#I mean I THINK who knows til you get there

[seumyo]

I WANT TO BE FOREVER YOUNG

PROMPT. How they mourn when you were gone too soon. You did worry about getting old, didn’t you?

FEATURING. Midoriya I., Bakugou K., Todoroki S., Shinsou H.

NOTE. I’m testing the waters with angst content + formatting style for multiple drabbles—so forgive me if it’s not that good!

MIDORIYA IZUKU — Sees you in someone else.

Midoriya Izuku found passion in teaching. It’s a life-changing job that molds each and every student into the person they want to become with the help of people like him.

His students, vibrant and full of life, were so much like his old classmates—and among them was Takashiro Ayane, her laughter light and melodic as she teased one of her friends about their clumsy landing during training.

It reminded him of someone. Someone close.

You.

And the thought always came to him, even when he didn’t mean to. Even at the most random times.

Ayane’s resemblance to you was uncanny. It wasn’t just her kindness or the gentle way she spoke; it was in the way she held herself, her subtle but unwavering resolve. Midoriya could see flashes of you in her—the friend who had once been a constant source of warmth in his turbulent journey at U.A. High.

As Ayane reached up to adjust her headband, smiling brightly, Midoriya felt a pang in his chest. The sight was like a memory brought to life, a reminder of your soft-spoken encouragement and the way she always stood firm despite her fears.

God, it felt like seeing you all over again.

“Sensei!” another student called out, pulling him back to the present. “Did you see that move? I think it might actually work in combat! Or support, if I feel like it.”

Midoriya blinked, shaking off the haze of memories. “Y-Yeah, it looked great!” he replied, mustering enthusiasm. “Your timing’s improving a lot—keep it up!”

He tried to push the thought aside, focusing on the here and now, but it was no use. The resemblance was too striking, and his heart felt heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. You were gone, after all. Gone too soon.

As the students broke into laughter again, something about the carefree sound and the dynamic of his students triggered a reflex. Without thinking, he spoke, his voice soft yet audible enough to be heard.

“[First Name], I—”

Your name left his lips before he realized it, and the world seemed to freeze. The students fell silent, their laughter replaced by curious stares. Ayane tilted her head; confusion could be seen in her face.

Midoriya’s heart sank as he realized his mistake. He quickly forced a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean Takashiro,” he corrected, craning a hand to the back of his neck.

“Sorry about that. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

The students exchanged glances, a few offering polite chuckles before moving on. The moment passed, yet for Midoriya, the weight of it lingered. He stayed behind as the students began their walk back to the main building, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Everything came flooding in his mind. Like a relentless tide that swept him away. Your jokes, your laugh, and the countless little moments that had defined your friendship.

He hadn’t spoken your name aloud in years, not since your passing. Now, saying it felt like reopening an old wound, one he had carefully avoided for so long. But he could only do so much avoidance ‘til he has to terms with it.

“Sensei?”

The gentle voice startled him, and he looked up to see Ayane standing a few steps away. Her expression was concerned; her head tilted slightly as she studied him.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly. “You seemed... distracted earlier.”

Midoriya hesitated. The words caught in his throat as he wrestled with how to respond. How could he explain to his student that she reminded him of his dead friend?

What kind of teacher would he be if he were to say that? The awful, grieving kind, he bets.

“I’m fine, Takashiro,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all. You know how these long training sessions can be.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced but nodded anyway. “If you ever need to talk, Sensei... we’re here for you too. Fighting!”

“Midoriya, grow a spine! Fighting!”

Her words hit too close to home.

“Thank you,” he could only murmur.

Ayane lingered for a moment before turning to join her classmates. He remained there, rooted to the spot as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. The golden light bathed the empty training grounds, and the silence felt heavier than usual.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve tried to move on, but I see you everywhere. In everything. In everyone.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, a mix of regret and longing washing over him. “You were right about so many things,” he continued, his voice barely audible. “I just wish you were here to see it—to see how far we’ve all come.”

But you weren’t here anymore, and that’s the problem.

Bakugou Katsuki — Mourns you longer than he’d known you.

Cemeteries never brought discomfort to Bakugou. Not until you died, that is.

The place stretches out in solemn silence; the faint rustle of leaves in the hedges are the only sounds he heard as he trudged along the familiar gravel path. His boots made dull, deliberate crunches against the fallen leaves, the heaviness of his steps matching the weight in his chest.

In his hands, he carried the usual offerings: a bouquet of red spider lilies tied neatly with a ribbon, a box of your favorite sweet treats—melon pan today—and the incense sticks he always lit with care. It had been years since your passing, but for Bakugou, the loss felt as raw as if it had been yesterday.

He approached your gravestone, its surface polished and pristine, just as he always left it. Your name was etched into the stone with delicate precision, the sight of it both grounding and crushing. As if to remind him that you weren’t coming back because you’re just here, waiting for someone to visit you.

Bakugou knelt, his movements stiff and reluctant, as though even now he couldn’t fully accept your absence. Why can’t he accept it?

“Yo, dummy,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the lilies from their wrapping and placing them carefully at the vase near the gravestone. He adjusted them twice, three times, until they looked just right. His eyes lingered on the name etched into the cold stone, a bitterness creeping into his tone.

“Brought your damn flowers again. Hope you appreciate it.”

The sarcasm in his words was thinly veiled; beneath it lay the unmistakable ache of someone who had loved and lost far too deeply.

He pulled out the incense sticks next, lighting them with a practiced flick beneath his palm. You would’ve loved to see him do it in person; maybe light up a candle or two when the power goes out during your high school dorm days. The smell of sandalwood quickly mingled with the damp earth, and Bakugou leaned back on his heels, staring at the curling smoke.

“Another week down,” he began, his voice quieter now. “Another round of saving people, making headlines, being the ‘Great Dynamight.’ ” He spat the title out like it was poison.

“It’s what you always said I’d do, isn’t it? Go big; make my mark. But, damn it, [Last Name], none of it means anything without you here to see it.”

He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as the familiar wave of guilt and frustration washed over him. His head dipped as he let out a long, ragged breath.

“I thought time was supposed to make this easier,” Bakugou admitted, his voice rough. “It’s been... what? Seven years now? And every damn day, it still feels like you’re just gonna show up out of nowhere, like you’re gonna annoy the hell outta me with one of your stupid jokes.”

The thought made his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, though it was laced with sadness. He could almost hear your voice—that gentle yet persistent tone you’d use whenever she tried to drag him along to something.

“C’mon, Bakugou, I’ll need someone to bail me out of jail! You’ll regret it if you don’t come along.”

And you were right. He regretted it now. Every single refusal, every grumbled excuse, every moment he could’ve spent with you and didn’t.

“You were annoying as hell,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But you were... you were good. Too good.” His fists loosened, his hands falling limply to his sides.

“And you didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to go like that.” Bakugou remembers the time he almost stained his conduct by almost killing the villain that got to you.

It’s unfair, isn’t it? The villain got to live behind bars, while you lost yours.

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees above. Bakugou tilted his head back, glaring up at the overcast sky as though it were to blame for everything.

“They don’t tell you how much it fucking hurts,” he said bitterly. “To lose someone like you. They don’t tell you that the longer it’s been, the harder it gets, ‘cause every year just reminds me of how much more I’ve missed. How much quicker I could’ve been.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. It was yours, something your family had found amongst your belongings after you passed. They wanted him to have it since his name was always frequently mentioned. The edges were frayed, the pages creased from countless readings, but it was his most treasured possession.

Bakugou would rather die than even let a single drop of water meet one of its pages.

Flipping it open, he scanned your handwriting, some neat and some looking as though you couldn’t be bothered with basic penmanship. He stopped on a page that always gutted him.

Life’s short. Spend it with the people who matter. Don’t let moments slip away! :P

His thumb brushed over the words, his jaw tightening.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “You don’t have to keep reminding me, you know. I get it. Too late, but I get it.”

He placed the notebook on the gravestone, letting it rest there for a moment before tucking it back into his pocket. His hand lingered on the cold stone, his fingers tracing the engraved letters of your name.

“You were supposed to stick around,” he said softly. “Supposed to keep bugging me, keep dragging me out of my own damn head. Now I’m stuck here, talking to a rock, and it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.”

The clouds began to part, a faint beam of sunlight breaking through and casting a soft glow over the gravestone. Bakugou stared at it, his eyes unreadable. He’s thinking.

“I’ll keep coming back,” he finally said, his voice steadier now.

“Every week, every month, every damn year. You’re not gonna be forgotten. Not by me.”

He stood slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion and grief. Adjusting the incense sticks and flowers one last time, he stepped back, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“See you next time, dummy,” he murmured, his voice low. “Don’t forget about me or whatever, whever you are.”

As Bakugou walked away, the wind carried the faint scent of incense and the quiet promise of a man who would mourn you longer than he’d ever known you.

TODOROKI SHOUTO — Learns things that reminded him of you.

Todoroki knows that he’s been busy. It’s in the way the white camellias he brought you months ago are now wilted, showing their dried-up state. His fingers brush against the wilted petals, lingering as if to apologize for not visiting sooner.

“I still remember the last thing you said to me,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with an ache he couldn’t quite put into words. “It wasn’t even anything serious—just you scolding me for not eating enough during lunch. You were always so good at taking care of me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

He glanced down, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint, bittersweet smile. The image of you—scolding, your hands on your hips as you tried to hide your worry—was etched so vividly into his memory that he could almost hear your voice.

Todoroki’s gaze traveled to the offerings he had brought with him: a fresh bouquet of camellia, a neatly folded scarf he had knitted in one of his new hobbies that he took up classes for, and a small pack of your favorite matcha-flavored sweets. “I know you’d laugh at me for picking up knitting,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But... it’s calming. I think you’d appreciate that. You always said I needed to find something that made me happy outside of being a hero.”

The scarf was simple, a pale green color that reminded him of the shade you loved wearing. He had spent hours perfecting it, thinking of how you might have joked about him for being so precise yet ultimately praised his effort.

“I hope you’d like it,” he whispered, setting it down carefully beside the gravestone. “I thought about giving it to someone else, but it felt wrong. It’s yours.”

Todoroki draws in a breath, closing his eyes, letting the stillness of the place envelop him. Yet in the quiet, his mind raced with so many thoughts all at once.

“I also learned how to cook,” he tells you—he tells your grave. “It’s not as good as yours, but Bakugou’s been helping.”

He thought of your childhood, how you had been his only light during the dark days of his father’s strict training. How you had been this bubbly girl that the teacher often praised, how you had stood by him when he was still new to making friends at the nursery, offering him a hand when he thought he didn’t deserve one.

“You were the best person I knew. And I pushed you away. You didn’t deserve that, [Last Name]. You were my friend when I didn’t know how to be one back.”

The pain of those words hung heavy in the air, and Todoroki’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had spent years replaying your interactions, wishing he had done things differently. If he had done things differently, you would’ve been here, probably teasing him for taking up chopstick-making classes.

“I was so angry back then,” he confessed, his gaze fixed on the gravestone. “At my father, at myself, at the world. And I took it out on you, the one person who never stopped trying to help me. I told myself I didn’t need anyone, but... I needed you.”

Another tear slipped down his cheek, and he hastily wiped it away, frustrated by the way his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He was the Number Two Hero now, a symbol of strength and perseverance. Yet here, in front of you, he felt like the lost, broken little boy that longed for his first friend.

“I need you now, please.”

The sound of a bird chirping nearby pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced up at the sky. The sun was setting, casting a hue that reminded him of your warmth.

You did like sunsets, didn’t you?

“You’d probably scold me for crying,” he said with a faint chuckle, though his voice still wavered. “You always hated seeing me upset. But I think it’s okay this time. You’re worth crying over.”

He knelt down again, his fingers brushing over the engraved letters of your name.

“Shoucchan! You can’t cry! We can be partners—the best partners!”

Yes, partners. The best partners for as long as you’ll have him.

“I’m trying to live the way you wanted me to,” he continued. “To find happiness outside of being a hero. To be someone you’d be proud of. But it’s hard, [Last Name]. It’s hard without you.”

He stayed there for what felt like hours, speaking to you as though you were sitting beside him, as though your gentle presence could somehow reach across the veil of death. He told you about his hero work, about the classes he was taking, about the little moments of joy he tried to find in a life that often felt too heavy.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he rose to his feet. His knees ached from kneeling for so long, but he barely noticed.

“I’ll come back,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tears that still shimmered in his eyes. “And I won’t let you wait so long again. Next time, I’ll bring something better than just a flower. Maybe one of those awful paintings you always said I should make.”

As he turned to leave, he hesitated, glancing back at the gravestone one last time. As if you’d be there with open arms, waiting for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying a weight that only you could understand.

He walked away slowly, the sound of his footsteps fading into the stillness. The cemetery grew quiet once more, the only reminder of his visit the small offerings left behind—silent testaments to a bond that even death could not sever.

SHINSOU HITOSHI — Avoidance by all means necessary, until he finally caves in.

If you were to ask Shinsou what his prized possession was, he’ll tell you that it’s a shoe box. A shoe box that seemed to hold the world—your world, with remnants of a friendship that had lasted his entire life—a lifetime with you.

Shinsou sat on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hovering over the box as though touching it might shatter him. He had been avoiding this moment for weeks. The funeral had been a blur, the condolences—a cacophony of words that didn’t mean anything because he knew that they couldn’t possibly understand how it feels. Everyone seemed to know the right things to say, except him.

All he had wanted was for you to be there, to laugh at how awkward he was with the whole ordeal.

Now, it was just silence.

With a deep breath, he finally reached into the box, pulling out the first item: a knitted scarf, a rich shade of violet. It was slightly uneven, the handiwork amateur at best, but it was one of the first gifts you’d ever made for him. He could still remember your smile when you handed it over during your middle school years.

“I thought it’d look good on you,” you had said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Don’t laugh! It’s my first try. Nuh uh, I’m taking this back—Hitoshi!”

He hadn’t laughed. Ok, maybe just a quiet chuckle, but he had worn it every winter since.

He leaned forward again, staring into the box. Inside were the tokens of a life intertwined with his—handmade crafts, small souvenirs, and letters tied with ribbons in colors you knew he liked. Each item was a story, a piece of you you had given him, never expecting you would be taken away so soon.

He gently picked up a small ceramic cat figurine, its paint slightly chipped. It was from one of your family trips abroad.

“I saw this and thought of you!”

Younger Shinsou blinked, confused.

“Me?”

You nodded. “You’re like this cat. All serious, but secretly soft and comforting.”

Shinsou chuckled softly at the memory, though the sound was tinged with sadness. He had teased you for it back then, calling it tacky, but it had ended up on his desk at home. Now, it felt like a sacred relic.

Setting the figurine down, he reached for another item. Shinsou pulled out a small, framed photo of the two of you at a summer festival. He was scowling at the camera while you grinned beside him, holding up two sticks of cotton candy. It was one of the rare times you had dragged him out, insisting he needed to “experience life beyond his walls” when he just wanted to sleep in.

He’d go to every summer festival in the country—even if it meant losing sleep—as long as he gets to do it with you.

The frame trembled slightly in his grip as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

He pulls out a well-worn journal. It was yours. He hesitated, knowing that opening it would feel both comforting and unbearably painful. After a moment, he gave in, flipping through the pages.

Inside were your thoughts—notes about school, sketches of the two of them, and half-finished poems you had written during quiet afternoons.

The prince has been so stressed lately.

I wish I could take it all away.

He deserves the world, but he won’t let himself believe it.

Maybe one day he’ll see himself the way I do.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. You had always been like that—putting everyone else first, even when you had your own struggles. He closed the journal and held it to his chest, his breath shaky.

“I should’ve told you,” he whispered. “I should’ve told you how much you meant to me.”

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over, sliding down his cheeks as he sat there in the coming twilight. He thought back to the nights they had spent stargazing, sharing their dreams and fears. You had been his constant, his answer, his light, even when he didn’t know he needed one.

His phone buzzed again, a reminder that the world kept moving even when his had stopped. He glanced at the screen—it was a message from his secretary.

Meeting tomorrow at 9, Sir. You told me to remind you.

Shinsou scoffed bitterly, tossing the phone aside. Work didn’t matter right now. Nothing did.

He looked back into the box and pulled out a small, intricately folded paper crane. He had almost forgotten about it. It was from your high school years, during a particularly tough exam season.

“This is for luck,” you had said, carefully handing it to him with an awed expression. “And if it doesn’t work, at least it’s cute, right?”

He remembered stuffing it into his pocket, too embarrassed to admit how much it meant to him at the time. Now, it felt like a lifeline.

As he unfolded the crane carefully, a note inside revealed itself. The ink was slightly faded, but your handwriting was unmistakable.

You’re going to be amazing. Always.

A choked sob escaped him, and he clenched the note tightly in his fist. You had believed in him, even when he hadn’t believed in himself. He wished he could’ve seen this sooner.

When it got dark, Shinsou didn’t bother turning on the lights. The silence felt appropriate—a space for his grief to exist without judgment.

“I miss you,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “I don’t even know how to keep going without you.”

He glanced at the small collection of gifts and letters spread out on the table. Each one was a reminder of the life you two had shared—a life you had enriched with your thoughtfulness and love.

Though the pain was overwhelming, Shinsou knew he couldn’t let your memory fade. You had given him so much, and the least he could do was honor you by living the way you would have wanted—fully and without regret.

“I’ll keep going,” he said softly, almost as if speaking to you. “You’d probably get mad if I slept in.”

The room remained quiet, save for the faint sound of the wind outside. But for Shinsou, it felt as though you were still there, your presence lingering in every corner of his heart.

SEUMYO © 2025, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[abbinurmel]

This whole post and all its concepts is SUCH an awesome idea. For not just Dnd alone, but also ALL fantasy media. I confess I was having my own dorky set of ideas on rebooting lizardfolk. But nowhere as good as this one.

I was considering a very different spin: what if one took ALL of the negative stereotypes associated with lizards? All the problematic irl political reptilian conspiracies, the outdated “cardboard brute savage” inherent in lizardfolk and similar races in DND, all the true and untrue stuff known to science about real dinosaurs, the phobia of modern reptiles and how venomous snake bites work, and the cool lore/less cool but interesting Creationist ideas of dragons, and their depictions in myth, AND the cavemen who lived with Dinos Creationism falsehoods, AND the depictions of lizard kaiju like Jurassic Park/Godzilla…

...what if one was to actually push them ALL into together, into one crazy stew, and made up an absurd tight knit DND origin concept, as the Lizardfolk backstory?…all the eugenics and Nazi propaganda, and Creationist/Aryan theorist dinosaur origins AND the popular myths about reptiles as animals that are false(they are ‘icky’ or ‘slimy’ and they ‘don’t have feelings’)- what if we mix them ALL and yet go in all of the VERY POLAR OPPOSITE OF DIRECTIONS, philosophically? What if we took lies and disinfo and use them from a reverse *positive* slant, as tropes. By going so ABSURD over the top it thumbs the nose at people who make all these bad ideas about reptiles, Jews/gays/the Liberals who they represent them by, both figuratively and literal. What if we steal these bad ideas, creatively mashed them til it becomes unrecognizable, if not wholesome and completely unique fantasy lore, separated from the original inspirations, and one plays it as a means of taking our collective identities back, thinking about different spiritual and secular philosophies, and just mainly for creative funny laughter?

One example: There was once a specific race, of gigantic, scaly, godlike long lived creatures…DRAGONS…they were ‘aliens’ or like angels, or the Urskek from the Dark Crystal. Great mysterious cosmic beings of vast, vast power and knowledge, but still, at heart, an expressive and inherently ‘flawed’ race, not an all knowing divine one. Basically High Elves, with added space travel or dimension hopping. They are a platoon of ‘Space Lizards’, if you will. (Reptiloids)

They came to your fantasy realm using superior tech/magic, and inhabited a world that before our time, was pure wilderness. Then humans, dwarves and other races, of much smaller lifespans and intellect, all started to evolve. The High Ones also start to breed with them….(Angels/Demons in biblical and other religious myth.)…this leads to things like Naga and Kobolds and even goblins and maybe other established creatures.

Some of them abide this, some do not, as wars or schisms of philosophy are thrust upon them. Some squabbles and scandals. Dragons as a whole are often growing less harmonic, less interested in Enlightenment, more so in teams of selfish power, cult worship and pushing who is the real head honcho/has the better fate of humanity idea and the fate of Magic itself. Soon baser, more material desires emerge, and Dragons are fighting each other more, and trying to outdo each other both in forms of magic, enhanced bodies for greater strength, and soon learn of the concept of Greed, and Worship, knowing how having often more gold attracts followers or charity beggars /more bribery of kings and armies/more access to magical artifacts and natural land sources of great power for themselves. The Dragon ideology shrinks in scope as the dragons once ethereal more long lived cosmic forms become ‘baser’, for better or for the worse. They grow to hoard gold, but also now get to understand ideas of Art and Beauty and Flamboyance. They learn to fight and even eat each other. But thru this also understand the concepts of now ‘Standing for the Greater Good in Defense of our beloved humanoids/A noble good god who sacrifices their life in fighting the Evil god’s imperialist destruction/humanoids are NOT inferior or to be made to be our pets or study lab animals, they deserve our Love and Guidance but not OUR WORSHIP and RULE over their life./Individualism vs Collective Spirituality/Equality for All to Mix and severance of old cultural ways and religious ties vs. the need for Ancestral Pride and in more negative way, Bigotry.’

(Fantasy quests, More Ancient Aliens and loose ideas of creation myths, the Fall of Man and Biblical story archetypes, all of real human history, the prehistoric dinosaurs. Human History Misinformation. Evolutionary competition between reptiles and earl tribes.)

Supposed fears of Dragons ‘de-evolving’ and ‘loss of our magics/our pure lizard genes’ concerns arise, both fabricated and grossly exaggerated and yet, some mildly based in fact alike. To a degree, as dragons mix, THEY DO grow small and more humanoid and less long lived, less toughly powerful, both physically and magically….but they ALSO get more CLEVER….they develop war machines, and languages, and technologies that never have been seen before. And let’s not exclude all the actual learned concepts of Love and Carnal Sex that do emerge out of these dalliances with the other creatures.

All of this, it is neither good, or bad, it is just inherently NEW, and for the Old Dragons, the really really BIG ones who still remain of the ancient ones and bear their ways, and those whom are of the younger generations but who admire the ancient ways and the size and powers of the ones before who came to this land, they wonder if the humanoids and/or they can ever ‘ascend’, or return back to the spirituality/might/actual plane of reality they supposedly once held. Some dragons create whole spiritual schools of thought around this, and develop ways of living in harmony with the world, to purify the soul and raise one’s consciousness back to a higher reality and Love for all things. (Founders of major religion and schools of thinking like Taoism, Kabbalah, Buddhism, Christianity, the New Age religious guru figures, martial arts and spiritual meditation and psychedelic practices as rituals to get cosmic oneness or feel linked back with nature/achieve a better sense of identity and wholeness in therapy,…and on the negative side, the dark con artists and cults who manipulate these ideas. There are those whom worship in the service of a god who believe in lifes of simplicity, shunning Hate and Material needs, and in offering constant shelter, aid and merciful kind advice to others, like certain orders of real world monks, and the friars and nuns of the Medieval ages who weren’t concerned with status or war, just being able to harbor the sick and the poor, and the undertrodden… and those who claim to be about this, yet take it so far, it becomes a dragon who demands HUMANOID SUFFERING, mental or physical, to achieve their ‘enlightenment’/bring this dragon its twisted warped idea of ‘being true enlightened overlord beings again.’ Anyone who questions the dragon’s authority or beliefs, shall be brainwashed, sacrificed and eaten or violently tortured to be made an example of.(MesoAmerican human sacrifice, the majority of religious history, witch trials. Evolutionary competing again, predator animals using mimicry and biological trickery such as pheromones, hypnotic voices, other DND magic macguffin plots,to lure followers to their cult and also gain prey.) These deceptions ESPECIALLY work on Kobolds and the eventual denizens of the tinier Lizardfolk, who grew from aforesaid hybrids of Dragon/other monster species.

“WAIT” I hear you ask, I thought ya said Early Dragons are HUGE, cosmic beings. How did they FUCK primitive man….yknow, size wise.

AH, but you see, that’s the beauty of being *magical lore* with SpaceLizards/religious allegory/real world evolution and science. All that shit is GOOFY, and all KINDS OF crazy manifested things happen! …why, just look at starfish and fungi and sea squirts and special worms, tell me HOW IN THE WORLD, do you get US, somehow ALSO being closely by DNA being related to THAT.

And, tell me ALSO another wacky common alien/myth trope?

We don’t actually *fuck* the Dragons. We later fuck their descendants, who bear humanoid organs and size proportions, but the so-called REAL Dragons. These dragons simply mated with us via technology, thru alien SCIENCE(coff I mean magic) aka Grey Aliens aboard a ship we I mea, A COOL FLOATING SKY CASTLE LAIR, probes style OR, as a ritual on a dream plane or psychotropic spirit plane style…. Maybe, maybe, the whole Jesus getting put into the Virgin Mary…IS AN ALIEN DRAGON REPTILOID GOD THING. (YEAH I AM GOING THERE, BRO, COME SHARE THIS BONG WITH ME!)

Just kidding. I do not take any of this seriously. You can like all DND stuff take or leave whatever makes sense and whatever does not.

ANYWHOOZ. These Parents of Lizardfolk. These dragons, they see this crazy debauchery going on, and some see it as an excuse to spread their seed far and wide, establishing whole nations and tribes of Kobold and Lizard people to either far or dotingly worship them/pursue glorious wisdom or science along to honor them, and, for some OTHER ones, all of this stuff is only ‘modern child garbage’ and even frightening. Remember, these guys can live for CENTURIES, so all these games of Humanity, are like, watching someone play GTA all day and all night. Quaint and inoffensive at first, sorta novel and interesting, but by a certain point it gets boring and stupid at lowest, unhealthy and unnerving at the middle end, ans HOLY SHIT STOP WITH THE VIDEOGAMES , I MUST CRUSADE A STOP TO THIS MONSTROSITY THAT IS POISONING OUR YOUTHS….and, like with all things, to some extent, they are correct, to some extent, they are very misguided and very very wrong. Dragons are USED to being the supposed top apex predators, and when the humanoids began to be sapient, as powerful idols of holy guidance. Many of the original cosmic High Council decided ‘Let’s aid these poor struggling souls/teach them not to fuck around with magic SO badly so they don’t present us with a rivaling threat, but, let us teach them enough about the secrets of the universe some of them can still be more useful and propagate ’, and so, they teach them of great ideas, give them language and symbols. Some extra special humanoids even get to flaunt their power or wealth in return for being such a good servant/literal hybrid born bastard child of theirs/religious recruiter. Some could become kings or heads of state, or belong to special enlightened / “enlightened” societies and clubs, that don’t REALLY know everything yet THINK they do, and will behind the scenes pull all the strings of humanity. (Warmongers, Illuminati, Reptiloids again, Cults/pagan societies during the Age of Reason and The Enlightenment Period in Europe, The Masons, Knights Templar and other similar groups, the rise of established universities, corporations, scientists with guarded military secrets, Popes, global alien conspiracy, missionaries, and much, much more….)

We start to rebel against our ‘gods’. Often. A lot. It often isnt pretty. We hunt them, they hunt us. We try to beg for reason, they try to beg us to see reason. Sometimes it works, if a Lizard or Kobold acts as an ambassador/holy priest. Sometimes, the dragon just says ‘fuck off, my ungrateful children, imma gonna eat ya now.’

But remember, the dragons, THEY ARE NOT gods, and the Lizardmen are also not children of gods, they are just LIZARD ALIENS. They do flawed things and lizard folk do flawed mundane things too. They build many different cultures and types of villages, they try to achieve a lack of humanoid emotion, to varying result. And also to varying result, some may have xenophobic ideas about breeding with mammals and some make efforts to be as nonhuman as able by living naturally in the wilds, or in lairs which are spiritual attempts at matching the giant mysterious alien aesthetic and structures and vehicles their ancestry supposedly had. Some might even go so obsessive as to dig up and preserve the bones of their dragon idols and worship them like holy relics, or just put on glorious prominent display, like in science museums, to objectively marvel at and study. (Giant ancient alien chunks again, paleontology.)

They can like real lizards do shed molts, and they and dragons alike need to both eat, and they get weaker without heat source. Hence Lizards I can see flocking to mostly warmer climates, such as deserts, and tropics, with all the inherent tropes associated with such geography irl, and their functions. Cold and food scarcity, and habitat destruction, all these things affect both the macro and the micro, and so, the dragons suffer more and more from the crutches of mortal society and growth, just as much as any great wild beasts do, in real life. When the humans begin to rebel, they lose ground, and habitat, and as result, dragons get small, rarer, meaner. (Bear, sharks, crocs, any larger apex predators being reduced in modern times. The phases of evolution and the modern climate change and other Extinction events destroying reptiles irl.)

As the products of spreading their wisdom and technology changes, so too does the land, and, heck, why not just for completion sake THROW IN A MAGICALLY MANIFESTED ASTEROID OR AN ICE AGE TOO…some human wizard goofed up big time, or maybe some other dragon did, and ruined a lot of people’s days….the dragons start due to the cold going into hibernation, which turns into death, as the permafrost doesn’t leave, all except the mightiest die, who seal themselves in ice, to sleep dormant, for thousands of years….(myths and games again. Actual fossils being discovered of dinosaur and mammoth. Perhaps their bones and preserved remains can be used for DND plot item macguffins.)

As the dragons in this period are dying off, the lizardmen begin to also slow down in brain activity and heighten in aggression and survivalist Spartan qualities. They panic at the way they lose numbers and grow desperate, breeding whenever they can, leading to incest, which makes them MORE stupid…they turn to wandering, bloodthirsting, rough edged brute conquerors, like old classic Orc and Goblin stereotypes, except a bit more cunning, and a bit more magical. Years pass, and their brains are growing more sluggish and stupid, and empathy is stunted, due to the cold, and their once flowering wise cultures, their vast empires, generations crush them into becoming more primitive in style and simple in aesthetic and need, as they go from New Upper Egypt level civilization levels to nomadic tundra climate clans(Mongolian horsemen, Russian pagans, and tiny pockets of hillbilly folk, or cannibal Pulp comic tribes, just little pockets of sneaky predatory buggers, just eating and fucking and scheming and barely struggling to keep their humble rural societies alive, in the face of nonstop filthy human invaders, constant fighting over game, wood to make fires, and shelters to keep sane and alive. All in the face of serving any last straggler dragons who beg and DEMAND worship and fire fuel, to stay alive.

Lizardmen at reclusive because the endangerment of dragons is akin to that of real actual dangerous exotic wild beasts that once roamed and owned the WHOLE PLANET, like sharks, bear, wolves and tiger. They are all now being reduced into smaller wild places in exile, whenever humanoids subvert them, or start to rebel and hunt them, for sport. So Lizardfolk aren’t cold dumb heartless monsters for evil sake. They just are SICK OF THE WORLDS SHIT.

Humans for centuries now are responsible for erasing their gods and destroying their culture, and while it all mostly was for the sake of getting rid of their dragon overlords tyranny, it is also which led to our usual pursuing of gold and the mere spectacle of trophy hunting, and stealing their hoarded precious magical artifacts and inventions…(King Arthurian legends, Eastern Asian myths about certain yokai and forest spirit.) Thus, when dealing among to those who dare show their ass in THEIR FORMER WORSHIPPING TEMPLE RUIN, or THEIR LONELY CAVE SHELTER which is their last resort refuge from both human knights AND other competitive dragons….the more cold hearted ones, who decide to say a big FUCK YOU to the world. Hence, you get ‘chaotic evil’ perceived races, tales like The Hobbit with Smaug.

The bitter dragons get smaller and meaner, more bad ‘clever’ solutions are thought of, and all the while, generations of primordial cosmic wisdom are lost, INCLUDING WHERE THE DRAGONS ALL ORIGINALLY CAME DROM OR WERE LIKE ONCE, IN THE FIRST PLACE. They have come to this planet with the intent to breed and fill it (The Garden of Eden). But instead, they LOST in numbers, as humanoids overtook them and changed them (Replacement theory), and hence MOST dragons, they only grew more solitary and antisocial. More darker magics, more bitter hearts, stupider selfish minds, and more material desires. They know they lost SOMETHING and yet, rarely can claim it, for the very egotistic urge to be MORE, and to pursue, at all cost, to become PERFECT, and never just accept humble surrender, is what clouds the minds most with animalistic behavior and Wants, not Wisdom and Magical Higher Insight. (Buddhism, Monotheism, and Zen again.) Instead of teaching humanity the greatest secrets of the Unvierse….We, made THEM more like US. Dragons, and now as an offshoot, Lizard folk, all follow OUR ideals and act like our fellow wild creatures. Lizardfolk, by extension, are as obsessed with their origins as Dragons, just as clueless, and just as uninhibited as man. All the kinder enlightened unselfish one’s, want peace and harmony, and they share with the humans and other mammalian beings all their wisdom to survive better against their other hateful SpaceLizard enemies. (Eugenics revisionst theories, Ancient Alien Conspiracies, both fanciful and harmless and actually bigoted ones.) They rule over the kingdoms with a dogmatic, parental approach, which like most any council of rulers TRIES to mean mostly well, but like most authoritative figures or parents, gets their charges reaaaaal sick of them telling us what to do and all of their hypocritical other bullshit after a while.

Thus, we generate in their DND world all these cultures and the ideas of ‘Kind Gods’ and ‘Evil Gods.’ (Egyptian and similar animist faiths which use crocodiles and dragons and other elemental beings who act on a spectrum of Kind to Wicked, to Bored Fey/Blue and Orange Ambiguous Mischief.)

…..say where did all the time go, I was supposed to be checking on my car appraisal.

Hey friends, I was thinking of taking a crack at doing an oft requested "monsters reimagined" for lizardfolk in the next little while, but I found myself stalled out on creating an alternative pitch for their lore.

The problem is that there's so little to work with in the " Ignorant primordial savage" role that they've been pigeonholed into that I'm having genuine trouble finding inspiration.

As such, I figured I'd encourage you all to write your own favourite take on the lizardfolk in the replies/comments, and we'll see if we can't brainstorm our way to an awnser.

Here's some of my own thoughts to get you started:

Lizardfolk as they are presented primarily exist to fufill the role of stock primitive antagonists, a one step more fantastical version of the jungle dwelling cannibals often encountered like pulp heroes like Indiana Jones/Doc Savage/Conan the Barbarian.

In many ways they are the epitome of the "fill in the blank baddie", with everything from their culture to their religion to their motivations being wholly based on the fact that they're lizardy lizards who like to do lizard things and could never be anything but. This is flat and boring, and needs to change if we have any hope of doing something with them.

The whole "uninterested in knowledge", " think with their stomachs", "don't have emotions, just instinct" is one of d&d's most glaring examples of biological determinism. It assigns lizardfolk the concept of "spear chucking savages" and then works backwards to justify why they remain savage while detouring through 19th century race science talking points.

When dealing with any kind of anthropomorphic reptile we're inevitably going to get into the "lizard people" conspiracy theory milieu, with all the baked in antisemitism. On top of that, we're also open to ancient aliens style conspiracy theories given how often Lizardfolk are typecast as "ruin dwelling primitives descended from civilizations long before recorded history".

[katiekatdragon27]

Starting the year strong with a chaotic whiteboard with the homies.

Gigi: Why are you, as a man, wearing a bow?

I like to think Glisten and Gigi have severe attitudes towards each other. Not out of hatred or anything, but akin to siblings who always talk shit lol. Also cuz I like to think Gigi is sometimes a pain and gets a kick out of it.

Style testing with Glisten, Pebble, Hamlet, and Shimmer lol. It was fun drawing looser, it's freeing.

I doodled way more, but these were my faves (More below the cut):

Whatever, go my middle-aged women yuri. (Yes, I ship these two. Yes, the reasoning is just as thin as my reasons for shipping shinyshrimp. No, I do not care and will continue to be cringe til the day I die)

I recently got Flutter, and when people know how to avoid the distractor, she's really fun to play! Her ability is especially fun. And also, can't start the year without my shinyshrimp drawings. I made them busts, Zynt gave them legs, and Pasta was going to bully me about it, but that was a fatal mistake on his end.

Some drawing of @pastastrainer's host being the gay icon he is<3 (he likes being tagged), and 4x because it was requested by a friend, and I miss them they mean a lot to me.

Expect more to come, I might do more whiteboards they're really fun.

Have a good one folks!!

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Roosterwhale behind the cut; "the one where Kryptonians have omegaverse genders, but nobody told Match". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Mm,” Superman murmurs, sitting down on the armrests and stroking his hair again. “You’re taking it hard this cycle, aren’t you. I don’t think I’ve seen you fall in it this deep so quick since the first time.” 

Match has an odd, inexplicable urge to push him away, or to just squirm away from the armrests and Superman’s hand and–hide, somehow. How is that . . . why is . . .

He doesn’t understand what’s making him want to do that. 

But–Superman smells safe, still, and that’s . . . that’s distracting. Confusing. It’s . . . 

“Mm,” Match says, mostly in echo of Superman saying it, though he forgets . . . whatever else Superman said. It didn’t sound as full in his head, so he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to, or . . . 

“Don’t worry,” Superman says gently, still stroking his hair over and over. Match doesn’t understand why he’s doing it. Doesn’t understand why he even did it the once, much less why he’s still doing it. “Your sem-zahm'll be here soon. Just a couple excuses to make first.” 

Match feels heavy and sleepy and blurred, but the only thing that sounded full in his head was . . . 

“. . . sem-zahm,” he mumbles, tightening his grip on the pillow and digging his fingers into it. That was–the thing that sounded “full”. 

“Yes. And the zehdh-voi will take care of you, same as always,” Superman says, steady and reassuring, and then the corner of his mouth quirks up wryly. “Just try not to disassemble too much of the Fortress this time, mm?” 

“. . . yessir,” Match tries, not sure why he . . . is there a reason he’d disassemble the Fortress? A reason Superboy would’ve? That seems–stranger. That Superboy would’ve. 

“Kon,” Superman says, softening again and petting his hair more heavily. Match–Match just melts. Melts into something warm and heavy and useless and–and–

Useless. He’s–he– 

Match’s stomach knots, and roils, and suddenly feels worse than the cramps ever made it. He–he can’t be–he can’t be useless, he–he can’t be useless, if he’s useless he– 

“Kid?” Superman asks, stilling the hand he has in his hair and sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

“Won't help me. Won't,” Match chokes roughly without even meaning to open his mouth, screwing his eyes shut and locking all his muscles with his TTK before he can–react. Before he can let anything else show. Superman can already tell he’s–how can Superman tell he’s wrong, what did he do, where did he–why is he–“Can't think right, m’all stupid, no use if I'm stupid, m'degrading, just gonna degrade and get scrapped and won't even be good enough to use the parts from, not–not worth anything if m'stupid–useless if I’m–if I’m–” 

“Kid,” Superman says again as he leans in a little, and the eucalyptus smell fills up the whole world, but–but it’s still– “You’re not stupid. Remember? This is normal. We'll take care of you and you'll feel better after it’s over, just like always.” 

“No,” Match croaks, and is shocked and disgusted and terrified to realize he’s this close to tearing up, and why–why can’t he shut up–“No. Not worth the investment. Not worth fixing. Results weren't good enough, experiment was a waste of resources. Stupid to indulge in the sunk-cost fallacy. I’m stupid. I can't be stupid, I have to be good enough.” 

“You’re not any of those things, Kon,” Superman says quietly, smoothing his hair back off his forehead. 

But he’s not saying that to Match. 

Superboy’s not the one who’s degrading, Superboy’s not the one who’s useless if he’s stupid, Superboy’s not here and–and Superboy–Superboy Superman might actually bother to fix, maybe. He’s done it before, for whatever reason Superman does anything. He’d even tried to get him to help him do it before. 

But Match didn’t help him, so even if Superman could fix him, he won’t. 

They’ll let him degrade ‘til he rots and then they’ll throw him away and won’t even use the scraps of him, he’ll just be nothing, nothing, nothing, he’s not a person so he’ll just be dead, gone, he isn’t going to leave anything behind, not a soul or a ghost or a single ripple in the world. There isn’t an afterlife or anything like that that’d take him even if there’d be something left to take, but–but there won’t, because there isn’t, because he’s not a person and he’s never even tried to be so he’ll just be–nothing, he’ll be nothing and it’ll never have mattered that he happened at all, nothing he’s done will ever have mattered, he was just a mistake, a waste of resources, a failed result, a bad and useless thing that never, ever mattered for anything or–or to any–anyone. 

He can’t even degrade right. 

He should’ve told his handlers he was. Should’ve told the doctors. Told a guard or–just someone. Told someone, so they could scrap the plan and adapt and schedule his–his autopsy, or necropsy, or dissection, so they could maybe build something less useless next time; something that could actually serve the Agenda’s purpose. 

Not out of any of his DNA, though. So maybe he isn’t even useful enough for that. 

Match’s eyes are burning. They’re probably rotting. Degrading. His vision’s all blurred and his eyes are burning and he can’t even breathe right, or maybe even at all, and he–he– 

Superman’s saying something, Match realizes from some small, crushed-down place inside himself where there isn’t even anywhere to go anyway, where there isn’t even really a place. There’s nothing inside him, so why would there be? He’s not–he’s– 

Superman’s–been saying something, Match realizes. 

“Kid,” Superman says tightly. “Look at me.” 

Match doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to even be here. Doesn’t want to even be anywhere.

But Superman told him to, and he does.

[gloomysoup]

keeping the christmas magic

@steddiebingo christmas prompt: santa

rating: Teen+ | word count: 920 | tags: omegaverse, good uncle wayne munson | ao3

another edition to the home is where you are universe :)

“Daddy, is Santa real?”

Eddie’s head shot up from the budget book he’d had open in front of him on the coffee table. That was the last question he expected to come out of his four-year-old’s mouth.

“What d’you mean, love bug?” he asked slowly.

Violet shrugged her little shoulders. “Is Santa real, or is he pretend? Because Patrick at school says he’s pretend, and it's just daddies putting presents under the tree. And he said Emily was a baby because she told him Santa was real.”

Eddie took a breath as he nodded along to what his daughter was saying. “Okay… and what do you think, Vi?”

Again, Violet shrugged. “That's why I asked.”

“Mhmm.”

Fuck.

What was he supposed to say? Violet was only four, for fuck’s sake. Eddie thought for sure they had at least two more years before this came up, and he thought it would be Addie questioning everything first. He didn't expect it from Violet; not yet at least.

Just then, Steve came in with little James on his hip. Eddie’s savior, really. He always did stand by the opinion that two minds were better than one, especially when it came to their kids. Even more so when it was Steve’s mind.

“Stevie, baby!” he greeted. “Come help me and Vi for a minute?”

Steve frowned, but he sat down beside Eddie on the couch. He moved James to his lap. “What's up?”

“Is Santa real?” Violet asked again, her face the picture of innocence.

Steve's eyes widened as he looked at Eddie with undertones of panic.

“Patrick at school says Santa isn't real,” Eddie added. “Now Violet wants to know if Patrick is right.”

“Oh. Patrick. I see.” Steve cleared his throat. “Um… well, Vi, uh….”

Violet sat so patiently, staring at Steve and Eddie while waiting for their answer. Meanwhile, her parents were having a very intense silent conversation with their eyes. No one had prepared them for this.

“Why don't we call and ask Poppy?” Eddie suggested. “He knows lots of stuff. I bet he’ll have a good answer for you.”

“Good idea,” Steve agreed quickly, reaching for the phone on the table and taking the receiver off the cradle. He dialed the number quickly, having memorized it ages ago. It rang for a moment before Wayne’s voice came through.

“Yello?”

“Wayne! It's Steve. Um… I'm here with Eddie and Violet, and Violet has a pretty important question. We thought Poppy would have a good answer for her.”

“Okay… What's the question?”

Violet scrambled over Eddie to stick her face next to the speaker. “Poppy, is Santa real?” she asked, voice raised to make sure Wayne heard her.

“Oh. That is… quite the question.” Wayne cleared his throat a little, followed by a short cough. “You and Ed havin’ trouble answerin’ that one, Steve?”

“Maybe….”

Wayne chuckled. “Just tell her Santa runs on the magic o’ believin’. If no one believes in 'im, his sleigh can't get here from the North Pole. Worked with Ed ‘til he was old enough to figure out all that was a load o’ horse shit.”

Steve sighed in relief. “Thanks, Wayne. You're a lifesaver.”

Wayne laughed. “No problem, son. Good luck, and give the pups some love for me. I’ll see y'all for Christmas in a few days. Love y’all.”

“Yeah, we’ll be there. Love you too. ‘Bye.” Steve hung up the phone and pulled Violet into his side. He pressed a kiss to the top of her curly hair. “Poppy says that Santa runs on the magic of believing,” he said softly. “As long as we believe in him, his sleigh can get here from the North Pole. But if everyone stops believing in him, he can't make it all this way.”

Violet sat silently for a moment, taking it in. Then she nodded resolutely and got off the couch. “Okay,” she said before taking off for the room she shared with her sister.

Eddie blinked after her. “That was easy….”

“Yeah….” Steve huffed a laugh and looked at James, who was happily sucking on his paci. “What on earth are we gonna do with your sister?”

“Thank God for Wayne Munson, huh?”

“Ain't that the truth.”

Eddie looked at Steve. “You know it's only a matter of time before the girls outgrow Santa, don't you?”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. I'm not looking forward to it, though.”

“Me either.”

Steve reached over and grabbed Eddie’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I guess we’ll just have to take it in stride, just like we always do.”

Eddie nodded. Then he cracked a small grin. “Maybe… we just need more pups to keep the magic going.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing Steve to burst out laughing.

“You are insatiable, Eddie Munson.”

He merely shrugged, still smiling. “You know you love me.”

“Of course I do,” Steve replied with an eye roll. “Doesn't mean you always make it easy on me.”

Eddie shot back against the couch dramatically, hands over his heart. “Oh! How you wound me, my love!”

Just then, the girls came running into the living room. They took their opportunity, launching onto the couch. They landed on top of Eddie, forcing a soft oomph out of him before the pups dissolved into giggles that made his heart so happy. Eddie hugged his girls as Steve laughed, never tiring of the sound of their laughter in his ears.

He loved his little life, despite the curveballs his pups liked to throw at them.

[crossed-worlds]

"Jack, the box?" Mo motioned to the item, he didn't know how it worked. But Jack did, since the other was the one who had paused the game. "You gotta unpause the game."

The Dial on the side was the key to that, just had to turn it the other way to unpause the game. Return the two back into the game of the past. In the mean time... Mo crouched to look at the captured dragon in his line.

"Frustrating getting caught by a demon all the time isn't it?"

"Oh shut up..." Ao bing sighed, shooting the river demon an annoyed glare. "I will hear you out...but do not think we are allies."

"Uh huh...whatever you say your highness..." Mo casually brushed it off as if he already knew the dragon would change his tune soon. "Wait til you meet my sister..."

Welcome Pause

@crossed-worlds || (X)

[docholligay]

OKay, so I THINK I get what we’re going to try and do here. It’s not that he thinks he can keep her from dying, it’s that he thinks he can grant her death, which is a better outcome than the hell of being a mushi as your soul decays. I mean, I suppose I would say give her the choice, and maybe he will, but also sometimes, as seen in the last episode, Ginko just makes unilateral choices that affect people without much input from them.

PLease please do not spoil anything for me in your excitement. I don’t want to know anything! I don’t even want to know if something is a  cultural difference, or if you can’t wait for me to get to a part. If I  wonder about something, please don’t say stuff like “Just wait til…” You know what is great for all that? The discord! Which apparently has its own mushishi channel now, which must mean y’all are excited for it!  

[welcometogrouchland]

Noticing that TV and film will often have a character either have had an abortion in the past that isn't showcased on screen (and just used as part of the character's ~fucked up and twisted backstory~) OR contemplate getting an abortion in the present day but not to through with it. Just once I want to see someone delete that fetus within the events of the plot and not be like. Extremely majorly punished for it and/or be in the wrong

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The West Passage

medieval fantasy set in a giant crumbling palace of traditions with forgotten origin, ruled by giant eldritch Ladies

when winter weather comes in the middle of summer, and a beast below the palace begins to rise, two teens from Grey who have suddenly gained a lot of responsibilities set out on separate journeys to the other towers to find a way to stop it, and meet all sorts of strange people and creatures along the way

world where pronouns/names are based on people’s roles

tons of cool medieval-style chapter illustrations by the author

[foxgloveinspace]

People jumping ship cause of the new masks is very ahhhh. Telling. Tbh.

[hauntingblue]

Oh now the villagers know..... and arlong burned the town to punish her..... for some reason

[oncominggstorm]

My aunt decided a good way to wish me a happy birthday would be to text me a picture of me & my dead dad from my 22nd birthday.

Like yay thanks, I totally wanted to be sad and missing my dad on my birthday. I definitely wasn't trying to do the "out of sight out of mind don't think about sad things" thing to get through it without crying or anything 👍 Definitely wasn't already struggling missing not getting a happy birthday text from him 👍👍

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

i'm kind of amazed how most of the stardew marriage candidates just want you to be their manic pixie dream whatever by agreeing with everything they like and plying them with compliments or praise or whatever (which is fine but a bit. Much) but for shane his romance is just you being there for him while he figures his own shit out... dunno why i never wanted to romance him before he's so good

[peachy-lemon83]

I have determined that some peoples brain must be able to separate fictional characters from irl people, and then some peoples brain can’t. Because like there is no way we’re watching this same thing and I’m so attached to this character bawling while he dies and they’re sitting over there looking at me like I’m crazy for crying. Like what do you mean your not attached?!?!

For reference it was a bit ago, me and my parents watching Endgame, I was rewatching it and still bawling, my parents weren’t phased one bit by the movie. And yes I do still think about that moment because I am still and will be for a very long time mourning Toby Stark.

[anonymusbosch]

really truly Feelings about coming back to my hometown and seeing it as an outsider (I only knew it as a child with my motion constrained by school and parents and being under 18) and an outsider (it's changed since I've been away these last 8 years) and an outsider (showing it to my partner and finding it both familiar and unfamiliar, and special and inadequate) and an outsider (my parents and sister have all moved and my childhood home is no longer mine - staying in a building with a door code to learn and furniture still being moved in) and an outsider (my favorite places have changed, moved, closed, repainted) and an outsider (new murals! new buildings! new bike lanes) and an outsider (how the Fuck do the bike lanes on the east bank connect) and an outsider (it's changed [you can never step in the same river twice] and I have too)

[acaciapines]

editing so im waiting for the teeth like damn for a loveless aro i sure do have a lot of thoughts about unconditional love