through the huge building, trying your best to find your boyfriend in the labyrinth of hallways and lab rooms.

     It was hard to not notice him, his giant body sitting hunched over on the wooden bench in the hallway, grey jacket stretching over his broad back while the god continued to fiddle with his fingers. His head was hanging low, eyes cast downward, as he was deep in thoughts, not noticing you approach him.

     You could only imagine the thoughts spinning inside his head, now that you were back in the Avengers headquarters together with Steve, Nat and Bruce, trying to come up with a plan on how to bring everyone back. 

     Your friends. 

     Your family. 

     All dead. 

     They vanished right in front of your eyes after Thanos had managed to collect all Infinity Stones, wiping away half of earth’s population. You all had tried to stop him, back in Wakanda but it didn’t work. In the end, you only had to watch your loved ones turn to dust, scattering in the wind while you were trying to comprehend what the hell was going on. Just the thought of watching Sam disappear right before you brought tears into your eyes, he was your best friend, had been for years. He was the one who took care of you when your heart got broken by your ex-boyfriend cheating on you, he was the one visiting you in hospital when you got injured on a mission and he was the one who introduced you to Thor, your current boyfriend and the man who was sitting before you, troubled with survivor’s guilt, his hands raking through his short hair before resting his head on them.

     “Babe?” you quiet voice made Thor look up, seeing you limp around the bench, still injured from the fight, your leg in a brace which limited your movement as well as the fact that you had bruises covering your entire body, several broken ribs and a big plaster covering the laceration on your forehead. 

     The god held out his hand, helping you settle down next to you as you leaned your head against his broad shoulder. He didn’t bother faking a smile, knowing you’d see right through him.

     “This is all my fault,” he whispered, mostly towards himself, not meaning for you to hear his words. Needless to say, you did anyway.

     Lifting your head up you looked at the side profile of your boyfriend, his eyes focused on the wall in front of you, “It’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

     Thor slowly turned his face towards you, grief and sorrow clouding his eyes as he looked at you.

     “They’re all dead because of me. Sam, Bucky, T’Challa and Shuri. All those soldiers that died for nothing, protecting the soul stone with their lives. So many people sacrificed their lives and now they’re dead because of me, because I didn’t kill him. Heimdall and Loki, too. My brother is dead, my people are dead because I lead them into an ambush. I could’ve saved them, I could’ve stopped Thanos but I didn’t. Innocent people died and I…I did nothing,” Thor croaked out, his voice turning rough, tears welling up in his eyes as he spiralled down a path of guilt and agony, “Do you not understand, my love?”

     He had lost everything, his father in Valhalla, his planet destroyed because of his crazy sister of death, a majority of his people dead, Loki killed by Thanos, half of earth’s population gone and he blamed himself for everything.

     “It’s not your fault. All of this, it wasn’t you. You did the best you could and no one is blaming you for what happened,” you tried to convince your boyfriend, grasping tightly onto his hand, aggravation clear in your voice.

     Thor, however, had other plans. He jumped up from the bank you both were sitting on, pacing up and down in front of you while running his hands through his short hair, tugging on the strands before he came to a stop right before you.

     “Stop! Stop telling me these lies when we both know it’s my fault. Don’t you see? I’m the reason your best friend is dead, (Y/N). Sam is dead. And so is Bucky. Most of your friends and your family is dead just because I messed up and you’re trying to comfort me? Be angry at me, tell me you hate me, scream at me for being the reason the people most important to you are gone.”

     “Don’t you think I know?” you fumed, tears clouding your vision, your red-rimmed eyes staring up into your boyfriend’s eyes as you dragged yourself into a standing position before him, purposefully ignoring the hand he offered you to help you up.

     “I know that they’re gone. I know that my parents are dead. Fuck, I tried to call them, I tried so many times but they didn’t pick up the phone so I know they’re gone. My parents are dead. My best friend disappeared right in front of my eyes and we have no fucking clue if Tony or Peter are still alive, hell, we don’t even know where the fuck they are but you know what? This? All of this mess? It’s not your fault. So stop pitying yourself and look around you, we need you here, and I can’t stand seeing you like this because I love you. And nothing in the whole universe will ever stop that. Not even that purple asshole.”

     Lowering his head you could see the tears collecting in your boyfriend’s eyes as he sat back down onto the bench, prompting you to follow suit, taking his offered hand as you gently lowered yourself next to him in order to go easy on your injured leg. Once sat down you help your arms wide open for Thor, your boyfriend not waiting long before burying his face into your chest.

     “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love,” he whimpered, his tears soaking through your shirt.

     You couldn’t help but let shock take over your body, never before have you seen your boyfriend in this state, usually always pretending to be hard on the outside even though he was an absolute softie behind closed doors but you had never seen the God of Thunder openly cry. His reaction only caused your own tears to roll down your cheeks, allowing yourself to show your emotions for the first time ever since you saw your friends turn into dust right in front of you several days ago.

     “It’s not your fault,” you repeated yourself, stroking your boyfriend’s muscular back while tears continued to fall from both your eyes, drenching your shirt and wetting his hair, “You did the best you could do and no one blames you for that, you hear me? It’s not your fault.”

--

FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED!

Tag List

(after 3 strikethroughs you’ll be removed since I was unable to tag you)

Forever Tag List: @marvelsbunch @trees-and-ink @stardustbooknerd  @heartbreaker6995 @alex–awesome–22 @caswinchester2000 @sheridans-dynamos

Marvel: @thebookamongmen @sj-thefan

Thor Odinson: @sincerelyfan @thisismysecrethappyplace  @m00sethemurderer @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen

[confidentlove]

Ordinary

“Is this the place that elder was talking about?” A voice hissed from within the shadows of the tree line. A pair of bright, yellow-orange eyes gazed out from the darkness at a dilapidated stone castle. The eyes turned from the keep to the hooded silhouette beside their owner.

“This is the brigands’ stronghold. The mayor said they’ve been kidnapping villagers and travelers alike,” the figure pulled down her hood, “Tanya.”

“On it,” without another word, the lithe elven woman swung onto the branches of the closest tree and silently raised herself for a better view, “armed lizardfolk patrolling by torchlight. A concentration of guards in the courtyard, towards the main tower. Two guards behind the front gate.”

“And two in front,” a gruff voice states from deeper in the forest.

“It took you long enough, you great lumbering-”

“Enough, Sam,” the cloaked woman, Briar, held her hand out in front of the small kobold to her side, “Shor, is our position secure?”

“Not a bandit to speak of,” a proud grin spread across the orc’s lips, putting his decorated tusks on full view, “not anymore, at least.”

“You’re useful for something at least,” Sam hissed out, eyes trained on the gate, “are there any other ways in?”

“Crumbling as it is, couldn’t find a crack for you to squeeze through, little one,” Shor grunted, stepping forward with a silence someone of his size should not be able to harness.

“Looks like we’re going in loud then,” Tanya kept her laugh quiet as she observed her companions from above.

“Now that sounds like fun!” Shor’s chuckles reverberated internally, so as to not draw attention, but no one made any move to enact this idea. Instead, all three turned to Briar, who was silently regarding the main tower with a thoughtful gaze. As she turned back towards them, she caught the looks in their eyes. It was the same for all three, and a look they gave her quite often. It spoke loud and clear to the woman: all they wanted was permission to be loosed.

It took naught but a nod of her head, and all three were off. From her spot in the tree, Tanya sent arrows to pierce the breasts of the guards at the gate. Silently, life left them. In sharp contrast, Shor barreled through the huge oak gates, cleaving at any lizardfolk who dared come in range of his great axe. Sam scurried his way in behind the orc, moving like a shadow as he added a new airway to any guards who had not the thought to look behind them for a moment or two. In only a few breaths, the courtyard was cleared of any immediate peril, and calmly, like a ghost herself, Briar walked through the gates and over the bodies - decorated either pierced by arrows or with gaping, fatal wounds.

The courtyard, as it was to be seen then, was strewn with corpses and splattered with blood; a secret the darkness of night was pleasant enough to keep to itself. Briar surveyed the thick, healthy vines cracking through the stone and mortar, noting the bandits had made no attempts to restore the integrity of the once proud stronghold. The tall grass, on the other hand, was brown and stomped down into the dirt. They clearly had no plans on being here long, Briar noted, but they had a force of men marching about with numbers far higher than Shor, Sam, and Tanya could handle on their own. Odd, for bandits picking on a weak village.

“Shall we go up the tower?” Tanya suggested, gesturing for Briar to walk past them and enter the main door.

“There are no lights up there,” she remarked, eyes calculating as she spoke almost to herself. She was watching, observing, learning.

A sharp clattering broke through the air, followed by a sharp, excited hiss. “Look! Look! I caught a live one!” Sam drug a bloodied, broken lizard man resembling a gecko through the reddish mud, towards Briar.

“Why are there no lights on in the tower?” There was no anger to the woman’s voice, only curiosity. The brigand looked up at her for a moment, the pain on his face fading as a look of amused realization took its place.

       “Shint’ka! You’re human!” A wicked laugh left his broken, split lips, “A human! A human!” The broad side of Shor’s axe came down on the man’s already broken legs, turning his laugh into a scream of pain.

        “Don’t use that language in front of women,” he snarled, offended for both Tanya’s and Briar’s sakes. The man spit his own blood at Briar’s feet.

        “I’ll never tell a pathetic human anything,” The venom was obvious in his voice, the mocking disrespect, “you can’t even fight your own battles! You’re plain, without any use! Your entire existence is mundane.” A manic gleam lit up his eyes after a moment and another round of cackling broke through his pain, “not that you’ll be around long enough to realize it, weak-” Before he could finish, Tanya loosed an arrow and put him out of their misery.

        “Waste of air,” the elf remarked coldly. The three once more looked to Briar, though her focus was directed at the main spire.

        “We’ll head inside the tower,” Briar ordered, voice as calm as ever, “Things will become clear from there.” Allowing her to go first, Shor held the heavy door open as the party entered the main room. The hall may have been grand once, but now - with its tapestries torn and moth-eaten, tables flipped and crumbling, its ceiling all but collapsed - it ‘twas but a shadow of whatever glory it held.

As Sam scurried about grabbing anything that looked remotely valuable, Briar ran a gloved hand over the tables and noted the decades of dust that laid undisturbed. Tanya moved elegantly about the rubble, gaze scanning for a safe way to ascend. In the doorway, Shor stood vigilant, ready to defend from any sort of attack that could rear its jagged maw.

“I cannot find a way to climb,” the elven woman reported, “they must be in a different-”

“No,” Briar interrupted, voice confident as she brushed the dust off her hand, “they are here. Sam, my thieving friend, could you tell me what is in the bowels of every castle?” Her gaze turned to the orange-eyed kobold stuffing a sack with a dusty old candlestick.

“A dungeon for prisoners!” He exclaimed with a grin, bending the golden item to fit, “Torture devices, cells, plenty of space to hide! Excellent for sneaking in to rob a noble blind.” His mouth ran a mile a minute but his words were as true as ever.

“Or for operating when you want no one else to know you’re there,” Briar’s sharp eyes caught on a remarkably dust-free book sitting upon a miraculously untouched bookshelf, “honestly, they aren’t even trying to hide it.” Briar rolled her eyes at the pure lack of nuance these brigands managed to achieve before snatching the book from the shelf. As she suspected, the shelf disappeared - practically disintegrating - once the tome was taken. In Libro Abyssum Irent, she read to herself, The Book of the Abyss. A cult’s tome to god summoning would be the official description, if she were bet; though, a fool’s way to begin an apocalypse would be far more ept a description, in her opinion.

Tanya took the book from Briar when it was offered and shook her head, “Remind me to ask the mayor for double. Religious fanatics aren’t as easy to kill as brigands.”

“Fanatics don’t like to stay dead,” Shor chuckled, tossing his axe from hand to hand.

“I really hope they aren’t doing necromancy,” Sam shuddered in disgust, “the undead are worse than the reliving. They’re all half rotted and absolutely stink, and since my sense of smell is also my sense of taste-”

“Sam,” Briar sent him a sharp look before peering into the dark depths the bookshelf had been hiding, “Tanya, a light, if you would?”

“Of course. Lux,” with a nod and a short word, a small ball of light began to drift down the stairway. Briar led the way, following the ball as it went. The staircase spiraled down into the dark depths, the weak light leaving every curve the option to hide a potentially deadly surprise. Not once did any of the party flinch, even as Sam’s pockets clinked with valuables, ensuring their descent was loudly announced. The darkness beyond the small circle was all encompassing and seemed to swallow everything below and above them. They say anticipation kills, and the group was most certainly feeling its effects, because either a god or a mortal foolish enough to believe they could control one was awaiting them in the depths, and both had the potential to be the party’s final encounter.

After far, far too long, the circle of light revealed the beginning of a short hallway. Torches framed a locked, iron door at the end of the corridor, glowing with an eerie green fire. A soft sigh left Briar at the weak attempt to dissuade intruders. It was lame, trite, absolutely boring. There were no wards, no spells, no traps or guards. Amateurs and fools, the lot, she scoffed, nodding to the door.

“Right,” Shor settled himself, confidence returning when Briar reasserted her presence. He marched up to the door, shoulders still hunched to fit himself in the space meant for much smaller beings, and smashed the door off its hinges with one of his trunk-like arms. The party passed through the threshold, following behind their hooded human, into a large, dome-ceilinged chamber. Green fire surrounded the edges of the room, licking at the walls and illuminating the cavernous space in a sickening way. A crooked-toothed caimen-man stood in the center of the room, a wicked grin spread from ear to ear.

“You’re just in time, adventurers!” The way he spat the word made his view of the group clear: they were inferior, and he was about to become all-powerful. “As soon as my dagger spills the sap of this tree nymph’s heart on the circle, the sacrifices will be complete! With the new moon directly above, the timing is perfect! I will-”

“You will summon Vecna, the Lich God, and you will be the first consumed in her attempt to suck the magic and life from this world,” her bored tone brought the caimen’s attention to Briar, “I paged through your drooling gospel on the way down.”

“You insolent little delicacy!” he hissed, eyes narrowing to predatory slits, “How dare you speak that way to your superior! Your species isolated themselves because they are weak, squishy, magicless things without claws or strength or scales or anything to survive! You must be insane to come down from one of your golden cities and challenge someone like me! I’m going to become a demigod! I’ll feed you to Vecna and-”

“You’re an idiot,” she rolled her brown eyes, the green light in the room giving them a much more malicious shine, “Go ahead. Summon her. Please.” All eyes focused on her form, surprised and concern a universal response.

The caimen certainly wasn’t expecting that, but he continued nonetheless, “I did not require your permission! Though you will make an excellent willing sacrifice for Vecna, delicacy!” As he spilled the sap from the tree nymph’s heart over the sigil of blood, the rest of the party looked to Briar.

“Are you sure you can handle her?” Tanya questioned, concern leaking into her voice. She had never doubted her human friend before, but taking on a god? The looks from Sam and Shor showed it was a shared thought.

Briar ignored her friend’s concerns and, instead, focused on the ripple in space positioned above the caimen. Boney fingers dripping inky black slipped through crack and gripped the invisible edges, scratching and spreading the breach until a rotting, melting skull slipped through. The breach was still too small to for the rest of the god to pass, but there was no doubting the ritual’s success; Vecna had arrived.

“The goddess will feed on your souls and use your fleshy vessels as ghouls for my army!” The caimen shouted, a cruel grin slipping over his maw.

“Welcome, Vecna. My name is Briar Lichwood, and, unfortunately, I will have to end your reign before it can begin,” the human woman bowed before the Lich God and spoke in a language the god would understand.

“H-how can you speak the tongue of the gods?” The caimen’s manic smile slipped in that instant, a real fear entering his cold eyes.

“How do you intend to do that, Briar Lichwood?” Vecna ignored the weak magician below her, focusing on the powerful magical aura flowing off the cloaked human, instead.

“Simple,” Briar responded, speaking common once more, as she casually slipped her cloak behind her shoulders. As the cloak peeled back, it revealed a simple, worn wooden lyre held delicately in small human hands. “Not all humans are magicless. In fact, though none of our race can be born with it, we are the only ones who can learn magic in all of its forms. Did you know that?” Her question held in the air for a few moments before it was replaced with light strumming. A calming song echoed through the chamber, and a horrified look of dawning realization spread across the caimen’s face.

“You,” he pointed accusingly, “you horrible being! You’re a demon! A witch! Hag! You- you can’t be serious! You’re-”

“A bard,” Shor offered helpfully, a grin once again sprawling behind his decorated tusks, “a profession only humans can manage.” His amused chuckle was drown out as the lyre music became seemingly louder and louder, each note and chord echoing off the walls and ceiling and melding with each other in a hypnotic melody. Only the Lich God was falling under the spell, however, because only Vecna was the target of Briar’s magic.

The hold it had over the god was made obvious from the first pluck of the strings. The black sludge that had been forming Vecna’s flesh ceased its calculated flowing and began to fall to the stone floor. Even the loud slaps could not break the spell the music had over the god. The rotting skull began to droop, the eerie green lights that were Vecna’s eyes began to dim, and the boney fingers loosened their grip on the edges of the breach.

The caimen’s horror only grew as Briar’s song dipped lower in octaves. The deeper the song went, the weaker Vecna seemed to be getting. The pitch dipped until it felt as though every note was echoing through his soul, and even if he couldn’t tell - for he truly was a fool - Briar’s magic was echoing in his soul and Tanya’s and Sam’s and Shor’s. None were as thoroughly filled with the music as Vecna. Every meter of her rotting, skeletal form was thrumming with it.

It was a simple spell, considered ordinary among most familiar with magic - Briar knew that as she watched the god’s consciousness begin to ebb - but she was casting it at a much higher level than anyone would normally think to. It was basic, common among novices and forgotten by so-called experts in favor of flashier spells. A forgotten favorite, in Briar’s opinion, was a handy trait to hold up one’s sleeve. No foe ever saw it coming. It was overlooked by those who deemed themselves better. After all, something ordinary in the hands of one, could become something extraordinary in the hands of another.

The spell was Sleep, and Vecna was falling to it, with her head sticking through the breach. As she fell, her hands dropped from the sides and, in that instant, the breach snapped shut, slicing Vecna’s skull clean from her body. As her gigantic head smashed onto the stone floor, the caimen fell back, horror in his eyes.

“You- you- I can’t- what-” He was stammering. How could this have happened? A human killed a god. A human killed a god. He just witnessed something simultaneously astonishing and petrifying and his mind and body could not agree on how to react. Should he run? Fight? How could he fight that monstrosity masquerading as a weak little human? This beast couldn’t be normal!

“The wonderful thing about humans, I think you should know,” Briar began, her voice cold as she moved her cloak back over her arms, “is that despite our lack of physical or natural defenses - despite how plain we may seem, we have exceptional reasoning abilities, a knack for learning whatever we set our minds to, and an unrivaled ability to apply unconventional solutions to unsolvable problems. We adapt, fool, and we do so quite well. I’d recommend you remember that, but I doubt you’ll have much use for memory in a few moments.” Briar let out a content breath, allowing a small smile to slip over her lips as Tanya knocked back an arrow and took aim. “Shor, while Tanya finishes up, could you grab our proof? Goblins tend to like weaseling out of deals…”

A wet splat sounded through the mayor’s office, with a nervous, high-pitched laugh soon following. The giant, decaying, gooey skull of Vecna was haphazardly slapped down on top of week’s worth of paperwork. The goblin across from the group knew that would be an annoying problem, potentially an expensive one too, but the skull of a god had just been placed on his desk by the unassuming mercenaries he had hired not even three days prior to handle a simple group of bandits. It was only supposed to be bandits.

“Religious fanatics usually cost double. Just for you,  we won’t ask for more gold,” the mysterious leader of the group spoke softly from the shadows of her cloak; though, her voice was commanding, “but I will expect full payment now and I hope you will be offering a few days rest at the inn. A cult masquerading as bandits was more than we signed up for. It was tiring. Food and accommodations are the least you can offer.”

“Of… of course!” He hastily rushed around and snatched up a small chest of gold, pushing it across the floor over to the orc, whose grin was positively unnerving the mayor. However, the nasty little kobold was the one who quickly gathered up the chest. “I will arrange three-” the glare the elf gave him quickly made him change his mind, “no, five days! - of the finest food, rooms, and amenities the Snoring Gorgon can offer! Happily! Now… about the… skull?”

The deep voice of the orc rumbled out into the room, “oh, we’re keeping that. We are keeping that; aren’t we, Briar?” A sound that would have been beautiful to him in any other circumstance, scared the goblin more than the large orc ever could, as a light laugh responded to the orc’s question from the shadows of the cloak’s hood.

“Of course we’re keeping it. Vecna has to wake up sometime.”

[indigodice]

AN END FORESEEN

We returned home from the cultists’ lair, after having murdered them like vermin, we returned and rested and inside the inn at the bottom of the stair the talking rat, La Pieto and I, Claviger Nero, noticed an advertisement for the orphans’ play. It was across the street from the White Stag inn. The Dwarf, Tor Torinson tried to convince us to pursue our leads.

We went to the play which despite the advertisement, was explained to be the worst play we’ve ever seen. The children delivered their lines without emotion, parts and people were missing, the main character included. Damien Krieger goes on to speak to the head of the orphanage. He gives us information and a kind of lead about the burned church, but nothing conclusive about the world or the present drama unfolding. So we leave.

The head of the orphanage spoke about one of his children being worried about her missing friends, and that her friends were part of a teenage romance story involving the burned down house. The girl Lilly was worried about her friends, Laura and Sam. I comment to the others that we still feel fated. “Don’t you feel the pull of the string of fate? I think if we follow this string the path forward will unfold before us. If we’re being watched we could take a different path. I think if we follow what’s obvious, the same fate that befell the knight and Barbar could befall us.” We did not abate. Our leads were Scarlets’, where Lilly worked, and the burned house, where Laura and Sam went missing. “I think they’re the same lead. And we’re not going to survive here unless we make some money,” said Nero.

“We don’t have any other leads, so we should stick to these,” said Damien.

Tor Torinson took some of the fancy clothes to the tailor and asked them about the cultist’s robes. He didn’t learn much, they weren’t made by craftsmen.

La Pieto extracts information and gets the rest of the party into Scarlets where we meet with Lilly who directs us to the burned house after giving us a description of Laura and Sam.

Inside we hear crying and a scream. I engage the cultist and smash his face in with my hammer. We notice a dead Laura in the center of the ritual room become a Hellhound. The fight goes poorly. La Pieto goes down, Damien drags him to safety. I try to drag Sam out of the room, and we make the decision to not leave him here to die. He’s about as strong as Nero is so it’s a fight that doesn’t go well, and he manages to keep his ground. Tor Torinson arrives to fight the hellhound, and Damien commits to the fight as well. Nero commits to the fight, and with everyone nearly dead, we defeat the hellhound after Nero goes down. Tor Torinson alerts the guards, who arrive and take us all in. End session.

Damien’s player comments on not being directed particularly well towards the thing we’re supposed to do, and I comment on how if I had a choice between Disco Elysium and Baldurs Gate, I’d choose Baldur’s Gate, to which the GM comments about how we’ve been rolling poorly, are still level one and acting high and might about our capabilities, built poor characters, and the story isn’t as linear as I think it is.

Yet my main problem, is that I’ve played with this GM before, and the problem of a character not being able to express it’s design isn’t a new problem. If there’s a problem with expectations, I think I need only point to the fact nothing about what or how the session would play was explained in the session zero beyond setting. But maybe its my own fault for thinking that if I held on to hope somehow the session would go smooth in a way I was happy with just by letting it develop.

The GM posted a meme about players complaining about not being able to find the path, then a picture with the path being littered with signs. It made me unreasonably angry because the way the argument went out was mostly with him talking over me, and me realizing I’d never been able to convince him about anything.

I think this is the first time in the entirety of our years of role playing that I’ve ever decided to bring up I had a problem with the session. Usually I sit down and shut up and accept that if I don’t have fun I’ll somehow have fun next time. A gamble. And the first time I bring it up I have this realization he’s not the kind to ever give up ground while he’s ranting off. His word, the last word, is the only word that matters. In a previous session I remember talking as a player, that he couldn’t keep making all the party decisions himself, or take everything into his own hand. For example, trampling over our morals to do what he personally wanted to do would mean we become threatening to him. For example my character could act out or slit his throat if he thought the act was egregious enough. The next session he bought a stone that let him not sleep instead of addressing the problem I had with his character design, or the fact his decision stopped my own character design from being expressed. He’d taken a lich stone and destroyed the vessel it was attached to, a young boy, instead of taking the steps the other players in the party wanted to take to free the boy.

All I can think is that this is a person I can’t get along with. And its some kind of wonder I’ve spent so much time with this person at all. This is a person who I watch my tongue around, and constantly feel I cannot express myself. So while he was complaining about how we wrongly keep trying to act heroic, I say I’m done, and I leave the channel. And I keep thinking about this all now I get angry enough to think, why have I spent so much time on this person, and I decide I’m cutting this person out, this person who doesn’t listen to me, who I have a hard time even thinking of as a friend.

Sepiadice comments that I’ve quit a lot of games recently. There was his own, there was my friend’s Strahd campagin which we were both in, there was the above GM’s end of the world campaign, there was the above GM’s current campaign. All of these were dnd or dnd adjacent, except for the end of the world campaigns which I had other reservations.

And this puts me in a space where I’m not sure if RPGs are for me if I’ve had so many poor experiences. I don’t know if it’s specifically DND and DND adjacent content or if its something other and else like my own personality somehow has a mismatch with these games, or the possibility I have some mental block about DND interfering with my ability to enjoy the games. Having played so much DND in the last decade, and having so many of them be so similarly discouraging experiences, it feels obvious that it should be the game. Yet, if they haven’t been fun, why do I keep doing them? Why do I keep insisting on trying them? There a grail of an experience I want and am going after, and more often than not the GM promises something interesting or close, but there’s always something off.

I don’t know how to clean any of this up. Maybe I’ll just do it later.