#Lore Wild

[sherlockggrian]

congratulations joel, massive W for smallishbeans lovers :D

[justamagicalpurpleshark]

I know we're all thinking about celestial symbolism for joel rn, so despite the fact that i think it would be very funny if we all just used the fucking car itself, i propose "The Chariot(eer)", a constellation known as Auriga, which is latin for chariot(eer), because it fits both the car and the celestial theme.

Bonus points: it's right by the Gemini constellation, and it's biggest star is Capella, the goat.

[floweroflaurelin]

The Gambler’s Prayer

—

Please tell me you’ve all seen the reel Jimmy posted… 👀🐤🙏

[loveyourhate]

Dogged Love

[proxycrit]

LINKTOBER DAY 19! East Reservoir Lake

The Zora siblings gets that self sacrificing from somewhere, what can I say.

Anyways, the duo absconded with the crown prince. (Alchemist Yona, you’re going to stop them, right? RIGHT??)

This is a Totk au called Familiar Familiar, and it all started when Zelda didn’t get sent to the shadow realm (and everything fell apart from there). Here’s the masterlist!

Patreon here if you like my crimes and want to feed me a treat!

[baratheon]

when your professional frenemy calls you a cradle robber and says that she looks better than you despite being a literal skull.

[tadpole-apocalypse]

Perils of dating a Wild Magic Sorcerer while trying to have a dramatic moment on your grave.

[sophietheghost]

Dear Canary, since you asked so nicley, we can make a exeption just for you

[aniisol]

so far for the people who aren't watching the lore stream:

I'M SORRY MR LITTLEWOOD? THOUSANDS OF LIFE SERIES HAVE TAKEN PLACE???

the canary curse was NOT AN ACUTAL MYTHICAL CURSE.

there are still no Listener players

Martyn (character)'s new scar is at the top of his ear

The Watchers and Listeners are fighting more than before, with the Listeners finally gaining ground

Zombie-Martyn wasn't aware of himself or what was going on

Martren was a form of torture used by the Watchers to ruin something "that he held dear, that was so important to him" (it was Martyn. Martyn was the most important thing)

there is a tier-list of Watchers on their council, some with more power than the others

Martyn doesn't know about Scar's lore a (regarding Trader Scar's), but Scar was going mad by himself until the Watchers sent him back to the endless void

the Watchers still don't like Scott

the Watchers can project sight or hallucinations

Impulse has gotten so close to winning each time that he's going mad about it

(will update as the stream goes on)

[wildegeist-old]

Everyone talks about the joys of someone else being super invested in your OCs and while this undoubtedly feels absolutely awesome, I think there's also something to be said about the joy of being invested in someone else's OCs too. There's just vibes you get out of some people's casts of characters that you can't get anywhere else with their own unique flavor from that person, and they're just sitting there in relative obscurity spawned completely out of someone's mind with no media involvement or anything. Special kind of feeling

[vicprobably]

Oli's inclusions in Wild Life are so fun because it means that you can headcanon him as a Watcher but only if he's silly. All-powerful god-like figure but he only sends down snails and robots and superpowers plus cool music playing alongside them

[inkedberries]

expanding on the thought of kudou getting the call sign 'hero' and afo getting irked by it for some reason

[shellshooked]

they say that the world was built for two

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Hank

I'm eating a bag of mormon gorp that tastes like gasoline while watching the rain run down the mountain. The taste doesn't even bother me anymore - all homemade gorp tastes like this. It's just a natural consequence of everyone keeping their prepper shit in their garages. 

My dad's out in the clearing, wandering around with his GPS. He's got some pieces of wire out on top of it to try and make the effective antennae bigger, but it just makes it look like he's dowsing. Another mormon tradition. I ask him if he's close to find water yet, and he looks up at me, little rivers flowing off him, and says yeah - he can feel it. 

I'm sure he can. I settle under my tree and watch the droplets roll down the needles. Awaiting the final judgement of Judge GPS. 

A few minutes later, it provides: 

Turns out my dad forgot to record the location of the car this morning. The GPS remembers where we parked yesterday, but by luck my dad knows how to get from there to our car. Downside is that it's a nine mile walk just to get to yesterday's position, then another five miles to backtrack. That's fourteen miles total. 

I'm only thirteen. 

Think you can make it? my dad asks. And it's a kindness that he's worried, but it's not like there's an alternative. What else would I do, sit down in the murk and cross my fingers he finds me again? Ask him to carry me 14 miles? 

I'll be pretty jelly legged, I say. But yeah. I'll make it. 

Attaboy, he says. He fishes a bag of poptarts out and offers me one as - I think - a peace offering. A, sorry you're gonna have to walk 14 miles in the rain because I goofed kind of gift. 

I take a bite and, despite being individually wrapped, it still manages to taste like diesel fumes. We start hiking our incredibly long distance in terrible weather for foolish reasons, and I joke to my dad that the only way to make this day any more mormon would be by pushing handcarts. 

He laughs. Neither of us laugh again until 11 pm, when we stumble like drunkards into camp. My grandpa has stayed up late to make sure we weren’t lost, but he only stays up long enough to see us arrive. We try to eat a dinner of sweet potato stew, but after falling asleep in the middle twice, we agree to just go to bed. 

I sleep in well past nine and wake up to nobody in camp but my grandpa. My dad left with my sister to keep hunting around 5 am. I know that everyone assumes that their dad is invincible when they're 13, but I'm 28 now and part of me still thinks he's gonna live forever. That God made exactly one perpetual motion machine, and it raised me in the desert. 

---

Around noon my grandpa suggests hunting again. If it was my dad, I'd probably tune him out, but I like my grandpa's style of hunting. My dad hikes and hikes and hikes until the elk get tired and just let him shoot them. My grandpa finds the sleepiest, sunniest, coziest field and takes a nap there, figuring if the elk have any decent taste they'll come there at some point.

Man's got a knack for knowing what elk like - he's right more often than not. I think he might've been an elk in a previous life. 

I go with him, and much as I hate to admit it, the hike is good for me. I start off walking like a pirate on two peg legs, so stiff I might as well not have knees, but by the end of the mile and a half walk I'm almost normal. We make it to the edge of the clearing, and my grandpa finds a patch of grass taller and softer than the beds inside the trailer, and he curls up to sleep there. I look across the grass and I watch the comings and goings of critters through the field. Sometimes I use the scope to get a magnified view, but I never do so with my hand on the trigger. The thought of accidentally looking a person through that glass is something that sends a chill up my spine. 

Some deer wander through the glen, but it'd take a fool to mistake one of them for an elk. A few hours later, my grandpa wakes up and asks if I want to wander around a little. It's a lovely day. Rain comes in bursts in Arizona, and the day after is almost always clear as can be. And for a short while, all the desert browns turn green and lush. Hard mosses turn squishy and cacti swell up like fresh baked muffins and for a while you can get why people settled in these god forsaken wastes. 

So I go with him, and we walk on, me with my gun, him just taking in the forest. He looks so peaceful that I get a little jealous, but it's not until my grandpa stops and looks at me that I even notice it myself. Takes a mirror, sometimes, to know yourself.

Being near my grandpa is always a strange thing for me. He's quiet, and he doesn't talk much, and I don't ever get the feeling that he's particularly emotionally intelligent - but it's like he's interacting with a reality more raw and real than mine. Like I'm watching symbols on a screen and he's counting atoms. And sometimes, just being near him gives me access to that raw matter. Just something about how he is breaks the illusions of the world.

He looks at the gun like a foreign object, like he doesn't recognize it, then he looks at me. He speaks and he doesn't mince words. 

What would you do if an elk came across the path and you shot it right now? he asks. 

Well, I'd start cleaning it, I say, and he waves the words away like cobwebs in his face. 

But would you celebrate? he presses.

And I look at him, and I don't actually see any judgement staring back. He knows the answer, and he's at peace with it. He’s asking so I can see it too. He’s being a mirror so I can see my own face.

I think I might actually cry, I admit. And he nods along in agreement before reaching forward to take the gun off my shoulder. 

Lets just walk today, he says. No chance of killing anything. No worrying about that. 

Right, I say. 

He pops the chamber open and tosses me back my bullet. I catch it, and the relief I feel is palpable. 

Can I change my mind? I ask, and he shrugs.

Whenever you want. Hunt or don’t. It’s not the hunting that I’m worried about. It’s seeing you ignore your conscience.

And for a moment, I'm there in the real world with him, and my gloves are off, and reality is a metal cube in my hand: Sharp and cold and heavy.

Or maybe that’s just the bullet.

---

We make it back to camp a bit later than my dad. We get there and he’s waiting for us. If he's tired, he doesn't show it. 

How'd it go? he asks. My grandpa looks at me, and I don't know how to respond. I don't know how to explain it, and I am scared. 

Great, he replies. It's a shame Babs only has a doe tag. We saw a five-point out there. Close enough to hit with a football. 

No, my dad says. If his grin was a half inch wider, both ends of his mouth would meet in the back of his head and everything above his tongue would slide off.

Tell him Babs, grandpa says. And, not for the first time, and especially not the last, I try my hand at spinning a yarn. 

It's pretty good. But at 13, I still have a lot to learn.

[cattimeswithjellie]

In Episode Three of Wild Life, Gem was followed around for the whole session by a dangerous and inescapable entity that was completely capable of destroying her if given half a chance, but was also kind of slow and dumb and could also destroy her if she lost track of it and it got itself into trouble. She responded by talking to it the exact way she talks to her Twitch Chat and leading it around her base for a 90-minute Let's Play Life Series episode.

It was funny, and maybe also speaks at least a little to the nature of her relationship with those watching her, in-universe or out. But it worked!

[apowo16again]

cries because everybody in this fandom sees the thought of Jimmy winning as a laughable impossibility and even people who say they're rooting for him only mean it as a joke and whenever you mention that he's doing good people have to let you know that it won't last long and inevitably he will die first because of some stupid self-fulfilling prophecy that got turned into my least favorite fanon ever. why can't he just be like a player who has a chance just like everyone else does. have you stopped to consider WHY he dies first so often? it's not a curse. this isn't a scripted series. it's because he's incredibly pacifistic and because people generally don't want to help him because they consider him a weak player. both of these things have been done away with this season, he has a taste for blood and an ally who is both incredibly underrated in his strength and has said he would never betray him. jimmy has as much a chance as anyone else.