where all my depressed people that get told they’re acting weird when they’re happy at?
where all my depressed people that get told they’re acting weird when they’re happy at?
I had the weirdest dream yall—so like, i was at this place where there were a bunch of large mirrors and you can actually go through them. And each mirror takes you to a different time period or dimension and it was so much funnn but strangeee at the same time? Makes me wonder if there is a parallel universe out there like that~
what’s up with the weird influx of larpy facist fallout new vegas videos??
al////ttp zel out here being beautiful and iconic by breaking the norms with not being able to cook
Thinking of drunk Jenson during his post Abu Dhabi GP 2016 interview with Webber and DC.
quote of the day from my house mate this morning "i've made carry a weapon a part of my daily affirmations"
remember lsst year when i said i hc francid uses he/she/they/it pronouns and someone sent me an ask like "can you take it off francis' pronouns? its transphobic" and i was like "no <3 theyre valid pronouns <3" and someone else sent me an anon ask thanking me for defending those pronouns and then a DIFFERENT, THIRD ANON sent me an ask going "why do you send yourself asks just to agree with urself 🤨" and it was like, a whole thing
anyway here’s scooty
scooty is zair’s chocobo(?), but like. he’s got a horn and kind of a weird beak, and is kind of large for a chocobo, so he might not really be one, but could be mistaken for one? i dunno. when i do game oc headcanon, i go fucking buckwild.
scooty has teeth! but little ones. he’s also an omnivore. sometimes all three of them just go out on hunts, and scooty has to Away and get some veggies/fruits while zair and jerry eat all the meat. scooty also gets Very Poofy when alert/fighting/upset. very poofy.
fun fact, when i played 15 (which i still haven’t finished), i apparently had named my white chocobo scooter. i don’t know why i keep naming my chocobos this, it’s scary. im frightened.
I’ll be on in a bit, hoping to do some back and forths today.
It’s my bday but I’ll be celebrating tomorrow instead. We’ll be going to the lake and I’m v excited 🥰
Day 4: Oath / Modern AU
Title: Not All Who Wander
Summary: Late in the 4th Age, Rand’s motorbike breaks down on his way to Tear. While waiting for it to be repaired, he meets an oddly familiar stranger in a bar.
Word Count: 3832
Rand’s motorcycle breaks down half way to Tear because of course it does.
He’s moving east along the Maredo Highway, intending to stay a few nights in Tear before going on to Mayne, and the plains he passes through are dotted by only a handful of towns, the last one of which is more than ten miles back.
Staring down at his non-functional bike Rand sighs, kicks the stand up, and begins walking it down the shoulder of the highway.
It’s nearly dark by the time he comes to an exit with a promising village at the other end. Several people have stopped to offer him rides, and he’s declined each time. He had not been on the road long when he’d learned his lesson about hitchhiking, and besides, none of them could take his bike, and he won't go without it.
Alfyn’s Crossing is a collection of squat buildings and flickering neon signs that don’t do much to push back the darkness. It survives, he suspects, by being the last practical stop over till Tear for long-haul truckers and road trippers. Rand manages to find a mechanic that’s right in the process of closing down, and it takes pretty much the last of the cash in his pocket to convince said mechanic to look over his bike.
“I can have it ready to go by tomorrow afternoon.” The mechanic says with a sour grunt. “…You got a place to stay in the meantime?”
Rand smiles and shifts the guitar case he always carries on his back, so he can touch the neck. “No, but I’ll figure something out. Tomorrow at noon, you say? I’ll see you then, sir.”
The man grunts again and Rand moves off towards one of the bars he had seen on his way into town.
The Hanged Man is a funny name for a bar, Rand thinks: the image decal pressed into the window shows a man hanging from a tree, twin ravens perched on either shoulder. It tickles something in his mind, a story remembered from when he was traveling through the Raven Empire to the west, but he can’t quite summon it up.
The bartender is an older woman with sharp eyes and a hawkish expression. It’s a quiet night in The Hanged Man, with only a few bleary eyed patrons, so she listens patiently as Rand gives his spiel, then nods in approval: a free meal and ten dollars an hour, as well as being able to keep any tips that get thrown his way.
Rand mounts the stage at the far end of the room, gets out his guitar and starts with The Wind that Shakes the Willow.
In short order the bar begins to fill up. Rand knows that he’s not going to sell thousands of albums anytime soon, but he’s decent enough to scrape by, especially after years of practice. More and more people pour in, buying up drinks and calling out requests. From The Wind that Shakes the Willow, with each new song he raises the tempo a little, increases the energy, and with it ratchets up the mood from languid to excited.
By the time he’s playing Black Sheep, someone has caught his eye.
Hello again, friend of a friend, I knew you when Our common goal was waiting for the world to end Now that the truth is just a rule that you can bend You crack the whip, shape-shift and trick the past again
The man is sitting at the bar itself, which is opposite the stage, watching with one eye as Rand plays. He’s got a leather duster on, and a wide brimmed hat, which Rand thinks is to hide the eyepatch, but at Rand’s slightly raised angle, and with the man looking directly at him, there's nothing to keep Rand from seeing it.
I'll send you my love on a wire Lit you up, every time, everyone, ooh, pulls away, ooh From you
There's something familiar about him, something Rand can’t quite place. Something in the curve of his smile, and the glint of his eye. As if he and Rand were in on some joke together that everyone else in the room was not.
Got balls of steel, got an automobile, for a minimum wage Got real estate, I'm buying it all up in outer space Now that the truth is just a rule that you can bend
You crack the whip, shape-shift and trick, the past againThe crowd in the bar is stamping their feet in time to the beat, some are clapping, some whistling, sharp shrill calls that puncture Rand’s singing. The energy Rand has created in the room is at a fever pitch now.
I'll send you my love on a wire Lit you up, every time, everyone, ooh, pulls away, ooh It's a mechanical bull, the number one You'll take a ride from anyone Everyone wants a ride, pulls away, ooh, from you
Rand strikes the last note from his guitar, then stands and bows, smiling as the people who pack the bar erupt into applause and cheers. More whistles fill the air, including, Rand realizes as he glances up, from the one-eyed man at the bar. When he straightens and moves to dismount the stage, calls for another song fill the air, cries for specific ones breaking through the din. Rand has to gently wave them off, and plead a need to eat, before the crowd will part enough to let him through.
When he sits down at the bar, a tall glass of water, a plate of chips, and skewers packed with meat and peppers are his reward. He thanks the bartender, and sets to dig in.
One-eye wastes no time sliding into the seat next to his, gesturing with the stem of a pipe he’s produced from somewhere. Rand goes on guard immediately, expecting to be grilled about his music, pushed to play this song next or that, but what the man says instead is:
“Nice ink. Don’t suppose you were born on a mountain to a Maiden of the Spear?”
Rand blinks at him, and glances down at his arms. It’s hot this far south, and his coat is stuffed into his duffle bag, leaving him in his tank top and jeans, with the scarlet dragons curling around his arms, their golden maned heads ending just short of the backs of his hands.
“No.” Rand says slowly. “I’m an Andorman, not an Aiel.” It’s sort of true. “The name’s Rand.”
Rand braces for the man’s reaction. The tattoos and his name, occasionally get him snide remarks from people about thinking he’s the Dragon come back again, as if he had a choice in either. Of course, only the well read know the Dragon as anything more than just the Dragon: the name Rand has largely been forgotten by the masses.
Rand’s father had been a scholar however, and thought it was a strong name, one to honor the past.
The tattoos were his gift for passing through the glass columns in Rhuidean, his punishment for his own curiosity. But that was another matter.
The man’s reaction is nothing like what Rand expects; however, he chuckles, and puts the pipe stem between his teeth as if Rand has just said something very funny. When Rand glares at him a little, he removes the pipe and offers his hand to Rand.
“Matthew at your service. But please, call me Mat, everyone does.”
Rand frowns but takes the hand, and gives it a firm shake, which Mat returns. When Rand turns back to his dinner to take another bite, he hears something he is certain he is not meant to.
“Here I thought it was just me this time. I suppose I’d best keep the eye peeled for Perrin or Egwene next.” Rand turns to frown at him, but Mat still has his pipe between his teeth, and gives no sign of having spoken, so Rand turns back to his food.
“What do you do Mat?” Rand asks after he gets a few bites of meat down. He’s not rude afterall.
Mat chuckles and rests his elbows on the bar. “I’m a gambler.” He answers vaguely. “You?”
“Just a Wilder.” Rand lies, draining his glass. Water feels good on his throat right then. Thank the Light that Asha’man did not have to take the three oaths. Rand keeps his pins in a small velvet bag in his pocket, just in case. You never know who might go poking through a duffle bag or a motorcycle compartment after all. “I play music and do odd jobs to scrape by.”
“A Wilder.” Mat says, mock impressed. He leans forward, offering his unlit pipe to Rand, who rolls his eyes. Of course. Still, he seizes Saidin, and channels a razor thin thread of fire which makes the packed tabac spark and catch. Mat inclines his head in thanks, then leans back on his barstool to take a drag.
“Where are you headed after this?” Mat asks, puffing on his pipe.
Rand sees no trouble in responding, and there is still something about this man he can’t quite shake. He opens his mouth-
And the doors of the bar slam open, an ashen faced young woman comes tumbling in, looking sick.
“Devi’ayan!” She cries, falling to her knees. “On the edge of town! Co-coming towards us!”
The energy of pleasant excitement Rand had created in the bar dies as if sliced with a sword. Rand doesn't hesitate, standing, still holding onto Saidin, he races out into the night.
Devi’ayan. Light Eaters in the Old Tongue. The Others.
Rand races down the main street, letting his long legs carry him. He had not expected Light Eaters, not with Aiel patrols as heavy as they were lately, but maybe he should have. The Aiel, the Towers, even the Raven Empire’s forces were all stretched thin, making small undefended towns far flung easy pickings for a raid not big enough to strike at a larger target.
The neon signs cast a dim light only, so Rand Weaves, creating a small orb of solid blue which bobbed along beside him as he ran.
It was a group of three only, but that was deadly enough.
Tall pasty colored figures turned to face Rand, looking away from the car they had been attempting to overturn, where a terrified family huddled into the back seat.
Each was, as all Light Eaters were, a twisted mockery of humanity. One like the figure of a woman but elongated and stretched to tower over any human, had ash white skin, her cheeks dripping with black tears which fell from eyes that seemed as if they had been rotated to balance on their points, instead of lay longways. When it turned, what appeared to be a solid white cloak unfurled revealing gossamer wings which flickered the creature up into the air. Another of the Light Eaters charged, a bear-sized figure which scrambled on all fours, only instead of short stubby legs ending in paws, it had long spidery limbs which each ended in six fingered hands with hooked wicked black claws.
The final Light Eater hung back, a hulking figure as tall as an Ogier; a towering mass of muscle and bulk, but with a long mane of snow white hair that fell so thickly over its head that you could not see its face. All three were completely monochrome, in shades of black and white and nothing else, and where they stood, color seemed to drain away, life to become still.
Rand had no time to waste as the bear-like creature came racing towards him. Creeping Dread he knew it was called from his training. Throwing up his hands and fanning his fingers before him Rand Channeled, Fire and Air just so, and brilliant red wires burst from his fingertips, each thin as thread. They shoot forward, racing in jagged angles and sharp turns to pierce the Creeping Dread straight through the body. The Light Eater slows, but comes on still even as the wire burns through its flesh.
Light Eaters feel nothing, not pain, not regret. Only hunger.
Another set of wires blossoms and pierces the creature, and another after that. A distance of twenty paces became ten, then five, and Rand Channels again.
He hates destroying public property, creating problems that others would have to solve, but he has no choice. A gout of fire erupts from the ground, gold and solid wrapping around the mass of the creature and turning it to cinders, even as it scatters asphalt in a spray for ten paces around. A simple weave of air keeps any from striking Rand, but more than one car is pelted, more than one windshield shattered. The night fills with the whine of car alarms going off, but Rand pushes the distraction away.
He turns next to the bulky one, the Forgiven Indolence and raises his hands again, but a strident scream fills the night, overwhelming the car alarms, and Rand spins as the elongated women dives for him, fingers that were too long darting for his neck, rigid as daggers. Rand lifts his hands, preparing to Channel a shield of Air to block the creature, but something else flashes in the night, and it turns in mid dive and stumbles, one wing going limp as quicksilver blood splattered on the ground, and it is forced to land in a heap of limbs.
Rand gapes at Mat, who holds a spear ending in what appears to be a length of solid black sword blade. His slash had taken the creature in the wing, and in the same motion he whirls, the spear spinning in his grip to slash again. This time the blade takes the creature in the middle, sending more quicksilver blood fountaining onto the ground, and Rand, shaking himself, Channels as he had with the Creeping Dread, creating another gout of fire that consumes the Stinging Regret and leaves behind nothing but ash.
“Aren’t you guys supposed to have Warders to watch your back?” Mat asks pleasantly as he steps up beside Rand.
Rand grunts sourly. “I’m just a-“
“If you are a Wilder-” Mat cuts across him. “Then I am an Aes Sedai. No Wilder can Channel like that. Most Asha’man can’t Channel like that.”
Rand has nothing to say to that so he turns to the final Light Eater. It gives no sign of worry that it is alone now, just sits back on its heels, that mane of white hair seeming to watch them. At least it’s left the car alone, its back to the family that still huddles in fear.
Slowly, it raises its fists above its head and lets out a roar before bringing them down again.
Rand leaps in one direction, Mat the other, avoiding the rain of asphalt fragments that came pelting towards them. The Indolence moves faster than its size should allow, darting towards Rand. Again, Rand lifts his hands, fanning his fingers, but before he could Channel more filaments of flame, the Indolence lets out a roar that strikes Rand like a physical blow, knocking him backwards. Pain pounds through him as his skull strikes something hard, and darkness rings his vision. A streetlight pole he thinks.
Still, he holds fast to Saidin. He had been trained better than to lose his grip on the Power because of something as trivial as a head injury. But with his vision disrupted, he can barely see the threads of power as he wove, sending a blast of Air in an attempt to buffet the Indolence away.
The Air strikes home, and the Indolence stops for a moment, its clawed feet tearing the asphalt as it was pushed back a few inches, but no more. Rand swears, and grabs for his satchel, only to remember abruptly that it is sitting back in the bar by his guitar case, and with it, the obsidian Dragon’s Fang angreal he always carried.
“Carai an Caldazar!” Mat’s voice thunders out of the night. “Carai an Aman!”
Rand blinks in confusion, his lessons in the Old Tongue surfacing through the pain in his head. For the honor of the Red Eagle. For the honor of the Dragon.
The Indolence cries and staggers forward. There is a thick rending sound, like meat being torn by bare hands, and the point of Mat’s spear erupts from the Idolence’s chest, showering Rand in quicksilver blood. Even as it touches him, he can feel warmth, heat, joy, all begin to leach away, but he has no time to focus on that. Instead he channels something simple and plain: a sword of solid fire appears in his grip and Rand swings.
Golden flame met shaggy white hair. Against normal flesh that blade should have been like a knife through butter. Against Light Eater flesh, it moved as if chopping through mud, yet Rand tensed his shoulders and forced the blade anyway, making it slice, cut, rend-
And just like that it is through the creature’s neck. The head parts from its shoulders and goes rolling across the ground, and the Indolence falls to its knees and topples over onto its side in a heap of flesh, luckily not falling backwards onto Mat or forwards onto Rand.
And just like that it is over.
Mat looks unharmed, which is good because Rand sucks at Healing, and with what seems like complete unconcern, he walks over, puts his boot to the Light Eater’s back, and wrenches his spear free with a grin. “And here I thought tonight was going to be dull.”
“Thank you.” Rand says to Mat, rolling his shoulders, sore from the force he’d had to put into the last strike. He lets the sword vanish, and considers for a moment releasing the Source, but instead he Channels Air, gathering the quicksilver blood into a tiny orb, pulling it away from his body and dropping it atop the Indolence, before Channeling Fire. Now that the danger is passed, he could lay the threads more carefully, and only the Light Eater catches flame, burning to ash in the street. “I owe you my life.”
Mat shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You looked like you could use a hand.” Again that flickering in his eye, as if he was making a joke that Rand should understand. “You still do. I was not joking, where is your Warder, Asha’Rand?”
“…I am a-“ He cuts off, shaking his head. There was no point denying it anymore he supposes. “I don’t need a Warder.”
Mat watches the Light Eater burn for a while, saying nothing, just considering. When the flames go out, he turns to face Rand. “You know the thing that’s cool about the Wheel?”
Rand frowns. “The fact that it sustains our existence?”
Mat rolled his eyes. “Bloody….No, not that. Well, yes that too, but moreover…the fact that it gives us the chance to fix our mistakes. Right our wrongs. I abandoned a friend once, who needed me badly. I realize now that I should have been in his corner from the start, supporting him, backing him. Instead I was afraid, so I ran.”
Rand frowns. Was this Mat a madman? He did run at Light Eaters instead of away, with a weapon that belonged in a museum. Yet…he didn’t seem mad. “Do you have a point?” Rand asks.
Mat rolls his eyes. “The point is that the Wheel spins us out again and again. It weaves our fate, but we decide how we face it, and if we fuck it up, well, the Pattern takes it in, and weaves on. And sometimes, when it spins us out again, we get the chance to do better.”
Rand stares down at his sword. Mat sounded a great deal like Rand’s father, or his friend Min.
“The Wheel has spun me to this moment.” Mat says, leaning on his spear like a walking staff. “To someone who needs my help, and I’m not going to abandon him again. You need a Warder, Asha’Rand, I’ll take the oath whether you bond me or not, but I am coming with you.”
Rand can’t stop himself from fiddling with his belt. “…I chose not to bond a Warder after I was raised, because I didn’t want to be responsible for someone else. If someone dies because of me-“
“If you kill me,” Mat says dryly, “You have my permission to flog yourself. But if I die because of my own choices, even if that choice is to protect you, well, then you don’t get to disrespect me by taking credit for it.”
Rand stares at him. There wasn’t any arguing with that, so he changes tactics. “I’ve known you less than an hour. We’re strangers! Why would you-“
“Look me in the eye, Rand.” Mat says softly. Rand did, and that feeling, that familiarity, became overwhelming.
No. They were not strangers, they had fought together too well, as if on muscle memory. But what did that mean? How was that possible?
If Rand wanted the answers to that question, there was only one thing to do.
Taking Mat’s head in his hands, Rand weaves Spirit.
“I swear.” Mat says, the words solemn. ”By the old Blood of Manetheren, by the Tower of Ravens, and by the Light, to protect and guard you against all manner of foes. I shall draw as you say draw, sheath as you say sheath.” Mat grimaced at the words, clearly not liking them a great deal, but they came anyway. “I will come as you say come, and go as you say go. I am your-“ He chuckles suddenly. “I am your spear. Your shield. Your Gaidin.”
Rand finishes the weave and lets Saidin go. In the back of his mind, something forms, a tiny opening through which he felt amusement and determination and frustration, the last weaker than the other two.
Rand rubs at his head. “…Why ask to be my Warder if you didn’t want to give up your freedom?”
Mat stands, and swings his spear onto his back. “Because I wanted to do the right thing this time more than I wanted to be free, Light burn my eyes. I hope you have a ride, mine is totaled. That’s why I was stuck here, and every time I tried to leave I never got farther than a mile.” He shakes his head, and lowers his voice. “Bloody Pattern clearly wanted me here, so I stayed. Now I know why.”
Rand nods, still marveling at the knot of emotions in the back of his head that was his bond to Mat. “I have a motorbike. It’s getting fixed now. We should go see if those people in the car need help. Once we’re sure they're alright, I have to go finish my set.” This whole thing felt…surreal.
Mat nods and grins. “Tell me, do you play at dice?”
A/N: A huge huge thank you to @highladyluck who beta’d this piece for me! You rule!
This is another AU I may return to write more in. I almost saved this for a later prompt, but then I was all. Nah, time is cyclical, modern is a matter of perspective. Rand’s on motorbike and playing in dive bars, that’s close enough for horseshoes. (Besides I have something else I want to do with Day 6).
Did Mat become an immortal because of his adventures in Finnland? Did he stumble into a stasis box? Did this incarnation get memories of his old life back via Ter’angreal and/or Finnland? You decide!
Song is ‘Black Sheep’ by Metric.
Not to be a ww hater again and I don’t know much about how it’ll or work if it this is something in the comics (it Doesn’t look like it is) but the whole Captain Carter thing feels like a whole microaggression and a half. Steve Rogers gets his serum and becomes Cap in what 1943? So assuming Peggy gets it around the same time it would be 1940-45. She would be represent Britain, specifically the British empire (I’m thinking specifically about the British colonizing india because that’s what’s relevant to me, but over they did colonize most of the world at this point). So how would that work? Is she gonna be fighting enemies of Britain and the British empire while praising the royal family (enemies obviously being black and brown people who they fucking colonized). No I didn’t stretch before I reached with this but the implications of it?? I don’t like it
idk sometimes it makes me uncomfortable when cr fandom draws ess//ek in skimpy outfits when he is canonically REALLY opposed to showing skin
yk after finding out that they’re changing kamala’s powers in ms marvel it makes this already.. interesting 💀 shirt so upsetting to look at 😩
had another falling elevator dream <3
Only a few hours left of being 34 😱
We shall devour the one who stands tall as the eldritch God
there is something to be said about the dreamlike homely melancholic finality of hearing recorder music in this church