#dangerous japery

[theworstofallpossibleworlds]

I'm worried that someone I love has been getting involved in japes

[doxieandthedead]

WIP Wednesday

Been writing a lil meet cute between Gortash and Tamasvi.

“They disgust you too, don’t they?” The cloaked man next to him mutters, “they take this as a mere japery and do not understand what we are about to witness”.

                Enver Gortash does not bother to hide how his mouth twists into a sneer. Nobody can see his face under the ceramic mask he and the others have been asked to wear, and the anonymity has made others in their little party act out like giddy louts. They are clearly young, excitable and the dangerous allure of what they are about to witness is clearly beyond their comprehension.

                ‘Perhaps the group will get lucky, and it is these idiots that form the main performance of the night.’ It is a grim thought that he does not bother to share.

                Their guide is also cloaked, such is the fashion of the lower city when the fog rolls through the darkened streets of Baldurs Gate. When they had met under on the corner of the Blushing Mermaid, safe under the dreary lamplight, he had been barely able to discern the violet veil that obscured the face of the person that wore it. There had been no words spoken, and Gortash had made a point to show the figure the bloody gash that his contact had insisted he carve into his thumb as proof of patronage.

                Now, they were descending into the undercellar. The maze of corridors that all look the same. Its all glistening, pale stone and uneven slabs beneath their feet. There’s a stale smell of ale that lingers in the air and mostly masks the sharp undercurrent of iron and sweetness that betrays a more sinister use for the tunnels. To human eyes, he would be stumbling and cursing at the dark, and he can see the louts ahead doing exactly that as their initial excitement wears off. Enver is not a stupid man, and it took little planning to down a potion of dark vision on the way here.

                Their guide leads them to a circular room, four metal fire bowls are ablaze at the corners of a platform that is only slightly raised from the floor. There are seats, and the guide motions to them as the group filters in. The crackling of logs seems to feed a tension that tightens his jawline and clamps at his shoulders. To be seated means to have his back towards the dark, and in Bhaalist company, it feels foolish.

                They sit. Once the scraping of chairs finishes, all that can be heard is the infernal flames that burn, and the mouth breathing of whoever sat next to him. Nobody moves to take off the masks and cloaks, at least on that he is not surrounded wholly by idiots. One figure opposite leans forward, and Enver imagines that he can feel hunger emanating from them as they wait in the dark.

                A drum sounds. Quiet at first. It rumbles into an insistent beat that grows louder and louder and fills up the space in his chest where his thundering heart beats to the point of pain. His throat is dry, muscles like a vice that refuse to loosen at his command. The drum grows louder. Something sweet attracts his attention, a pungent, smoky scent of incense that blurs the senses further.

                It was mistake to come here. The drumbeat rumbles on. He can barely think. His mind reverberates with a pounding, relentless rhythm that demands all of his attention. Someone starts to cough. His own throat itches but Gortash knows that he has suffered worse, and so he endures.

                The beating gets louder, a cacophony of noise he cannot believe would go unnoticed by the Fists. He quells the panicked thought that this is a trap and grits his teeth. The drums are unbearable now, he is a slave to the beat, unable to sense himself beyond it. He did not come this far to run away like a frightened dog.

                A shadow moves. The drumming ends.

                In the sudden, gutting quiet. Gortash remembers to breathe.

                There is a rustle of fabric. He straightens his back as his eyes dart to the source and all he can see is the silhouette of a humanoid figure gliding behind the seated men to his side. It must be the effect of the incense, of the dark and of their ritual garb as the being seems to glide like a wraith as they move. In the poor light, even with his enhanced vision he isn’t able to make out more than what has been chosen to be revealed.

                “Welcome” A feminine voice rings like a bell and the crowd instinctively sits up to attention. “It is a pleasure to be among you”.

                It is not death he thinks of first, but sex. Gortash is no stranger to using both to get what he wants, but when one thinks of the High Primates of Bhaal, well, he doubts many of Bhaal’s priests sound this… divine.

                The figure moves into the light like a dart. A man sitting, once masked and cloaked, is revealed as he makes a wet, gargling sound of panic as his hand raises towards his throat. The firelight is bright enough to see the young man’s face. He watches as it twists from shock to fear, the eyes glazing over as the smell of blood fills the room and corpse that was once a man slumps forward to the floor. Its head falls first, rolling over the platform and leaving a bloody trail behind it.

                It is a woman’s body in the ritual garb that steps forward. She is a short creature, but not unusually so for an elf or some humans. He sees the curve of her hips first, then admires how the fabric clings to her lithe thighs and backside like a jealous lover. When she turns, he is not greeted by a mask or veil. Instead a large ceremonial crown sits atop her head obscures her eyes, ears, and nose. There is a coy smile on darkly painted lips as she appears to appraise her audience.

                She holds one slender finger to pouting lips and turns until all the audience has seen her hush. “I’m afraid tonight is invite only”.

[variantia]

BELLUM.   ok but even tho I am probably not gonna FORMALLY add SCAP-1471-A to the blog, I might have them guest star because imagine

Lo has to have 1471 downloaded onto her phone as a matter of protocol so that she can take care of 1471-A, but also, well, this app advertises itself for LONELY PEOPLE

so it may very well have been something that would catch her interest anyway

and 1471-A might look scary, but they’re very sweet even though it’s difficult for them to communicate, and after Lo realizes they mean her no harm, the two of them just become instant best friends once 1471-A starts showing up in real time

like Lo will walk into her quarters and there they are on the bed ready for her to come over and give them cuddles and coo “awww hi Mal0, you waiting for me?” and they show up all day whenever she starts feeling lonely

and they know she can’t understand their speech so she gets like RAPID FIRE texts from them and / or they start learning sign language

and if they think she’s in danger they growl and literally just.   place themself between her and the potential threat, if they can.

the good doctor scoffs at such a “high-tech replacement for a friend” but that’s only because one of Mal0′s texts called him “jape master general” aND NO HE WILL NEVER GET OVER THAT IT WAS A SEVERE BLOW TO HIS PRIDE HE DOES NOT ENGAGE IN JAPERY AND HOW DARE THEY IMPLY OTHERWISE !!

[musinglymuse]

A grumpy witcher meets a gregarious bard: opposites attract, destiny intervenes. Their friendship spans literal decades, fertile grounds for ample amounts of fanfiction to take root in. The tales of Geralt and Jaskier has it all: joyful meetings, heroics, drama, japery, heartbreak, and sorrowful partings. Just how many songs can a bard make from that? 

I’ve compiled some of what I consider excellent fanfics that feature this pairing although it does not contain all of my recommendations. They are listed in no particular order. I plan on creating more recommendation lists in the future and may do so for other fandoms. Please check my blog for other recommendation lists.

As a reminder, please make sure to check the tags and any warnings before reading. Take care of yourself!

Food of Love by tanktrilby Canon Divergence // ~22k // PG-13

I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again.

you follow? by shortcrust Modern AU // Series // ~3k // PG-13

Did @bardofficial win a Grammy? No. But he DID put his husband in a leather tunic for the red carpet and in that sense, we’re all winners tonight

and yet so far from death by SummerFrost Ghost AU // ~31k // NC-17

"Your song about the ghost, then," Maja asks warily. "It's just metaphorical, right?" "Yes, of course, absolutely metaphorical," Jaskier brightly assures her. "No ghosts here." Jaskier's favorite painting falls to the ground. "Bollocks."

New Monster Stories by kathkin  Urban Fantasy AU // ~20k // NC-17

“So do you have a name?”

“Yeah.” The man who had saved his life less than an hour ago – the white-haired, absurdly buff, weirdly sexy man Jaskier might have called taciturn if he was feeling charitable and surly if he was feeling less so – dug into his second burger.

Jaskier waited. “Are… you going to tell me what it is?”

The man paused mid-bite, and looked at him reproachfully as if to say how dare you. How dare you interrupt me. Can’t you see I’m enjoying my cheeseburger. Can’t you see this cheeseburger is the most important thing in my life right at the moment. He swallowed, and said, “Geralt.”

Love as You Are by thisgirlsays22 Soulmates AU // ~16k // NC-17

Jaskier didn’t want to marry just any noblewoman--no matter how comely she may be--he wanted adventure and many loves, but most importantly his biggest, greatest love of all.

He is not expecting that love to be in the form of a brooding stranger sitting at the back of a tavern.

In one instant his breath catches in his throat at the beauty of the man before him and in the next, there’s a burning sensation on the bottom of his heel as his mark makes itself known. It’s pain and pleasure knotted together, roses surrounded by thorns.

A Dandelion By Any Other Name by TabbyCat33098 Hanahaki Trope // ~4k // G

Jaskier is throwing up flowers and refuses to tell Geralt who has afflicted him so. As Geralt grapples with Jaskier's impending death, he comes to terms with a few things himself.

home is nowhere, therefore you by Ark Canon Divergence // ~18k // NC-17

"Right, well," Jaskier says, when he halts before Geralt. Up close, he looks much more nervous. There is sweat on his brow and his collar is damp with it, and his teeth keep catching on his lower lip. "True love's kiss. There's—ah—there's nothing to it." And he bends, the utter imbecile, and kisses Geralt full on the mouth.

spring, summer, spring by yogurtgun Canon Divergence // ~32k // NC-17

After spending a treacherous winter together, Jaskier and Geralt make an arrangement: they travel together for three seasons before Jaskier finds a town or a court to winter over until spring. However, this year Geralt meets Jaskier a little earlier than expected, during Imbaelk. Between holiday celebrations, solstices and plum schnapps, Geralt falls in love and loses his way.

Nisraea by spqr Soulmates AU // ~4k // R

Jaskier's seventeen when he pulls the Witcher from the fire.

He has no idea, at the time, that it's a magical fire.

500 Crowns by vands88 Canon Divergence // ~9k // R

Every year, Jaskier finds himself singing at Cintra’s court, watching Geralt’s abandoned Child Surprise grow up.

Skin Deep by sospes Canon Divergence // ~8k //  PG-13

“What’s that?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier blinks. “It’s a tattoo,” he says. “Have you never seen a tattoo before, Geralt?”

Geralt fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I know it’s a tattoo,” he says. “What’s it a tattoo of?”

The Sevenfold Path by Star_flaming Canon Divergence // ~17k // G

Geralt had known Jaskier studied at Oxenfurt University, but he had thought of it as a sort of formal music education. It was becoming abundantly clear that while he had indeed studied music and composition, he also knew a lot more than Geralt had ever learned. And it was impressive. And humbling, too.

to render it transparent by theundiagnosable Time Travel AU // ~24k // NC-17

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

Time Again by didoandis Age Regression // ~17k // NC-17

Things you need to know: It’s 1264. You seem to be losing your memory. Also Geralt likes you now.

Jaskier’s losing time. Geralt’s not sure he can live through the last two decades again, especially not backwards.

A Blessing, A Curse by aileenrose Canon Divergence // ~12k // NC-17

"For a while, Jaskier doesn’t know he’s cursed. It feels like free will, going back down that mountain, just as dangerous down as the way up, and alone this time, too. The descent is fast, maybe even reckless, but Jaskier’s feeling numb and out-of-sorts anyways, Geralt’s words simmering in his mind, and at the time it doesn’t feel like he’s being pulled on by anything but his own desire to get away."

[blamebrampton]

Just had a very nice person make a comment where they made a very well-meaning but flawed assumption. They were lovely and it was a fine-to-make error, but it’s a thing I’ve seen happening more over the last ten years because our media has trained everyone into thinking in genres and I want to talk a bit about it.

Funny doesn’t equal joke.

Deadly serious things can be said in ways that are ironic, satirical, rhyming slang, with a rubber chicken or even just LOL witty and they are still not jokes; they are serious commentary being framed in a comedic way to get a message through.

I’m cool with people getting it wrong because that’s how audiences have been trained to read texts for some time now, but in a broader sense, it’s something we need to redress in our thinking, because a lot of things get fucked up if people internalise funny = joke. Boris Johnson has let thousands upon thousands of people die (and that was true for people on benefits before Covid even happened) because people think funny = joke and therefore Boris = lighthearted japery. In his case, funny = cynical scam for power.

There were a lot of people warning about the dangers of Johnson’s ineptitude, and some of them were comedians. They were funny about how awful he would be. They were not joking. Same patterns for Trump and Morrison.

This is a link we need to unlearn in the real world.

[geirskogull]

Steel Reign - Chapter 5 - Sated

Caolan uses some reserved engineered emergency summoning magic to get things under control

Odin has a nice snack

Archive Link

Rating: M

Count: 1.4 K

Miral chirped, curious and mournful, as Caolan lead both he and Teacup to some rocks by the cave mouth. They’d stay here, for now. Away from the danger they saw enter this cave, and the friend they needed to rescue. They were to be a warning bell for the world, if Caolan failed to pacify Odin. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but the shrill cry of chocobos could serve as an effective warning bell. 

He’d watched the half formed primal stumble in there earlier, struggling against themselves, attempting to direct the body they shared two drastically different ways. Staggering, like a drunkard, into the dangerous wild. 

He’d been following them from a distance, trying to figure out how he was going to fix things. Help things. Caolan wished he could say he had come up with an answer. But he’d never been one for lies, at least when it came to his friends. His only hope was cornering an Odin who had found something to hunt, and was busy processing any large amount of Aether and attempting to use the same strategy he used to summon any of his Egi, but instead of tuning it towards their desired element or energy, attempting to attune it to something against his nature. Rest perhaps? What was the opposite of the Dark Divinity? 

He didn’t have time to ponder that question, he could hear the grating of metal upon metal deeper in the cave. Good, he hadn’t lost her. She had grown silent, however, and he’d have been lying if he said that didn’t worry him. He didn't have a single clue what he would do if she was consumed. 

Hells, he didn’t know what he’d tell people if she was consumed.

Deeper in the cave, he heard a shriek. Dropping any pretense that he was attempting to hide, he rushed forward further. Cursing himself that he couldn’t tell if that was man or beast. Praying it was the latter. 

 Zantetsuken’s blade glistened in the faint starlight, slick with the blood of the massive chimera that rested at Odin, at his new vessels feet. Odin held the blade in his hand, almost reverently, admiring it like one would a sculpture. All the while, she swayed. Woosy. 

Hunt... 

The cry in her mind grew less painful, but still remained present. Was the god yet hungry? Had this beast not been enough? Or was she losing herself, loosing this battle against her own body.

Gods, her side ached. No, it burnt like fire was running through her veins. She staggered hard against the rock wall  of the cavern, interrupting Odin from his moonlight reverie. 

“You yet fight.” His words came from her mouth. She hated that. Hated him. She swore she would bow to none if she could help it and yet here she was, being forced to bow.

“I will never cease.”  She screamed, determined, in a mind that was rightfully hers. She could almost feel him smile, behind his black plate half. Perhaps because it was her face, that which still looked like her, that did so. Even as pain wracked her. 

Odin had fought the Chimera unscathed.

She had not. 

 “Good,” Odin spoke. Her voice mingled with his, echoing through the cave. “That will serve you well.” He spoke to her like some errant child, in need of a firm hand to guide her. Her resentment grew tenfold at that realization. Struggling to stand from the wall, she attempted to will the sword away.

“Why do such a thing, we may yet still need it.” Odin corrected, the blade remained fast in his hand. She grimaced, trying yet again, only to meet the same results. He turned her body to face the cave entrance, or at least the cavern that lead there. “Such as the mortal you let flee earlier.”

Caolan swallowed hard, stealing his courage as he cowered behind a distant rock.. Had he actually been that loud, or was Odin just that sort of ultra powerful hunter that even his successful attempts to hide were failures in the eyes of the primal? No matter the answer, he had been spotted, and the moment of truth had arrived.

Now it was time to learn if his plan was going to sink, or if it was going to swim.

Stepping from behind the rock, his grimoire held tight in his hands, he prepared for the worst, even as the best seemed to be naught but a fever dream. 

“Danica.” He started, extending a hand towards the primal. He tried to keep his voice level, some part of him not wanting to show his deep fear in front of Odin. 

Caolan! Danica screamed in her mind. Why hadn’t he ran? She had urged him so, so hard to run. Odin sighed, displeasure coloring their voice.

“She urged you to run. She made me offer you mercy.” If the elezen was to describe Odin’s voice, it would be akin to the sound metal makes when it grinds against metal. Ear splitting. Loud. Echoing. Made his teeth ache to hear at such close a range. 

“I’m afraid I can’t just leave her.” He answered, a glittering attempt at a wry smile dancing upon his sore cheeks.

 Fool. Danica thought. Odin chuckled, even as Caolan opened his tome and focused on the patterns within. Swirling aether into magical shapes of both protection and harm. Titan-egi, better known as Nugget, manifested, standing beside his master with a stern, rocky glow. 

“Then pray tell, what do you intend to do?” Odin asked, Digging the blade of the damned sword into the ground. Leaning upon it. Apparently, her injuries were catching up with him. Caolan did not answer, but smiled, shaping the aether around him with intent that was beyond what Voss knew. What Odin knew. 

Odin sat down, upon the ground next to the Chimeras corpse. Gently kicking its head with his metal foot. Waiting for an answer that would not come, but somehow lacking the strength to stand and demand it at sword point as more and more of the charged aether surrounded him. Perplexed him.  

Genius. Danica continued to think. Even as pain grew sharper along her body, images too grew clearer. Smiles growing in earnest. Desire for blood giving way to the desire to rest.

“Clever boy and his magic tricks...” Odin murmured. Metal head growing heavy. Brilliant bands of purple and blue formed around one half of the kneeling god. Stripping away the black plate and leaving naught but bruised and injured person beneath. 

Clever boy, and his magic tricks... Watching the sword disappear in a burst of aether, Caolan let out a loud cheer. Jumping into the heavens and clapping his feet together. Nugget clapped his big stone hands together in time. 

Grasping Nuggets hands, Caolan began to spin. Near singing “We did it! We did it!” The rocky creature attempting to respond in its own attempt at words. Danica smiled. He had, he had done it. Raising the hand that had once been metal, she smiled. 

And then she collapsed. 

The sudden thump of a body hitting the sad, or well collapsing atop a dead chimera, snapped Caolan from his victorious japery. Eyes snapping with a frightful precision to his friend, freed from her bonds. 

“Fuck” he declared, scrambling across the caverns loose sand to her prone form. “Shit Damn fuck” Nugget floated after, almost worried, but soon found with a wave of  a hand his help would not be needed.

Danica, from the small pile of dust and gore she laid in, began to chuckle, wheeze and cough. That chuckle, quickly turned to tearful cries. As the pain of fighting the chimera, and the realization of her predicament settled in her broken form. How close she came to harming others. How close she came to harming more than just herself. 

“Dee, shit are you ok? Do you need a doctor? I’m not a doctor. I have a scarf. It's in use. Fuck.” Caolans words were a waterfall, it was amazing he managed to maintain any amount of composure before. Or perhaps that was why they came bursting forth now with little beyond the most basic thought attached to them.

He picked her up, gently and with a great deal of effort to not worsen any of the wounds he could see, and any he couldn't. Gods it looked like she took the chimeras ram horns to the gut, or perhaps the dragon maw? He didn’t want to think about specifics.

“Dee?” He whispered, when she did not respond. She gave him a bleary eyed look in return, as much as she could turn her head. 

“I’m scared Caolan.” 

Three words whispered, three final words. Before her world went black and she went limp in his arms.

[pokemonruby]

6-8 for Elena or Jevon !

i'll do jevon for now! c:

6. What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do?

"My deepest apologies, but... that isn't something that I feel comfortable discussing... I will say that... I do possess many regrets... of which I doubt I will ever be able to atone fully for."

7. Who do you look up to?

"Who do I look up to...? Ha... not many people due to my height... Er, my apologies, I was just trying my hand at a bit of japery... Ahem, but in all seriousness... I would say that... I quite idolize Master Joseph. He... can be a bit... eccentric at times, and I can never really tell what's going through his mind... but prior to his departure, he served as a rather fine mentor to me. He enlightened me on this world, its people, its mysteries, and its perplexities... he was a window into things I could only dream of experiencing prior, and he personally took my hand and allowed me to experience that of which I have always coveted... And until he kindly took me under his wing, I... I never knew the warmth of a parent. He, and Elena both... they were not merely inspirations and confidants to me, but... family...

... Of course, I do look up to my beloved as well. It's because of him that I've found the resolve to stand up and fight for what I believe in instead of cowering away as I have since... Well, he is a little childish, so I can't exactly weigh all of my faith onto him... But... it comforts me knowing that he'll always be there for me to lean on, no matter what happens... Even if I no longer place him on the same pedestal as I did as an enraptured child, I know that I can entrust him with my life, my soul... everything that I am without question."

8. What do you think had the biggest impact on you growing up?

"Biggest impact... well, I would say that more than once or twice I've endured a world-shattering event as a youth... more times than the average person, I'm certain. There are... things that I'd prefer to avoid, but... coming to this world... meeting Roxxy, El, my teacher... and all of the other connections I've forged since my fall, I... I don't think I'd be the person I am today without those bonds. For so long, I'd flee at the first sign of danger... hiding from those angry phantoms that seemed to ambush at every turn... But in spite of that, I was offered compassion and patience as well... I was never shunned nor mocked... and because of that, I... I've managed to strengthen myself... and I am no longer shackled by my past errors. The kindness I was shown time and time again became a crucible of courage for me... and due to it... due to them... Well, I find it rather easier to sleep these days... when I close my eyes, I don't see their corpses... when I lounge in quiet, I no longer hear their cries... I wouldn't say that I have attained "peace" just yet, but... slowly but surely, I can feel myself evolving... and with them at my side... with him... I... I feel infinite. As if I can do anything."

[thelifetimechannel]

KARKAT: SO IN YOUR PERSONAL OPINION, WHICH OF THE TWO UMBRELLAS OF HUMAN PROSPITEERS DO YOU FALL UNDER? KARKAT: ADORABLY OBLIVIOUS BUCKTOOTHED DUNDERFUCKS OR TERRIFYINGLY DRIVEN STEPFORD RESIDENTS THAT IDIOTS LIKE ME HAVE THE POOR FUCKING JUDGEMENT TO PUSH TOO FAR INTO STABBING TERRITORY? KARKAT: OBVIOUSLY ATTRACTIVE GENETICS LIKE YOURS DON'T COME WITHOUT A CRIPPLING CHARACTER FLAW OR SIX, BUT ONE RECURRENT SET OF PERSONAL DEFECTS HAS A TENDENCY TO KILL ME SO I WANT A HEADS UP. I LIKE MY THORAX UNPERFORATED. JAKE: Uh...?! JAKE: ...Nice to meet you too my good sir!! JAKE: Oh friggin cripes where are my manners!! I dont believe weve been formally introduced. Names jake english im the page of hope and jades ecto-grandpa-son! But you probably already knew all of that.   KARKAT: YUP, SUSPICIONS CON-FUCKING-FIRMED. KARKAT: NOW I SEE WHERE JOHN GETS BOTH HIS AIR-HEADED DISPOSITION AND HIS DISTRACTINGLY CHISELED JAWLINE FROM. JAKE: Hahaha i see our species has a similar prediliction towards japery!! JAKE: Maybe i am actually not all that impressive at first blush but i can really whip it out when the going gets rough. KARKAT: YES. YES YOU CAN. KARKAT: OKAY, SETTING THAT LINE OF THOUGHT ASIDE FOREVER NOW. WHERE WERE WE? JAKE: Introductions? KARKAT: AH YES. MY LUSUS DIDN'T RAISE ME IN A FUCKING CAVE, AFTER ALL. I JUST HATCHED IN ONE. KARKAT: ATTENTION PUNY HUMAN, THIS IS YOUR GOD SPEAKING, ET CETERA ET CETERA, BLAH BLAH FUCKING BLAH, HI, I'M KARKAT, I CREATED YOUR UNIVERSE. KARKAT: YOU CAN BE WELCOME FOR THAT AND I CAN BE SORRY ABOUT IT. JAKE: Well whats there to be sorry about! From my vantage point it was a perfectly fine universe. JAKE: Id definitely much rather it have existed than not. KARKAT: IT'S A LONG STORY AND NOW WOULD BE A FUCKING AWKWARD PLACE TO RECOUNT IT, SO I'LL SUMMARIZE: KARKAT: IT COULD'VE BEEN BETTER. AND ALSO HAD LESS CANCER. JAKE: Such is true of many things in life. JAKE: Maybe it was a bit of a fixer upper but it was still home! And boy howdy am i gonna miss it... KARKAT: YEAH. KARKAT: TRUST ME, WE ALL KNOW THE FEELING.   JAKE: Oh yeah... you guys are an awfully long way from home arent you? Thats gotta fucking suck especially now that weve got a human majority. JAKE: What was it like if you dont mind my asking? Not to bring up sore subjects but all ive heard of trolls hasnt included much about their homeworld and ive always dreamed of exploring alien planets. KARKAT: HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED WHAT IT'D BE LIKE TO FLUSHED DOWN A LOADGAPER AND SURVIVE IN A CITY'S WASTE CLOACAS LIKE IN "THE FAKE CGI CLAYMATION ONE ABOUT THE SQUEAKBEAST LUSUS WHO GETS FLUSHED DOWN THE LOADGAPER IN A HILARIOUS CONFRONTATION WITH A HIVE INVADER AND HAS TO GET HOME TO THEIR WARD BEFORE THEY GET CULLED, ONLY TO END UP IN A WHIMISICAL LUSUS-SIZED UNDERGROUND CIVILIZATION CONSTRUCTED OF THE DETRITUS OF THE WORLD ABOVE AND GET PICKED UP BY A SPUNKY CLOACA-DWELLING SMUGGLER WORKING WITH COMICAL TROLL-EUROPEAN NATIONAL STEREOTYPES IN WHAT SHE IS UNAWARE IS A PLOT TO EXTERMINATE ALL SQUEAKBEASTS, RESULTING IN A GRAND ADVENTURE ON THE WAVES OF PISS AND AT LEAST ONE INTERLUDE BY SINGING VERMIN"? JAKE: No i cant say i have. KARKAT: WELL, IT'S SOMETHING LIKE THAT. KARKAT: OTHER THAN THAT, NOT SURE WHAT TO SAY. IT WAS A HUNK OF ROCK COVERED IN DANGEROUS, DISGUSTING ANIMALS, ORBITING A DYING STAR THAT WOULD'VE GONE SUPERNOVA IN A FEW MILLION YEARS AND MERCIFULLY ENDED THE WHOLE SHEBANG. KARKAT: BUT IT DIDN'T KILL ME, AND I GUESS I CAN BE GRATEFUL FOR THAT. JAKE: Likewise! I dont know what you know about jades island but my version of it at least was covered in lusii much like the ones i imagine youre familiar with! JAKE: Although there were no waste cloacas or at least none i ever cared to venture close enough to inspect. JAKE: Had a nice frog temple though. KARKAT: OH GREAT. KARKAT: WE CAN HAVE A WHOLE NEW BUMBER CROP OF TROLLS RAISED BY WILD FREAKS OF NATURE, JUST LIKE THEIR ANCESTORS WOULD'VE WANTED. JAKE: Well hey maybe not? New home new traditions. JAKE: I think the lusii wouldve all died when the earth got flooded anywho. KARKAT: MAYBE. KARKAT: BUT WHO THE HELL IS GONNA RAISE THE LITTLE OVIPOSITOR-NUGGETS IF NOT LUSII? ALL THE MOTHER GRUB DOES IS EAT, ABSORB GENETIC SLURRY, AND SHIT OUT EGGS. KARKAT: US? KARKAT: THE ONES AMONG US WHO ARE ACTUALLY FUCKING COMPETENT AT KEEPING OTHER PEOPLE ALIVE ARE FAR TOO FEW IN NUMBER, THEY'D BE OVERWHELMED LONG BEFORE THEY HAD TO SUFFER THROUGH THE MUSKY SHITHIVE OF AN ENTIRE SPECIES ENTERING TROLL PUBERTY AT ONCE. JAKE: Maybe? JAKE: Weve got a bunch of time travellers dont we? So whats the harm in sleeping on that decision? KARKAT: I KNOW. AND I GUESS THAT'S THE PLAN FOR NOW. KARKAT: BUT WE CAN'T PUT IT OFF FOREVER. JAKE: Someone very wise once told me that the decision to raise a new societys worth of children with your best friends is not one made lightly. JAKE: I mean im paraphrasing for the situation obviously but there you go. JAKE: So give it a few years or maybe a decade and see where youre at! Who knows by that time i might even join you! If only to have an excuse to go trekking across an alien planet. KARKAT: OH NO YOU DON'T. ON MY SPECIES-UNFUCKENING CATAWAMPUS CAMP JAMBOREE YOU EITHER PULL YOUR WEIGHT OR YOU GO BACK TO THE BROODING CAVERNS WITH THE OTHER INFANTS WHO NEED THEIR DIAPERS CHANGED. KARKAT: I RUN A TIGHT SHIP, IS WHAT I'M SAYING. JAKE: Haha ok then! Aye aye captain!

[ultimategamer101]

GREETINGS, UNDERTALE FANDOM! I HEREBY PRESENT TO YOU A LUCRATIVE NEW GAME FOR ALL OF YOUR MULTIVERSAL PLEASURES: SANS-TIPPING!

~~~Introduction:~~~

Do you live in the Undertale Multiverse?

Are you able to travel to different universes, or do you have a friend able to do so??

Has your life seemed a bit annoying with all of these lazy Sanses laying about their workplaces when they're supposed to be working???

WELL, LOOK NO FURTHER!

US ENERGETIC SKELETONS HAVE CREATED AND PERFECTED THE ARTFUL GAME OF SANS-TIPPING, AND IF YOU ARE:

-Bored

-Able to travel the Multiverse in some manner

-An energetic skeleton such as the GREAT PAPYRUS or the MAGNIFICENT SANS

THEN THIS IS THE GAME FOR YOU!

~~~Main Objective:~~~

The goal of this game is to travel to various universes and locate a skeleton sleeping on the job! Then, once that is done, you are to successfully knock them from their seat without waking them up!

You see, it's a well-known trait of many lazy skeletons to fall asleep on the job! Dropping their guard and avoiding their work in such a manner is absolutely unacceptable, and it was only a matter of time before verbal encouragement evolved into expertly concocted japery such as this!

~~~How To Play:~~~

STEP ONE: Decide who is going to go first. This is a game for multiple players, and an order for participants to go in is crucial for maximum enjoyment!

STEP TWO: Travel to any universe possessing a Lazy Sans (a friendly universe preferably, to avoid taking injury and/or causing harmful effects should someone see you)!

STEP THREE: Locate said Sans, and if they are not dozing about at their places of work, watch and wait for them to do so!

STEP FOUR: Approach the Sleeping Sans in any manner you wish, and if you successfully avoid waking him up, proceed to tip them off of their seat!

STEP FIVE: Profit! Otherwise known as: enjoy the results of this action and flee in a timely manner!

STEP SIX: Repeat steps Two through Five until you have an equal amount of sleeping skeletons to be tipped by all participants! (For Example: If you have four participants, visit a number of Sanses that is divisible by four, such as twelve or sixteen or twenty!) Each time this is done, it is a new Round of play!

STEP SEVEN: When the game is over, determine the winner by the amount of points acquired in all rounds of play! If there is a tie, visit one more universe, and tip over that Sleeping Sans as many times as it takes to wake them up! The loser is the one who woke the Sans up in the end!

~~~Rules:~~~

RULE ONE: The Sans must remain asleep all throughout the abovementioned steps, Two through Four! If the sleeping skeleton wakes up during this time frame due to an action of one of the participants, the one(s) who woke them up will receive a point deduction!

RULE TWO: The utmost stealth must be used while playing this game! Players must not alert any of the native inhabitants of the universes they visit to their presence! Interfering in the natural timelines could be dangerous to both the players and the bystanders!

RULE THREE: No physical harm is to come to any of the individuals involved, especially the Sanses! These are their universes, and the players are intruding; it would not be acceptable guest behavior to harm a host even if the host is unaware of one's presence!

RULE FOUR: If a player is unable to continue for any reason, the game is over, and the points acquired in the current Round are rendered null! Determine a winner by the points obtained in the previous Rounds!

RULE FIVE: Make sure you have sufficient sustenance on hand during play! This game is typically an all-day event, so be sure to pack drinks, snacks, and a lunch!

RULE SIX: Carefully look for Rule Seven in the Conclusion Section! It's important! It's more important than any other rule! That's why it's in the Conclusion Section!

~~~Point Distribution:~~~

Every Sans successfully Tipped nets the player up to Twenty-Five Points! The player will receive:

-Five Points for a Successful Tip!

-One to Ten Points for Style!

-One to Five Points for Stealth!

-One to Five Points for Strength!

*Note: Remember, when seducing zombies, a critical failure and a critical success are the same thing! So if you fail so hard at one of the three categories mentioned above, it is entirely possible to get maximum points... as long as the Sans stays asleep the whole time!

Now, it is possible for points to be deducted as well! A player can lose up to all of their points acquired in the current Round of play, but once the Round is concluded, the points obtained during that time are safe!

Points can be deducted for the following reasons:

-Five Points for Waking a Sans before he has been Tipped!

-One to Five Points for Poor Sportsmanship!

-One to Five Points for Sabotage! (RAZZ, WE'RE LOOKING AT YOU.)

-One to Five Points for Alerting the Natives!

-One to Five Points for Lack of Effort!

We recommend that you devise a table for a designated, unbiased scorekeeper to keep track of the players' points!

~~~Conclusion:~~~

PLEASE REMEMBER TO BE SAFE WHILE PLAYING THIS GAME! THERE ARE SOME SNOOZING LAZYBONES WHO WILL REACT POORLY TO BEING WOKEN UP, SO WE ADVISE YOU TO HAVE AN ESCAPE ROUTE TO THE NEXT UNIVERSE PLANNED BEFORE PROCEEDING WITH THE TIPPING!

THIS GAME IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE GREAT PAPYRUS, THE MAGNIFICENT BLUEBERRY, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE EDGE, AND THE MALEVOLENT RASPBERRY!

RULE SEVEN: NEVER LET THE RULES FOR THIS GAME FALL INTO THE HANDS OF A LAZY SKELETON!

HAVE A GREAT DAY!

[it-refused]

Working Title: Forward, Back (4/?)

Summary:  Knowing what’s going to happen doesn’t mean Sans can stop it.  Maybe he could’ve put it off forever.  Sans decides to go.

Rating: T

Part Summary: The town gets nervous and Papyrus needs a babysitter.

>>First Part<<

C/N: Mental Illness

It was unnaturally warm for so early in the morning.  The weather didn't bother Sans. His own bedroom had been like an oven that morning, with Grillby snoring like an inferno in bed next to him.  

Sans had tried to roll him on his side like he'd been told was supposed to help, but Grillby was just fire all over the bed.  Did he even have a side when he was like that?  Sans' best bet was just turning the whole bed on its side, and he'd been fed up enough to try it.  

He'd climbed out of bed, used his magic to upend the mattress, and just stared as his husband stubbornly stuck to it.  It almost seemed to make him snore louder, somehow.  

Sans propped the bed up like it was and left to grab breakfast at the local greasy spoon.

The heat didn't get to him, but there was something else in the air that morning that settled in him and left him uneasy.  He wondered if it was just the lack of sleep messing with him, again, but when he listened in on other monsters' conversations, he knew the mood wasn't just in his head.  

He poured ketchup on his eggs as the other locals talked about the humans they'd seen hovering around the edge of town.  Probably just kids, curious, visiting from one of the human villages in short driving distance.

But not every human was happy about monsters taking over real estate.  And there were other humans who loved it, and were always looking for some EXP where they could get their fleshy hands on it.

There were a few humans living in town, and a couple of them had gone out to see if anyone was still skulking around.  The monsters were trying to go about their normal business while they waited for news.

"I'm starting to think your brother's right, Sans."  His waitress hovered over him, tapping a long, spindly finger against her writing pad.  Her yellow, glowing eyes radiated fear.  

"yeah," Sans agreed.  He wasn't sure what she was talking about.

"Not enough puzzles."  

"right."  

Papyrus thought of them as an important tradition, but they really had been intended as security.  Sans didn't like that people were so messed up they wanted to bring that stuff back as more than a novelty, but they had some good reason to be afraid.  Their town had to look like a juicy juice box of free EXP to a certain creepy type of human.

Sans wondered if his brother had heard the news yet.  He'd been up early, but Sans hoped he was still oblivious.  He'd want to meet the weirdos out there.

He left a pretty good tip so Grillby wouldn't hear about him being cheap later and do the thing he did when he was disappointed.  The silent, staring thing.  Well, he had a variety of those silent stares, sure, but there was one particular variation Sans liked to avoid.

He took a longer trip back to see if any of the monsters hanging around outside had any news.

"SANS!  DID YOU HEAR THE NEWS?"  Papyrus was right outside the grocery store. Angel was with him, leaning against his leg.  "IT IS VERY EXCITING!"

Sans cupped his hand by the side of his skull.  "didn't quite catch that."  

"THE GREAT PAPYRUS SHOULD NOT HAVE TO LOWER HIMSELF TO TELLING A GROWN SKELETON TO CLEAN OUT HIS EARS."  

"my what." Sans was laughing to himself.  His whole posture relaxed, now that he knew his brother was still in town.  He had really expected to find him playing guard at the limits.

Angel hung onto Papyrus' leg, visibly oozing worry.  Kids had a talent for reading moods, so they must have picked up on something while Papyrus took them around.

"IT IS ALSO YOUR JOB TO BE A ROLE MODEL.  A POSITIVE MODEL!  NOT ONE FOR LAZINESS AND POOR HYGIENE."  He frowned.  "...YOU HAVE ALREADY SUCCEEDED IN MODELING THAT BEHAVIOR, SANS. CONGRATULATIONS?  AND NOW IT IS TIME TO AIM A LITTLE HIGHER!"  

"aw.  how'd you know i always wanted to be a model, bro?  never had the looks for it."  

"NOW YOU ARE JUST AVOIDING THE TOPIC BY BEING RIDICULOUS!  YOU SHARE SOME MINOR SIMILARITIES IN APPEARANCE WITH THE STUNNINGLY PHOTOGENIC AND APPEALINGLY PREPOSSESSING PAPYRUS, THANKS TO OUR FAMILY TIES.  OF COURSE YOU COULD FULFILL THIS PRETEND AMBITION."

"here i always thought i was too bony."

"IMPOSSIBLE!"

Sans noticed that Angel was fussing a bit, like they thought they were being ignored. He knelt down next to them.  "hey, kid."  Angel gave him a high five.  Well, a high one.  They only had a stubby fingerless appendage.

Sans stood back up, and the kid went back to hanging onto Papyrus' leg.  

"OH, BUT FOR ONCE YOUR CONVENIENT TIMING IS NOT AN IRRITANT!"  Papyrus put his gloved hand on Sans' shoulder.  "YOUR FAVORITE BROTHER NEEDS TO ASK A FAVOR OF YOU."

"how can i turn down my #1 bro," Sans said, uneasy.  "can't even see the rest of my brothers, you're so far ahead of 'em."  

"WONDERFUL!"  He spoke quieter, but was still shouting.  "I AM LOOKING FOR SOME RESPONSIBLE PERSON TO WATCH OVER THEM WHILE I AM BUSY WITH... SOMETHING ELSE."

"and you looked around and there's just me."  

Irritation flashed across Papyrus' face.  "IF I DID NOT TRUST YOU WITH CHILDREN, I WOULD NEVER ASK YOU TO TAKE CARE OF THEM.  IT WOULD BE IRRESPONSIBLE OF ME.  INSULTING YOURSELF IS AN INSULT TO ME!"

"oops.  no, you're the best.  you're right."

Papyrus pulled a #1 Mom mug out of his inventory.  "Angel" (Grillby) had gotten it for him the last Mother's Day.  He gestured at the mug, emphatic. "I TAKE THIS VERY SERIOUSLY, SANS!"  

He must, since he carried it around with him 24/7.  Soozen had gotten him a t-shirt that said "This is what the world's best mom looks like" with "mom" crossed out and "Papyrus" written in its place.  

"I MUST CONTINUE TO LIVE UP TO THIS GIFT!  SO, THAT IS WHY YOU ARE GOING TO WATCH THEM FOR A FEW HOURS FOR ME," Papyrus explained.  He carefully put the mug back into his inventory.  Angel was looking up at Papyrus.

"sorry.  busy." Sans shrugged.  It was a good speech, but Sans knew Papyrus was gearing up to go look for humans.  

"SANS!  THAT IS A BALD-FACED LIE!"

Sans rubbed at his face.  It was true.  His face was tragically hairless.  Did he have a fake mustache on him?  He checked his prank storage inventory, and was relieved to find several there, in different colors.  He slapped one on his face before Papyrus could notice, and repeated the line. "still busy," he said.

Papyrus closed his eye sockets.  

"no, seriously. i played a prank on grillbz and he might be getting up soon."

"...I AM SURE ANGEL WOULD ENJOY WATCHING THAT," Papyrus said, slowly.  "THEY BOTH HAVE A HIGH TOLERANCE FOR YOUR LOW-BROW JAPERY."  

Sans moved the mustache to right on top of his eye sockets.

"SANS!  THIS IS IMPORTANT.  PLEASE?  I HAVE A RESPONSIBILITY TO THE PEOPLE OF THIS TOWN!  AND TO THE WORLD!"  

"i mean, sure, the kid can watch the show."  Angel lit up and Papyrus started to thank him, but Sans kept talking.  "then grillbz can't yell at me.  everyone gets something outta this."  

"I REFUSE TO ALLOW YOU TO USE A CHILD AS A WAY TO GET OUT OF BEING REPRIMANDED," Papyrus said.  "THEY ARE NOT A SHIELD.  OR EVEN PARTICULARLY SHIELD-SHAPED."  He looked Angel over, to make sure.

"k.  never mind, then.  see you later," Sans said.  He started to turn.

"WAIT!  SANS! THIS IS SERIOUS!"  

"ok sure.  but you didn't even say what you needed to do so bad.  i'd love to help you out, bro, but i got my own stuff to do."  

"YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHAT I AM PLANNING ON DOING," Papyrus said.  

"sure." He shrugged.  "but lay it out for me.  it's being dealt with, right?  that's not your job."

"OF COURSE IT IS!  NAVIGATING THE COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN OUR SPECIES IS ONE OF MY HIGHEST PRIORITIES."  

Sans had him backed into a corner, now.  They both knew what his highest priority was, and it was dripping slime down his leg and staring up at him, not entirely sure what was going on.

"someone else is already dealing with it," Sans pointed out.  He really wanted Papyrus to let someone else deal with something, for once.  "and you know the older kid's not taking it well if she thinks you went off to..."  Sans looked away, for a second.  Potentially put himself in danger?  He couldn't say that.  "make some new human friends."  

"WHY WOULD SHE--" he broke off.  "I WILL BE COMPLETELY FINE, SANS!"

"i know that, sure."

"THEN YOU CAN EXPLAIN IT TO HER."

"ok."

"BECAUSE IT IS IMPORTANT.  HOW CAN ANYONE GUARANTEE A SAFE FUTURE FOR ANYONE'S CHILDREN, IF WE DO NOT DEAL WITH THESE POSSIBLE CONFLICTS HEAD ON?"  He was channeling Undyne, Sans noticed.  He wished she lived out here so she could deal with this.  

"right." He had been planning on keeping the conversation light.  He'd messed that one up.  "anyway i'm on a schedule here, sorry."  He started backing away.  Talking him out of it had failed, so he'd just avoid the issue.  "bye, kiddo.  keep mom outta trouble, all right?"  

"SANS!  DO YOU THINK GRILLBY WILL OPEN LATE AND WATCH THEM, IF I ASK NICELY?"  

Usually?  Yes. "today?  nope.  but give it a shot, sure."  He waved.

"SANS--"

Sans didn't hear the rest of what he said.  He took a shortcut.

Grillby was in the kitchen, scrambling eggs with his magic.  He was still in his pajamas and he looked pretty miffed, as far as Sans could tell.

"'mornin," Sans said.  "you're lookin, uh, bright eyed and..."

Grillby turned to stare at him.  Sans could only tell that because his glasses were pointed in his direction.

"bright everything else," Sans finished.  

He set down his spatula and wrapped his hands around the top of his head, so it looked like he had a little ponytail.  Sans thought of that part of him as his head and not hair, so he had an odd, confused moment before he got what was going on.  

"bright eyed and bushy tailed.  heh.  thanks.  i can always depend on you to help me out, grillbz."

Grillby let go of his head and picked up his spatula again.

"rough morning?"

Grillby pointed the spatula at him and shook his head.  

"man, i can't believe i missed that."  It would have brightened up his whole morning, seeing Grillby fall out of bed.  Probably.  He wasn't sure what would happen, and that's what made seeing it so exciting. "what're you making me?" 

Grillby pointed to one of the kitchen chairs, and Sans obligingly went to sit.  

There were footsteps outside.  Someone was running.  The door flung open.

"SANS!"  

Wow, Papyrus had made great time.  Especially since he had Angel cradled in one arm. They looked delighted.  Slimes weren't particularly fast, so anything over a walking pace was exciting for the kids.  

"hey," Sans said.  

"OH!  GOOD MORNING, GRILLBY!  I AM DEEPLY SYMPATHETIC TO WHATEVER SUFFERING MY BROTHER INFLICTED YOU THAT HE MISNAMED A 'PRANK.'"  

"...he put the mattress on its side," Grillby said.

"you were snoring," Sans said.  "you're supposed to roll people on their sides when they do that.  i read that somewhere."

"I do not snore."

"HOW DID HE NOT WAKE UP WHILE YOU WERE DOING THAT?"  Papyrus asked, briefly distracted.

"couldn't hear me over all that snoring."

Grillby took the ketchup off the kitchen table and put it back in the fridge before giving Sans his eggs.  Sans had to get the ketchup himself.  

Papyrus set Angel down on the floor, and they slid over to Grillby and waved their arm, asking to be picked up again.  

"OH!  GRILLBY!  DO YOU HAVE TO OPEN VERY SOON?  I NEED SOMEONE TO WATCH THEM AND SANS IS...BEING SANS."

"uh."  

Grillby was staring at Sans, confused.  "...I don't mind, but..."

"bro wants to check out some humans he heard were hanging around."  

"New neighbors?"

"nope. weirdos, maybe.  outside town."

Grillby got a fork out and gave Angel some of his eggs.  He took his time absorbing what Sans said.  "...I can watch them," he said, finally.  

"THANK YOU!  I WILL TEACH YOU ONE OF MY FAVORITE RECIPES IN EXCHANGE!"

"...no, it's fine."

He insisted until Grillby accepted the exchange.   Papyrus ran to his room to put on the clothes he wore for work and then raced out the door.

Grillby set Angel on the floor.  "...he was going to go.  He would just ask a neighbor."

"i just wanted to put it off a while," Sans said.  Make Papyrus run around looking for a babysitter until everything resolved itself naturally.

He nodded.  "Sorry. They didn't let the other kids out of school?"

"no one knows what's up.  it's probably no big deal."

"Ok.  Are you going to go keep an eye on him?"

Sans' shoulders slumped.  "yeah."

".........be careful."

"yeah."

No one found the humans.  Papyrus was annoyed when Sans showed up, interfering with his official business, but he didn't shoo Sans away.  

It was a minor scare, but the town decided to go ahead and set up some puzzles where humans might sneak in.  Papyrus took charge of that.  Alphys came up with a few complicated puzzle designs to help, and Papyrus made a number of his own.  A few other monsters built an escape route.  Just in case.  Even after the fear of that day passed by, there would be something on the news that would stir it up again, to motivate them.

It felt like there was a long cord of thin wire wrapping itself around Sans' ribs, after that.  Maybe from before that day, when he saw his dad by his telescope.  Maybe from years before, when a human came out of the ruins.  Maybe that feeling had always been there, and every now and then Sans noticed it like it was new.  

It got a little bit tighter, every day.  The increase in pressure came on so slow he got used to it.  It was just how it was.  

He ignored it.

>>Next Part<<

[samurai-from-another-land]

(rescue) - for your muse to rescue mine from danger

Perhaps a drunkard or two had too much to drink. That much was apparent in the overall behavior of these particular pair who appeared to be harassing someone and the Samurai himself had enough of their ‘supposed’ japery. On the approach, he would size them up to be two rambunctious Hyurs.Yet... This was not something anyone should die for. Terrible or not, Arenvalde believed strongly in not outright killing anyone for foolish mistakes. Though he spied weapons in their hands, they would still have plenty of time to think on their actions later. A click of the blade, and Aren’s quick and precise slashes would cause the air to sing with it’s speed.But when the sword found it’s way back to it’s scabbard, there was far less blood then a cut would produce. The pair would collapse from rather large bruises to their temple.“Excuse me, miss.” He would speak, a tone of voice dripping with foreign unease unable to fully enunciate the language. “Are you well?”@rina-astraea

[adpliveblogshomestuck]

Pages 6-10

Page 6

"Out of sympathy for John's perceived lack of arms" perceived? Perceived?! Does that mean he has arms?

Why am I putting cake on his bed?

That's a terrible place to put cake

Page 7

WHERE DID HIS ARMS COME FROM WHAT THE HELL

He has double the arms now

Guess you could say

He's

Armed and dangerous

What the fuck is that picture inside his chest

Hilarious antics.

Sounds like me

I have been informed the worm on his shirt is in fact a ghost

Etymology of Sylladex: non-existent

Captchalogue

What?

Page 8

Tag yourself: skilled magician or cunning prankster

I now have two fake arms, a pair of trick handcuffs, a stunt sword, a magician's hat, a pair of beagle puss glasses, several smoke pellets, several blood capsules (what???), and a copy of COLONEL SASSACRE'S DAUNTING TEXT OF MAGICAL FRIVOLITY AND PRACTICAL JAPERY??? Oh also a copy of harry anderson's "wise guy" by mike caveney

The hell is japery?

According to google it means "to trick or beguile"

Page 9

Cake is still on bed

How rude

Why am i taking smoke pellets

Ooh a tree

I have two (2) captchalogue cards left

Page 10

Equipping the falsified limbs

Copasetic: in excellent order

Aw man, can't equip the falsified limbs

Yeah, maybe don't fill your room with smoke, kids

[soranoportfolio]

Short Story: “Warning: Contains Violence”

Maximo Esquilente woke to a grey morning. He opened the window to his yard to witness the morning light clashing on his front yard. Faraway from him, busy with the dance of life from an umpteenth million of souls, stood Paris. He felt nothing, with the exception of annoyance. Another day of morose absence and sleep inducing doldrums. The wife was gone now. It had been a few months. The kids too, with their own wonderful adult miseries. A life spent working in architecture to be alone. The irony of decades laying down foundations to now face a life in shambles stung. It poked and prodded hard.

    Maximo, hairs gray coming from everywhere, put on his robe and descended to make coffee. If this was going to be his routine, then he would excel at it yet again. He would be the world record holder of being the world's most ordinary old man. No one would cultivate spleen and angst late in their lives like he would. Coffee boiled and spread a bitter aroma through the marbled kitchen. The air was bitter with a sourness that’d wake the dead and curdle corpses. He relished and swam in it. A perfect spectrum of flavors to warn the rest of the living.

    He sat on his table, witnessing his other yard. That one was empty too, with a betraying sun making it seem livid and full of life. Maximo knew that was illusory. Soon everything would crumble the moment he ever felt like stopping payments to the landscape artists. That’d show Madeline next time she’d come over to laugh at him.

    A sip of coffee and a few turned pages of finance magazines later the doorbell rang. Strange, Maximo thought: he wasn’t expecting anything or anyone. He sighed and scratched his scrotum. When you’re alone, no one can judge you about your privates. It tingled and was thankful he still found at least one lonely joy.

    He neared the door and knocked on the door from the inside. It was his little joke. No one ever got it. He enjoyed the obvious comedic superiority and everyone’s general ineptitude at laughing when humor occurred. Peering through the peephole yielded no result. No one left a bag of flaming excrement like a few days ago. He was sure it was the no-good kids from the down the lane. Or Madeline. Both options were valid at this point. It was a very unfun divorce, akin to a roller-coaster ride that wanted you to die. His head bumps and ego still hadn’t recovered.

    Maximo opened the door to discover no one. Not a soul. Just a yard, sunlight and the smell of morning dew. He peered down and found a square box wrapped in an ostentatious bow. Very suspicious, he thought. The appearance of it was most uncanny. If one did not know any better, you could be afraid a fully grown jack-in-the-box could appear and murder you. Maximo had a troubling imagination, but he found that idea of absurd murder very comforting. Could have been projecting?

He picked up the box. Light as a feather.

He rattled the box. Nothing inside making a sound.

No smells. Just a square lid, a bow and a box.

    One thing was clear: it was not cake. On closer inspection, there was a marking on the side: “Warning: contains violence”. Maximo found the idea humorous. Violence is a concept and/or a set of practices and cannot be applied by accident without intent. How funny! He wondered who (or what) had sent the package. He respected their sense of humor and their love of japery.

    Grabbing the box with his arm, he unfurled the bow and opened the lid. Maximo was instantly and violently slapped on the face and knocked back on the ground. He collected himself, stood on all fours and looked in the direction of the box. There was not a soul except him, who could have slapped his awful visage? He was already so ugly. He could not bear the thought of devolving further.

    The box, warning label facing his way, stood idly in the doorway.  It taunted him. Morning mist slipped through the open door. Time stood still. What had occurred? What being can slap a man? God? Probably too busy with everything else, Maximo figured. He stood back up in defiance, adorned with pajama, robe and slippers. This would be his accoutrement against the mystery before him.

    He picked it up again. Same words: “Warning: contains violence”. No weight. One change: the ugly bow was gone, but the lid had fallen perfectly back in the box in the confusion of the slap. There was no other possibility. Lids do not go back on boxes alone. That idea is ridiculous and impossible. Boxes do not exert force, will or danger under their own volition.

    Maximo shook, both the box and his soul. He tried scratching the label off with one of his near-prehensile nails, to no avail. Old age age had failed him again. What was the point of living one’s life so far if mastery over containers was so elusive?

He opened the lid again. Someone (or THING) pulled his hair.

Peered into it. Punched in the gut.

Half opened it. Kicked in the buttocks.

Tried to stab it with a knife. Drilled in the scalp.

Threw the neighbors cat at it. The vermin bounced back in his face.

    If the box was opened, the result was consistent. There was no real reason or insanity at play. Simple consistency: always violence.

    He poked the box with a stick. A tool, maybe? An intermediary would maybe transfer the incoming act to them? The top slid partially. Maximo felt all his nose hairs pulled and promptly cried like a child. The box knew. It knew. There was no negotiating.

    Maximo knew physics, logic and order. You do not plan buildings for decades without knowing the structure of the world. And while the box proved to be a wrinkle in the contours of reality, it seemed logical and consistent… enough. The warning was sound and rational, if not… hurtful. Maximo saw it for what it was: not a threat, but a tool. Yes! This could change everything! Humanity had been violent all its time as a species. Was this box not the paroxysm of our collective struggle?

    It was far too early for such morning revelations on the nature of force and sentience. The box was a tool? What could it do? How could it be directed? He took the day to think about it. Maximo was retired and lonely. He had nothing but time.

    He awoke the next day with purpose. He drove his car into Montmartre, past Place Dalida. The stink of Paris awoke his senses with a wonderful sort of hate. The crooked streets and the rude cyclists made him hate life and all the strangers of the world.

    He found the office, parked, rang the doorbell and ran away. The building was adorned with a gold-lacquered plaque. The inscription read: “Médor Duchien - Avocat spécialisé en divorce (pour dames misérables).”

[sportsleague365]

There were two relieved football managers at Gander Green Lane on Monday night; one had won and avoided humiliation to dwarf every other humiliation (and there have been many); the other had lost and was elated to return to life in the shadows. He had only lived in the glare of a single spotlight for three weeks. His unlikely adversary has been blinded by a million lights for so long that even the sunshine hurts. And yet given the chance to crawl into the darkness, Arsene Wenger is still reluctant to fall to his knees. “I’ll be glad to get away from this, from a personal point of view, to just go back to the normality of living my life,” said Paul Doswell, who described the circus surrounding Sutton in recent weeks as “bizarre”. “People will criticise you for whatever you try to do,” he said, but his small window into this over-exposed, over-analysed world has been adorned with curtains of the softest velvet. Sutton have indeed been criticised for squeezing every last penny out of this cup run �� and losing some dignity in the process – but Doswell himself has been immune. Every word he has uttered has not been forensically scrutinised, every team selection has not been derided, there is no Sutton FanTV, no Piers Morgan, no national newspaper columnist willing to bend numbers in a desperate attempt to prove that actually, Barrie Williams’ FA Cup run was far more impressive. While a bruised, jaded Doswell gets to walk away and prepare for a much quieter day at Torquay on Saturday, there is no such reprieve for Wenger. For him, the circus simply packs up and moves back to north London, from where he can watch Manchester City knowing that their Champions League exploits will bring further censure on Arsenal whatever happens. Either they win and the comparison is stark or they lose and English football is going to hell in a handcart with Wenger’s hand on the tiller. By the end of the week, at least six or seven ex-footballers will have criticised Wenger and offered advice from the comfort of an armchair and a Level One coaching certificate, before his pre-match press conference is broken down into a thousand news stories. The build-up to next Saturday’s visit to Anfield will be dominated by statistics about Wenger’s failure in big games in comparison to Jurgen Klopp, while at least one player’s agent will brief a journalist that they would rather play for the German, whose reputation has not suffered over 20 years of scrutiny. Defeat at Anfield will potentially leave Arsenal in sixth and then we will see the full force of the media, who have been waiting too long for Wenger to fall to the foot of the elite mini-league; they will have willing allies amongst Arsenal fans who have gone way past the expiry date on their patience. Then comes the dead rubber against Bayern Munich and all the accompanying japery before another no-win FA Cup tie where they are cast as the villains. Even if they draw at Anfield and beat both Bayern and Lincoln, the results will come with asterisks and caveats. At this familiar point in the story arc, there is no respite unless Wenger pulls off the highly improbable. This is the life that Wenger has led for over 20 years, with the dangerous ingredients of an increasingly all-consuming, 24-hour, multi-platform media and over-familiarity being blended to form a thick, viscous paste that sticks to everything. We can no longer judge one 90 minutes from Arsenal without the context of thousands more. We cannot hear Wenger say “mental strength” without groaning; there is little acknowledgement that we would all find ourselves repeating certain phrases were we to be interviewed hundreds of times a year for 20 years. Familiarity breeds contempt and English football has become contemptuous of a man who probably should have walked into more loving arms some years ago. The French would celebrate his homecoming and laud him for turning Arsenal into a member of the European football meritocracy while still largely maintaining his dignity. They would not compare his first signing with those made 15 years ago. They would not greet his first disappointing draw with ‘plus ca change’. And yet Wenger remains here, where he is derided, judged and mocked on a daily basis. There is no guard at the door and yet he remains captive, an institutionalised man suffering from severe Stockholm syndrome. There must still be fun to be found on the training ground and there must be fleeting moments during matches when this still feels like the greatest job in the world. But the sleepless nights, the abuse, the constant questions, the lack of freedom? It must squeeze the joy into ever-diminishing pockets. While his Premier League adversaries are excused blips with talk of ‘transitions’ and ‘projects’, there is no such hiding place for Wenger, who is judged with the weight of history on his shoulders. Some will say that he has been amply rewarded for his stress, but that’s precisely how we know he is not driven by financial gain. He will have gathered more than enough for his retirement many years ago and yet still continues to grow old in unflattering light. There will never be another Wenger, who at least had the luxury of becoming an emperor at a time when we all assumed they were wearing clothes. He had relative darkness in which to innovate and make the mistakes that inevitably form part of that process, but no manager appointed in this decade will be afforded that luxury. We know too much, or at least think we know too much, to be fooled. In 2017, we notice when our emperors are missing a sock; Chris Sutton will have an opinion. “It’s not been the best three weeks of my life,” said one manager on Monday night. We wonder whether the other envied him his escape. Sarah Winterburn The post Is Wenger addicted to the light that blinds him? appeared first on Football365.