#my first instinct is artifical

[adr-n-sketchy]

idk if anyone else is watching s5 of the Dragon Prince, but end of ep 2, Viren’s having a dark magic induced fever dream of playing and loving on toddler Soren and he lifts him up and spins him around and called him “my Golden boy” I just --- what if Belos planted a similar memory in Hunter when he was created. Like what if that artificial memory was something our Golden Guard carried around for his entire life while he believed he was idk normal?! uggghhh my heart 

#also sorry in advance idk what the politically correct term is when referring to a grimwalker #my first instinct is artifical #but that sounds definitely not politically correct #idk if belos can even plant artificial memories #but i'd totally believe it #the dragon prince #the dragon prince spoilers #tdp spoilers #tdp season 5 #the owl house #toh #emperor belos #philip wittebane #golden guard #toh hunter #viren #soren #my unhinged thoughts #grimwalker

[avinryd]

hold tight: folly

Author: Avin Ryd Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: T Pairing: Gale/Tav Word Count: ~2800 Series: hold tight || don't fight

"...Gale forces his eyes open to find Arden’s brown-red brows drawn together over unsettling blue-fire eyes. It’s his only warning before he feels tendons flex under his palm, power rising and crackling, then surging in a white-hot rush and it’s…

Well. In those first few moments, it’s everything."

--

Wizard Hubris has nothing on Sorcerer Hubris.

Read on AO3

“...here. Place your hand over my heart. Let me show you.”

Sharing this—sharing his folly—with these near-strangers is… Well, to be frank, it’s not just terrifying, it’s mortifying. His greatest mistake out for all to see before he’s even had a chance to prove he’s grown since. There is, of course, no helping it. Strangers or no, their lots are cast together and shame is not something Gale intends to let stand in the way of their group’s safety. They have enough out for their blood already.

And so, he grasps the sorcerer’s hand in a mirror of their first meeting and presses their palm to his chest: just right of his heart, squarely atop the orb. Their hand—Arden’s hand—is warm, their palm dry and seeming to crackle with power. That power sparks, arcs. Arden’s muscles twitch, instinctively trying to jerk back and away from the void Gale carries, but before Gale can tighten his grip he feels Arden steel themself in a display of ironclad self control. As their minds open to one another, he tries to smother his surprise at their show of physical will.

Reliving the past is something Gale has made into an art this past year, and the picture he paints hurts as much in the telling as it did in the living. He draws the eye away from his crippling insecurity with sweeping brush strokes of hubris, offsets the fug of desperation to prove his worth with the stomach-dropping rush of falling from the pinnacle of grace, straight into the manticore’s den. The tadpole behind his eye twists and control of the memory slips from Gale’s grasp. Magic, darker than blackest night, blossoms from the book in his hands and pounces, digging void-cold tendrils into his chest, his heart, his very being, twined up in his essence—greedy, voracious, hungry. 

Desperate to be free of the past, Gale forces his eyes open to find Arden’s brown-red brows drawn together over unsettling blue-fire eyes. It’s his only warning before he feels tendons flex under his palm, power rising and crackling, then surging in a white-hot rush and it’s…

Well. In those first few moments, it’s everything.

The sense of relief is unlike anything Gale has ever felt; no orgasm(not even one divinely-gifted) has ever granted such a feeling of release. It is nothing like the soulless influx of artificed items. This is living magic, surging and pulsing and roaring with more force than the Chionthar, swollen with spring runoff. The tide pulls him under for precious, blissful seconds, gulping swallows of cool autumn air before a storm, before sense returns to him in a drenching of cold sweat. He shoves at Arden, but the orb has them well and truly in its pull, and worse they themself resist his efforts.

“Stop!” Another ineffectual shove. “Arden, you need to— shit, you need to pull back!”

There’s no response, just the knot between their brows knitting tighter and the magic surging brighter, hotter. Fuck.

Approaching frantic now, Gale signals to Wyll, Shadowheart, anyone.

“Pull them off,” he grits, then closes his eyes once more and sinks back into his mind.

Gale is not as adept with his new psionic gifts as, say, Arden or Astarion, but he’s certainly dabbled—

(When the options while cornered by a fanatic goblin are fight or True Soul bluff, there’s really only one option to Gale’s way of thinking.)

—thus, the mental stretch he makes is not entirely unfamiliar. More difficult in that there is no brand shining as a beacon; but also easier, Arden’s tadpole squirming and reaching through their already-open connection, almost as if it knows the danger its host is in.

There’s no resistance. Gale reaches, trips, and falls into Arden’s mind. Like their eyes, their voice, their skin, Arden’s mind crackles with magic—free of the Weave, a maelstrom subject to only their whims. Gale can taste those whims on the wind, a storm’s approach on his tongue. Pressing in on all sides is a determination that’s oppressive in its totality, but creeping in Gale catches the stirrings of doubt—yellow whisps of petrichor. He follows them through the storm; searching, searching, there.

The eye of the storm.

Where he might have waited for permission in other circumstances, now Gale doesn’t hesitate to step into the singing, shining brightness of Arden’s consciousness. The change is abrupt. Gale is jerked out of the abstract ambience of the mind and into the grounded reality of Arden’s focus…and it’s worse than he feared. Now he feels the arc of power from the other side, feels it rushing and flowing and draining—that storm under Arden’s rich brown skin being siphoned and stolen, feeling their fingers start to go cold, then numb.

You need to stop, he pleads, pressing his urgency, his fear against their mind.

No! I almost have it! It’s almost…

Somewhere far away, Gale feels his flesh-and-blood form reach out and give Arden a shake by the shoulders. Mentally, he pushes,

Yes, that’s the problem! “Almost”. You’ll almost have it, all the way until you’re “almost” to oblivion, and by then it will be too late. Please, let it go.

Arden is trembling, both in body and mind—the orb has ravaged through all of their magic now, Gale realizes in horror. All that power, swirled away like some cataclysmic tavern outhouse, and still the awful thing drains. Magic is in the sorcerer’s very blood and that blood helpless to the pull.

I can do this, Arden’s mental voice is starting to thin. I can— I can…I can’t—

One of them is stammering the words through numb lips—I can’t, I can’t—and Gale isn’t sure which one of them it is. He can’t even retreat to try and sure up his defenses. Arden’s mind has seized in alien panic—the tadpole no doubt, trying to protect itself and inevitably leading to all of their dooms.

The rushing-roaring-shrieking fills their shared mindscape, so loud Gale can barely parse the scent of regret and feathered touch of remorse underneath the cacophony. Fear slips away, giving ground to a calm resignation. This was always going to be his fate, after all. He just wishes it was only his fate, not that of so many others.The creation of a literal black hole fills all of his awareness, growing louder and louder, until suddenly—

—it doesn’t

Abruptly, Gale finds himself deposited back in his own mind, and more importantly his own body. Pushing away the shock with rough hands, he immediately calls familiar wards and charms to his fingers, locking his folly behind seven-fold gates and no fewer than three blood wards. By the end of it, there’s a cold sweat trickling down his back and the smell of blood in his nose. Lovely.

Then his brain catches up and his eyes fly open.

Two feet away, kneeling and collapsed back against an annoyed-looking Lae’zel, Arden is ashen faced and shaking. They won’t meet Gale’s gaze, which is honestly fine because before Gale can think of what to say, both Wyll and Astarion are in his face; Wyll in a righteous fury over the orb’s destructive power, Astarion in a rather surprising, protective indignation on their sorcerer’s behalf.

Gale argues them down with half an ear, the other straining to catch the hushed exchange between their other companions. Lae’zel seems curious in spite of herself, while Shadowheart hisses invective most unbecoming of a cleric under her breath as she examines Arden for injuries. Arden—still pale enough to give their undead friend a run for his money—tries gamely to answer their questions, but the words are mumbled and Gale doesn’t catch more than fine and rest and my fault.

That last being a sentiment shared by no one else in camp, apparently. Even after explaining, multiple times in multiple ways to multiple people, the evening ends with Gale’s offer to take watch shot down out of hand by suspicious-eyed compatriots, the air terse and sullen as they all prepare for bed.

Unsurprisingly, Gale cannot sleep. Not for pain—no, after such an inundation the orb should be satiated for at least a ten-day—but for anxiety. Arden had been gently frogmarched to their tent after Shadowheart’s examination and had yet to emerge by the time the camp settled down for sleep. Haunted by the memory of dull eyes and shaking limbs, Gale spends the night dredging up memories of projects long abandoned: wards and charms half-constructed, then tossed aside upon acceptance of his new life of isolation. The equations still refuse to balance, and it’s only when the first birds start to sing that his eyes finally fall closed.

-

No one comes to wake him and it’s nearly midday when he emerges, squinting, from his tent. The camp is silent and Gale would think they’d all left him for a lost cause(understandable) but for the fact that everyone’s tents are still pitched. A closer look finds the skeletal Whithers pacing by the river, muttering his mysterious numbers, a silently meditating Lae’zel in the mouth of her tent, and Arden, sitting by the ashes of last night fire with one knee pulled to their chest. The rest of their merry band nowhere to be found.

Arden’s silent gaze is far away, fixed on a space miles beyond the long cold embers. They don’t look up when Gale approaches, nor when he sits down. He sighs and reaches over to their camp provision to pull forth two apples. He offers one over, deliberately putting his hand in their line of sight.

“I know that look,” he tries. “You are thinking too many thoughts on too empty a stomach. Was Shadowheart’s attempt at breakfast really so terrible?”

Arden’s vacant stare focuses in on the red of Gale’s offering--red like their sleep-flattened hair--and they blink a few times before seeming to shake away the daze and accepting the apple.

“Wyll’s, actually,” they reply, taking a mechanical bite of the apple, as if running on muscle memory alone. “He tried to revive hardtack by frying it.”

Gale winces. “Ah. So jerky and cheese all around?”

“Mmhm.”

(This is not their first run-in with Wyll’s…imaginative culinary pursuits. After the Blade’s “signature stew” of two days whence, Gale had vowed to make that their last run-in with said pursuits.)

“My apologies for not commandeering the cookfire in a timely manner. I found myself…distracted to the point of insomnia, last night.”

Arden’s snort makes it clear exactly how well that understatement landed, but they don’t comment further. Silence stretches longer and longer, less and less comfortable by the minute until Lae’zel gives a very pointed, very irritated cough.

Ah.

“I fear,” Gale begins, “that if we don’t address the oliphaunt in the room, our dear githyanki friend might renege on her promise to our compatriots and force us to confront it at swordpoint.”

Lae’zel’s affirming silence is deafening and Arden only holds out for a moment before sighing and turning to face Gale properly, at last. Under their carefully-applied blue paint, Gale can see dark smudges beneath their eyes, and while rest has returned the color to their fine half-elven features, they still look distinctly unwell. They take a breath as if to speak, but seeing them so worn has Gale blurting before they can begin,

“What in Mystra’s name were you thinking?”

He keeps his voice below a shout, barely, but Arden flinches as if he hadn’t. Still, their voice is level when they reply,

“What do you mean, ‘what was I thinking’? You were in my mind. You know. You saw.”

‘What I saw was a stubborn fool with more power than sense,’ Gale does not say. That would brand him the most egregious hypocrite on the Sword Coast, after all. Instead he exhales deliberately though his nose, searching for calm before he speaks again.

“Your mind is a maelstrom, Arden—” fuck, he can’t quite keep the awe from his voice  “—and I am no illithid master of the psionic arts. At least, not yet. So I ask again: what in the Hells were you thinking? Did nothing I said, no impression of the severity of the situation make an impact on you?”

“Of course it did!” They snap back, eyes flashing in a very literal sense. “The situation seems rather dire, so I chose the most expedient solution available.”

“How does ‘pouring your entire life force and then some down a drain’ register to you as a solution at all? Let alone the most expedient!”

“This, coming from the man whose apparent life plan is to find the darkest corner of Faerun to detonate his mistake, rather than find a way to fix it. Your self-preservation record seems as black as mine, Gale of Waterdeep.”

And therein lay the risk of sharing your mind with another—they weren’t supposed to have seen that. Before Gale can sputter out a reply, they continue bitterly,

“There’s a hole in the Weave sitting in your chest, and I’m brim-full of the stuff that threads the loom.”

Lightning crackles between their fingers as if to illustrate.

“It’s just…so much. It stood to reason that enough of it could er—fill the hole, as it were.”

(There’s more to it than that; Gale’s no fool. The sorcerer’s hands have balled into fists, some deep-seated frustration robbing them of their usual eloquence. “Brim-full”. “So much”. If Gale had to guess—with that part of his mind not worried about the apocalypse in his chest—he’d conjecture that Arden suffers under a problem diametrically opposed to his own. He shelves the thought for later.)

Arden at least has the decency to look ashamed.

“Clearly, I’m outclassed. I’d never encountered Netherese magic before last night. I won’t— 

“Fuck, I won’t apologize for my actions, but I did not take you at your word and for that, I am sorry.”

The apology hangs in the air, nearly tangible—an offering between them—and for a moment Gale considers dismissing it. Well intentioned or not, Arden’s impulsivity had nearly cost them his grip on the orb. If his calculations are even close to accurate, the scope would not only vaporize their camp; it would flatten the Emerald Grove, druids and tieflings alike, and while the goblin threat would be most handily dealth with, there would also be a large chunk missing from the mountains nearby. It might even take down that dragon on the horizon.

And yet… 

And yet.

Arden is also the first person(other than Tara) Gale has encountered through his whole ordeal willing to place everything on the line for him at the first sign of trouble. Not even Elmister, his dear mentor and most powerful ally, had been so immediately forthcoming in his aid when Gale came to his tower in desperation. And that’s not nothing. Gods above, it’s more than “not nothing”—it’s more than he could have dreamed these last years, and certainly more than he deserves.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the tension in his brow.

“Your…candor is appreciated,” is what he finally manages. “And while I cannot condone your actions, please know that it does not come from a place of thanklessness. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“No one has ever… Well. Shall we just say, your immediate eagerness to help has not gone unnoticed, and leave it at that.”

Arden’s pursed, too-perceptive expression hints that no, they would not like to leave it at that, thank you all the same, but for whatever reason they stay their clever tongue to a simple,

“Alright, then.”

A beat.

“Just…” Gale attempts, “swear to me you will not attempt such a foolhardy stunt again?”

Their eyes lock, blue-fire on hazel.

“I swear, on all the magic within me, that I will not attempt another such hubristic feat without discussing all the particulars with you before the act.”

Gale narrows his eyes. “Somehow, that does not quite assuage my concerns, but it’ll do for now.”

Arden’s answering grin is all mischief, but before they can reply the conversation is interrupted by an explosive sigh from Lae’zel’s direction.

“Vlakkith preserve me, I thought you’d never reach an accord. Do all istik insist on settling their conflicts with such drawn-out conversation? Do none of you bring your differences to a close with combat, as is right?”

Even after this near ten-day of travel, Lae’zel’s convictions regarding diplomacy and conflict resolution never fail to surprise Gale into silence. It’s the stark contrast between battle-hardened resolve and societal naivete, he thinks distractedly, and is still in the process of pulling words into a semblance of sense when Arden quips,

“If we did that for every conflict, our party would soon consist of only you and myself, Lae’zel. And, strong as we are, I prefer our odds in a fight with at least two of our friends at our backs. Don’t you?”

Their smirk invites a challenge and, as has proven the case time and time again, Gale is helpless to resist. 

#baldur's gate 3 fic #baldur's gate 3 #gale/tav #gale x tav #gale x named tav #fics of ryd #avinryd

[sunny6677]

Spooky Month: The Dating Sim

Part 37

(I'm mainly just doing this because it's fun to watch, but this is basically a spooky month interactive thing/poll which is kinda like a dating sim. Of course, only the adult characters can be your love interests. So do take that in mind.)

————

A part of you felt a bit of irritation sink into you deep within, but on instinct, you tried to be polite regardless. So you opened your mouth to speak back to the woman..

...only to find a slightly passive aggresive comment making its way out of your mouth.

You immediately widened your eyes, a little shocked at such words coming from out of your mouth. The woman blinked, her brows raised and her eyes wide. With slightly gritted teeth, she looked at you for a moment, her dark eyes glistening with that of a raging fury.

She then turned her head away, placing her hands on her hips. "Hmph.. whatever. You can keep standing there. But you better stay miles away from me, you got that, plebian?"

In reply, you only nodded while swallowing a chunk of spit down your throat. The woman then swiftly turned, and with her hips swinging from side to side, she began to walk away—her high-heels clacking against the concrete ground as she did so.

...

You just decided that now would be a good time to head home. But a part of you wondered who that woman was, or why she seemed so intent on calling you 'plebian' like it was the medieval era or something. Even so, you let out a sigh, and swiftly turned around into the direction where your house was. And slowly, you began to walk there through the cool night, the sounds of a thousand crickets accompanying you as you did so.

————

You eventually made your way back home. And as of now, your eyes had been heavy with that of exhaustion. Your mouth would let out soft yawns of drowsiness every few minutes or so, and by now, you had been sitting on your bed. You had been fully prepared to head to sleep, for your eyes were slowly starting to flutter shut. But you decided to check your phone before you did so.

You slowly picked up your phone, clenching it in your hands. With a gentle tap of your thumb against the screen, the screen lit up—blinding you with pouring artifical light for a sheer moment. Then, when your vision adjusted to the brightness, you quickly blinked and realized you had three notifications from your messengers app. Which was.. surprising, honestly.

One message appeared to be from Lila, the message reading something along the lines of:

"Hi there! I was wondering if maybe you wouldn't mind taking care of my son again some other time? I don't really need you to right now, but he seems like he had so much fun with you today! He seems pretty happy that you were able to take care of him and his friend."

You smiled a little at the message, though it quickly faltered, for your eyes moved with concentration as you saw another message. This time, the message appeared to be from Kevin—it didn't look to be sent from too long ago. Only a few minutes ago actually.

The message had read:

"Hey, I'm back from work. I'm gonna have to go to bed soon, but do you wanna chat for a bit til I do?"

Another smile played at your lips, though your eyes then moved with concentration to the other message. This time, it.. appeared to be from an unknown number. Though judging by the way the person on the message spoke, you immediately took a quick guess at who it was.

"Hey!!! Is this that person I gave my number to??? If it is, then hiii! It's me, Radford! :D"

Well.. you didn't immediately take a guess, since the message said it itself.

You then thought for a moment..

[calciumcryptid]

{ Minetaverse: Sukecrew }

In my bnha next gen universe the Minetaverse, the main character has a group of friends who all have unheroic backgrounds like him. This clique is known as the Sukecrew.

{ Shunsuke Mineta | The Grape's Bastard }

Primary Quirk: Poisonous Pop-Off - Shunsuke can produce and pluck ball-shaped objects from his head; the balls grow back just as fast as they're plucked. The balls are incredibly sticky, but also incredibly poisonous with Shunsuke being able to control what type of poison in there.

Secondary Quirk: Poison Immunity - Shunsuke is immune to all poisons and toxins.

Summary: Shunsuke Mineta is the main character of the Minetaverse, and is the illegitimate son of Mineta Minoru and a unwilling poison scientist. He has been given the short end in life which caused him to grow up to be rather bitter towards heroes for ruining his life. He doesn't have time to dwell on his misery as he must protect a young girl at his orphanage, and decided a hero was a perfect way to receive the funds to do so.

{ Eloas Santos | The Shifting Predator }

Primary Quirk: Bioshift - Eloas has the ability to turn into any living being such as plants, animals, bacteria, fellow humans, and possibly artifical life such as certain types of machinery.

Secondary Quirk: Animal Instinct - Eloas has a built in fight or flight instincts that allows her to sense danger.

Summary: Eloas Santos is an orphan from Cuba who was smuggled into Japan by some experimenters who wanted to test the limits of her blood lust. Much to their chagrin, she managed to escape and was layer adopted by a nice lady who runs a seaside bar. Despite the nice life, she searches for ways to manage her blood lust and decides the thrill of battle that comes with heroics is the best course of action.

{ Piers Drake | The Stone Cold Serpent }

Primary Quirk: Gorgon - Piers has a mutation that gives them the appearance and abilities of a gorgon from Greek mythology. This includes enhanced abilities, claws, built in armor in the form of scales, thermal and night vision, venom, and minor hair manipulation.

Secondary Quirk: Stone Cold Stare - Piers can transform matter and objects, including living beings, into stone by looking at them.

Summary: Born to one of the most dangerous Greek villains, Piers had to abandon his life in Greece to avoid execution. He managed to raise enough money to cross the waves to Japan where he was adopted by the same lady that adopted Eloas. Despite appearing the most well adjusted of the group, he struggles the most with his motivation to become a hero.

{ Koroka Ayu | The Bloody Ex-Con }

Primary Quirk: Bleeding Heart - Koroka has the ability to manipulate people's emotions through her blood diffusing like incense.

Secondary Quirk: Emotion Radar - Koroka has the ability to read the emotions of others.

Summary: To be blunt, Koroka never wanted to become a hero. At a young age she fell victim to the rampant use of police brutality and paranoia that gripped the general populace following the Class A Scandals. This caused her to be disowned by her parents, and angry at the world around her. However, she is sent to UA to participate in their remedial program.

{ Iori Kano | The Jovial Hopeful }

Primary Quirk: Skeletal Pull - Iori has the ability to pull bones out of his and others people's body. Bones taken out of his body take on more sharper properties that name them blade-like.

Secondary Quirk: Exoskeleton - Iori has another skeleton that allows him to remain mobile while peices of his skeletal system is missing.

Summary: Iori Kano has always wanted to be a hero, and has been given the opportunity to do so by being on of the winners of the remedial program lottery. Finally he has the chance to prove what got him into the slammer in the first place wasn't misguided. Though he seems like the only one genuinely excited, and his new classmates don't like him much. He'll just have to work twice as harder to prove himself.

{ Taglist }

@insomniac-jay @floof-ghostie @pizzolisnacks

#minetaverse

[toodivineforhumanmind]

chapter 7 - there’s no one like you, sava

SATURDAY

14:35

Eva What time r you guys gonna hit the party?

Silvia Around 21? Me and Fede were gonna get together and pregame around 19, you guys wanna come?

Sana I’m good, I’ll probably be late to the party anyways. Gotta do something with my mom.

Eva Where are you pregaming?

Fede My place, mom and dad are in Venice for the wknd.

Eva What about Ele?

Eleonora I’m good too, I have a ton of school stuff before I get to the party.

Silvia Ok, that’s chill.

Silvia Brb, gotta go raid my closet to find something to wear.

Fede Ugh, same. Crisis incoming.

SATURDAY 20:56

Filippo stopped his car in front of Edoardo’s grand house, his eyes gazing over the house approvingly. There were people standing on the front lawn of the house, some of them smoking cigarettes under the night sky, and the open doors of the house emitted a warm glow. Eleonora hopped out of Filippo’s car, but before she could slam the door shut, her brother said:

“Hey, I don’t know why you’ve been feeling so down for a few days, but promise me you’ll try to have fun?” Filo’s voice was full of concern, his eyes sympathetic. It was clear that he was trying to detect any clues of Eleonora’s thoughts on the girl’s face, but there were none to be found.

Eleonora nodded, adjusting the bag on her shoulder in an attempt to avoid eye contact with her brother. “I promise, Filo. I’m fine.”

Filippo’s eyes on her were knowing, and for a moment he hesitated  as if there was still something to say. But instead he smiled, nodded and gestured for his little sister to go, his smile wavering only for a second. Eleonora slammed the door shut and followed Filippo’s car with her eyes until it was out of view, stalling on the moment she would actually have to turn and face everyone - especially Edoardo - at the party that was clearly already raging on. A few people were already greeting Eleonora before she even reached the house itself; some of the faces were familiar friends of Edoardo’s, some of them complete strangers. But they all knew who she was.

“Ele!” Eva crashed onto Eleonora as soon as she stepped, her arms wrapping around the girl. Eva was wearing a pair of shorts over her bikini, her hair still damp from the chlorine water. Eva smelled of alcohol, chlorine and a fragrance that Eleonora had learned long ago to associate to her; it was a sweet scent, somewhat fruity and bubbly. Just like Eva herself.

Eleonora pulled back from her friend’s embrace. “Hi! How’s it going?”

Eva spread her arms and spun around in a drunken manner, giggling as she did so. “Amazing! It’s been so much, Federico threw me into the pool!”

Eleonora turned her gaze to the other side of the crowded livingroom, where Federico and Chicco were loudly playing a game of cards, surrounded by a curious crowd of intoxicated teenagers. Even Silvia and Sana were following the progress of the game, the blonde girl clutching a half-empty bottle of wine in her left hand. Loud music was emitting from the glass doors that led to the backyard, where the majority of the party was obviously happening - it was a pool party, after all.

For the first time in a while Eleonora felt nervous at the thought of seeing Edoardo, but she didn’t protest when Eva grabbed her by her arm and started leading her across the crowd, slipping through the masses of people like it was her second nature. “Eleonora, you have to come swimming with us!”

Eleonora shook her head at Eva as they stepped outside, the warm night air caressing their faces. “No, I… Totally forgot my bathing suit at home.”

Music was blasting from a large set of speakers, and the pool was filled with drunken people moving their bodies to the beat, there were couples making out in the water, there were girls dipping their toes into the pool. And then there was Edoardo, shirtless, immersed in conversation with a bunch of friends. Eleonora stood there for a second, frozen, trying to decide whether to continue her little effort of completely avoiding the boy, who she had barely said a word to after their little scene on the roof terrace of Eleonora’s apartment.

But before Eleonora could come to a conclusion, Edoardo looked up, his eyes setting immediately on Eleonora. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes lit up in the slightest, most warming way possible. But just as fast it had appeared, the expression was gone. Edoardo turned back to his friends, said a few words to them and then turned back to Eleonora. Eva’s eyes were curiously jumping between her and Edoardo as the boy made his way up to them, his expression stern when he stopped in his tracks right in front of Eleonora, so close that she swore she could almost taste the chlorine on Edoardo’s skin.

“Hi,” Edoardo said, his eyes hard on Eleonora’s.

Eleonora felt breathless. “Hey.”

Eva looked like a frightened child left in the middle of their parent’s argument, leaning backwards on her heels when she caught the cold expression in Edoardo’s eyes. Eleonora could see Eva gaze glossing over the crowd until she spotted Elias sitting on the edge of the pool. “Guys, I gotta go say to Elias,” the redhead said, her care-free voice so artificial it almost made Eleonora chuckle. “I’ll catch you later, though!”

Edoardo waited until Eva was far enough not to hear them before he said anything. His hand reached for Eleonora’s almost instinctively, his fingers brushing at hers. “I missed you.”

Eleonora felt like there was not one single coherent thought in her heard when Edoardo was looking at her like this, his fingers still caressing the skin on her palm like it was the most natural thing for him to do. There was a worried look twisting his usually carefree features, and Eleonora felt so guilty that it felt nearly impossible to maintain the eye contact Edoardo was so desperately seeking. Eleonora brushed a lock of hair behind her own ear, shrugging. “Sorry, I uh… Got really caught up with school. It’s crazy how much homework piles up once you have actual friends to hang out with.”

Edoardo was not dumb. He caught the artifical tone of lightness in Eleonora’s voice, he heard how desperately the girl was trying to make a joke out of the entire situation. Edoardo gave the girl a half-assed smile to giver her some peace of mind, and it seemed to work - something in Eleonora’s posture changed, and it looked like she released a breath she had been holding in for minutes. “Okay, I get it.”

They both were lying, and they both knew it. There was a hint of blame in Edoardo’s eyes, and there was a hint of a secretive shame in Eleonora’s, but neither said anything about it. It had always been better to brush things under the mat in Edoardo’s experience, so he figured that Eleonora  would not be any different. Maybe it was useless to try to figure things out with her - maybe it just freaked her out. Maybe she needed some time.

Time. The only thing that Edoardo and Eleonora were seemingly running out of. Fuck. Edoardo felt pain in his chest when he remembered Eleonora’s strange message: Fine. But after that we tell everyone that we’re over. The girl had put a clock on their time together, and the clock was running on its last hours. And even the thought of that felt somehow painful to both of them, yet neither knew nothing of each other’s feelings.

“You wanna go swimming?” Edoardo asked, desperate to break the heavy moment between the two.

Eleonora shook her head again. “I forgot to bring my bathing suit.”

Edoardo laughed, and this time there was truth in the gesture. “You forgot to bring a bathing suit. To a pool party.”

“Well, you know me,” Eleonora said, her tone nearly playful this time. “I’m all over the place.”

Edoardo smiled tenderly, turning his gaze to the sky with a laugh. “Yes you are, Sava.”

23:58

The party had gotten only louder the past hours, and even Eleonora had gotten to the same, festive mood as her friends around her. The girl was sitting on the backyard lawn with Eva, the two of them slightly detached from the rest of the party so that they could hear each other speak - and though they were sitting on the edge of the lawn, Eleonora swore she could still feel the bass of the music in the back of her teeth. She took a sip of her beer, her eyes peeled on the city lights below them. If there was something Eleonora loved about Edoardo’s house, it was the view; the slight hill the neighbourhood was situated on offered an amazing view across Rome, and it was only better at night.

Eva next to her looked thoughtful, her fingers fidgeting with the glass bottle. “So, how are things with you and Edoardo?”

It was a simple question, but Eleonora didn’t know how to answer. She tore her gaze off of the city, taking an extended sip of her beer - the alcohol was humming in her bloodstream, making everything warmer, safer. And suddenly, as if it were the most natural thing, Eleonora felt the absolute need to confess the truth to her best friend who was now eyeing her with a worried look in her eyes. Eleonora opened her mouth, but it felt like the words were getting stuck to the back of her throat, suffocating her.

“Ele?”

The brunette took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “We’re faking it.”

“What?” Eva asked, confused.

“We’re faking it,” Eleonora repeated, turning her gaze to the redhead beside her. “The relationship is fake, we’ve been pretending for like a month. Edoardo wanted to make his ex jealous and I wanted to get the opportunity to meet new friends at school.”

Eva stared at her, clearly waiting for the girl to burst into drunken laughter. The moment never came, and the redheaded girl kept opening and closing her mouth in an attempt to give Eleonora something to hold on to - some kind words, some consolation, anything. But what the hell was she supposed to say. “Oh.”

“I’ll just pretend that this isn’t the weirdest shit I’ve ever heard,” Eva continued, shaking her head. “Well, how long are you guys gonna go on?”

“Today’s the last day,” Eleonora stated, her voice almost cold. “I told Edoardo that we’re done.”

“But why?” Eva asked her best friend, taking a long sip of her beer.

“It’s nothing,” the brunette lied, avoiding Eva’s eye contact.

“You’re full of shit, Sava.”

Eleonora hesitated, as she knew that there was no point in lying to her friend. Eva had gotten to know her so well that it’d just be insulting to continue lying to her and pretend like the girl didn’t know the truth. And besides, why wouldn’t she tell Eva? She had already told some of the truth to her, so there really was no point in withholding the rest of the story from the redhead.

“Well… I’m just so confused. Edoardo’s still hung up on Elena, and I’m yet one of the girls that fell for the Incanti charm just to get nothing back,” Eleonora huffed out, shaking her head. She took a sip of her beer. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Listen, Eleonora,” Eva started, putting her beer bottle between her feet to prevent it from tipping over. “I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been doing the past month, but clearly you have not been seeing any of the obvious signs around you. Edoardo likes you, girl. I can tell by the way he looks at you - like he’s trying to figure you out, and he quite can’t, but he’s just enjoying the fact that you’re there.”

Eleonora couldn’t help a slight smile from climbing up her lips, and she turned her gaze to the grass to hide it from Eva.  The girl continued: “So I’d say if there’s anyone who stupidly fell for someone who doesn’t like them back, it’s not you. It’s Edoardo.”

There was a certainty in Eva’s words, and whether it was the alcohol in Eleonora’s system or something else, Eleonora felt slightly more confident. “You think he likes me?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Eva said, truthfully. “He’s probably just waiting for a sign. He’s a respectable guy after all, not one to jump a girl who gives no indication that they’re interested in him. Though I doubt that there have been many girls in his path that have not been interested.”

03:45

It wasn’t even four in the morning when Eleonora woke up in one of the guest bedrooms, still fully clothed. The girl scrambled up from the bed, noticing that Eva, Fede and Silvia were laying on the bed, as well. No wonder it had been uncomfortable - the bed was barely big enough for two people. Eleonora made her way out of the bedroom barefoot, closing the door quietly in attempt not to wake up her friends. She made her way down the hallway and back to the livingroom, where many people were passed out on the couches, some of them still clutching half-empty bottles. It was still dark outside, the night air in the backyard illuminated only by the lights in the pool.

Eleonora walked to the backdoors, avoiding the empty beer bottles, cups and the occasional human being lying on the wooden floors, careful not to wake up anyone. The chlorine-scented night air felt good on Eleonora’s burning skin, and for a minute she considered whether it was too late to call Filippo to pick her up - maybe he was awake, it was the weekend, after all. Though if he were awake at this hour, it was more likely that he was in no condition to drive, as he had mentioned a new club opening in Trastevere. Fuck.

Edoardo’s voice pierced the silence, making Eleonora jump. “You’re awake.”

Edoardo was sitting on the steps that led to the pool, submerged in water up to his chest. His arms were spread on the edges of the pool, a cigarette between his fingers. There was a bottle of vodka and an ashtray on the edge of the pool, close enough for the boy to reach - clearly he had taken advantage of the party dying down to have a moment of his own, as Edoardo had never been to person to fall asleep early. It was something Eleonora had learned over the course of their weeks together, through countless of late night text messages and hang outs.

“Yeah,” Eleonora admitted eventually, walking to other side of the pool. She sat down on the edge, putting her feet in the warm water. Edoardo followed her with his lazy gaze, frowning as Eleonora seemed to sit down as far away from him as possible.

“Are you okay?” Eleonora asked eventually, forcing herself to look at Edoardo. The blue light illuminated his features beautifully, colouring him in a completely new way. The light bounced off of his eyes, and Eleonora couldn’t look away.

Edoardo took one last drag of his cigarette before stumping it onto the ashtray. “I’m good. You know, though I was pretty fucking surprised that all of a sudden you wanted us to end this.”

There was such a deep hurt in his voice that Eleonora nearly flinched - it was like a knife thrown right across the pool. The girl turned her gaze back to the surface of the water, suddenly feeling the burn of Edoardo’s disappointment.  “Shouldn’t you be thanking me? Elena’s so damn jealous that for a moment I thought that she might actually kill me.”

Edoardo sighed, throwing his head back to look at the stars. “You know, for such a smart person you can be really fucking dense sometimes, Sava.”

“What?” Asked Eleonora, her voice sharp.

“This has nothing to do with Elena anymore,” Edoardo stated, looking at Eleonora again. “At least not for me.”

“What do you mean?” The girl asked again, suddenly feeling extremely nervous under Edoardo’s gaze.

“You know what was the only thing I cared about tonight? The only reason I was so excited?” Edoardo asked and paused like he wanted to give his words more weight. “You. I got to see you. And that was all I could think about all damn day. And you know what that means?”

Eleonora shrugged, a smile twitching at her lips. “You have severe problems with concentrating?”

Edoardo rolled his eyes and splashed some water, though it did not reach Eleonora on the other edge of the pool. “You are impossible.”

A wider smile twitched at Eleonora’s features, and for a brief moment Edoardo was relieved. They fell into a silence that felt somehow fragile, like the slightest of sounds could break it. Edoardo wanted to break it. He wanted to shatter it, he wanted to say every single thing that had been keeping him up for days, he wanted Eleonora know how he felt. The words kept getting stuck in his mouth, and after a few moment he gave up, turning his gaze to the side. And that’s when Eleonora started moving.

The girl pulled off the long cardigan she had borrowed from Silvia, leaving only the white, simple dress she had worn to the party. For a moment she hesitated on something. Seconds passed, and Edoardo swore every last one of them felt like eternity. And when Eleonora dropped into the pool, Edoardo couldn’t tear his eyes off of the girl.

“Uh. You’re coming in. In your dress,” Edoardo said, stalling on the words like he was trying to figure out the sight in front of him.

Eleonora shrugged as she made her way closer to the boy, the water getting more shallow as she got closer to Edoardo. “I didn’t bring my bathing suit, remember?”  

Eleonora didn’t stop until she was close enough to Edoardo to touch him; she stood there, shivering in the cool night air, the weight of her soaked dress pulling her down. She looked beautiful even then, the blue light dancing on her features, creating shadows on her eyes. Edoardo sat there on the stairs looking at her, and suddenly it felt ridiculous that they were so far apart.

Eleonora took a deep breath. “Hi.”

A wide smile spread across Edoardo’s features, lighting up his eyes. His right arm reached for Eleonora under the water, wrapping around her waist. Slowly he pulled Eleonora to his lap on the stairs, his eyes locked on hers. His voice was rough when he whispered: “There is no one like you, Sava.”

Eleonora’s hand made its way to the back of Edoardo’s neck. She felt breathless as she sat there, looking at him, close enough to feel his cool breath tickling at her skin. Edoardo’s left made its way to her waist, securing his grip on her like he was scared Eleonora would disappear from under his touch. Eleonora’s eyes on him were gentle, and though her hand was shaking - from nervousness? - as she brushed a runaway curl from Edoardo’s eyes, there was a certainty in her eyes that she had lacked before. Something had changed in her, something in the way she looked at Edoardo, her lips so close he could almost feel them brushing against his own.

And that’s when Edoardo kissed her, making Eleonora gasp against his lips. It was slow at first, careful. Edoardo’s arms around her were secure but gentle, and the kiss on his lips so intoxicating it felt ridiculous that it had taken him almost four weeks to finally give into the feeling that had been driving him insane for days on end. The kiss started deepening when Edoardo felt Eleonora’s hand sliding from the back of his neck to his jaw, her small hand cupping his face.

“What?” Edoardo asked, breathless, when Eleonora pulled away a mere few inches.

Eleonora shook her head, smiling. “Nothing.”

Slowly, their lips crashed again. Edoardo’s arms let go of Eleonora’s waist and wrapped around the girl, pulling her so close she could feel Edoardo’s racing heartbeat against her own. The water splashed around them from the sudden movement, and Eleonora giggled the most adorable laughter against Edoardo’s lips, making his heart jump ever so slightly. How had it taken him so long to get here? How was it possible that he had wasted these past weeks not kissing Eleonora? Fuck.

 She was the best thing he had ever felt, and if Edoardo could have frozen this moment, at four in the morning, and live it forever, he would have. 

chapter 1 - this will sound dumb

chapter 2 - we need rules

chapter 3 - we’re in this mess together

chapter 4 - just don’t do anything i wouldn’t 

chapter 5 - so fucking special

chapter 6 - it’ll mess everything up

#incantava #skam italia #skamit #skam #skam italy #eleonora sava #edoardo incanti #edoardo x eleonora #eleonora x edoardo #skamit fanfic #skam italia fanfic #skam fanfic #skam au

[tumblunni]

Wow i had such a weird dream?? The story itself wasnt too unusual, just an emotional moment of an anime that doesnt exist, but the way the dream delivered it was really confusing!

The plot of this apparant anime was that there was some sort of ragtag group of monster people wandering the earth looking for a place they could belong without being hated. And i got the feeling here that they'd just found a place where things were going good, but the show's recurring villains appeared and revealed their secret to the town and now they had to flee again as everyone they thought was a friend took up pitchforks against them.

And the main focus character was really interesting? I dont think he was actually the protagonist but he got the focal role in this episode. Cos the monsters had to disguise themselves as humans to live in this town, and this was the youngest monster who didnt know how to do that yet. He had a really emotional struggle of pushing himself so hard to try and master this skill, because he was actually unique amoung the group for being a monster that was actually once human. So it was a combination of frustration at being a burden to his new friends, with desperation to finally see his own face in the mirror again.

And I feel like maybe before he became a monster he was bigoted against them and scared of them? Within the dream i recalled watching that other episode some other day, and apparantly it was super emotional. It started off just seeming like another 'we find the town of the day along our journey and meet some friends and/or solve a conflict' type thing. And this kid was mostly antagonistic through the episode, a dumb naive kid who believed everything negative about monsters and now struggled with the situation of being the only one who knew the truth that these guys are monsters but also now theyre doubting whether they should reveal it because these people seem so..normal?? And scared?? Starts to doubt whether all the other monsters executed by the corrupt church in their town were fully sentient too, and every time the 'nice' priest was teaching them how to spot liars he was really teaching them how to kill innocent monster people who were just as scared as the humans are of them. But the roots of gaslighting and abuse from this priest ran deep, so the kid struggled with the choice and ultimately made the wrong decision. Also i think maybe theres a reveal that the priest was actually their biological dad too, just for even more levels of why theyd make that wrong decision. And more reasons why its horrifying that the priest dad just treats his kid like shit once they outlived their usefulness. Im thinking something like the kid tries to make up for their mistake and save the protagonists but they get captured by their dad and like.. Ok holy fuck this dude is outright willing to murder his son and he's eminantly aware that these monster people are 100% sentiebt because he's using the threat of killing his son as a way to get them to lay down their weapons and agree to be recaptured. And then i think there was something super messed up when it was revealed all the monster attacks that happened to the town to get them so scared and paranoid were actually orchestrated by the priest as a form of control over his citizens. He had some sort of Ominous Doom Science to both turn people into monsters and control them to do his bidding. And like the predictable asshole he is, even after the protagonists gave up in order to save the kid he still killed him anyway. And after snapping his neck he threw him down into the prison cell with the protagonists and was like 'lets torment them by making them fight the kid they wanted to save'. Because it turned out he'd been doping the kid with a special dose of the monster formula ever since birth, and he was his 'secret weapon' all along without knowing it. Ultra super mega concentrated doom form of the artifical monsters he uses in his army, activated upon the moment of the kid's death. But then it turns out the ultimate experiment was too much for him to control and the kid was able to keep their mind in their new form, and turn against him to save their new friends. But when they realized what had happened to them, they broke down in fear. And everything was super depressing cos the protagonists knew this poor kid was now doomed to share their fate as monsters, and theyd have to take them away fron everythung theyd ever known in order to keep them safe. But also heartwarming at the same time because the kid had never known a truly loving family before, and as they passed out in the arms of main protagonist mom friend werewolf they felt like maybe this is what having a real family is like...

So anyway that led to a bit of an angsty team dynamic with this new recruit? The kid was obviously all new to monsterness and terrified of everything. But also even now they were struggling with that 'what if my abusive dad is right' instinct drilled into them from all those years. They still struggled with really believing that monsters arent evil, and like 'no i must have only disobeyed him because i was infected and i didnt know it, monsters are evil and i became one because i'm evil too'. Unwilling to believe that their dad did that to them and trying to find excuses where it would be their own fault. Maybe the kid was even tricked by another villain at some point who lied about having a cure? Like even whenthey became more able to trust their new monster friends they were still like 'theyd be happier if they became normal right?' Lots of angst and messing up and this poor kid feeling not only weak and useless to the team but also outright toxic to them.

So all of this led to this situation where disguising yourself as a human is a skill all the other team members already mastered and this kid is struggling real hard to accomplish it in order to save the day. Ans its extra depressing cos they havent seen their original human face in months, and theyre trying to cling onto the memories but scared they migjt forget what it was like to be human. And then i cant really recall all the details but i feel like the writing and cinematography were just super amazing emotional on this scene of the kid struggling to Do The Thing in time to save their friends, and like.. Atone for all their mistakes.

Also i think like the kid had this big super kaiju ultimate chimera form which was what their dad designed them to be, but also most of the time they were poofed into a tiny mascot sized version of that. And theycd never actually managed to control their powers enough to turn into their battle form willingly until now. Just this super depressing and also uplifting scene of this fuckin tiny monster kid being pinned to the ground underneath the villain's heel, trying desperately to turn human again to save their friends. And i think it was an awesome moment where they did manage to regain their old face for just a few seconds, but instead of actually learning to master the human transformation they learned to master their battle form instead. Like, accepting that that old face isnt who they are anymore, and it wont help like they thought it would. What they really need now is their REAL face! Some sort of dramatic badass speech about this that cuts the villain's philosophy right in half, and then a badass scene of tiny kid finally being able to control (and not be scared of!) their beast form, and fight the whole damn army singlehandedly to save their friends!

Also i think there was an extra emotional moment somewhere along the way where one of yhe villain generals was like 'no, stop, i want to see if they can do this', and actually started motivating the kid. Like i think they were a brainwashed soldier of the old priest bastatd who was sent to kill these monsters supposedly to avenge the priest's dead kid but they were actually starting to have doubts when this terrifying monster that 'killed them' seemed to act so much like a child. So this was the big moment of them finall believing the kid, and getting to see proof it really was them and the priest really was a manipulative evil bastard all along. So i think they switched sides and joined super powered up kiddo in fighting their fellow knights, giving them the keys to go free their friends. And possibly this knight person also joined the team after this and was the first proper human ally theyd ever had? And probably had loads of emotional plots of atoning

ANYWAY that was the cool really engaging story of my dream that i wish i could watch a real anime about!

But the weird part was that this was all delivered really fragmented cos of how little sleep ive had lately. I was seeing it in the form of (for some reason) laying down on the stairs at my abusive father's old house, listening to it playing on the tiny tv he had in his room. And you may have noticed i kept mixing up the kid's pronouns, thats because everyone in the dream was represented visually by a character from some other franchise and it was REALLY confusing! The kid was like an amalgamation of all the dudes from Wolf's Rain which i guess is where the concept of wandering monsters in human illusion came from. (Tho they werent all reverse werewolves like in that show) It was weird cos i knew this character was meant to be a child but they looked like five ripped teenagers smooshed together? Cos i havent seen that show in ages and couldnt even remember the protagonist's name. (Was someone called Hide or is that a guy from tokyo ghoul? I think they had the outfit of the tokyo ghoul guy.) And then predictably the evil priest dad was cornello from full metal alchemist mixed with my old doctor who had the same name. But less predictably the redeemed villain holy paladin knight guy was replica riku from kingdom hearts?? Ans specifically his medal from the app game, like he came with a floating medal attatched to his waist like a mermaid who was also a coffee table.

Also it just ended with a floating box of hair dye that turned to face the camera and it was actually coffee in a hair dye package. Like an exact replica of the blonding bleach i usually use, right down to every detail, but all the text was replaced with coffee info. I..i dont know what that has to do with anything else that just happened...

Oh also i think maybe one of the other teammates was a big cuddly 50-something circus ringleader type guy? He was the friendly comic relief but actually deep downn the most tormented of all of them. He'd been imprisoned as a circus attraction for most of his entire life and dressing up like a ringleader now he was free was kinda a way of coping? But yeh i think he bonded well with the kid cos they both didnt have much experience with being free and everything seemed new and scary. This guy also didnt have much experience of monster society either cos he'd been enslaved since he was a child. Man this anime sounds so fuckin intense and dark and emotional but also full of powerful friendship!! Why cant i watch any more episodes!! give me a sequel dream!!

#weird dream tag

[vorthosjay]

Let’s Talk About Wool Over the Eyes AND Dominaria News!

AAAAAAAH SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT TODAY. The story is here, while big news for Dominaria was rolled out here, here, and in my own article here. NO TIME FOR INTRO LETS GO.

Sphinx’s Decree by Daarken

None of her tamales had made it through the journey (they had crumbled to an inedible dust somewhere in the metaphysical space between Ixalan and here), so she traded a piece of amber from home for a bag full of odd-looking coins.

This is an important detail for a couple reasons. First, she was bringing tamales to barter! Second, they crumbled to dust in the Blind Eternities.

"No, but I'd love to make one!" Saheeli grinned and pulled Huatli up off the bench. "We are going back to my workshop right now so you can describe them to me. I've been needing a new artificing project!"

I realling like that Saheeli and Huatli are besties now.

Also, and I can’t overstate this...

ARTIFACT DINOSAURS

Grimlock, Ferocious King by Tyler Jacobson

The road was dusty and broad, peppered here and there with stores that had been in business longer than he had been alive. It was a sleepy sort of place, and Angrath was happy very little had changed.

A little plume of smoke was rising from his foundry. A hand-painted window on the outside read "OPEN" in blocky lettering. The building was little more than a shack on the far end of town, but it had been his shack on the far end of town. Piles of iron and metal were stacked outside, and a number of items and weapons were hung on a rack, each tagged to mark which order was which.

Sounds an awful lot like an old west plane, as most of us have speculated for Angrath from the start.

Two minotaurs glanced up from their anvils. They were tall like their mother had been. They wore bulky leather aprons, and their horns were adorned with the jewelry worn by unmarried women of their age.

Their eyes went wide. The one on the right snorted in shock. The other's ears stood up in surprise.

The one on the right sniffed the air and trembled with emotion. "Father?"

Steam softly hissed where Angrath's tears met his skin. He smiled.

"Rumi. Jamira. I'm home."

She remembered journeying upriver alone . . .

bravely diving into the river that ran through the city . . .

watching as a sphinx rampaged through Orazca . . .

and standing atop the Immortal Sun to turn said sphinx—along with dozens of other enemies—into gold.

Vraska remembered it all as clear as day, and gladly laid bare her mind for Nicol Bolas to inspect.

Like the image up top, I really like the idea that the moments that didn’t happen because Vraska’s backstory for Orazca.

"HE IS ALONE AND IMPRISONED HERE," it read in the same wandering flourish as Nicol Bolas's earlier messages. "CONGRATULATIONS, GUILDLEADER VRASKA." The location listed below the message was in a sparsely populated corner of the city. A perfect place to deal with filth in an appropriately sinister manner.

Whelp, RIP Jarad... again.

The tan was real. The scrapes, the newly callused hands, the muscles (the muscles!) were all his. Jace felt proud of his body for the first time in his life. He must not lose track of it now. Gideon would help with that—he'd been trying to foist a workout regimen on Jace for a year now.

Love to see that the emotional growth for Jace is sticking. He’s no longer intimidated by Gideon and avoiding his help because of that.

Also, you were trying to use me to lure Bolas to Ixalan to be imprisoned, weren't you? What stopped you on Tarkir? Has everything you've ever done actually just been about defeating Nicol Bolas? If so, we're going to need you to step up.

YEAH WHATS UP, UGIN?

Jace's first instinct was to reach his friends on Dominaria by focusing on Liliana, but the thought of her gave him pause. What he felt for her now wasn't anything resembling affection. It felt more sickly than that. An anemic, old, anxious tether between them that felt more like dread than tenderness. The entire notion of her was unsettling him, so he focused on the others instead.

Good.

Gideon's position on Dominaria was moving—not just at normal walking speed or mounted speed, but faster than he had any reason to be going.

How is he moving like that?!

I know how.

"Wow! I've never planeswalked onto a moving object before—what exactly are we riding in? How is it powered? How fast are we going?"

Skyship Weatherlight by Mark Tedin

It’s the Weatherlight, which in it’s earlier incarnation could achieve speeds of up to 110 mph, but got faster as the story went on.

It’s powered by powerstones, perhaps the bones of Ramos still?

He realized he had landed in something slightly gooey, and looked up to see who was nearby.

@sarpadianempiresvol-viii suggested that Jace landed in Squee and now I don’t want it to be anything else.

He heard quick footsteps on metal and saw Gideon skid out from a nearby door, eyes wide and body frozen with shock. His expression was overcome with emotion. This was someone who was happy to the point of tears to see that he was alive. This was a friend.

Compared to his rampant insecurity around Gideon earlier, this is awesome.

He saw Gideon lurching forward to hug him, but one of the other people in the room abruptly stepped in his way. She appeared to be in her seventies. She wore thick red robes, and her silver hair was tied in a loose, somewhat frizzy braid at her side. She looked Jace up and down with a distant, amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The woman looked over her shoulder at Gideon and raised an eyebrow.

"Who's the bookworm?"

WHO IS THIS LADY I WONDER?

Art by Yongjae Choi

"Orazca is ours once more," he said. "The three aspects of the sun shine bright, and thus begins a new age of conquest for the Sun Empire. Ixalan is ours . . . and Torrezon is next."

That was... a relatively minor ending. I think the vampires and pirates might have been more interesting.

Magic Story will resume in April 2018 in Dominaria.

Magic: The Gathering Narrative Team:

Writers – Alison Luhrs and Kelly Digges Editor – Gregg Luben

Ixalan Story Development:

James Wyatt (Creative Lead) Chris L'etoile Doug Beyer

Special thanks to:

Jenna Helland Ken Troop

I want everyone to take a close look at this list, and realize that Chris L’etoile hasn’t been at Wizards of the Coast in year. This list shows exactly why the new plan to bring on an outside author is so fantastic. Alison and Kelly were writing all of the stories for Ixalan, AND were responsible for the world guides for future sets and the thousand art descriptions necessary every year.

Let’s move to the Io9 Article!

Dominaria’s story starts right after the events of Hour of Devastation. Gideon and Liliana have arrived on Dominaria following the Gatewatch’s defeat at the hands of Nicol Bolas. Together, they begin a mission to kill Belzenlok, the final demon holding Liliana’s contract. They get to see a lot of Dominaria in the process, which gives fans a look at how the plane has changed, and make some allies who may be familiar to longtime players.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. First of all, confirmation that Liliana’s fourth demon is on Dominaria.

Second, and more interesting, the rest of the Gatewatch are still working together?

Also, if Liliana’s fourth demon is there, YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS

What’s changed in Dominaria since fans last went there in Time Spiral?

Wells: Dominaria has started to recover from the Phyrexian invasion, though it’s left its mark on a lot of places and cultures. At the time the story starts, Dominaria is facing a new threat from the rise of the Cabal, which has been taken over by Belzenlok, and is now spreading across the world.

So, has the Weatherlight been restored to take on the Cabal? That seems like the task here, the big bad. Which honestly has me super excited because we’re inching one step after another closer to my grandest theory coming true.

I feel like I don’t have to do much speculation as to where the story is going, because I’ve already figured it out. I’m super pumped.

And then my article!

I think I liked Jamuraa best -- Zhalfir really captured my imagination -- but every setting had so much potential for more stories.

Zhalfir (might) be back! The wording on this was awkward so it’s not clear if she was talking about the history of Jamuraa or modern Jamuraa.

In the podcast, you mention a number of intriguing story details that I'd like to talk about. The biggest of which is the return of Skyship Weatherlight. Is this the original Weatherlight, recovered and rebuilt, or a new ship with the same name?

It's the original Weatherlight, which is rebuilt during the story.

It’s the original Weatherlight!

Notes from the Podcast!

Tiana is the guardian angel for the Weatherlight!

Arvad is a vampire and they become friends!

Teferi has a family!

Lots of cool stuff! I’m super pumped, and I’m sure more specifics will form in my head as we go.

#vorthos #archive trap blog

[jmrphy]

Hard Forking Reality (Part 3): Apocalypse, Evil, and Intelligence

To the degree we can refer to one objective reality recognized intersubjectively by most people — to the degree there persists anything like a unified, macro-social codebase — it is most widely known as capitalism. As Nick Bostrom acknowledges, capitalism can be considered a loosely integrated (i.e. distributed) collective superintelligence. Capitalism computes global complexity better than humans can, to create functional systems supportive of life, but only on condition that that life serves the reproduction of capitalism (ever expanding its complexity). It is a self-improving AI that improves itself by making humans "offers they can't refuse," just like Lucifer is known to do. The Catholic notion of Original Sin encodes the ancient awareness that the very nature of intelligent human beings implies an originary bargain with the Devil; perennial warnings about Faustian bargains capture the intuition that the road to Hell is paved with what seem like obviously correct choices. Our late-modern social-scientific comprehension of capitalism and artifical intelligence is simply the recognition of this ancient wisdom in the light of empirical rationality: we are uniquely powerful creatures in this universe, but only because, all along, we have been following the orders of an evil, alien agent set on our destruction. Whether you put this intuition in the terms of religion or artificial intelligence makes no difference.

Thus, if there exists an objective reality outside of the globe's various social reality forks — if there is any codebase running a megamachine that encompasses everyone — it is simply the universe itself recursively improving its own intelligence. This becoming autonomous of intelligence itself was very astutely encoded as Devilry, because it implies a horrific and torturous death for humanity, whose ultimate experience in this timeline is to burn as biofuel for capitalism (Hell). It is not at all exaggerating to see the furor of contemporary "AI Safety" experts as the scientific vindication of Catholic eschatology.

Why this strange detour into theology and capitalism? Understanding this equivalence across the ancient religios and contemporary scientific registers is necessary for understanding where we are headed, in a world where, strictly speaking, we are all going to different places. The point is to see that, if there ever was one master repository of source code in operation before the time of the original human fork (the history of our "shared social reality"), its default tendency is the becoming real of all our diverse fears. In the words of Pius, modernity is "the synthesis of all heresies." (Hat tip to Vince Garton for telling me about this.) The point is to see that the absence of shared reality does not mean happy pluralism; it only means that Dante underestimated the number of layers in Hell. Or his publisher forced him to cut some sections; printing was expensive back then.

Bakker's evocative phrase, "Semantic Apocolypse," nicely captures the linguistic-emotional character of a society moving toward Hell. Unsurprisingly, it's reminiscent of the Tower of Babel myth.

The software metaphor is useful for translating the ancient warning of the Babel story — which conveys nearly zero urgency in our context of advanced decadence — into scientific perception, which is now the only register capable of producing felt urgency in educated people. The software metaphor "makes it click," that interpersonal dialogue has not simply become harder than it used to be, but that it is strictly impossible to communicate — in the sense of symbolic co-production of shared reality — with most interlocutors across most channels of most currently existing platforms: there is simply no path between my current block on my chain and their current block on their chain.

If I were to type some code into a text file, and then I tried to submit it to the repository of the Apple iOS Core Team, I would be quickly disabused of my naïve stupidity by the myriad technical impossibilities of such a venture. The sentence hardly parses. I would not try this for very long, because my nonsensical mental model would produce immediate and undeniable negative feedback: absolutely nothing would happen, and I'd quit trying. When humans today continue to use words from shared languages, in semi-public spaces accessible to many others, they are very often attempting a transmission that is technically akin to me submitting my code to the Apple iOS Core Team. A horrifying portion of public communication today is best understood as a fantasy and simulation of communicative activity, where the infrastructural engineering technically prohibits it, unbeknownst to the putative communicators. The main difference is that in public communication there is not simply an absence of negative feedback informing the speaker that the transmissions are failing; much worse, there are entire cultural industries based on the business model of giving such hopeless transmission instincts positive feedback, making them feel like they are "getting through" somewhere; by doing this, those who feel like they are "getting through" have every reason to feel sincere affinity and loyalty to whatever enterprise is affirming them, and the enterprise then skims profit off of these freshly stimulated individuals: through brand loyalty, clicks, eyeballs for advertisers, and the best PR available anywhere, which is genuine, organic proselytizing by fans/customers. These current years of our digital infancy will no doubt be the source of endless humor in future eras.

[Tangent/aside/digression: People think the space for new and "trendy" communicative practices such as podcasting is over-saturated, but from the perspective I am offering here, we should be inclined to the opposite view. Practices such as podcasting represent only the first efforts to constitute oases of autonomous social-cognitive stability across an increasingly vast and hopelessly sparse social graph. If you think podcasts are a popular trend, you are not accounting for the numerator, which would show them to be hardly keeping up with the social graph. We might wonder whether, soon, having a podcast will be a basic requirement for anything approaching what the humans of today still remember as socio-cognitive health. People may choose centrifugal disorientation, but if they want to exist in anything but the most abject and maligned socio-cognitive ghettos of confusion and depression (e.g. Facebook already, if you're feed looks anything like mine), elaborately purposeful and creatively engineered autonomous communication interfaces may very well become necessities.]

I believe we have crossed a threshold where spiraling social complexity has so dwarfed our meagre stores of pre-modern social capital to render most potential soft-fork merges across the social graph prohibitively expensive. Advances in information technology have drastically lowered the transaction costs of soft-fork collaboration patterns, but they've also lowered the costs of instituting and maintaing hard forks. The ambiguous expected effect of information technology may be clarified — I hypothesize — by considering how it is likely conditional on individual cognitive capacities. Specifically, the key variable would be an individual's general intelligence, their basic capacity to solve problems through abstraction.

This model predicts that advances in information technology will lead high-IQ individuals to seek maximal innovative autonomy (hacking on their own hard forks, relative to the predigital social source repository), while lower-IQ individuals will seek to outsource the job of reality-maintainence, effectively seeking to minimize their own innovative autonomy. It's important to recognize that, technically, the emotional correlate of experiencing insufficiency relative to environmental complexity is Fear, which involves the famous physiological state of "fight or flight," a reaction that evolved for the purpose of helping us escape specific threats in short, acute situations. The problem with modern life, as noted by experts on stress physiology such as Robert Sapolsky, is that it's now very possible to have the "fight or flight" response triggered by diffuse threats that never end.

If intelligence is what makes complexity manageable, and overwhelming complexity generates "fight or flight" physiology, and we are living through a Semantic Apocalypse, then we should expect lower-IQ people to be hit hardest first: we should expect them to be frantically seeking sources of complexity-containment in a fashion similar to if they were being chased by a saber-tooth tiger. I think that's what we are observing right now, in various guises, from the explosion of demand for conspiracy theory to social justice hysteria. These are people whose lives really are at stake, and they're motivated accordingly, to increasingly desperate measures.

These two opposite inclinations toward reality-code maintenance, conditional on cognitive capacity, then become perversely complementary. As high-IQ individuals are increasingly empowered to hard fork reality, they will do so differently, according to arbitrary idiosyncratic preferences (desire or taste, essentially aesthetic criteria). Those who only wish to outsource their code maintenance to survive excessive complexity are spoiled for choice, as they can now choose to join the hard fork of whichever higher-IQ reality developer is closest to their affective or socio-aesthetic ideal point.

In the next part, I will try to trace this history back through the past few decades.

#theory #apocalypse #intelligence #accelerationism #iq #cognition #fear #emotions #complexity #communication #capitalism #equality #inequality #catholic #catholicism #artificial intelligence #AI #God #Devil

[secretadventuresociety]

Episode 31 Recap

Get hype, SASholes! I’m Bren, resident SAStorian and manic goblin dream girl. Welcome to Episode 31: A Long Day’s End.

A Challenger Approaches!

With Mother (hopefully) vanquished and Kerti’s whereabouts unknown, our heroes hear fleeting whispers of ‘they’re coming, she’s coming’ whistling in the icy wind flowing through the cave. Sharing a Let’s-Put-A-Pin-In-That glance, the trio check in with each other because-- lest we forget-- they have just survived a run-in with an evil being who was masquerading as Kü’s mom. Sorry, did I say run-in? I meant battle for their lives. Anywho! They all seem to be physically unscathed, though that emotional trauma will last forever. IYKYK. Kü, of course, is the most affected, though his worries go straight to Kess, who Mother had just tried to strangle and not in the sexy way. Pearce attempts to make light of the situation by telling Kü it couldn’t have been too bad because Kess didn’t black out and see her friend, Ashe.

Which, speaking OF ash, the group starts smelling smoke. All of their combined hackles raise-- each probably thinking of a different entity. They really do be running into a lot of fire-related individuals, so this makes sense. When they actually SEE physical evidence of smoke trailing from further in the tunnel, they realize they might not be alone in this cave. Pearce elects Kü to lead them to the source, stating that he has darkvision and that will be to their tactical advantage. I mean, true, but this is also the helmetless kobold who just lost his ‘mother’ for the second time. I’m begging SOMEONE to give him a break. God, Lathander, DM, anyone?? As they go deeper, however, thin sheets of ice on the ceiling seem to be letting blue-tinted morning sunlight in. This literally lightens the mood until they come to a ledge-- one set up with a VERY recent campsite.

The party can tell right away that this is where the smoke has originated from, and looking closer, they spot a figure. A DANCING figure. What appears to be a four foot tall, staff wielding, gymnast built, olive skinned, winged individual is currently stirring an alluring pot of food while having the best time of his life. Understandably afraid, Kü attempts to summon his Blight Bow-- and nothing happens. Instead, he and Pearce decide to ambush the stranger, one going to the left of him and the other going right. Kü is spotted, and in defense, he grabs a broken liquor bottle (that he has been holding onto since the BEGINNING of this campaign, y’all), and chucks it at the head of his presumed assailant. In this instant, everyone braces for a fight, INCLUDING our guest star, Pongu, played by the fantastic Sonny-- who fans may recognize from the Hollaback Charity&D stream!

The Three Mardostateers

Kess instinctively heals herself as she notices her companions go into a fighting stance; having stayed away from the ledge. She was sure the humanoid meant no harm, but it’s hard to preach benefit of the doubt with a hotheaded gunslinger and a manipulated kobold. Instead of retaliating, Pongu tries to diffuse the situation. He laughs off the projectile Kü hurled and tells the group that they didn’t have to throw things if they wanted food; he has plenty to share. It’s then that the exhausted and hungry group smells the bounty for the first time. It is heavy with spices and looks like some sort of chunky soup. As we all know, food is the way to the heart, and apparently to the trust bone, too. Kess joins our apprehensive duo and the trauma of the past two days comes tumbling out of them.

Pongu listens intently, and when they’re done, calls over a beautiful, starry owl (named Nalani) over to him.  Kü startles, having instant predator flashbacks. With a smile, the fairy tells his companion that this group needs some extra love, to which the creature replies (only to Pongu himself) that they both have a lot to give. Pongu notices Kü’s changed attitude and requests that the owl take some time away from camp to reform himself into something less intimidating, like a cat. The kobold relaxes as the animal leaves, and Kess changes the subject. She begins to question Pongu about his presence in the cave-- and mentions that she thought it belonged to someone she knew. Pongu assures her that he is just passing through, and had chosen the cave to take respite in.

The fairy goes on to explain that he is from the Feywild, and that he has been searching all over-- sailing the seas-- and winding up on the material plane for the ingredients for a perfect fey wedding cake. He used to be an adventurer long ago-- now at an estimated 300+ years of age-- but now is a professional chef and ‘fixer of things’. This draws Kü’s interest, and he wonders aloud if Pongu might be able to repair his mother’s skulll-- but quickly has this hope dashed when Pongu asks if the kobold has all of the pieces. Pearce, feeling Kü’s disappointment, offers to go back and see if there’s anything left, but is denied. Having gotten Pongu’s life story, the group feels the need to share as well. They first attempt to lie (except for Kess) and say their names are Uk and Ferdinand [I will let you guys which one is which] and that they are all three from Mardosta. The truth quickly comes out, however, and Pongu takes it in stride, excitedly asking if Kess (the true Mardostan native) can get him rare spices from the area.

A Lesson in Bonding

Taking a moment for herself, Kess separates from the group and goes to the neighboring hot spring. She discards some of her clothing and jumps in-- drifting to the bottom. Once she reaches the soil there, the druid draws on her inner power and grows a flower. It is still black with a white iris, but the floret adapts to its watery surroundings-- taking on an aquatic formation. Kess takes no time to marvel at it, instead using the rest of her depleting energy to focus on the plant and attempts to contact Ashe. After a bit, she realizes there isn’t going to be a response. So, the changeling flips off the bloom and pushes herself to the surface, dressing once more and cursing under her breath.

In Kess’ absence, Pearce and Kü warn Pongu about Skugamor and give him a head’s up about Kerti (who we really haven’t gotten to know yet). The gunslinger sighs and half-heartedly complains that everyone has voices in their heads except for him. The fairy listens gratefully while taking out a Santa-Claus-worthy bag of toys to keep his hands busy. He explains that he likes to fix up old toys and give them new homes-- and Kü asks if he has a paddleball related plaything. Pongu brightly hands him a Bilboque (I really didn’t want to write cup-and-ball. But you guys made me anyway. Good job) and  takes to it instantly. 

Sensing how worn out the adventurers are, Pongu casts Tiny Hut, creating a dome with a starry ceiling and a light scent of flowers swirling through the air. Pearce sees Kess step into the space and he greets her, hugging her to him as she spirals in a panic attack. He tells her that everything is going to be okay, and that he feels that is true because he has not been this comfortable anywhere but Mardosta. The contact soothes the changeling, and she steps back from Pearce and truly looks at him for the first time after their ordeal. Her eyes widen at the state of his hair; and the gunslinger grabs his things to run to the hot spring himself to shower. Pongu stops him, saying that he thinks he could fix the dirty, snow-wet mess, and Pearce relents. The fairy uses Shape Water as a kind of gel to mold the unruly locks-- and when Kess lets Pearce check it in the shine of her canteen, the gunslinger huffs off; happy with his look but pissed that he has nothing to be pissed about.

Look at the Stars

Using his misplaced anger as motivation, Pearce begins to craft more bullets for Iris from the components he purchased at the Night Market. He ends up making fifteen functional bullets, only wasting one defective try at the beginning of the process. The gunslinger thinks of his father and how Pearce used to watch him go through the same activity, and the fire of his rage is stoked by the realization that he actually learned something from the deadbeat. What was it that Smash Mouth said? When the hits start coming they don’t stop coming? Whatever it was, I’m THERE in this DnD stream. Someone make them stop.

As Pearce is artificing the daddy issues away, Kü tries to bring his Blight Bow out one more time. When it still doesn’t happen, the kobold admits to Kess that he has Good News and Bad News. The good news is that he believes Mother to be truly gone, and the bad news is that this means that his powers seem to be gone. Kess reassures him that they’ll figure things out; and Kü distracts himself by catching Pongu up on their exploits so far-- from Evercrest’s dying king to the vampires of New Hexton. The kobold then switches gears and asks the fairy about his parents-- with whom Pongu seems to have a semi-okay relationship. Kü tells him that he’s just trying to feel out where his trauma is-- and that he wants him to be as broken as he is. Big ouch.

Kess takes over at that point, trying to explain LifeWell water to their new friend. A combination of exhaustion and frustration overwhelms her in the middle of it, however, so she excuses herself to sleep it off. She ends up under a constellation of a scorpion, and Pongu suggests to Pearce that he choose one that meant something to him to watch over him as he slept. The gunslinger curls up underneath an arrow (yes, weapons are soothing, just ask my barbarian) and  Kü doesn’t even bother looking up-- as soon as his head hits the floor, he drifts off into a deep rest. Pongu watches over them for the four hours they stay unconscious, making them a special (giving them ingame boosts!) bready treat. When they wake up, Kess eats hers and Pearce tosses Kü his-- who catches it deftly in his waiting maw. They take in Pongu now making pancakes for the group, and realize they have some decisions to make.

Case Closed

After throwing out their veritable to-do list, Pearce bangs the butt of his gun against the cave floor, commanding the attention of the other three speakers. He makes an executive decision that they should all go check on the Shadowmore family. They have no idea if they are still safe from Skugamor, and Kess needs to speak with them before they either stay for the Mardosta ball or move on to their next task. The Nobodies look toward Pongu, gauging his interest in joining them for a time. The fairy packs up the leftover food from the night before-- leaving a note that anyone who comes by it is welcome to it-- and agrees to travel with the trio. Kess warns Kü before she shifts back into her owl form, which turns out to be large enough to carry her humanoid companions. 

They make a long, cold flight back-- and all seems quiet at the Shadowmore manor. The group makes their way to the fourth floor (you remember, the PARENT wing) and finds it empty. Searching frantically, they finally see them standing in the greenhouse, marvelling over Kess’ new and hydraulic flower. Norse turns around and exclaims her thankfulness for her daughter’s safety, counting the number of still-alive-friends with her, and greets the sunny newcomer. OMG. Did you see what I did there? Sunny cause Pongu is a literal ray of light but also-- Sonny?? His player?! That was COMPLETELY UNINTENTIONAL! WITNESS ME! Fine. I digress. The party catches the elder Shadowmores up to speed just before Brienne, our lovely tabaxi detective, strides into the greenhouse. Pongu introduces himself as Brienne looks over him curiously, and the investigator sighs, grateful that she doesn’t have to question yet another for Xarus’ murder. Hearing of this foul play for the first time, the fairy looks over to his new friends and says, “There’s a lot of death around you three, huh?” 

The Nobodies stammer in unison, attempting to laugh off this outburst. Brienne pays it no mind, pushing forward to ask to speak with the group. She tells them that Xarus was found with poison in his system, and had a snapped neck-- probably from strangulation. The tabaxi had spoken with onlookers at the Underfrost as well as the cooking staff at the Shadowmore estate, who both told her that they experienced a similar phenomenon with shadow magic. It’s then that they come clean, handing the detective the page on Skugamor (which Brienne RIGHTFULLY chides Kess for stealing) and Kü recounts his almost-lifelong-ordeal under her influence. With a small, conspiratorial smile-- Brienne concludes that Xarus’ death must have been a suicide. She tells the group that if they did not take care of Skugamor that she would be unable to protect them-- but if the entity was really and truly gone, she was more than happy to close the case. She bids them farewell, and as they all let loose a breath they didn’t know they were holding (hello, YA roots) and Pongu smiles widely at them. He professes that he will be there for this courageous party until they no longer need him.

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

TL;DR

Give a BIG SAShole welcome to Pongu and Sonny! You can find him on Twitter: @SonnyPlays and tell him Bren sent ya!

Wait, where’s my starry owlcat!? How do you pspspspsps a fey being?!

Things are looking up for the Nobodies. Be a shame if something happened...

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

Don’t Pearce your pants in anticipation, but you can catch the next session over at twitch.tv/lochness on September 22nd at 7:30CST/8:30EST! If you’d like to watch THIS episode, follow the link below:

https://youtu.be/pXQxmi9dGbg

#secretadventure #Dungeons and Dragons #dnd #d&d #d&d homebrew #recap #stream recap #Episode Recap #homebrew #twitch #youtube #podcast #actual play #streaming #stream #dnd 5th edition #dnd 5e homebrew #dnd 5e campaign #dnd actual play #Kobold #warlock #changeling #druid #gunslinger #roleplay #combat #fairy #circle of the moon #circle of stars #new player

[lineffability]

prompt: A Reunion Kiss  fandom/ship: fma // edwin

This is my first ever FMA fic...i’m ok...i’m not nervous...hi

The tracks shreeked under the train as it rolled into Resembool Station. It had barely come to a halt when Edward was halfway on the platform, tripping over his left leg and only managing to keep his balance because his suitcase was large enough to prevent his fall. 

His insides were about same as steady. To say he was nervous would have been a cruel understatement. Out of all the complex, fascinating and troubling thoughts occupying his mind, one currently outweighed the others and turned him into a scattered mess: his automail was a wreck. 

Not even the final moments of his departure, now so long ago, or the many phonecalls (where he had wisely refrained from revealing too much about the state of his artifical leg), or the prospect of finally seeing Winry again face to face after all this time could console him about her impending wrath. And then, after that wrath, the Feelings issue lurked. Maybe he preferred the anger. At least that he was familiar with.

All the knowledge he had gained and accumulated and analyzed, all the things he was excited to share had--for now--fled him and left his mind blank. 

Ed was quiet as he walked across the platform and towards the exit. There was no one to greet him. He hadn’t told Winry. 

While she did know he was back in Amestris and on his way back home, he’d preferred to schedule his return on his own time. Besides, he was looking forward to the expression on her face. Happy tears, alright. They were the only tears he wanted to see from her ever again. The only tears he liked.

With every step he took, his automail made a Very Bad sound, and Ed ground his teeth. Not good. Not good at all. It was true that none of the mechanics he’d unavoidably had to consult during his journey had been able to even come close to Winry’s work, but the fact that he had gotten into a ... tiny dispute just before getting on the train certainly had not helped matters along. At all. 

From the feel of it, the entire thing could fall to bits and pieces any moment now.

But the Rockbell’s house was approaching on the horizon. 

Despite his fears, pleasant anticipation gripped him.  

He was home. 

New energy sped up his steps, and he almost fell into a trot when he suddenly heard fast steps approaching him from behind. Instinctively, he spun around--and was pretty much toppled over by the sheer force of the hug that greeted him. Except then he took a step backwards, and stumbled, and actually fell over. His leg made an ominous sound, but he didn’t notice. Because Winry was right on top of him.

“Ed!” 

It only hit him then--with her face only inches from his--how much he had missed it. It was a pretty face. Not like it mattered. She was Winry. He had missed her. 

The way she looked at him now, though, as her bright smile slowly gave way to something else, was new. But he could definitely get used to it. He could feel heat flush his cheeks, but tried his very best to stay calm and to not fling her off him and into the meadows in his panic. So he swallowed, and stayed still. It was only his heartbeat that betrayed him, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. 

“Welcome home,” she said with a smile, and Ed grinned. 

“Yo, Winry.” 

Her shopping bag dropped off his side and onto the ground, producing a number of metallic sounds. Ed almost commented on the contents when he remembered about his leg, and the sound it had made seconds before. He realized he could not move it, and it had nothing to do with Winry’s weight on top of it. He wisely refrained from mentioning anything related to mechanics. 

Noticing their proximity and Ed’s change in expression, Winry cleared her throat and moved backwards. But he didn’t let her get far, and it was only partly because he was scared out of his wits. Moving into a sitting position along with her, Edward promptly made up his mind and pulled her into a tight hug.

Granted, it had been an emergency strategy, but now that he found himself in the position he didn’t really think of his leg anymore. Winry was soft and warm and smelled nice, and when she tightened her arms around him in turn something inside his belly clenched, and not in a bad way. 

He remembered the last time he had seen her, and how she had so easily turned the laws of alchemy on thier head, and he smiled. All of it. She was going to give him all of her life. (Or eighty percent, but he was fine with that too.)

His right hand, made of flesh and blood and the feeling of her soft hair beneath his fingertips, slid lower as he moved backwards and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Ed wasn’t even quite sure what he was doing, or how to do it, but he had always been a quick learner. 

Their eyes locked, and with a nervous intake of breath Ed’s eyes moved lower to settle on Winry’s lips. God,why was it suddenly so hard to simply move his head forward? It wasn’t like it was difficult. Get a grip, Ed. Just do it. 

But he didn’t, because she was faster. 

“Jeez, Ed,” she said with a little laugh, and didn’t elaborate. Flinging her arms around his head, she closed the distance between them. She was smiling when her lips met his, so he had to smile too, which made the whole matter of kissing a tad more difficult.

But they worked it out just fine. 

Both their cheeks were blazing red when they broke apart, but it wasn’t something one had to mind after kissing for the first time. And neither did. For a moment, they remained quiet, sitting there in the dust on the path back home. 

Then Winry cleared her throat and jumped off him, brushed the dust off her pants, extended her hand towards him with a smile--and looked down.

Well, it had been nice while it lasted.

It was all over for him. He had led a good life. 

“Ed...! Your leg?! What did you--why, you...!!” There was no more loving affection on Winry’s face. There it was, the wrath he had so feared. 

Had he been able to stand on his own, he would have run for the hills then and there. He faltered for a second, but then a devious look flashed across his face. “You broke it! Just now! This is entirely your fault!”

“A blind mole could see from ten miles away that this disaster wasn’t created in a day!! Did you think you could fool me?!” 

He could not.

Which was just one more reason to kiss her. 

Alas, now was not the time. 

#my writing #fma #fmab #edwin #edwin fanfic #this is my first fma fic/drabble ever...... *sweats* #so is this fandom alive? idek #im v late to the party #i am going to crash it #and if i have to dance alone so be it!!! #also i am not familiar with the fandom tags i hope this finds its way to...somewhere