#but i never really stick to that very long

[phovaries]

IMAGINE:

It’s your first time climbing Mount Everest and you’re super nervous. You’ve spent years training for it. Practically a lifetime spent navigating every horrible what-if scenario that could only have been fathomed in the depths of your worst nightmares. But, it hardens you. Shields you from the fear that wracks your body the second you crane your neck to look up, up, up, into the stratosphere. You take a deep breath, the weight of your gear grounding you as you start your descent to the heavens.

The beginning goes just as planned. One foot in front of the other while following the hordes of others around you. They too are on the same journey as you. Comrades in fighting against your own biology to complete an impossible task thought to only have been reserved for gods. The wind howls around you, tightening its grip on your lungs as you start to struggle to breathe.

It’s okay, I’m just panicking. You think to yourself, knowing that you’ve already trained your lungs to handle the low atmospheric pressure.

It doesn’t get better, though. And like a ship thrown off course by a singular degree, you find yourself dreadfully alone.

It’s okay, you tell yourself. You just need to get to the next checkpoint in time before your fingers start to really hurt. The wind laughs at you as you struggle under its weight, uselessly grunting as your heavy boots slam against the powdery snow.

You can’t cry, not yet. You crane your neck in front of you again, knowing that as long as you could still go up, there was always hope. Only a coward would climb back down at this point, and you refuse to let your worst fears come true. Of never reaching the top. Of spending a lifetime sticking feathers to wax only to have been shot down by the very sun you wished to see.

Cold fingers grow damp in your gloves, and clammy feet start to throb. You whimper softly, closing your eyes to focus, dammit, focus.

Bits of white stick to your clothes, the mountain calling out to you. Pulling you into its eternal emptiness.

You refuse to let it speak.

With a grimace and one last burst of energy, you pull yourself together enough to give just a little more hope.

It doesn’t last long.

Those fears come back, only different this time. Imagining that instead of coming home a coward, you don’t come home at all.

No, you refuse to see it. Can’t imagine how long it would take before your family starts to worry about you. The looks on their faces, god what would they say?

The cold soothes you, now, because you know that once the heat comes fierce and swift that it truly is all over for you.

It’s in that moment, when all tangible hope has been lost, that you see it. A shining beacon in the distance, a swatch of black marring the blank canvas that enveloped you. You’re shivering and cold, but the flames of hope snake their way through your weary bones and you crumble. A person. There’s someone else up here and you found them.

You want to scream. In agony or in joy? You’re not sure. But, it all changes when you get close enough to see the still figure trapped in a layer of snow. Heavy boots lumber towards the figure, and you can’t help but fall to your knees.

No.

Thick, gloved hands shakily reach for the dark material. Cold. Just like everything else on this god forsaken piece of land. Your blood like molasses, the amount of effort needed to take a small shovel out of your bag and dig into the ground around you. You carefully pull off the stranger’s goggles. An omen. A sign from god.

“OMG is that danisnotonfire? Haha wow I love your videos and wow this is-“ you stop, realizing that you are indeed speaking to a dead man. “Damn. Didn’t realize they were planning to tour on Everest.” You look around you at the barren mountainside. “Oh… well I guess that didn’t work out. Anyways nice to meet you.”

It’s then, standing beside a frozen danisnotonfire, that you feel yourself come alive again. You never got to see them on the Terrible Influence Tour because you spent all your time training on Everest, but the universe gifted you with Dan’s last TIT meet and greet.

Thinking about tits, you find the courage and embrace the white void, climb higher and higher until you finally reach that flag and scream. First, a garbled string of sounds that have built up in your chest since the day you decided to climb this mountain, and ending on one great sob.

You’ve done it.

You’ve gotten your TIT meet and greet for the phEverest show.

the mosquito i killed in the middle of the night stuck to my wall:

[oncasette]

𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗦 𝗜 𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗗 𝗜𝗡 𝗠𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧

zayne li x fem!reader, boyfriend!sylus qin x fem!reader

summary: 1.0k

But, then, before he has a chance to open his mouth, a head of white hair filters past his field of vision and sidles up next to you. He sticks his hand in your back pocket, and tugs you against his hip, and Zayne feels that fluttering feeling take flame until there’s only the ashes of butterfly wings in his gut. 

or the one where zayne is surprised to see a man he's never met picking you up from the hospital after a routine checkup.

content: jealousy, unrequited love

masterlist | beat you to it masterlist

It’d been a year or so since you’d re-inserted yourself into Zayne’s life. It’s a wonder, really, how he’d managed to make it through this long without you. That he’d let you slip through his fingers way back when. He doesn’t think he’d be able to do it, now, given the circumstances. Not with the tight grip you held over his heart.

Being your primary care physician had been easy enough when you’d started seeing him. He’d managed to explain the brunt of his lingering butterflies to the crush he’d held for you as a child and get on with his days, but that’d been before he started seeing you outside of the hospital. In cafes and bakeries and his own home, at times. Now, he’s starting to come to terms with the fact that that crush had morphed into something bigger. Something lingering. 

You’d grown more comfortable with him, and him, in turn, with you. You texted him about new macaroons you wanted to try the next time you met up with him on his lunch break, you brought him a cupcake on his birthday with a single candle when he’d neglected to buy one for himself, you wormed your way into his life and his mind and he wasn’t fond of any idea that removed you from it. 

Still, Zayne doesn’t think he’ll ever truly get used to touching you. Even in this context, with his hands covered in latex under the harsh luminescence, he has to focus especially hard to keep his hands from quivering. It’s gotten better, at least, from when he was a child. He remembers placing bandaids cockeyed over your shredded knees one summer because he couldn’t keep the tremor at bay. No, at least now, he can conduct his checkups with a semblance of professionalism. 

“Everything looks like it should,” Zayne says, his eyes flickering up to yours as he looks through your chart. He misses when it was all still paper and folders. It gave him something tangible to hold, something that felt finite. Real. Something to fiddle with while he avoided your stare.

“Good. That’s good, right?” you ask, looking up at him with an overwhelming amount of trust clouding your gaze. It pinches at his chest, before dissipating into the fluttery feeling he’d grown accustomed to.

“You’ll still need to monitor your heart and your fatigue levels with your increasing workload,” he says.

“I can do that,” you say softly. You’d always been good at listening to him, even if you were a bit stubborn about it at times. 

“Other than that,” Zayne nods, clearing his throat and turning the tablet off and setting it on the counter. “It’s very good.”

“Great! Does that make me free to go then, doctor?” you ask. He hates the way his face heats up at the honorific. Thankfully, it’d been a couple of weeks since his last haircut, and the tips of his ears were shielded from your eyes. You’d been calling him that since you were children. Each time he’d patched up a bump or a bruise, you smiled up at him with rosy cheeks and called him doc. 

“One last thing.” He fishes through his pocket to grab a mint, holding it out for you in an open palm. “Yvonne will help you reschedule for your next appointment in eight weeks.”

“Thanks, Dr. Zayne,” you chirp, offering him the toothy grin he remembers from his younger years. He opens the door to the examination room for you, following you out and watching you as you walk to the front desk to reschedule. He briefly considers stopping you, considers asking you to dinner when his shift ends, considers doing anything more than watching you leave with his tongue held tight between his teeth. 

But, then, before he has a chance to open his mouth, a head of white hair filters past his field of vision and sidles up next to you. He sticks his hand in your back pocket, and tugs you against his hip, and Zayne feels that fluttering feeling take flame until there’s only the ashes of butterfly wings in his gut. 

You hadn’t mentioned that you were seeing anyone, not that he’d needed that information to conduct this round of checkups, but, still, this had to have been new. Fresh. Stinging. An open wound with blood still pearling at the seams. 

From this distance, Zayne can faintly hear you say, “I told you you didn’t have to come inside. I would have found the bike.”

“And we can find it together just as easily when we leave, sweetie.” The man shrugs, kissing the crown of your skull. Zayne’s feet feel frozen to the ground. He should go. He has other patients to take care of, things to attend to in his office and with the attendees, but he can’t move. He’s stuck staring, tongue heavy in his mouth. His chest aches with a feeling he’d long forgotten.

“You are all set,” he hears Yvonne say and then, as fast as you’d come, you’re leaving. It’s the smallest of mercies to see you wave at him, his own hand coming up tentatively to reciprocate the gesture with his thumb clutching something small against it. Once you’re out the sliding glass door, he watches the man pull you into a lingering kiss. He hates how easy it is for you to lean into him, how eagerly you pursue his lips. He hates how much it makes his stomach churn and his eyes feel wet with something akin to embarrassment. The back of his tongue reeks of bitterness as he recalls all the opportunities he’d had and all the times he’d pushed them aside in favor of claiming that he’d have all the time in the world to tell you how he felt. Of course he’d waited too long. He’d always waited when it came to you, stalling for time until the ice finally thawed around his heart so that it was warm enough to house you there. 

Zayne swallows, finally managing to avert his gaze. He lowers his hand. There’s another mint in his fist. 

[opt1mistic]

NOT IN THIS UNIVERSE

synopsis: ellie wanted to be her, she wanted to be the person you loved, the person she could go to when she needed to talk, she wanted to be your girlfriend. she tried, she really did. but you just didn’t want the same thing. did you even remember all those times she talked—tried to talk to you? it hurt so much, ellie doesn’t know what to do with herself, with her life. will she ever move on?

warnings: angst, crying(ellie), dina comforting ellie, mentions of a heart attack, reader has a gf, blah blah blah blah… not proofread!! wc: 1k

note: soo this was a request from like a really long, and on my old blog(i wrote it but forgot to post it…heh..)i think this is really bad and some of thee worst angst ive ever written but i cant stop thinking about it for some reason so i’m posting it..

masterlist | ellie masterlist

You were just so beautiful and so irrevocably irresistible to ellie. She just couldn’t seem to stop being so in love with you, she stuck to you like glue, like you were the paper and she was the liquid glue that wouldn’t stick. The paper just kept rejecting the glue.

She’s tried talking to you but you just won’t take the conversation, Ellie will say ‘hi’ and you’ll say ‘hi’ back and it just won’t go anywhere. If a question comes your way from Ellie you'll either nod or not even acknowledge it. It was quite rude if I’m gonna be honest, but you were really just not interested, at all. So Ellie just stopped trying, and stood from afar and looked at you from time to time.

When you were on the way to class, Ellie would be by a wall just watching you walk by, with someone else’s hand in yours. You’re leaving class, and Ellie's behind you also leaving the same class, and again, clinging on to someone else’s arm. Why couldn’t it be her? Why didn’t you like her? it was unfair, unfair that you were dating her and not Ellie.

Ellie wasn’t wanting to force herself onto you, because, well, then you definitely wouldn’t like her. And she also didn’t want to seem or be a creep who’s completely obsessed with you, and she wasn’t honestly, she just loves you, has loved you for so long now.

It hurt loving someone who didn’t reciprocate those same feelings. The only feelings you did reciprocate were the ones you have for your lovely, little girlfriend. I mean you looked like you truly loved her, with how much the two of you were spotted together. Anyone and everyone who talked about the two of you would say something along the lines of “ughh they are just so cute, i could never see them two apart.” and Ellie would nod along, agreeing because you and your girlfriend were cute together, and Ellie could also never see the two of you apart. But she also loved you and wanted to be that person for you. But I guess that place was already taken.

Maybe if Ellie would have talked to you at the beginning of your first year of college when she first saw you, but something told her that it was wrong. Maybe it was faith or something else. But it hurt Ellie very deeply when she found out her chance to be with you was gone, because someone else had gotten it, and now has the key to your heart.

Ellie often cried at night after seeing you with her, it tormented her, that you were being touched by someone else, that you let someone else’s lips touch your own. It tortured her, messed with her head. She’d sit on her bed with tears falling from her eyes, and Dina next to her, comforting Ellie, telling her to forget about you and just move on.

“Ellie, you need to move on, she made it obvious that she’s not interested. and she’s already dating someone. just move on and find someone else that you can actually be with.”

“I can't, dina. i-i i just can’t, you don’t understand,” she sobbed out to dina shaking from the pain you were causing her. Ellie’s cries were loud, possibly heard by her neighbors. She just couldn’t let you go. “I just loved her.” more yelps and helpless cries left Ellie's lips.

The next day she would wake up with such puffy eyes that if they were any more puffier she probably wouldn’t be able to see anything. Ellie would go to her class and see you again, and that fucking girlfriend of yours, and she just break something, dig her knuckles into something and break it. But instead of breaking something she just cried, cried and cried, until she couldn’t, until nothing would come out.

She cried out all her tears for you, and she had none left for you. And maybe it was meant to be like this, that you and her weren’t supposed to be or end up together ever, in any universe, you were just meant to be strangers and nothing more. You were meant to walk past Ellie everyday and not know that she even exists. Forgetting and erasing all those times she has tried talking to you and know her as only a nobody.

and possibly it was faith that she never talked to you that first time she met you, maybe it was meant to be like this. Ellie will continue watching you pass her by in the corridors and watch as your girlfriend kisses you.

Ellie was going to move one and find someone who acknowledged her and wanted her the same way she wanted them. And she’ll never forget you, she will always remember you and keep you close to her heart so that every time she thought of you a piece would break off. and stab her and leave her to bleed out to death.

And she will start to forget you, but then one little thing will trigger the thoughts of you and it will stab and kill her over and over, and over again, until you have no heart to stab with the knife in your palm. And the power you have over her will be completely gone with Ellie's heart, because you were the one who was going to hold and squeeze it forever.

Until there is not a beating heart left to squeeze, Ellie will be dead, of whatever killed her, old age or maybe a heart attack. In the state she is in at this very moment, it feels like a never ending heart attack. She could feel this crying feeling in her chest that feels like millions of heart attacks all at once. That almost brings tears to Ellie’s eyes, but nothing ever comes out anymore. And all this just because of you. And will anything ever fill that empty void that you left in her— in her heart?

©opt1mistic

[lizziesloopy]

Younger Daryl vs Older Daryl sex ⚠️

Saw someone else do this, but wanted to put my own interpretation on it.

Younger Daryl would be avoidant, not like super dirty and agressive like most people say, just avoidant. I mean sure yes he could be a bit harsh, but never too harsh.

Hates making eye contact during sex, strictly doggy style or having u bent over something. Or if u ride him and don’t look at him/have ur head down on his shoulder

This man would NOT last long. And definetly have a hard time with self control.

I don’t think he has a lot of experience, so he’d be a bit clumsy but pretend like he knows what he’s doing because he doesn’t wanna hurt his ego.

Never ever stays with u or sleeps after sex, he finds it uncomfortable, too vaunerable.

Speaking of vaunerability, he doesn’t like when u can see his scars for too long, so he puts his shirt back on right after u guys finish

Likes having something like the tv going on in the background because the silence makes him anxious

Hates the idea of shower/bath sex because of his back scars

Despite not being the most affectionate lover, he will still clean you up after, even if it’s just a tissue or a ‘u need anythin before I head out?’

Hard and fast. It’s not that he wouldn’t enjoy slow sensual sex, he’s just not quite sure how to do it, and frankly the idea of it kinda freaks him out, being that intamite with someone. So instead he sticks to fucking you like a horny teenager.

Learns most of his skills from porn or Merle, speaks for itself.

He tries his very best to finger you, even if it’s just a little bit before sex, although he’s not very good at it. He’s one of those guys that puts two fingers up there like he’s on some kind of mission and is constantly checking ur face to see if he’s making it at least somewhat pleasurable for you.

He will not utter a single word while fucking you, might as well think he’s mute

BOOM SHAKALAKAAA YES GAAAAAWDDDDD

Older Daryl is much different 🤗🤗🤗

He’s still quiet for the most part, but he’s alright with the occasional talking during sex now, especially if it’s something that turns you on

He takes his sweet sweet time with you. As he’s gotten older, his stamina has gone down, therefore your pleasure, is most of his motivation

Prefers being in a position see your face, but if he needs or wants to look away or close his eyes, he can.

Munch munch munch munch munch

Eats pussy like it’s a home cooked meal after a 9 to 5, purely because he enjoys it, but also you do too

Very protective/affectionate during sex. I mean that as In like he is big on holding you with his arms, keeping you close, smelling your hair, making sure the windows and curtains are shut. He does not like the idea of anyone acidently seeing or hearing you two

Shower sex is a must have, but that definetly comes in at a later part of your relashionship. He really has to trust u to be open to that kind of thing

Always smokes a ciggerete after or sometimes even during sex, helps him relax

Has now learned the ways of the fingering masters. Professional curl and hook

Likes holding ur hair or making sure it satay out of ur face while u two are doing it, not in like a kinky way, more of a comforting way

[myrfing]

Ok. Anyway, I’ve chewed on the role quest capstone since I played the quest last night and some people are right: it isn’t surprising for this game’s overall writing. The game tends to be very safe/liberal-centrist with its leanings, since you know, corporate product meant to grab as wide of an audience as possible. They wrote this to be as vague and as unrealistic as possible, to give themselves plausible deniability on top of the “it’s just a joke maaan” and maybe that’s why it’s so frustrating: because she does bring up salient points that players have been craving to see more of, but it’s once again played off or cheaply handled or overshadowed by something safer. It’s a problem of the greater time bubble and the need for an unchanging game-setting (what a trouble it would be to have to revamp the derilicts, or the refugee camps outside of ul’dah), and a problem of corporatized writing. Even on the other foot, when they do try to handle it with sincerity, it’s been bizarre, rushed, and never really sticks the landing (ex. the whole post-shb fast-trak to make the tribes friendly to the alliance now so they can friendship blast our spaceship in EW and are technically not totally excluded in the definition of the world-at-peril; they write like they’re hurriedly trying to cover hypocrisies and not because they have fully-fledged ideas). Or they omit writing any problems entirely. Hi Sharlayan, Radz. They aren’t willing to go deeper because it would require them to take an actual stance on anything—but what SE wants to do is sell its game, not really be making a thesis of any sort. Now they’re pulling in years-long unscratched itches for their readers to either conjure overconvenient solutions to, or make cheap potshot jokes out of.

Honestly, this is one of my biggest gripes with the expac’s writing, other than too on-the-nose character developments. It has a very interesting setting, a very interesting time in history of the game world, and it only knows how to handle it with baby gloves. It doesn’t really want to get political, even though it’s an inherently political subject: nationhood, regime changes, definitions of peace, etc. Certain characters occupy positions of power, but are not allowed to look at or speak of it, the WoL included. They don’t know how to handle it on a basic level, and so they don’t know how to create humor out of it. Writers can only write what they think is true, even for jokes, but they don’t even know how to obfuscate it in a way that makes sense. Apyaahi is just another character written for convenience. She has hildibrand-level ridiculousness in some of her reasonings that are supposed to be comedic, but also mostly serve to warp her points into something that can’t be taken seriously. But are also so hamfisted it doesn’t even function as comedic satire that well. Why they chose discontent with state repression and homelessness as their point-and-laugh of the day, I dunno. Maybe they sense an audience shift lately. They do like to flipflop just a tiny bit across the line from time to time so they’ll always come out with something for everyone Lol

[novella-november]

I was recently reminded that "Portable Typewriters" exist for a few hundred dollars, and are marketed as "the only way to write on the go, distraction free with the small built in screen" and I would like to give everyone who, like me, is on a very very small budget and can't afford to drop $400 or $500 on a typewriter...

...here is an actual budget option for around $40, 10x cheaper, that you can use with any smart phone that has bluetooth built in, which is most modern phones.

[ID: A photo of a folding bluetooth keyboard by the brand ProtoArc, in the plain black version, which is a thin but full-sized Qwerty keyboard including a numberpad on the right hand side, with a few extra functional keys on the top right for use with a phone. End ID]

This keyboard is around $43; if you want a colored version (grey, silver, white, blue, or green green) it goes up to $53.

This keyboard has a charge that lasts around a week or two (depending on length of daily use) and fully charges in around half an hour or less with a USB-Type C charger, included in the package.

Once you pair it with your phone, it will pair automatically when you fully unfold it, and disconnect when you fold it back up; no on or of switches needed.

If you are someone who has been tempted by the concept of writing on the go, writing on a small screen so you're not distracted by a full desktop PC or laptop, but balked at the price of $300-$600+, please consider trying out a bluetooth keyboard with a phone you already own for $40, and see if you are either satisfied with this small price point and stick with it, or take the plunge and buy a portable typewriter now that you know the concept works for you, instead of shelling out a few hundred and never using it.

The folding keyboard is small enough you can fit it in a small carrying bag, and if you have a large fanny pack that would probably work as well; I have a small purse/sling bag that I use which fits perfectly, so literally anywhere I go that has a flat surface, I can whip out my keyboard and keep on writing my novel :)

The keyboard works with any app on your phone, so you can write in Google Docs, another word processing app, or directly on 4TheWords mobile website!

But yes, if you are interested in writing on the go and are on a small budget, I highly reccomend this keyboard, it is one of the reasons I have been able to write so much in the past few months.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09TW35H1Z

No, this is not an affiliate link, and I am not making any money off of sharing this link; I am just someone who is living paycheck to paycheck who really loves to write and don't want people to think the only way to write while traveling is by dropping a few hundred dollars on a device--

-- especially if you are someone who for disability reasons cannot easily use the small keyboard on a phone screen. There are cheaper, more accessible options out there, if you're looking at non-medical electronics in a similar vein to "portable typewriter", there are plenty of cheaper, more versatile options out there as long as you can think of the most simplified versions to look up alternatives.

[pigswithwings]

i used to think that telling the differences between chinese lion and chinese dragon should be easy, but then i remembered that most people have never really seen either. so. i am now going to explain what i know from personal experience.

here are lions - the southern chinese ones specifically. (there exist many other lions such as taiwanese lions and north china lions and cantonese lions but we will focus on the southern lions here.)

they are for performances usually for the lunar new year or other big celebrations. they have two people each performing as the lion's front and back half (the person in the back has to lean over the hold the person in the front by the waist). sometimes the two performers will perform a very athletic/acrobatic display while in the lion costume, the display being the lion performing on very small and very tall raised platforms.

lions have huge eyes (which can sometimes blink) and mouths that open and close for exaggerated expression. they are very furry and they have large mouths, though the teeth on southern lions are usually flat. they have four legs and they are usually accompanied by loud percussive music. lions often interact with the crowd/people around them and tend to act playful.

in contrast, here are dragons.

these are used mainly for the lunar new year. dragons are very long and most of the time do not require people to be in costume (some dragons can be very large and elaborate, prompting performers to wear the dragon itself). because of their length, dragons usually require more performers than lions. dragons are also usually accompanied by percussive music, but they act very differently to lions. the dragon is basically puppeted, and usually the goal is for all the performers to have a very synchronized and fluid motion.

dragons are very scaled. they tend to have horns and be quite spiky. their faces usually are more elongated than a lion, and they have fangs which stick up where a lion's usually doesn't. dragons are usually chasing after a pearl, or the big sphere you'll see in front of the dragon's mouth. though the colors may be very similar to lions, the dragon has a very distinct form and behavior that makes it pretty unique.

i think that it is understandable to get things mixed up between cultures, but it is also good to learn about facets of different cultures (especially cool stuff like this). i haven't even touched on the cultural significance of lions or dragons, just the function and appearance of them. so if this was at all interesting then i encourage you to seek out more information and maybe even see a performance for yourself

[elbiotipo]

Some thoughts for a D&D Spelljammer setting I'll probably never get around to actually write:

Spelljamming ships should be a revolution in transport and not only for fantasy space, they're basically flying ships, they could transport things from one end of a planet to another. Worlds that know spelljamming must be very different than those that don't.

What's the limitation here, then? Spelljammers themselves, that is, the guys who pilot the ships. They need to be magic users and you would need at least 2, preferably more, for shifts. That means you need to have mages that could be doing other useful magic stuff piloting a ship.

There's also the cost and skill required to make spelljamming helms. 5000 GPs in materials and level 5 spell apparently. Now, gold and levels in D&D don't mean much to me, so for the purposes of this scenario, I will assume making a spelljamming ship is costly and needs a lot of skill regardless of the actual numbers involved. So you don't have ships flying around the skies of every world, just a few have both the "human resources" (that is, trained mages) and material resources (I assume the spells and components are expensive and rare) to make spelljamming helms and crew ships.

Do we have equivalents of this in the real world? Yes, actually! The entire aircraft industry! Airliners, which are among the most complex machines produced in mass, are basically built only by Boeing, Airbus, and recently Comac on China (there used to be more) and pilots aren't easy to train either. There might be few worlds with the concentrated *productive forces* to build spelljammer helms in "serial" production, outside of some crazy wizard in a tower.

In fact, this is a bit besides the point but in general, the world(s) of D&D are pre-industrial, and this makes sense as for complex tasks you wouldn't really think of using a machine to do it, you seek a magic user who can do it instead. They are very jealous of their trade secrets too. We are looking at a kind of Renaissance economy in a large scale then, with guilds and church(es) and other institutions for "artisanal" complex goods instead of industries. Fantasy settings have always been strange about the demographics of mage users, but I think knowing the role of monasteries, alchemists, etc. during the real-life Renaissance helps you get closer to the dynamics.

Returning to the ships, I think spelljammer ships (or helms) might be hard to make but very hardy, long-lasting and easy to pilot, sort of like DC-3s that were built before WWII and are still used in Colombia. So that fits with the adventurer idea of getting an old ship and going into the stars. And maybe there is a surplus of them in some worlds that used to have large navies (like post-WWII surplus of airplanes and ships).

In Spelljammer you can stick a spelljamming helm on anything and make it fly, even seagoing ships (which are preferred for many reasons) but the true spelljamming ships like the Hammerhead Ship, the Squid Ship, etc. have strange shapes. I will say that those are not just decorative (because that's frankly a bit silly) but actually designed for better navigation through the currents of the Phlogiston or Astral Sea.

The 5e rules of spelljamming navigation basically say that ships go into the Astral Sea and then the spelljammer at the helm just thinks where to go and flies "100 million miles in 24 hours", that's it, just think about it and you're wherever you want, or, if you're not in a ship, you can just fly through the astral sea and, I quote "The more intelligent a creature is, the faster it can move." Which is frankly too stupid for words. I'm actually kind of angry at how stupid it is.

I'm completely ditching the 5e Astral Sea with its whole spiritual thing (to me that's a completely different thing) and making it a material plane of phlogiston (or aether, that sounds better) where the crystal spheres float. They aren't fixed, they move and flow with the stellar currents, but you CAN navigate them if you're attuned to them, you can use navigation equipment to find particular spheres and you can use your sails to get more favorable currents, this is a skill you have to learn and can cut travel times or let you find some things in space.

Doesn't that sound much better than "you just think and you're there xdxddxddxdxd"?

So how fast then? I think we'll just play it safe and see the top speed of sailing ships on the real world. Clippers, the fastest sail ships before steam ships, took roughly 100 days to cross the Pacific. The usual before was about 4-6 months. It depends on how big your setting is, but I think that's a good estimate to go to "the other side of the world" as one would say. And it of course would depend on how well known the routes are. It could be that you simply CAN'T fly to other spheres without doing extensive navigation first.

So instead of having 10 to 100 days at random to go somewhere (like in the original Spelljammer) or the somehow even stupider rules of 5e, you would have a map of well navigated, average, poorly known, and completely unknown spelljamming routes. Every time you got farther away from the well-known routes, navigation becomes more dangerous and travel more slow. You need (both in game terms and in setting terms) to have good navigation skills to get anywhere fast and safe.

You could have crystal spheres grouped in "constellations" (in my setting I do) that are easier to navigate inside, where the currents are known. This is also useful for worldbuilding "regions" in fantasy space that share cultural traits.

There must be all sorts of magical and non-magical navigation means, especially for landing on planets. Magical lighthouses, compasses, communication (a kind of morse code that can be communicated by lights, when magical communication isn't an option). I would think that for convenience, since planets are so big, spelljammers might sort of memorize the land of the main port and not bother with the rest. It might be that in an entire world, only one or two ports are truly visited by spelljammers. This also means that it would be very easy to set up a new base somewhere, even in well-travelled worlds.

What about power projection and star empires? We can read about colonial empires and age of sail trade to get a hint here. Empires where you rule by posting armies in every planet are very unlikely, since we established spelljammers are kind of expensive to make. Imagine invading and controlling, say, Earth in the 1600s with a dozen ships.

But imperialism where an external power controls key trade routes and ports, economically controlling a world, is very possible. This control means that those worlds must be integrated into the *galactic* economy somehow, as a large world can be self-sustaining, but its connections to the greater galaxy can be controlled. So, an imperialist power might succeed into controlling the economy of a world by controlling its trade centers and politics, without needing large armies or simply enlisting local collaborators. In fact, many might not be even aware they belong to a interstellar empire in their maps. On the other hand, *more* *voluntary* associations similar to the Hansa or Greek leagues might arise.

[28confusedthoughts]

favorite Wincest headcanons?

I have a few but they are always changing and are often contradictory... i mostly like 'em pining and desperate, dean either non-conning sam or suffering in silence without ever acting on his desires. But since you asked for wincest, i'll stick to dub/non-con ones <3

● pining, non-con

From the outside, it's their canon relationship. Except dean is forever pining for his little brother, every day harder than the last. Sam is blissfully oblivious to it all - until dean gets the mark of cain and can't control himself anymore.

He rapes sam, repeatedly, until sam's lost consciousness from the pain and blood loss. When sam's body goes limp, dean has a moment of clarity. He stands, head throbbing and body shivering. He checks sam's pulse, and when he's sure sam is alive he takes off, leaving sam's broken body lying on the bunker's floor.

Standing if front of Death, dean is ready to end it all. Sam, for some reason, is not.

In raping his brother, dean tore something in sam's body. He has a permanent limp now, a lifelong reminder of what dean had done to him.

Dean hates himself for it, hates that he remembers every second of it. He can still feel sam's shaking body under him, what it felt like, being inside him. He can still hear the pathetic sounds sam made, groaning, sobbing silently. Begging for him to stop. Dean hates how much he enjoyed it. Hates that he still gets aroused watching sam limp around in the bunker. Wants sam under him again, his body writhing -with pleasure or in pain, he doesn't know.

He tries multiple times to apologise, but sam shuts him down. He says it was the mark's doing and he forgives him, but his eyes don't quite meet his big brother's for a very long time after.

Dean never forgives himself.

● unrequited, dub-con

It's more or less their canon relationship, with occasional fucking. It's unrequited for the most part. Dean is obsessed with sam, and while sam is nowhere near normal about dean, he doesn't want that kind of relationship.

He does however seek out comfort from dean when he's in pain -emotional or physical. Even then though, it's just watching tv together in dean's bed, and sam shifts his leg, just a little, so his ankle is pressed against dean's under the covers. Or lets dean rest his arm on the headboard behind his head and play with the hair at the nape or his neck. He leans into the touch, but pretends otherwise.

They have sex very rarely. Sam never initiates, except That One Time. It's their first time, in late season 3 before dean goes to hell. After that, it's always dean who makes the first move, but their next time doesn't happen until the end of season 5, before sam says yes to lucifer: dean is desperate, and sam could never deny him this one last wish.

When dean is gentle with him, sam reluctantly enjoys it. It makes him nauseous, but he likes the feeling of dean filling him up, his body's comforting weight and warmth, the light touches. Eyes intense, attention unwavering, focused only on him.

He can never finish when they have gentle sex though. But when dean is rough and he wants it to hurt, when he leaves bruises under his fingertips and calls sam a monster, an abomination, a freak, he comes so hard he nearly passes out from it.

Immediately after, he locks himself in the bathroom and throws up. Even after an hour-long, steaming hot shower, he feels unclean and disgusting. When he comes back out dean is already fast asleep, the angry lines of his face smoothed into a slight smile of satisfaction.

Soo idk if these are even really headcanons or half assed one-shots, I'm so bad at this (╥﹏╥)

Anyways i have an spn headcanon tag if you'd like to go through it for my adopted headcanons ♡

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Forty-Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Before Fireheart could really ponder over Yellowfang’s words, he was back to work—though now, at least, with a strengthened, newly bloomed energy. Whitecloud gave him orders and discussed tasks with him, looking at him as keenly as he had before Fireheart had talked to him about deputyship. Perhaps he sensed Fireheart’s returned willpower… not that it really mattered. Fireheart had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

As if to praise him for his brightened attitude, the oppressively cloudy skies turned ragged and patched, revealing the stars and the moon. Suriin’s half-shut eye grinned as the air’s chill lost its biting edge, apologetically pulling the fog back.

“Don’t let that ease you,” Yellowfang said to Fireheart one clear night. “Things that frolic in the mist are still about. Follow not a silhouette or a scent you do not recognize.”

Not the least of which being the dogs, Fireheart thought as he nodded respectfully.

The snow was not keen on going away; it hardened and crunched under paws, sticking to the ground and turning brown, losing its oddly calming beauty. Cats had to step carefully to avoid making too much sound, often following well-trod paths where the soil rebelliously fought back and reemerged. Granted, it was still freezing, but it was so good to have solid ground under Fireheart’s paws again.

However, despite what Fireheart had been told, prey did not return as quickly. The plant life of the forest had not grown back yet, leaving most of the prey that had not retired underground or fled south in the fall to wander further away from the usual hunting spots in search of anything they could eat. What could be caught was still skinny and stringy, and most of it went to the nursery’s tenants and the elders. Fireheart wondered more than once, going to bed with a growling gut, if this was how ShadowClan felt all the time.

That wasn’t the end of their troubles. The dogs were still wandering around, now in the south, never spotted but always scented to varying degrees of freshness. The Clan was left with very little fresh ground that had anything to hunt, but no one was bold enough to risk heading south and testing their luck.

Greystripe, though, had an idea, one that he whispered to Fireheart for him to suggest (“I don’t think Whitecloud would be keen on hearing it from me,” he said). Fireheart quickly went to the deputy as he was visiting his aunt in her stinking den and reported it to them both.

Whitecloud blinked. “You think we should try it?”

“I do,” Fireheart said, trying to ignore the squint of puzzlement Bluestar was giving him. He had long given up on her remembering him. “We really should have been hunting there earlier, but, well, the dogs made that a bad idea. But now that they seem to be near Sunningrocks…”

“I understand.” Whitecloud’s eyes were lit with approval. “Get a patrol together and head that way. I hope you find something good.”

Fireheart bowed his head to both of his leaders and backed out of the den, turning around and trotting back into camp. It was still very early; only a few cats were awake, none of them eating the meager rations that could hardly be called a prey-pile.

“Teaselfoot, Sandstorm, Frostfur,” he called. “Could you come with me, please?”

The cats in question looked up and joined together in front of the smaller warrior, but they all regarded him with the same respect they gave Dustpelt and Whitecloud. It did, admittedly, make Fireheart feel just a little bit taller.

“I’ve spoken with Whitecloud about an idea of where to hunt,” he explained. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t approve, but I think it’s going to guarantee us a meal or two.”

Teaselfoot’s ears perked. “Well, well, Fireheart’s going to suggest something unusual. That’s new.”

Frostfur swatted him with her tail. “Where are we going?”

Fireheart braced himself for protests. “The Houses.” Before any of them could react, he hurried on. “The humans constantly have their seed-bags full in their yards. I know how well those squirrels and birds eat. We couldn’t go there before because, you know, the dogs, but I think we should try our luck while the dogs are elsewhere.” Sandstorm narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I know, the Clan doesn’t really know how to hunt there, but I do. I can give you some tips as we go. Are you interested?”

The older warriors looked between each other, silently trading curiosity and skepticism. Fireheart held his breath, waiting for all of them to say no.

Frostfur was the first one to speak. “I think we should do it. I’m in.”

“Yeah, I’ll go too,” Sandstorm said. “If for nothing else, for a chance at a decent meal.”

Teaselfoot sighed dramatically with good-natured teasing. “You’re really twisting my tail here, Fireheart, but I suppose I can’t refuse the offer to feed my Clanmates.”

Fireheart snorted. “Feel free to turn around at any time. Come on.”

The patrol was in the woods in moments. The snow outside of camp had been trampled down enough that there were plenty of paths to take to keep their steps quiet, even as they thinned out the further away from home they got. Fireheart picked the one he knew best and started off at a brisk pace, his Clanmates following and chatting behind him.

“If only the dogs hadn’t been here this winter,” Frostfur said. “We could’ve gotten so many good meals.”

“Yeah, but then we’d have to contend with kittypets whining about strangers taking their food,” Sandstorm said. “No offense, Fireheart.”

Fireheart looked back at her. “Actually, I didn’t know any cats who hunted when I lived there. One cat told everyone he did, but I know for a fact he never left his yard.”

“Ooh, kittypet lore.” Teaselfoot craned his neck forward. “Was he the one that told you about us?”

“Oh, no, everyone knew about you,” Fireheart said, turning around again. “Even far back into the neighborhood, kittens were warned to never go into the woods, or they’d be eaten by giants. I don’t think the grown-ups believed it, but it kept everyone behind the fences.”

“As they should be,” Sandstorm said. “You think you’ll see any cats you know, or are they scared of the snow?”

Rosy and Smudge, please don’t find me and give the game away, Fireheart thought. “It’s a little too cold and dark for them right now, I’m sure. My one friend only ever came out at night because I liked to, and I’d make him explore with me. If he’s still around, he should be asleep.”

To his relief, his Clanmates accepted this, turning to each other now and talking about hunting. Fireheart led on, offering a word or two when a question was lobbed his way.

They were within sight of the Houses when a strong scent hit his nose. He stopped, lifting his tail for everyone to copy him, which they did.

“Humans are close,” he said in a low voice. “Look and see if you can spot them before we get to the street.”

Sandstorm growled under her breath. Hesitantly, the patrol continued on, their eyes, ears, and noses keen. The evergreen plants were reoccurring through this part of the forest, blocking their usually clearer (albeit branch-infested) views. Wherever the humans were, they were being quiet, too, and this close to the Houses, their scents were more or less everywhere.

Finally, a voice sounded off, shouting into the woods and making all of the cats jump. Fireheart crouched and scooted to the right until he was well-hidden by a bush and could peer out of it, his Clanmates following suit.

Through the stiff leaves and bare twigs, there was a pair of humans. Both were garishly colored with their heads covered and hair hidden. The shorter one was speaking to their companion—from the tone, they were scolding them, and by their loud whisper, they were not eager to be heard. The second one’s face twisted and stretched in a grimace, but they said nothing, just shifted the long grey thing in their paws and lifted it slightly.

“Stars help us,” Teaselfoot whispered, sounding almost scared. “I know that thing.”

Fireheart looked at him. “What is it?”

“A rronakrak*.” Teaselfoot’s tail puffed out in agitation. “I’ve heard of them in stories. They’re the claws of humans.”

Fireheart peered at the thing. “It doesn’t look too dangerous to me.”

“You’ve never seen one before?” Sandstorm hissed. “I thought you had a stone that showed you things.”

“I guess it didn’t have one of those on there.” Fireheart rolled a shoulder as best as he could. “What’s wrong with it?”

Frostfur now, calmer than the younger warriors. “Stories say a human just points that thing at something, and the end of it explodes with thunder and fire louder than any noise in the world.”

“And then whatever it was pointed at dies instantly,” Sandstorm added with another muted growl. “See, this is why humans are mucked up. They have the audacity to steal the fire of Horoa and turn it into a tool of murder. So many animals just trying to live their lives get killed by what should be ours, and should never be a weapon used by some random mortal.”

 Fireheart frowned in confusion. “I thought Horoa kills things, too.”

“Monsters and wraiths, sure,” Sandstorm said flippantly. “But they don’t count. They’re dangerous and ought to be dead.”

Fireheart was about to ask, “Well, didn’t his fire nearly kill us?”, but the humans started walking forward, heading past the faces of the cats, still talking to each other. Human-like, they never noticed their audience, and shuffled through the snow further into the forest. The rronakrak was pointed down the entire time, harmlessly cradled in its bearer’s hold.

“What do you think they’re going to kill?” Teaselfoot whispered, as if the humans could hear them from this far away.

Fireheart immediately perked up. “I think they’re looking for the dogs!”

“We should be so lucky,” Frostfur muttered. “They’re probably going after a deer or one of us.”

“We have no reason to be killed,” Fireheart told her with a bit of sternness, like she was a paranoid apprentice. “If they wanted us dead, they would have done it before I ever came to ThunderClan. I saw the humans before the fire with one of those things, and never before that. It’s most likely dog-related.”

His Clanmates didn’t look convinced, but he could see the hope dawning in their eyes. He gave a firm, supportive nod, then beckoned with his tail.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some prey before they come back.”

Whitecloud was somehow calmly startled when Fireheart’s patrol burst into camp, each carrying a piece of prey (Fireheart had two; he hoped some cats noticed). They tossed their prey onto the pile and rushed up to Whitecloud, ignoring the surprised looks on everyone’s faces.

“We saw some humans in the woods,” Fireheart said immediately.

Hisses and growls, as he had assumed, followed this news. Whitecloud waited for the noise to stop before asking, “Did you see where they went?”

“They were on the Houses border,” Fireheart explained, “and they went deeper into our territory. We didn’t see them again—we just hunted and came back here as quickly as we were done.”

“Then they could be anywhere,” Dustpelt said, coming to stand beside Whitecloud. “Would you say they went south…?”

Fireheart nodded, finishing Dustpelt’s thought. “Where the dogs are.”

“They had a rronakrak,” Frostfur added. “Fireheart thinks they’re looking for the dogs.”

Murmurs followed this, cats looking at each other questioningly, as if their Clanmates had the answers.

“Humans don’t usually hunt dogs,” Whitecloud mused. “They hunt with them. But the deer aren’t around yet, either, and the pheasants are gone…”

“There’s no other reason for them to be around,” Fireheart said. ���They don’t kill cats with those, do they?” At Whitecloud’s headshake, he continued eagerly, “So the only thing here of interest is a pack of cat-killing dogs. I’m sure of it now—they’re here to help us.”

Dustpelt frowned. “That’s very ideal, Fireheart, but we can’t count on that to be the end of our problems. You have the chance to be wrong.”

“As in anything,” Fireheart replied simply. “But I have the chance to be right, too.”

Dustpelt gave him a skeptical head-tilt, but he said nothing else. The Clan spoke to each other—and, to Fireheart’s delight, a few of them seemed optimistic at the prospect.

“What’s our next move?” Mousefur asked. Fireheart wasn’t sure if she was asking Whitecloud specifically, from how her head turned to him and Dustpelt too.

Whitecloud took a moment to close his eyes in thought, before opening them again and moving to the meeting stump. The Clan gathered around immediately; all faces turned up to him with hope and fear.

“As long as the dogs are still scented in the south,” he announced, “we will continue to hunt in the north. Fireheart, it’s clear that your hunting patrol to the Houses went well—” Exclamations interrupted him as cats stared at Fireheart. “I approved it, everyone, stay calm. I think that we can make a couple trips here and there beyond that border, if hunting doesn’t improve here in our own territory. Fireheart, you won’t mind leading more patrols that way?”

“I’d be happy to,” Fireheart responded, his own voice loud and clear.

“Then that will be an emergency plan.” Whitecloud’s tail waved and curled. “For now, we’ll keep our noses to the ground and watch the humans if they continue to tramp around our territory. Stay north, and stay close to camp if you can help it.”

“When can we train outside again?” Brackenpaw shouted, clamping his mouth like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Whitecloud gave him an amused look. “When we can safely say the dogs are gone. If Fireheart’s right, and those humans are here to take care of them for us, that may come sooner than later.”

Out of the corner of Fireheart’s eye, Cloudpaw shuffled his feet uncomfortably, his tail tucked between his legs. Fireheart made a mental note to keep an eye on him tonight.

“Is that all the news?” Whitecloud asked Fireheart. At Fireheart’s nod, he said to the Clan, “For now, let’s stay inside camp tonight. We’ve got prey to last us for a night, and we’ll send out multiple hunting patrols tomorrow.”

Like a waterfall, he smoothly jumped down from the stump and passed through the crowd as it dispersed. Willowpelt caught up to him and asked something Fireheart didn’t catch; he disregarded it and padded to the prey-pile (thankfully larger than usual), picking out one of his catches, a fat squirrel. He immediately turned and walked to the nursery, where Goldenflower was sitting alone.

“Where are the ants?” he asked, setting down the squirrel in front of her.

“Asleep, thankfully.” Goldenflower licked his ear. “You look starved, honeymouse. Why don’t you have this?”

Firehear couldn’t help staring down at the squirrel, his stomach threatening to growl. Looking back up at his mother, he said brightly, “I only need half.”

Goldenflower purred and crouched, nudging the squirrel until the bottom half was pointed at Fireheart. He crouched himself and started to eat, forcing himself not to rush.

As he ate, he eyed the cats around him. They were talking about the dogs and the humans, mostly. It pleased him that more of them looked hopeful than afraid.

You have faith that StarClan’s looking out for us, he thought to them. Have faith that this might be their doing, too.

*”Rronakrak”: a gun - literally “thunder-stick”.

[rationalnerd62]

As someone who has spent a year and half watching C1/C2/C3, is now finally caught up, and as a result is finally allowing myself to look at fandom reactions to episodes... Boy, critical role discourse is weird.

People will spend days arguing about who's evil and who isn't, which decisions made sense and which ones did not, whether the plot point is solid or not, what's the consequences of that fake action in that fake world, who's a psychopath and who isn't, which group is better than the other, etc etc etc.

Meanwhile I'm there enjoying every single episode of that show. For ten years, this group of friends has met every week to roll some dice. They've created characters that made them laugh, and cry, and smile, and frown, and shout, in excitement, fury, terror and joy. Through them, they've lived adventures, drama, tension, trauma, in a sandbox world they'll never put a foot in. They've created wonders in Exandria, then destroyed them just to see what would happen (shout out to Emon and the Chroma Conclave arc 🎉).

Their world had mystical artifacts, so they created lost civilisations to justify both their existence and rarity. It had Gods, so they gave them backstories and myths, to make this world feel real. They understood that history in itself is flawed, so the knowledge of the past is changing. Each campaign, they went on bigger questions, bigger challenges. From very early on, Campaign 3 has been questioning the status quo between Gods and Mortals, and what we know of the deities has evolved as a result. Why should I care, really, whether Bell's Hells are right or not to challenge the Gods. It's obviously a storyline that Matt and the rest of the cast were curious to explore, so they're doing it. Maybe it'll work out great, maybe it won't, they don't know, and that's fine. After all, what is the point of a sandbox world if you cannot push a few red buttons.

And of course, not every plot point or decision is going to be resilient to scrutiny. It's an improvised ttrpg game, with 100+ episodes per campaign, and we're almost at 500h in length for C3. Yesterday, in my ttrpg, I forgot who my new vice purveyor was, after I overindulged a few months ago (... It's a Blade in the Dark thing). Last week, I invented a drag persona for my character because I was trying to find a distraction and I panicked. Ttrpg are soooo random, mate. Even with professional players like the Critical Role folks, it stays a ttrpg. Things get forgotten. Some things get developed and others don't get the time to. Discussions happen, and sometimes they happen again six months later because maybe characters have changed or maybe not. It's not a scripted TV show, where things can be planned in advance and you know the characters will stick to the script. Inconsistencies will happen, and that's fine.

(Contrary to my ttrpg though, the CR folks are absolutely mind-blowing improv actors and watching them every week stays absolutely thrilling to me. Some of the things you all have apparently fought a long time about are some of my favorite moments, in any of the campaigns. See swordgate, a masterpiece of dramatic improv and bonkers choices. Those players are *not here* to stay safe, they want to feel the highest highs and the lowest lows and I am there for it 🥺.)

[cuppajj]

Is this the ask box? If not I'm so sorry I'm not used to tumblr literally only got it to follow your au. It's great btw love everything about it.

But anyways can I bonk Dragonberry on the head with a stick to get her attention and say hi, but with a really long stick so I'm not close to her when I do so? She's my favorite but she's scary and I while I would prefer to write her a letter but I don't want her to have my return address.

Also I've had my own au in the works but never actually bothered to start writing or properly figuring things out till after coming across your au which inspired me to start doing so and I just wanna know how you set everything up and figure out how to use who where and how you split stuff into arcs? I currently have 2 arcs based on the continent one being Crispia and the other being Beast-Yeast and both have chapters but Beast-Yeast is becoming a lot longer than Crispia due to how my au is set up and the fact the canon Beast-Yeast storyline isn't fully out and I was just wondering if you have any advice on what's best to do? I do want to eventually post my au and I've already gotten to work on the designs but I don't know the best approach to make it into something that others who are unfamiliar can understand.

Also sorry this turned out kinda long!

You can!! Though would advise against using the stick bc if she feels like it she could grab it and fling you while you’re still holding it

As for your second question about how I use arcs, it really just boils down to being a way to manage all the characters that are in the AU. Each saga focuses on one beast (including their respective of the original 5), the protag who is usually related to them in some way, and whatever story takes place in that specific arc alone. They’re meant to be mostly self contained, but they’d feed into a bigger narrative. The Vanilla Saga is a little different because while it’s technically self contained, Crepe as the main main character dabbles in a little bit of everything; but only crepe (also choco technically). You’re not likely to see Princess in the Lily Saga unless the two stories surrounding Dragonberry and Midnight Lily overlap.

I do have plans for sagas to overlap before the “all stories converge for the final saga” part, for example the Vanilla and Berry sagas will converge in Parfaedia well before that, but that would be a single story arc before they split up again. Some sagas can/would share the same events but would still largely be self contained.

Im going off on a ramble here but basically, BAAU’s sagas are just info management lol. With so many characters and stories to handle, it would be very confusing and bad if all of them were crossing over at every turn. When you’ve got a plot line that can serve as its own thing, it’s easier to tell where pieces of information belongs.

So that being said I should really start tagging the sagas in some of my baau posts 😭😭😭

[dawktorsylum]

Woe Queen Torbek Upon ye

Whimsical Little au Where Gricko(the king) and Torbek( a duke) get married to strengthen the kingdom. Short stories below, not really in order just shit that happens

Maids whispered as Torbek walked up the hall, his cape flowing behind him. The small crown on his head glinting in the sun that shone through the large windows, his long arms rested in front of him as he walked. He never let his haze falter as he listened to the whispers get louder the closer he got.

“Did you hear what Sir Frost did, Poor queen. He has to deal with that homewrecker” “Yeah, i heard the Queen is sticking up from him since Sir Frost threatened him” “Poor Queen Torbek, He is so kind. I would never let my man treat me like that” “Hush you two, the queen has good hearing”

Torbek felt his ear twitch as the maid stood tall curtseying to him. He gave a strained but polite smile as the maids uttered a ‘Good morning your majesty’ He nodded continuing on his walk. His clawed feet hitting the forest green carpets, As he rounded the corner he felt his ear twitch again as the maids begun to speak like he didn’t just pass them. He sighed heavily dropping his upright posture, he felt himself slouch the canisters in his back making him wince but the sheer back gave him some relief. Looking around the hallway he was in he felt nervous, he basically knew this castle like the back of his hand now but he never felt so unnerved going from such a little space the duke gave him to this open castle. Looking down at the very thin wiring under his fur he felt himself stiffen up once more, The Duke was always watching…. There is no time to relax.

His clawed feet began his normal walk around the castle once more as he felt a dark presence under his skin along with all the peering eyes of Maids and Knight tingle his skin.

It was finally time! Frost felt like he had enough evidence to frame Torbek and prove he was a bad person and only wanted the king's money. It was Hootsie’s 14th birthday and Gricko threw a huge party for his daughter, But Frost felt like this was the perfect time to expose the bugbear. He gathered all his documents and scrolls as he made his way out of his bed chambers, he listened as each servant murmured under their breath as he passed by but the manic grin on his face silenced them immediately.

The party was going great, Gricko was dancing with Hootsie the spotlight on them. It was an upbeat song but the father daughter danced with utter grace. She has a small tiara on and a cute dress, her face covered in cake as Gricko stared at his daughter with admiration and love. Laughing himself he broke the graceful dance for a more wild one, the owlbear did the same as the two dance like two goofs. Not caring for their image in the eyes of nobility, They were now both laughing as Gricko had ditched his cape.

Suddenly the large doors swung open, the orchestra stopped playing as all eyes stared at Frost. His robes were ruffled as his fur was pushed all different ways. He looked down the balcony down at the dance floor making eye contact with Gricko. Frost snapped his fingers and teleported down in front of the king. Gricko was uncomfortable seeing the tiger in such a disheveled state but he quickly fixed his messy hair and crown before opening his mouth to speak.. But he was interrupted by Frost.

“I did it Gricko! I got the evidence! The queen.. NO Torbek is trying to steal everything from you.. FROM US”

Frost eyes were bloodshot as he pushed the papers into Gricko’s arms. Gricko stared up at Frost with fear in his eyes along with anger… no rage. He watched as the Tabaxi pointed at Torbek and rambled on about how he read his mind and found these purple splatters mixed with blood. He knew it all apparently, Frost looked awful like he hadn’t slept in days but Gricko couldn’t get over the sheer betrayal. Was Frost so obsessed with being right? Or framing the poor bugbear that he missed so many important events for this.

Frost looked around, his crazed eyes meeting other concerned and disgusted gazes. He smiled before whipping around to talk to Gricko when his cheek was met with a loud slap.

Frost fell on his ass, his eyes looking up at what just happened. There above Gricko stood Torbek, his long suited dress wrapped around his body. His eyes were dark, his ears flat as he stared at Frost with disgust.

“Torbek is ok with Mr Frost hating him…. Hating his family.. Hating his sole being but” As Frost met Trobek’s he saw tears streaming down brown fur.

“Torbek is not ok with Mr. Frost ruined his daughter's birthday, ruining his husband's life. Torbek wanted to be nice but Frost makes that so hard!” Torbek’s body shook as he looked down at Frost. “Frost was so obsessed with making Torbek look bad, that he need to look at his own life. You scared the one person who covered for you. Look at Gricko”

Frost felt his arms shake as he drifted his gaze down to Gricko. There stood the goblin king, avoiding eye contact holding Hootie’s fur as he kept his gaze away; nothing but pure shame in his eyes. Frost felt his whiskers, then the stinging in his cheek, his eyes clouded over before he blinked and felt the pressure around the room. The gazes of his friends and fellow psionics… his fellow mages. He even felt the weight of Hootsie’s sacred gaze. Frost felt the weight of the world as he stood; all his papers falling to the ground before a snap echo’d out and he was gone. Like he was never there in the first place

[revvethasmythh]

I love that the "the themes and real world metaphor is soooooooo clear, you guys are just dumb!!" crowd has had to change their metaphor yet again. It's almost as though the metaphors have never actually fit or were based in the text, huh imagine that.

I am actually not overly familiar with the talking points coming out of that camp currently (I am a person who very much enjoys little petty dramas, but would rather not engage with larger discourses for my own peace of mind) but on the topic of metaphors in general...when it comes to the representation of the gods, it feel like no metaphor ever could stick or make logical sense and that's because in order to do that, there would need to have been a pre-planned intent as to how Matt chose to portray them. And I don't just mean in C3, I mean in C1 and C2 as well. If, per se, the gods were meant to be metaphorical stand-ins for the real world uber-rich, it would have necessitated groundwork laid for that from the very beginning, otherwise it would come across and ill-fitting and inconsistent to pull out in the eleventh hour. Even the more minor pivot to "the Primes are nebulously morally ambiguous" has landed awkwardly exactly because it feels ill-fitting and inconsistent with previous iterations of them, and especially when you only have one real example to make that point with (Hearthdell, which was allowed via an act of passivity on the Dawnfather's behalf, not ordered directly by him. You could argue Downfall counts here as well, but...the situation with Aeor was actually pretty singular and the Primes' repeated attempts to resolve the situation without resorting to slaughter kind of dampen the point).

Point being, really any attempt to claim there is an intended, textual metaphor is going to fall flat because these gods were not conceived in the context of whatever metaphorical backing people are proffering (be that as colonizers or the uber-rich or whatever else people are saying). Assessing them through the lens of a metaphor is one thing--claiming that metaphor is textual is another. Personal opinion vs text-as-written. And the text is too inconsistent (I say, affectionately, to CR) to make any genuine claims that one's preferred metaphor--ANY metaphor--is actually "correct." So it just comes off as.....a bunch of rigamarole about a personal interpretations. Hot air. Again, interpreting something through a lens is one thing, but yeah. None of those metaphors are textual because they would have needed to be instituted LONG before Matt conceptualized where this was going in order for any of it to be textual.

[kings-highway]

You said send you more silly prompts so can I ask… Haikyuu ships/duos/trios and how far they’d make it in a slasher movie

aaahhhhh more goofy little prompts. just so everyone knows I did get a good amount of these ideas so. they take like 980% of my available brainpower soooooooooooooooo slow and steady slow and steady

duos and trios surviving slasher films is kinda tricky because slasher films are not *horror* films or deadly films, it's specifically *slasher* which has a handful of very specific tropes which makes it almost impossible for any entire group to survive. So I have taken some liberties in the prompt in varying what specific slasher tropes they might be up against instead of simply who lives or dies, but have only picked larger groups, as i don't think duos work for "slasher" films specifically as those are typically high body count.

Daichi + Suga + Asahi: would find themselves in a very classic horror situation in which Asahi would be the first to die, and Daichi would die at the eleventh hour right before making it out, making Suga the last and only survivor.

Daichi, Suga, Asahi + Kiyoko: almost identical to the first, except Sugawara would be killed off after Asahi leaving Kiyoko to be the final girl. Daichi maintains his position as the strong+capable one, meaning he has to stick around long enough to kick down some doors, but he'd never have a chance of actually surviving. Kiyoko could survive but I actually find it likely that her inclusion in the trio would make the otherwise casual horror story into a doom and gloom one, where she'd be caught right after escaping and moving would fade to black to let you wonder what happened to her or how she died.

Hinata, Kageyama, Tsukki + Yamaguchi: I think this can go two ways, either they are all dying in a horrible slasher way, in which case the order is: Tsukki, Kageyama, Yamaguchi, Hinata (hinata cashing in his main character plot armour) OR it would be a more "fun" horror movie in which none of them die, and they "Home Alone" a dude with a machete.

Oikawa, Iwa, Makki + Mattsun: I think these assholes would find themselves more in a slower less unforgiving story. There'd probably be some kind of ancient occult shit going on and a puzzle that needed to be solved, and they'd be running around a labyrnth trying to figure out how to seal some ancient evil away by being chased by a machete man. In which case I can hyper visualize the last scene in which Oikawa is completely bloodied and screaming as the last parts of the ritual are completed right before their time is up, but I imagine that happening with the others either chained/locked away but still alive. I actually think most have a good chance of survival (either Makki or Mattsun would be kicking it, though), and the end credits would roll with some kind of voice over about nobody ever believing the evil they saw in the cabin + an end credits scene that implies the thing gets re released and is going to hunt them down for revenge.

Ushijima + Tendou + Leon + Semi + Yamagata: I think this one would go very Cabin in the Woods. Incredibly self aware of it's tropes, everything would be reversed and ironic and you'd never really have any fucking idea what was going on as they are slowly driving instead. I feel like Tendou would be the first to die, only to make a re-appearance later in a fake-out scenario (never believe someone's dead in a movie unless you see their open eyes!) and they'd probably have a really strong chance at making it out. I think Leon and Yamagata are almost guarantee to be killed off, but the story could swing two ways, either it is a kinder slasher fic in which Ushijima, Tendou + Semi (with heavy injury) manage to fight back and kill whatever it is that's chasing them, OR they come very close to it and are killed off/recaptured by whatever it was with a moral lesson of "you can't escape the rat race" vibes.

if you can't tell I don't really *like* slasher films or horror movies, specifically because I don't like pessimism, which is required in a lot of the stories where everyone dies, so I'm giving a handful of potential endings to accommodate what I understand to be objectively most likely, versus how I would write it lmao

Bokuto, Akaashi, Kuroo + Kenma: Depends on who you pick as your hero. I think in this case it would be a pretty standing pick-off, probably Kuroo, Kenma, Bokuto and then leaving Akaashi last to probably survive, but I also feel like this group would be most as risk of the "killer was secretly one of us all along!" in which case the killer is Bokuto I don't make the rules. They'd play him up as the lovable idiot but it would be a ~facade~

Atsumu + Osamu: only duo I'm putting on this list I feel like this would be more of a kidnapping situation where they're trapped somewhere isolated and have to escape. Maybe some rich fuck's private island. Anyway you can pick your poison on this one it goes either way but only one of them is getting off that island

Atsumu + Osamu + Alan + Kita: I think with this group the story would have to become less gloomy in general so I think they'd all have a decent chance of surviving. If anything, I'd say Kita would be the only one to die, but it would be framed in an ironic tragedy sort of way as the character would be presented as someone who had the most to lose anyway and still lost. Otherwise, I imagine this is more of the "torture and torment" hellscape of horror and they'd probably all have a terrible sequel that starts with them facing their villain in court or something.

Shoutout to my captain squad: Daichi, Bokuto, Ushijima, Oikawa, Kuroo + Kita: they're all dying. In the following order Kita, Bokuto, Kuroo, Daichi + Ushijima (they'd be killed at the same time), then Oikawa. This is also a movie that I would hate. I can visualize it. A wonder cast of interesting characters and it's basically torture porn. There are more interesting things to do to them in a slasher flick ;)

[thefreelancebioexorcist]

Betelgeuse fought the urge to grin at the look of abject horror that had spread across Barbara’s face at his appearance. Normally, he’d be clicking his heels and stomping his feet with glee over such a reaction to his visage. But, he only caught it out of the corner of his eye, as his primary focus was on Lydia at the moment. When he had first pulled her into his arms, he could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and he was doing his best to calm her now, running his fingers through her hair as she hid her face in his chest, and doing his best to ignore that Barbara was shouting at them—even Juno, which he knew would NOT go over well with the old bat.

“I had taken care of him, Barbara. Betel was locked in Solitary for years. He was without any contact with anyone, even his actual friends and family in the Nether,” Juno explained, still sitting calmly on the bed. “But a bond is a bond, and sticking him in Solitary for a long period of time was no good for either him or Lydia. And that ring you see on Lydia’s finger has been there since their ill advised ceremony when she was a teen. She just didn’t want to say anything to you, or anyone. She couldn’t remove it, but…Betel was gone, so what did it matter?” There was more to their bond than that and why it was as strong as it was, of course, but Juno’d leave that to Betelgeuse and Lydia to explain to their family if they wanted. “As for what he tried to do, I remember it very well. It took me weeks to file that paperwork and get everything back to normal. It was a disaster on both sides. I won’t downplay how awful it was. However, those were the actions of an extremely powerful, cursed ghost with a memory and location binding, who found himself bored, trapped, and angry. The powers that be hoped that having such a level of control over him would keep him from hurting anyone, but a poltergeist with no access to proper emotional or physical release of any kind is more dangerous than one with one. They’ll never put this in writing, of course, but those above me in the hierarchy concede that what all of you went through was at least in part, their fault, for not properly…managing Betel from the get go.”

Betelgeuse, of course, was listening to every word, though he didn’t look it, but he could multitask. Once he was sure that Lydia was calm and no longer panicked about their proverbial cat being launched out of the bag, he might jump into the fray with this situation, if only to stoke the ire of Barbara. But for now, he was content (and delighted) to let Juno handle the Maitland’s. Juno sounded calm, but he could tell even she was annoyed by Barbara’s demands.

Lydia’s shoulders became very tense at the sound of Adam’s voice at the door before Juno let him in with a flick of her cigarette. When the door shut again behind him, Betelgeuse suddenly had two more arms that rubbed up and down the tense muscles of Lydia’s arms and back. He’d half a mind to toss a peace sign at the three other ghosts and disappear off to the Nether with Lydia, but he didn’t think Juno would appreciate that very much in the long run. Now, Betelgeuse didn’t really care what Juno thought of him at the end of the day…but he’d prefer her to remain on their side of this whole thing.

“Did I know about what? Them?” She started laughing at the question, and it took her a moment to start talking again. “Yes, I did. Mind you, I didn’t place Betelwith Lydia with the hope that this WOULD happen. The bond that was made years ago with their marriage had no intentional emotional attachment on Betelgeuse’s part or Lydia’s. He just wanted out. And with Lydia as his haunt, and the bond an his tether, he got what he wanted, with some limitations. It was a win for us. He was mostly out of our and dare I say, happy with the initial arrangement. And she could send him back to his house in the Nether anytime she wanted, if he got to be annoying. So, I kept an eye on them, naturally, making sure Betel was behaving, and then THAT happened all on its own.” She pointed at the couple with her almost spent cigarette.

“They’ve been together for quite awhile now, and you two might have noticed it yourselves if you ever stepped one foot out of your little home in the suburbs of the Nether and maybe go downtown.” Juno rolled her eyes. She really didn’t understand that Maitland’s. They worked so hard to get to live in the Nether and they seemed to have never really explored it? “He’s been bringing her over to the Nether for small periods of time and showing her the sights. Tells anyone who asks that she’s his wife.” Juno began to laugh again. “The relationship has been REALLY good for the Nether. Betelgeuse doesn’t wreak havoc on our side anymore or try to truly expose our world. He doesn’t even touch anyone unless they’ve upset or hurt Lydia in any way. And she, by some miracle, can get him to do or stop doing just about anything.”

“So, if you’re wanting to stop this…be it on your heads, Maitlands.” Juno ended with a shrug, her eyes now moving to Betelgeuse and Lydia. “Now, you two, you’ve been very quiet and let me talk…I’m both concerned and proud. Are you intending to take any negative action against the Maitland’s?”

“If Barb continues to upset Lydia, y’ can’t reallt expect me not t’ do somethin’, June Bug,” Betelgeuse answered, his raspy voice a deep rumble, as his eyes cut in the direction of Barbara. His two extra arms had disappeared. Juno just rolled her eyes at the nickname. “As y’ said…I don’t take kindly t’ people doin’ that. Doesn’t matter if they’re livin’ or dead.” Now his attention was fully on Barbara and by some small extension, Adam, though he didn’t seem as mad as his wife. “Though yer Lydia’s family…Maybe I should let her handle y’; She’s kinda magnificent when she’s pissed off.” He grinned down at Lydia.

The panic that was tightening in her chest began to subside the very moment Betelgeuse embraced her.  Lydia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as he placed a gentle kiss against the top of her head. She gazed adoringly at him as he gave Barbara what-for, and she couldn’t help the faint smile that began to play at the corners of her mouth.

God, I love him, she thought to herself.  

Barbara, however, stood completely still, her chocolate brown eyes wide as dinner plates. Adam, too, was shocked, his jaw gone slack in awe at how this complete stranger was speaking to them as if he knew them. 

But he was passionately defending Lydia, and wouldn’t he do the very same for Barbara? Adam took note of the man’s gentle nature as he silently comforted Lydia, and how the young woman completely melted into his arms. He saw how Byron’s hand gripped Lydia’s shoulder–soft, yet with an undertone of possessiveness. As a man, he read the body language easily. It screamed “She’s mine, and you’re hurting her. This is a warning.”

Byron’s spiel ended as Charles appeared in the doorway, blissfully ignorant of what had just transpired between everyone. There was a moment of terribly awkward silence as they just stood there, not knowing how to react. 

“Oh! Uhm! I changed my mind!” Delia called out, her voice cracking a bit. She immediately started bringing out skillets and placing them on top of the stove. “How does sausage, eggs, and bacon sound? Hm? Want some toast as well? There’s orange juice in the refrigerator!” 

Lydia smiled inwardly and gave her dad a good morning kiss on the cheek. She lead Byron into the living room to sit for a bit, just so she could decompress after what had just happened. Barbara’s eyes followed them all the while, until Charles and Adam began exchanging pleasantries. 

“Thank you,” Lydia whispered, her hand finding Betelgeuse’s and giving it a tight squeeze.